Rules actually help people. They define what does and does not work within a closed system. This allows people to know, beforehand, whether something is doable or permissible based on prior knowledge or understanding. They will either attempt it or not, depending on the rules, and their personal drive.

But when something is important, and the rules are there, but said rules are vague and generally only under subjective scrutiny, it tears down the player.

Resumes, for instance.

In the US, it is understood that most professions require a resume. But past that, there are no rules, this is the only rule.

Obviously, my personal experiences are what are driving this specific blog; my resume has looked like utter shit for years, because I have had a weird life that is pretty atypical for a 31 year old white male. I won’t go into it now.

A resume may appear to be amazing, and, from many viewpoints, may follow specific rules. But you may still be passed up. And not necessarily for someone better. The reason? Maybe the person on the other end simply liked the other resume for another reason.

I actually live by rules, despite whether this sounds like horse shit from those who know me. I actually like rules, because, once they are understood and I can sufficiently perform necessary tasks based on those rules, I can then creatively spend my time doing other things.

When I was younger, I would make up rules for games like chess or checkers: variant rules. When I played other people with these variant rules (which I would always provide them, prior to play), they would at times accuse me of cheating. I knew what the rules were because I made them up, and I remembered them. They usually rescinded their accusations once I assured them that we had agreed to them prior to the game.

I would even create my own scenarios with dominoes, using them as walls for floor plans, and deploy my Muscle Men figures against my Army Men figures. I created my own rules, but still maintained other rules that made sense: you can’t see/shoot through walls, fists needed to be up close and personal, whereas guns could be used at a distance.

I’ve yet to employ such a concept in real life, I think because the rules that are set in place are not often passed along. Competition, as healthy as it is, can ruin the entire process. When someone else feels threatened by others, or knows that few options are available, they’ll want to get a leg up, so they either lie about, skew, or omit rules for their own favor.

I’m not trying to be paranoid, I know there are plenty of people out there who want to help. But, in the world of trying to succeed and do your best, other people should stay the fuck out of your way.

Let’s allow the rules to be known by everyone, so that we can all play, and we can all determine which set of rules actually helps us to know where we stand. If you feel threatened by someone due to superior knowledge, intellect or skill, get the fuck out of their way so that they can use their mighty brain power to make this world a better place.

Maybe that won’t happen. Maybe I’ll just have to follow the rules I understand, and then create my own variant rules as I go along. Some might call me a cheater, and it might be hard to argue, since they wouldn’t fucking agree with me in the first place.


Creative Writing #03 - The Fluffy Frog

Ponder its existence. Sitting. Waiting. Wondering. 
Sudden intense rush of air. Rocked about in its locale. 
The clattering of metal. Plastic wheels scurry about. 
A boisterous din, comforting. Disturbances were afoot. 

Bedlam in the distance. An electronic alert! 
“Ladies and gentlemen, please! Vacate the facility. 
The fire is out of control!”
Hurried pedestrians flee. 
Distant shouts becoming bashful. Emptiness fills the building.

A cavernous corridor. It resides there, peacefully. 
Friends and family, unaware. Their resting place, toppling. 
*CRASH* The neighbors, on the floor! Stoic faces all around. 
An orange glow emerges. A mighty branch crushing scores. 

Interlopers, singed sable. Collecting comrades with care. 
Grey sky gives way, collapsing. An eruption of debris. 
Bizarre blue appears above. Intense frantic warmth, spreading. 
It falls, eyes unblinking, *THUD*. Encapsulated, croaking.


Creative Writing #02 - The Vibrant Grave

Taking up the rear of the queue, I found my eyes gazing into a foreboding direction. Menacing eyes penetrated the ivory halls of the main mausoleum. A grotesque figure, a Gargoyle, was perched atop a solitary stone structure in an enclosed courtyard. The gothic archway, ensconced in granite and adorned with obsidian, had a clear message for those who dared come near, “Flee while you can!”

Of course, my perverse curiosity forced me away from my group, and into the forbidden territory. The immense hallway framed the tortured roost, dwarfing it in size, and accenting its cheerless visage. Each step I took was shouted back at me from the walls, an unnerving caterwauling. Determined to reach my destination, I was pressed on by the sheer horror of the sounds of my own gait.

Bursting forth, I entered the courtyard, escaping the shrieking hallway into the quiet light of an overcast morning. My heart settled as I stared coldly into the void of the Gargoyle’s den. Perceiving no door, I approached the hulking cubbyhole with dedicated revery.

The light of the day, despite its lackluster nature, forbade me from peering into the stoney abyss. Only once I reached the precipice, and my eyes adjusted, did I bear witness to a drop-off in the distance of the chasm. Cautiously, I placed a solitary shoe into the archway, then the other. After a few steps, I concluded that the stairway was at the end of a moderate downward gradient.

Steadying myself so as not to stumble, I inched my way into the inky blackness towards the first step. Unable to determine how best to approach the invariably steep descent, gingerly, I placed a foot onto the next step.

I slipped! Reaching out with both hands, I grasped for control. The narrow hallway granted respite, my fingers found something solid. Saved from a grisly demise, or a bruised bum, I hoisted myself up and looked to discover what saved me.

Etched into the stone face, large slotted grooves bespeckled the pathway. Upon further inspection, I found my fingers could infiltrate the grooves, allowing for a strong grip.

Such a find! Such treasure!


Creative Writing #01 - The Filthy Boat

As I approached the dock, I could see a crew of eight men judiciously restoring a smokey schooner to its former glory.

Seemed odd that only eight men would be slaving on such a considerable vessel. Hired hands? Glancing towards the sky, the Sun informed me that it was early into the noon hours. “They’ve been at this all day”, I surmised.

The pier creaked as I made my way forward, every step, a reminder of the story this old dock could tell. A frayed hemp rope clung to the port side of the ship, desperately suspending a stout brute of a man, sitting on only a wooden plank. His hands deftly moved from a battered bucket of liquid cobalt, brushing with careful strokes. His craftsmanship was enchanting. Never before had I seen such juxtaposition of contradictions. His hands moved with such finesse, every letter of the ship’s name cared for as a mother would care for her child.

“Ahoy!” came a friendly voice from above. I raised a hand to shade my eyes and found my greeter, “Sticking to an old greeting, eh?”

“Aye! Keeps me grounded! Humbles the spirit in the presence of such majesty!”

“I’m flattered”, I chortled, “but I assure you, I am on possession of no such majesty!”

“Hah!” came a reply off to my right. The brute of an artist, dangling from a slab of pine, interrupted his precision duty, “he’s talkin’ about the boat, ya doof.”

“Come on up and I’ll give you the tour!” my greeter added, his guffawing echoed by his nearby ‘mates.

He made a swift movement, and a rope ladder clattered against the wood panels on the ship. Nervously, I ascended the unstable mass of wood and grass twine. An outstretched hand beckoning me as I reached the apex.

As I was hauled over the rail, my leg gave out and I stumbled, tripped, and struck my shoulder, hard, on a nearby cask. “Woah, save yer stumblin’ fer when ya try on yer sea legs!”

“Ugh”, I whimpered, rubbing my shoulder, now tenderized. “Trick hip, always kickin’ my feet out from under me.”

“Alright, Cap’n, on yer feet! This ship ain’t gonna inspect itself. Welcome,” he flourished, “to the HMS Haliax!”



Word Doodle #03: Diet Sodas Are Stupid

It’s bad enough that soda has less water in it due to the Carbon Dioxide, basically causing you to pay more for less. But then, the whole concept of something like a soda was for you to have an easy, and light, energy supplement…you know, instead of eating a whole slab of beef, you just get some quick-to-consume calories and go on with your day.

But with diet sodas, you’re just trying to drink sweet (subjectively, mind you, because some of the artificial sweeteners just taste awful) water with less actual water.

And then there’s caffeine free diet soda. Seriously? You’re paying more for even LESS.



Word Doodle #02: Superheroes

What is it about superheroes that makes us humans aspire to become one?

Green Lantern

Courage, Confidence, Willpower, Action

Thinking, Fear, “Nerdy”, Weak


What is a “Word Doodle”?

This is a new blog segment idea I came up with in the shower. Maybe others have given it more thought than I have, but whatever.

For me, it’s associated with the ideas that I write out, but then they get nowhere. Maybe I had great ambition for the thought, but I only ended up with a sentence or two. Frustrating as it may be, posting them may also be a good idea, so I figured I would.

They’re just like other doodles you write on your paper when you’re bored at school or work. In fact, the one tattoo I have on my arm started as a doodle.

Big works can come from small notions.


Word Doodle #01: Clothes Make the Man

For the longest time, I’ve hated the idea that my clothing is what dictates how other people see me. But we live in a superficial world, and there’s nothing that can be done about it. Not in my lifetime, and not while I care about it. We’ll leave that for future generations to change, while facilitating it now.

I’m currently wearing a TapOut t-shirt, and by the cut and design of it, I look far more physically fit than I normally would with a $2 t-shirt. I have received compliments from just wearing this shirt while still wearing the same shorts I had on prior to changing shirts.



*tip* *tap*


*growling, gnawing, crunching*

The blood kissed tongue and teeth, trickled into a gaping maw, exciting fervor. Frantically, it tore into the flesh of its victim.

Pinned to the chain link fence, the prey hopelessly writhed in anguish and mortal fear, eyes agape, not understanding what was happening, screaming in her head:

"OW! Why is this thingy hurting me? What is this thingy? This thingy smells gross. This thingy is so scary. Mommy will help. Mommy always helps! Mom-meee!"

*     *     *     *     *

*hysterical scream*

"That Monster is EATING my baby!!" screamed a nearby woman.

The sight was gruesome…horrible…unimaginable!

Pinned against the fence, a young girl about the age of six or seven, was helplessly trying to wriggle out from under the creature that was devouring her. Bluish-black, the size of a house cat, flat and bulbous. With four vicious claws, accompanied by several undulating tendrils springing forth from its body from seemingly random locations, it wrapped the tiny child in a vice-like grip, clinging to the fence as it chewed away at the tiny girl like she was saltwater taffy.

With black, uncaring eyes, the organic mass engulfed the little girl with unbelievable strength. As it chewed on her flesh, it looked about, prying eyes looking for other predators that would try to steal its meal. Stopping a moment, it pulled its head away from the girl’s arm. A gout of blood sprayed onto its face and torso, spilling to the ground, dripping.

The creature stared at the nearby persons, only to be met with indifference or sheer horror, as was the case of the child’s mother.

Only a hunter could determine the nature of the glance of this beast. The thoughts behind those hollow black eyes protruding from the grisly face were unable to translate. Squat and round, tiny ridges bursting from the skin, horns on the outside corners of its eyes and nose, and near what could be ears. Ears? Flaps of flesh that ran down the sturdy neck on towards the middle of the back, stopping a few inches apart from each other. Like weird little cranium wings.

Only a hunter could decipher this monster…but there were no hunters. The only audience this creature possessed was the hunted.

*split* *tit* *tit*

*split* *tit* *tit*

Pieces of flesh and drops of blood from the child’s arm fell to the concrete below, a gruesome melody. He continued to gnaw at her elbow with protruding teeth, sharp and conical, shaped like the tip of the ubiquitous pencil. The snapping of what sounded like rubber bands caused the mother to turn away and retch. Tendons, ligaments, popped as the little girl’s arm was crushed between its teeth.

*     *     *     *     *

*nrsh* *mraw* *grgk*

El’s teeth bore down into the little girl’s arm. She was ten times his size, but she was no match. Pulsating, his body slowly grew the more of her he ingested. What a meal! Delicious, tender, dripping with flavor. As he savored the little girl’s flesh, his mind began to ponder:

"This small creature feed me for weeks. I grow to twice my size, maybe three times! Bigger meals to come. Thank you, delicious treat!"

*     *     *     *     *

The little girl’s mother tried to clamor towards her baby, fearfully, through the pool of her own stomach contents, she heard the sudden *CR-SNAP* of what sounded like a large candy cane - followed by a tortuous scream from the child.

Her arm was bitten clean through.

*     *     *     *     *


EL heard - no, FELT! - the window of his mind splinter and shatter. Clenching his teeth at the sudden pain, he shook his head to shake off the shards of pain. Slowly, the world repaired itself. EL, stunned, glanced about when -


The sound was closer. The pain was the same, but there was no splintering. Someone was throwing rocks at the window of his mind. RUDE CREATURE!

EL found the culprit, and glared.


A bullet pounded El directly in the forehead, right between his hollow, solid black eyes. Barely phased by a third pistol round, EL glared at the Police Officer who shot him, taking a deep breath:

*     *     *     *     *

It was a cacophonous sound of three parts

• Silverware scraping against ceramic plates

• Glass grinding and crunching beneath a metal slab

• One’s skeleton shuddering and trying to leap from their body.

The sound was nauseating, and shook the police Sergeant to his core. Dropping his pistol, he fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. “Oh God, the pain!” he thought. Coughing fitfully, blood sprayed from his lungs. Everything hurt, his insides felt as if they were on fire.

"Am I going to die?" he thought. Looking up, he saw the creature once more, and passed out.

*     *     *     *     *

"EL unhappy his meal disturbed by this VERY RUDE…thing!"

Turning back to the child, he opened wide and clamped down, hard, on the child’s shoulder. Still hanging on to the fence with his blubbery tendrils and hugging the child with the mass of his body, he wriggled against the child briefly. Yanking his head in the opposite direction, EL ran at full speed. Tearing the child apart.

The child’s screams quieted. The force of EL’s retreat caused her body to sunder. Her head, shoulder and underlying bones, upper arm, and left most portion of skin and muscles from her armpit to her waist were ripped from her body, exposing shattered ribs and massive internal damage. Her spinal column stretched and snapped at the base of her skull, the skin tearing off in chunks, leaving a portion of her face completely rent. The remains of her body fell to the ground; heart and lungs and spleen spilling out onto the cold concrete.

No longer distinguishable, the little girl’s head lolled up and down as EL sprang forth and fled the playground.


Shower Serendipity

Showers are a nice place to relax and allow your mind to wander.

Today, a culmination of conclusions seeped into my brain region and provided me with a bit of insight that I hope I can remember while I type this.

I am depressed, but then again, I’m not. I am homeless, but I call it “Urban Camping”. I’m not job hunting because I deny my capabilities in the working environs that I understand exist. This is cognitive dissonance, ladies and gentlemen. I could also be deluding myself, but who isn’t these days?

I am actively trying to make myself feel better about what would otherwise be considered unbearable circumstances. Does this make me better off than accepting my fate and just “bucking up” and doing what’s socially considered “right”?


Who wants to give me an amazing blow job?

Not rhetorical.

My mind is wandering while I type this, and what came to me in the shower was all manner of wonderful, but it is fading from me like that one dream you had this morning.

I want to educate myself, and I will continue to do so. For all of my life, I never knew what I wanted to do. Oddly enough, many were encouraging with their remarks, “You can do whatever you want if you put your mind to it”. Too bad I didn’t know what I wanted to do, and their suggestions were things I had no desire to do. I’ve got something of a better understanding now, but it’s by no means comprehensive.

Unlike many other successful persons in this world, I didn’t figure something out that I want to do with my life at a young age and then just spend the rest of my life doing that.
(Unless you count being educated by varied sources, and then, I suppose…)

Currently, I’m in the process of obtaining a unique domain name so that I can build upon it and possibly make a profitable endeavor from it. We’ll see. I also have this fanciful idea that learning how to better cook/prepare food for a more appealing experience would be just dy-no-mite! And I want to do wine tastings and understand proper paring of cheeses with wines for not just dining purposes, but for the pleasure of it.

Maybe I have more of an idea now than I ever thought I would in the past. But the quandary with all of this is: when will I just forget about it and move on to the next thing? Perhaps the best thing to do is to just do it while I can, while I’m thinking about it, and maybe I’ll get a really good experience out of it.

One can dream.