Sworded Tales

It’s good to have goals.  Objectives of all sizes.  Big ones.  Learn telepathy from an alien race and restructure modern thought.  Little ones.  Get grandma through today without sneeze-shitting herself.  And all the myriad sizes in between.  Goal structures are beneficial and can offer guidance throughout the years.  Don’t obsess though.  No one likes a zealot.  Seriously.  When was the last time you met someone on the extremist fringe and thought, “Here’s someone I’d like to know better!”  Balance, moderation and directed purpose toward a variety of life improving tasks.  Easy.  Or, as my father used to say, slick as snot through a glass funnel.

I always enjoyed the elementary school activities which were intended to offer insight upon later reflection, stories to yourself, wish lists, time capsules and the like.  There is nothing so crystalline as the lens of youth to cut through the daily domes of horse shit we encounter.  I am fortunate enough to have a mother who stored a great many of these creative endeavors for a very long time.  In her honor, I humbly submit an excerpt from my third grade vision, and what could very well serve as an aegis of peace for all humankind.

The goals were:

Drive cars.
Drink beer.
And disco.
And love people.

What else is there, really?  I particularly enjoy how my younger self felt the critical need to add ‘love people’ onto an already comprehensive, albeit selfish, list of goals.

Dream big folks and enjoy the simple things.  I know I do…and did.  Hell, I’ve already accomplished 75% of my third grade goals.  Perhaps it’s finally time to go for it all.

“Not going to like it?” Gerard replied, “I’ve backtracked into forsaken terrain to track a mindless killer back to its lair in the hopes that it does not signify the dark tidings of invasion. In so doing, I must confront the fallen bodies of those I failed to guide safely as is my calling. I don’t think there’s much more you could add onto an already heaping pile of dislike.”

“You must leave me here,” the quiet words issued from her, “My remains, I mean.”

Gerard’s mouth opened to reply, and then closed. Then he said, “Oh. Well. Points to you then for being right.” Continue reading

The reptilian figure takes an involuntary step back as the horse rears out of control, then again as it begins to buck and whirl about.  The situation certainly does not present an immediate threat, but such a large beast moving about so erratically is hardly something to take lightly.

Then a realization dawns on him.  There is only one similar circumstance that he has seen such as this, and the connection is all too obvious to make.

“You have, I see, brought with you a performer of a circus?” he asks, though he keeps his wary attention on the spectacle. Continue reading

THOK!  THOK!  THOK!  Hammers fall.

The ropes thrum at the rapid vibration.  Footsteps scurry by hurriedly.  The shadows of morning stretch far across the ground as a cock crows in the distance.

THOK!  THOK!  THOK!  The building continues.

The creak of grinding timber.  A dog, startled awake, barks in the distance.  The raw smacking of thrown wood bores into eardrums.  The steamy breath of the horses scents the air.

THOK!  THOK!  THOK!

The grunting of men.  “Heave!”  Doors begin to open.  The murmur of voices spreads.  The church tower sounds in the lower section of town. Continue reading

“Titicaca?”

“Titicaca.”

“That’s your password?”

“That’s the one.”

Silence ebbed between them for a few moments.

“Titicaca.”

“Yep.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Shannon said with an exasperated sigh. Continue reading

Last night I dreamt that I was running down the halls, late for work, carrying a stuffed toy armadillo named Mr. Bullet.

There were other elements to the dream.  Mismatched shoes, one of which was a white Chuck.  Police escort of some prisoners.  The purchase of tonic water, two bottles, very important.  Chopping up both a credit card and my employee I.D.  Let’s be honest though, all the other elements dim considerably in the cosmic radiance of Mr. Bullet.

I can still feel the fur.  I could draw him for you if my artistic skills weren’t along Order of the Stick caliber.  I can smell the slightly moist dog slobbered scent, and the indelible imprint is there…

…and I want to know why.

The awesome dreams I have had over the decades have been legion.  I fly a lot.  I sit up in bed and click my fingers, saying, “Doom.”  And I’ve been told I can deliver a pretty mean karate chop.  Some of those dreams imprinted, but most slithered away all too soon, as is the custom with such a transient grasp on reality.

I don’t like it.  Plain and simple.  I want control over which dreams walk with me until my grave.  Tall order, I know…but somebody make it happen.  Instead, I’m stuck with Mr. Bullet.  Ahh, who knows, maybe he’ll be flying and wearing white Chucks tonight.

Later that evening Elizabeth limped home cursing the boy for what he had done.  The chill wind blew her wet hair into her eyes as streams of anger ran down her face.  The night was deep and dark, and the girl did not notice the inky apparition traveling beside her.

Elizabeth started, noticing the slate colored companion that lurked at hand.  It spoke to her in a soft murmur, “Fear not, Elizabeth. I am here to help,” and with slick certainty the girl acquiesced, accepting its arm to help her walk. Continue reading

“Anibel,” Gerard echoed, rolling around events in his mind when a thought crystallized, “But that is still not your name.  Just what I may call you.”

Anibel flashed the ghostly wisp of a smile his way, “I knew I liked you for a reason.  Sharp as the wyvern’s claw you are.” Continue reading

A taciturn male Dwarf looks up with a start at the approach of the lone reptilioid.  Following his riding partner’s lead, the cloaked he tugs on the reigns, albeit a bit too fiercely.  The horse rears up on its hind legs as the Dwarf stifles a yelp, clinging to the reigns with all the strength in his stunted hands.  His stomach slides onto the saddle with his feet still in the stirrups, causing his buttocks to protrude perpendicular from the steed’s back in a most undignified position.

As gravity bears the Dwarf’s full weight down on the reigns, the horse rose ever higher, kicking its front hooves.  Ancient, inscrutable commands issue forth toward the animal, as the Dwarf flails his stirrupped feet.  The horse continues to canter backward on its hind legs, whinnying wildly. Continue reading

One simple tenet:  believe what you will and allow me to do the same.

Why is that such a hard concept for sentient beings to embrace?  Why must there be a right and wrong way of thinking?  A good versus evil mentality?

I understand that a civilized society requires some overarching system of rules to maintain order, and the larger the society, the more important the system.  These govern our actions.  Nothing should govern our beliefs.  Nothing.

The concept of morality is a tricky one though, circular.  Each individual has their own unique morality based on their own perceptions of reality.  Which of these perceived realities should serve as the moral foundation for the whole?  And what if the chosen moral foundation is in opposition to your own beliefs?  How do we know when it is time to cross the line between belief and action?

I have no easy answers.  There are none.  All I can hope is that you strive each day to further open your mind to possibilities.  Take a few moments to consider the beliefs that ring true in your heart, and I’ll do the same.

I believe all things are better in moderation.  More, bigger, faster is not always better, and too much of a good thing quickly becomes disgusting.  Moderation fosters sincerity and appreciation.

I believe you reap what you sow.  I’ve seen Karma’s wicked backhand often enough.

I believe everything works out as it is meant to.  Be true to yourself and to your heart, and all else will sort itself out in the end.