Everything has its place and purpose, even suffering.
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@tacky-thoughts-blog
Everything has its place and purpose, even suffering.
Plants are underappreciated.
Right and wrong.
Justice is made by history’s victors and evil is something endowed onto those that have lost the right to govern themselves. Some would define evil as pain and suffering, but others enjoy such things inflicted onto them. God allows evil because evil is created by man. Right and wrong are subjective and hold no status above that of an opinion.
Why do we fear death?
Evolution favors those that fear death. If you did not fear death, then you would be more likely to die without passing on your genes and your lineage would end. After you pass on those genes, or live passed the stage of life in which natural selection applies pressure, this biological fear becomes unnecessary, but may remain prevalent in some cases. However it is largely true that with age comes a growing acceptance of inevitable death. Self-awareness and culture quite obviously effect whether, or not this fear fades.
Freedom of choice.
Humans can never be stripped of their free will. No matter what you do, you will always have more than a single choice to make. When our life is on the line we often say that we only have one choice: compliance, but that is not true. We value our lives enough that we choose compliance over death, but the choice still remains. You have the freedom to choose and no one can take that from you.
The illusion of needs.
Humans are only capable of want. Need is simply a byproduct of our desire. You could argue that we need sustenance in order to live, but that’s only true if you want to live. If you don’t want to live, then you do not need sustenance. Our mistaken belief in need chains us down from the moment we are born and will chain us until we die unless we acknowledge the illusion. It should be clarified that need as an inherent quality is an illusion, but as a requirement to fulfilling want it is not.
Electric Love - Poem
The current blasted through me.
Impact.
It charged my heart.
It lit my veins.
Ascension.
The elation flowed into my mind.
My soul moved.
Fall.
My nerves left crisped.
My soul burnt.
My heart scarred.
A Conversation Between Immortals
Morto: How do you deal with it.
Sin: You mean the pain of loss?
Morto: ...yes.
Sin: I cry. Sometimes I can’t get out of my cot for a long time. At one point I hunted down a man for killing someone dear to me.
Morto: Did you feel any better after you caught him?
Sin: I never caught him in a sense. When I found him after so many years, he was with his family. He had four kids. Three daughters and a son. His wife was about to bear another as well.
Morto: What did you do?
Sin: I confronted him, then we sat down for tea. You see, my friend was killed during a war. It was… a very long time ago. A few centuries now I guess? That’s how a war is though. Everyone thinks their the good guys, when no one is. You know, I too thought I would spend a long time with him, my whole life in fact. A pretty unrealistic dream for a demon.
Morto: Did you ever get over your friends death?
Sin: Not once have I ever felt that I would. Every single day I remember those that have left me behind, and then I get out of bed. I get out of bed, and I live my next day.
Is Patrick Star Racist?
When Patrick says, "Which one of you flatfoots stole my lolipop." in the free balloons episode of spongebob, he was literally referring to the cop's feet. Guys, I think Patrick is racist. *This is a joke, please don’t take it seriously*
Just a thought.
You know, I think we as humans have a desire to be special. It's a normal feeling, but I think there's a better way. If no one was special, then that would mean anyone could be like Einstein or Tesla. If no one was special than each and every one of us could become just as great as anyone else. If people ARE special, then that wouldn't be true. That's why I choose to believe no one is special, that we can all achieve anything we want.
Poem: We Are The River
When it comes for us. We wait. We sit. For we are the river. Its surface so easily broken. And they are the stone. Stronger than our surface. But. The river shall always win. For when a stone falls into the river. It may make a splash. It may mark the bed. But. The river shall consume the boulder. Its stone shall become the sand beneath us. And if the stone wishes to dam us. We shall weather it. We shall break it down. For the rapids in our souls. Are far stronger than any stone. We shall win. Because it is impossible for us to lose. All that may harm the river. Will in the end. Be but sand beneath.
Fallen Gods: Mer-Squirrels
Neptune are you the one who made the… Mer-squirrels. (Cancer)
God no! Those little bastards keep following me around insulting me! (Neptune)
Hey Neptune! Why don’t you go hangout with Uranus? Hahaha! (Mer-Squirrels)
One more terrible joke and i’m going to kill them all! (Neptune)
Well if you didn’t make them who did? (Cancer)
You know who, Cancer. (Neptune)
No! Not.... him. Also, call me Crabby. (Cancer)
I’m not calling you that. We’re going to have to go on a perilous journey to Atlantis! (Neptune)
*One perilous journey later*
Oh my god I can’t believe we escaped those devil monkeys and the sea witch who kept coming onto me! (Neptune)
Don’t forget the three hurricanes. (Cancer)
Four hurricanes, and the intergalactic space lasers. Okay, we’ve given enough for the readers to be pissed at the lazy author. (Neptune)
(I’m sorry)
You suck at this writing thing author. (Neptune)
Yeah! (Cancer)
You need to step up your game! (Neptune)
(Stop breaking the 4th wall, and continue the story!)
Alright, anyway we're finally here… Atlantis! So Poseidon did you make the Mer-squirrels? (Cancer)
You bet your arrogant ass I did! (Poseidon)
Whhhy? (In unison)
Hey Poseidon you’re the best! Keep being awesome! (Mer-Squirrels)
Ohh! Neptune it all makes sense now. Well what do they actually do? (Cancer)
Nooo, don’t ask that Cancer! (Neptune)
It’s Crabby. (Cancer)
Well if you must know they carry my…paintingssss mmmm. (Poseidon)
Neptune and Cancer simply turned around and walk away for they could not deal with this any longer.
Did you just censor my words, Aires?!?
You’re not supposed to curse. (Aires)
(Damm it! Ha! You couldn’t censor it ******* I spelt it **ong. H*y y**’re ju** cen****** everything now… oh you stopped, thank you.)
Anyway no one ever saw a Mer-squirrel after that, for one had foolishly forgotten to complement Poseidon when passing by. So started the first, and last Mer-squirrel genocide. Poseidon now saddened retreated into his bathroom to stare at his “comforting” paintings.
(Aires, stop pouting.)
Say you're sorry first. (Aires)
(Fine. I’m sorry.)
Thank you. (Aires)
Fallen Gods: Time Traveling Ego
A comedy series I wrote. This is the first one.
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Honestly the only good thing humans ever made was pizza. Turning Pluto into an amusement park was pretty cool though. (Chronos)
Future achievements don’t count Chronos, we can’t time travel to verify your claims. (Poseidon)
Well that’s not my problem, now is it? (Chronos)
No but you can’t use time travel to win every argument, besides you could just go back in time to “change” the answer if you’re wrong. (Poseidon)
Nonsense I can do whatever I want. For example, I erased those land sharks you made. (Chronos)
Yes, and I’m glad they didn’t eat George Washington, but that’s then, and this is now. (Poseidon)
Fine whatever. You know, Neptune is way funner than you. (Chronos)
Don’t utter that Romen copycat’s name in my presence! He’s just a cheap knock off of me, King Poseidon! (Poseidon)
Wow! Wait to go on that ego inflation, but can you stop? You already fill the air with too much smug. (Chronos)
I don’t have a big ego. (Poseidon)
You have five paintings of yourself in every room of your house. (Chronos)
That’s not that bad. (Poseidon)
The ones in your bathroom are naked, and have eyes that follow you. (Chronos)
It’s comforting. (Poseidon)
On what planet? Aires had a heart attack when she went in there and refuses to visit you now. (Chronos)
She’s always been a drama queen. (Poseidon)
This is why no one likes you Poseidon. (Chronos)
Can you say my name again? (Poseidon)
That’s it, I’m out of here. (Chronos)
Broken Skies: The Everlasting Storm, Part 2
Part 2 in the short story series!
----------------------
Vencor rested his head on his turf cot. Though commonly referred as such, it would be more accurate to call it a mat. Around him were many other such cots. This is his home. A communal home, with thirty other people. Including this one, there are three such homes. Sleep normally came easy to him. Well, easier than most humans, but he was haunted by a deep contemplation.
“A rebellion, huh.” he whispered to himself.
It was against his common sense to engage so much thought on such ideas, but he found himself grasping at them anyway. To fight for a better future with violence was practically impossible in his current situation. Beyond convincing the others that were satisfied by their meager lives, just because they no longer fell to the storm, there were several other issues.
First, the dwarfs were maintaining a barrier to prevent the Everlasting Storm from destroying the city. Currently no humans no how to operate the barrier, himself included. Immediately after gaining their independence, they would simply return to the time before they began cohabiting with the dwarfs. The storm would own them once more, such a thing was completely unacceptable.
Second, golems. The stone monstrosities that currently maintained the city, and aided in construction, could just as easily be used to crush them. To take down a single golem would be quite a feat of strength. If it were ----, then he could do it, but he was an outlier, normally several warriors would die. The number of golems here is also an issue. This city is being used to push toward the south, so there are many golems stationed here. Around ten golems pass through here a day to head to the south.
Third, the actual purpose for providing care for humanity is unknown. Though we provide labour, and golems are expensive to construct, they have a lower upkeep when taking basic necessities into account. They require no food or water, and the amount of materials they can acquire make up for their fuel consumption. It makes no sense when you look at the long term.
There are only two scenarios were I can see the dwarfs needing the humans. Either an external force is pressuring them into it, or they need us for the southern expeditions. The first is unlikely, and the second equally so. There’s no way the dwarfs could make the mistake of thinking humanity has left the Everlasting Storm, that’s why it’s named in such a way. Until the dwarfs said it to be so, we were unaware that you could leave the storm at all. There’s a something missing here. If we could find out the real reasons, then negotiations might move forward. On the other hand, if it turns out to be something more sinister, they might speed up their plans at the sight of revolution.
Vencor looked blankly at the wooden roof above him. It was made from scrap, and built so poorly that it could fall at any moment. The building he was in had not just his peers, but children and the elderly. Each and everyone of them was suffering in some way. Yet each and everyone one of them was thankful for it. It hurt because they are happy to be free from the storms, and Vencor knew he wanted something that his people didn’t. He clenched his heart, as tears welled up in his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I have no right to be selfish like this, but we are not free. We stepped out of one cage and into another. Even if you hate me in the end… I have to do something.”
Vencor let out a quiet whisper filled with emotion. It would touch no one’s ears except his own, but it would irreversibly change the fate of his people.
A single person came to mind as he steeled himself for what would come.
“I’m sorry ----, but our peace will have to come after our freedom.”
Broken Skies: The Everlasting Storm
Another short story. This is meant to be read before part 2 of Broken Skies: Wispen.
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Long ago in the grassy plains of what would one day become the Stormlands, lived a group of nomads. These nomads were from a scarce species called Humanity. Though there were several tribes, each numbered only around twenty, or so. They lived incredibly harsh lives without peace. Many died to the great storms, and those who were lucky fell not in brittle age, but in glorious battles in their youth. There only respite from the never ending winds was when they found thin turf to dig under. Eventually these place of thinner turf became known as, “Dom” a word given to the nomads by a speaker of the old tongue.
Humans are a simple species. They can rarely use magic, and their constitutions are not so grand. Even so they aspired to be great, and because they sought greatness only the strongest could lead them. The strongest came to be known as, “The Storm Master” to show that they could lead their people through the most perilous storms. Each of the tribes, of which there were exactly sixteen, would meet every five years to, select, or replace the Storm Master. Originally, all tribes were one, but differences appeared over time between their views, and they splintered. The Storm Master is considered the highest position to these nomads. To be Storm Master, is to be the greatest of the nomads, to represent strength, and to live for the people. All band under this personage of the sky. It can never be said enough how important this person was to their people. The nomads worshiped no deity above themselves. This was not from pride, but from fear. You see, they did not worship a deity, but they acknowledged one. Tlaloc, the everlasting storm that tormented them. The name stood for another, a god that once lived here. Tlaloc was betrayed by a human. The human sold his location to his killer to satisfy his own greed. Tlaloc cursed these lands with his dying breath, “For he who has sold me for avarice, I bring prosperity.”
According to legend, prosperity did come. It rained, even in the farthest deserts, it rained even in lands that were so parch they lacked life. The sky poured its sorrow for its master's death. Tears of prosperity. There was so much food that everyone was fed. Even the poor could drink wine, but the rain did not stop. Rivers and lakes bore forth from already inundated earth. Crops died, buildings washed away, forests flooded, and people cursed the sky. Humanity became nomadic, wandering the everlasting storm lost in it. To leave one, was simply to enter another. The landscape washed away, and with it went the gratefulness of humanity. They cursed the sky for its piety for its lord.
The Storm Master was originally intended to calm the sky, but he failed, and the title began to represent a new ideal. One who could defy the sky, one who displayed the will to lead through the storm. Such was the new hate for the sky that had taken so much from them that their language itself change. No longer would they admonish each other in the name of Tlaloc. Everything for the people, not the lord's will. The latter half dropped out of common vernacular in time, but the former remained, even in modern times it is a symbol of strength. The Storm Master represented this ideal.
It was a shocking day when humanity first discovered a dwarven city. In the middle of this almost endless rain stood a single great city. Hope for peace welled up in their hearts for the first time since their fall from grace. With haste they met with the city’s leader, and discussed plans to stay. However the dwarves were more clever than the nomads. They signed a contract to stay in exchange for work. The humans could finally settle down, though only as something unfortunately close to slaves. Rights did exist in name, but were often never enforced.
The humans were thankful for peace, and would exchange it for nothing… all except two that is. Vencor and ----, the two prime candidates for the now absent title of Storm Master. Both were currently around the age of fifteen.
----, was staring into a massive body of water. A lake that resided in a large indentation in the landscape. Several smaller bodies lay around it. These lakes are known as the crater lakes, a marker of some long forgotten time.
Behind him stood his best friend, and the only person he trusts, Vencor. A boy of the same age. He, like many humans during this time was wearing rags without any shoes, a marker of their social status. Humans are forbidden from wearing proper clothing.
Vencor placed his callused hand on ----’s shoulder, “Why do you stare so intently into this battered plain?”
---- exhaled deeply with solemn eyes, “The elders said they come from a time before ours… don’t you ever wonder what could have made such destruction?”
Vencor rolled his eyes staring off with his friend. He did not share ----’s sense of sentiment for the past, nor for its mysteries, but he would often humor him.
“A fight between gods maybe, or a giant’s tantrum.” He said while looking off with disinterest.
“Maybe…”
Patting his shoulder before lifting his hand, Vencor declared, “Don’t worry about it. I think we should concentrate on helping the others.”
“You’re right… We have to figure out how to change things for the better.”
Vencor lifted his hands in the air, “Exactly! I can’t stand the way those filthy toe biters treat us!”
“Vencor! I agreed to help fix the situation, that includes both sides!”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry, it just slipped.”
“...”
---- stood up and looked to the distance, “Do you really think another negotiation will be enough?”
Vencor smiled, “Of course! They’ll listen eventually.”
The two of them have, on numerous occasions made negotiations with the governor of the region, who lived in their town. Normally an adult would have such talks, but none but them cared to improve humanity’s standing.
The governor’s estate was the largest building in the as of yet unnamed town. It was built from various materials mined from the mountains to the south. Many of the human houses were constructed from turf, so it, and the other dwarven abodes, really stood out in comparison.
Governor Barrick is a very short, very fat dwarf. Other nobles mocked him by stating he was, “Two feet tall, and five feet wide.” Of course those measurements were false… mostly. With a very serious, judicial expression he glared at the two humans across his desk.
Vencor spoke first, “We would like it if you could provide better hou…”
Barrick interrupted him, “I’m gonna have ta stop ye there. We ain’t gonna fix up da livin conditions of ya humans at the present moment, an’ we have no plans ta do it later.”
---- spoke up, “But why? It won’t even cost that much!”
Barrick partially rolled his eyes before reorganizing his gaze, “Listen ta me smooth neck, we ain’t do’in it cause we got no incentive ta. If ye wan’ta change dat, then ye betta start bring’in in ta grass clippins.”
Vencor let out sigh of frustration, “How are we supposed to do that if no one will pay humans reasonably!”
Barrick stood up, and began shooing them from his office,”Git outta er’! It ain’t me problem! Jist git da clippins, or bare ye lip ta da swamp wolves! An’ don’t come back er’ either!”
Vencor, and ----, sat in an alleyway adjacent to the town square.
“What now?” asked ----.
Vencor sighed, and looked at the sky that was oddly clear today, “I don’t know.”
“We still have the armor, we stole from my father.”
Vencor shook his head and sighed once more, “The Storm Master’s armor is worthless without the title.”
“...”
Vencor’s eyes widened at a sudden thought, suddenly everything became clear, “We could stage a rebellion!”
“What?”
“Yeah! There’s no way we could convince the others to help, but we might not have to…”
---- showed immense worry on his face, “We can’t do that! There’s no way humanity could recover from that!”
“Yeah… you’re right… We should head home. It’s getting late.”
One of my short stories.
Still getting used to this, but I guess I’ll start by posting some of my short stories. I’d post the main one, but it’s too long.
Broken Skies: Wispen
Kirk swamp is a really dark place, with tall mangroves that form a thick canopy overhead. In fact, it’s so thick that even during the day you’d be hard pressed to find the glare from the sun. Giant salamanders the size of human children drudge through the calf deep murk. Their size is unfortunate for the lost traveler because they’re the least deadly thing here. Even the trees have been known to suck the life out of you when the water level drops. In every way this place is inhospitable to foreign life, but even so I call it home.
In the morning I descend down from the tree cavity I live in, with a rope made of entwined vines. Had to de-thorn those things, they’ll make your eyes bleed. Then after sliding down twenty feet, or so, I stop by the home of one of my only friends, Burkle. He’s a canopy rat, his bite will make you delirious for about a day. I found him a few years back with a broken leg. I fed him till it healed, and he just followed me since. Unlike the other ones I’ve met, he doesn’t squeak about loudly. No, he’s really quite. I ask him how he slept, he just silently stares, like he’s saying, “The same as always.”
I climb down the rest of the way, and pat the tree, thanking it for not eating me. Such a nice tree. Once a swore I saw the leaves shake when I hugged it after a bad day. Stretching in preparation to go get some grub, the swamp birds began the great squawk. I learned the sun makes them flee into the lower canopy around this time when I climbed an unusually tall tree awhile back. The noise wakes up the salamanders, who begin the “laborious” task of scavenging for algae and carrion. I follow them sometimes to see where they go. Got my clothes from some corpse they lead me to. They use to be cautious of me, but they don’t mind anymore.
Food can be scarce. If I tried to eat one of the animals here they’d take more notice of me, so I can’t. Some travelers I overheard said that the salamanders taste like lamp oil, and vinegar though. So I usually look for edible plants. The best one is this moss with little golden flowers! It tastes great! I always spread the seeds for the plant, and eat only a portion. Have to treat the swamp properly, or you’ll have beetles in your spine. Bark bugs to be exact, they eat drifters that sleep against the trees.
Even with all the danger I still love my home. However… I would love to see more of the world. I want to meet many people! To travel free, such a lovely thought.
Caught up in my thoughts I frolicked, and strutted about for some time. Happening about I came across another friend, Scratch. Oh, mister Scratch! I have some food for you! Scratch is a Rough Wood Deer. He has antlers that make him look like a tree, and I only stand up to half his calf. I call him Scratch because he has weird scars on his sides. I pulled out some grass from my pocket. Here! He lowered his head down to look at me, turning it to its side to get a better look at me. I picked it off a swamp turtle when I cleaned its back! Go on, it tastes good! Scratch grabbed it with his prehensile tongue, then lifted his head back up. Always standing here like a statue.
What are you looking at so far away? Sigh, guess you couldn’t tell me even if you wanted to, huh. Oh well. See you later Scratch! Time to head back home, I’ve gone too deep into the swamp again.
By the time I had arrived, it was dark out. At night the trees contract their foliage, allowing the moonlight to reflect down into the swamp. Burn Beetles fly out of their holes, joyfully lighting the night with their almost glowing, palm sized bodies. They get the glow, and their name, from their acid blood. The occasional whack from a passerby’s metal stick, will show how fun that is.
Ah, there’s a new mark on Mr.Tree here. Feels shallow. Thinking nothing of it I climbed to my abode. I slept well that night. When I woke up, I stretched my arms free. Turning to my doorway I saw a child around my age standing there.
“What the hell are you doing in my house?”
“It’s cold out there.”
“So? That doesn’t sound like my problem.”
“Why are you being a yak’s ass? You were being so nice to all those animals yesterday, that I thought you might help…”
Around this time I got tired of the strange boy. Standing up, I walked toward him, and placed my hand on his chest. The brat was all flustered, saying something like why’s a girl living in a swamp? I looked him in the eyes, and said, “I don’t like people. Get out of my house.” I pushed him out the door. I’m sure he’ll be fine, had a metal stick on his side. People with those are a bit harder to kill than that. Since he clearly was following me yesterday I decided to just stay inside today.
For some time, I can’t remember how long, he climbed back up to my room every morning. I would always treat him so badly. However he always came back, then one day he didn’t come to greet me like always. It’s funny, I was so worried that day.
Where could the fly be today. He’s usually here by now. Whatever, it’s not like I care… maybe I’ll just look for him for a bit.
I climbed down the tree wandering about the swamp without direction.
“Hey fly! I’m waiting!”
“...”
“I’m completely unguarded!”
“...”
“Oh… I guess he’s gone now. It’s fine… yeah. I’ll just go visit Burkle’s house. Haven’t done that in a while.”
Even though Burkle comes to visit all the time, he doesn’t live that close. He goes through the canopy so he can get to my house pretty fast, but I have to go through this muck to get over to his. So I don’t go too often.
Burkle lives in one of those metal chests the foreigners wear. It’s covered in moss with a single yellow flower growing on top. The stem is so small it’s hard to see, and I’ve never seen it out of bloom. It probably wilts when I’m not around, there’s no way a flower can live so long.
“Ugh, the muck around your house is so much thicker! Hi Burkle! You home? Burkle~! Hmm, doesn’t seem to be around, and it took me so long to get here too!”
When I turned around I saw something I would never forget for the rest of my life. Scratch was standing there covered in wounds. His horns were broken up, and he looked straight at me. It felt so much longer than I could ever say. My friend injured without me even knowing, It hurt so much.
He rushed toward me, and reared me onto his back, and began running. I was so panicked, it felt like my heart was held back like a bowstring.
“Scratch what happened to you!? Why… why are you so hurt!? Where… what hap… happened to… to your horns”
Sobbing so loudly it echoed in the silent swamp, I hugged the back of his neck. He stopped, and nudged me slightly. His gaze at several dead people in the water being eaten by salamanders. His once mighty horns scattered as fragments in the water.
Against a tree on the far side of view was him, the boy who failed to greet me. His left arm was gone, and the metal stick usually at his side rested in the back of the corpse closest to him.
“So he was your friend, huh… It’s good he found you. You can bandage him...”
The boy became silent just like that. At first I thought he hurt Scratch, but I changed my mind when scratch kept tapping him with his hoof looking at me with a face he’s never shown. I bandaged him with plants around the area to stop the bleeding, then we took him, and his metal stick back home.
The second we got back, I sent Burkle who was nearby to get some herbs. I took an extra vine from the trunk of Mr. Tree to replace the the current bandages. We worked through the night.
As the sun rose on the most stressful night of my life so far. The boy who I had treated all night looked up at me.
“Good morning, my name’s ---- what’s yours?
All my emotions, stress, and grief came out at once as I began sobbing above him.
“Sh… shut up. No one asked.”
“Ah~, so cold. Haha… agck! You could be nicer. What’s your name?”
“Wi… Wispen.”
“How nice.”
We sat together for the rest of the day talking about trivial things. He comes from a nomad tribe. When he got separated from them he didn’t know where to go. Remembering the words of a local he entered Kirk Swamp looking for “The swamp witch” hoping she’d let him stay with her. Such a stupid idea.
“What did you eat?”
“I had some jerky, but I ran out a few days ago. On my first day here I saw a man eat a flower, and his nose exploded. Really doesn’t make you eager to eat things around here when that’s your first impression.”
“Why didn’t you ask me for food?”
“When you kept tossing me out?”
“Nevermind…”
“So… are you really The Witch of Kirk Swamp? You’re a lot nicer than they made you out to be.”
“They were probably talking about my mother…”
“Oh? Where’s she? I haven’t seen her.”
“She died…”
“Oh… I’m sorry.”
“It was a few years ago, she died fighting off a stone man.”
“A golem?”
“Is that what they’re called? I didn’t know.”
From that day on we lived together. Those were the happiest times of my life. If only time could’ve just stopped then.
Year 1017, Month 2 of the New Calendar, day 16. 1 year until the invasion of Kirk Swamp.