Category: Livejournal

Love’s Recovery
(Emily Sayers)

During the time of which I speak it was hard to turn the other cheek
To the blows of insecurity
Feeding the cancer of my intellect the blood of love soon neglected
Lay dying in the strength of its impurity
Meanwhile our friends we thought were so together
They’ve all gone and left each other in search of fairer weather
And we sit here in our storm and drink a toast
To the slim chance of love’s recovery.

There I am in younger days, star gazing,
Painting picture perfect maps of how my life and love would be
Not counting the unmarked paths of misdirection
My compass, faith in love’s perfection
I missed ten million miles of road I should have seen
Meanwhile friends we thought were so together
Left each other one by one in search of fairer weather
And we sit here and drink a toast
To the slim chance of love’s recovery.

Rain soaked and voice choked like silent screaming in a dream
I search for our absolute distinction
Not content to bow and bend
To the whims of culture that swoop like vultures
Eating us away, eating us away
Eating us away to our extinction

Oh how I wish I were a trinity, so if I lost a part of me
I’d still have two of the same to live
But nobody gets a lifetime rehearsal, as specks of dust we’re universal
To let this love survive would be the greatest gift we could give
Tell all the friends who think they’re so together
That these are ghosts and mirages, these thoughts of fairer weather
Though it’s storming out I feel safe within the arms
Of love’s discovery

I love stories. All kinds. My favorite kind of story is the “Beat the Devil” story, where the Master of Lies gets himself tricked. The reason is selfish: I live that story every day of my life.

I’ve made jokes about the difference between “John” and “The Wick.” It was something Ryan Dancey (of all people) pointed out in one of his backhanded compliment posts. It stuck. Hell, even I liked the analogy.

I’ve been doing my best to keep the Wick down in the hole, but a couple nights ago, he showed up. Big time. It was all I could do to keep him down, and I failed. He’s a scheming bastard. And he smells bad.

And so, in his spirit, there’s this from Mr. Kristofferson:

It was winter time in Nashville, down on music city row and I was looking for a place to get myself out of the cold, to warm the frozen feeling that was eating at my soul, and keep the chilly wind off my guitar; my thirsty wanted whiskey, my hungry needed beans; but it’d been a month of pay days since I’d heard that eagle
scream; so with a stomach full of empty and pocket full of dreams I left my pride and stepped inside a bar (actually I guess you’d call it a tavern). Cigarette smoke to the ceiling and sawdust on the floor.

Friendly shadows. I saw that there was just one old man sitting at the bar; and in the mirror I could see him checking me with my guitar; he turned and said “come up here boy and show us what you are”. I said “I’m dry” and he bought me a beer. He nodded at my guitar and said “It’s a tough life ain’t it?” I just looked at him and he said “You ain’t making any money, are you?” I said “You’ve been reading my mail”. He just smiled and said “Let me see that guitar: I got something you ought to hear”. Then he laid it on me…..

If you waste your time talking to the people who don’t listen
to the things that you are saying who do you think’s going to hear?
And if you should die explaining how the things that they complain about
are things they could be changing, who d’you think’s goin’ to care?

There were other lonely singers in a world turned deaf and blind who
were crucified for what they tried to show,
And their voices have been scattered by the swirling winds of time,
’cause the truth remains that no-one wants to know

Well, the old man was a stranger, but I’d heard his song before; back when failure had me locked out on the wrong side of the door; when no-one stood behind me but my shadow on the floor and lonesome was more than a state of mind. You see, the devil haunts a hungry man; if you don’t want to join him you’ve got to beat him. I ain’t sayin’ I beat the devil, but I drank his beer for nothing, and then I stole his song

And you still can hear me singing to the people who don’t listen
to the things that I am saying, praying someone’s going to hear;
And I guess I’ll die explaining how the things that they complain about
are things they could be changing, hoping someone’s goin’ to care.

I was born a lonely singer and I’m bound to die the same
But I’ve got to feed the hunger in my soul;
And if I never have a nickel I won’t ever die ashamed
’cause I don’t believe that no-one wants to know

(Actually, it’s my second day, but who’s counting?)

It’s a blast. I’m thinking about new mini-games for the kids to play, going over the Neopedia, looking at their world from a world designer’s point of view, making suggestions, and having people listen to me.

Wow. Dream job.

Also, I’m dropping out of my Thursday game. It’s infuriating and frustrating, and I’m beginning to associate those emotions with my friends. That’s not right. So, I’m dropping out before it becomes an issue.

Wow. Work is fun and my hobby is infuriating. When does that happen? 😉

THURSDAY
Played the NECROPOLIS game. Made a new character to better fit the setting/style. When we came across people who “detected evil,” I was the first one to throw down. Threw swords, to be exact (nice little Feat, that Throw Anything). The Soliloquator said, “Looks like our new friend forgot to take the Plays Well with Others Feat. This from the guy who set up a magic house outside the town we were visiting (while we were trying to remain inconspicuous); he also was the reason our GM thought we were charging into an ambush (“We’re all butch. What could they do to us?). Plays well with others, indeed. Anyway, we survived, and everyone said how much fun it was to kick ass. Guess D&D also causes short-term memory loss. I’m not long for the NECROPOLIS game.

FRIDAY
NPC’d at the local Sabbat Cam game, playing an 8th gen Lasombra. A change of pace from my two neonates. Lots of ritual and pageantry. Had fun. Thinking about playing there as a PC.

SATURDAY
The Winter Court. Didn’t get to do any of the three things I planned to do (including a real scene-stealer I’ll have to put off ’till later). Met a gaggle of Tremere, got offers to learn a whole bunch of skills, and… well, that’ll have to wait until the Anathema game. Brought along four friends who never played in a Cam game before. They kicked ass.

Winter Court was a blast. Big props to everyone who helped put it on. I hope my buddies are eager to join up and play. I’ll be picking up my Nosferatu for the next few games. Some people have already met Marcus. You won’t recognize him when you meet him again. And, with any luck, you won’t recognize me, either. 🙂

SUNDAY
Mortals game; NPC’d for Ree. Had a lot of fun. The OC was telling me he wanted to run a mortals game. Think this opens the gate for that venue. Lots of people coming in thinking, “What’s to do?” and a lot of people walking away thinking, “When do we play again?” Good game.

MONDAY
Tomorrow morning, start the new job over at www.neopets.com. Yeah. Me at Neopets. Got to make sure The Wick doesn’t show up.

Great games, everybody.

I play in a regular game group on Thursdays. We play every kind of game imaginable. For the large part, I enjoy my Thursdays (although, right now, I’m trying to get my narrativist head to fit in the gamist box that is Dungeons & Dragons). Still, I like my friends, we talk, we eat, we play games. Fun.

I also run an L5R game on Saturdays. The combination of players, GM, system, and setting are making for one of the most… well, magical gaming experiences of my life.

So…

I was just wondering…

Why in the hell do I put up with the petty politics of the Camarilla, when my other gaming experiences are filling my gaming needs just fine?

Grr….
(I’m not half-joking. Only one-third joking. Maybe one-fourth. But still…) 😉

Frank Miller is God. Okay, maybe not. But when God hears Miller’s name, He pisses His pants and asks, “He’s not here, is he?”

So, when Trekhead and I went to see Daredevil last night, and the Elektra/Bullseye fight came up, I knew I was either gonna get sold, or I was gonna get up and walk. The movie had been uninspiring up to that moment. There were a couple of good things, but the voice-over was terrible, the fight scenes ill-lit and poorly edited, and the dialogue generally drab.

But here it is. Electra vs. Bullseye.

As a comic book reader, nothing hit me like that scene. Nothing. Not Jean Gray, not Jason Todd, not Gwen Stacey. Nothing.

The scene begins. And it isn’t like the other fight scenes. There’s no wire work. It’s short. It’s brutal. Miller’s scene comes to mind. In the comic world, where all my friends were reading X-Men, reading Claremont’s fancy girly soap opera plots and Byrne’s picture perfect pencils, everything was beautiful and perfect. Frank Miller’s art was blocky and ugly. His dialogue wasn’t off the TV, it was off the street. The movie I was watching suddenly changed. Transformed before my eyes. No wires. No CGI. Blood. Lots of blood.

I can feel the scene. I feel the energy of it building in my gut. I feel the audience around me, a quiet disconcerting energy. Something’s wrong, and they know it.

And then — Electra’s down. Hard. Pushing herself back up through the pain. And Bullseye’s right there. “You’re good, babe,” he says.

And I’m sitting right next to Trekhead, saying the words as Bullseye does.

“But me? I’m magic.”

The next ten seconds hurt. So much, the girl sitting right behind me, who’s been kicking my chair and chatting with her friend all through the movie, she’s dead silent and still in her chair. She can’t move. I can hear her breath. And when the moment comes, she gasps, just like the rest of the audience. Disbelief. Pain. Catharsis.

The scene is awful. Pitiful. Powerful. Just two minutes, and those two minutes were pulled straight from Miller’s pen. They are the most powerful two minutes I’ve seen in a “comic book film.” I didn’t feel it when Peter’s Uncle Ben died. I didn’t feel it at all in X-Men. From what I’ve seen, I don’t want to see The Hulk.

But Electra died. And the people around me felt it. So did I. The second time.

And it still hurt. Like a sai through the heart.

There’s a new RUSH CD in stores. It’s called “The Spirit of Radio” and it contains a bonus DVD of material.

“Well,” says I, a RUSH fan of no small degree, “It must be mine!”

I knew I already had access to all the tracks on the album. I knew it was another attempt from Mercury records to milk all the money they could out of RUSH fans. But, the CD was cheap and it had a DVD of bonus materials.

Yes, indeed it did.

The DVD is an advertisement for RUSH: CHRONICLES, the DVD many RUSH fans already own. It contains videos for Closer to the Heart, Tom Sawyer, Subdivisions, and Mystic Rhythms. In other words, if you already have CHRONICLES, you already have everything that’s on the DVD.

DO NOT – I REPEAT – DO NOT BUY THIS NEW CD. YOU ALREADY OWN EVERYTHING THAT’S ON IT.

(On the other hand, if you want to give it as a gift to a non-RUSH fan, to show them what’s up, it does have some tasty tracks on it. Some of the boys’ more “radio friendly” stuff.)

RUSH fans, I have suffered for your sins.
And there is no return policy on CDs.

A British TV series from the ’70’s. Given to me to watch by my buddy Cassius Vispania. Great show.

I just finished the first season, got to the climax. It was the only way it could go, but the inevitability of it made the show. I knew what was going to happen. It didn’t make the ending any less stunning. Greek drama is like that. Lucas could have given us that, but he isn’t sophisticated enough to understand it. Or, he’s too wrapped up in the visuals to pay any attention to the story. Or, he’s been surrounded by Yes-Men for so long, his judgement has been permanently damaged.

Either way, Lucas could learn a lot from watching The Sandbaggers. I did.

So, it looks like Gen-Con: West (otherwise known as “Gen-Con: Matt’s House”) will be held here in Southern California, not more than a half hour drive from where I live, not 5 minutes from where Speaks-With-Diaphram makes his residence.

As it turns out, the dates are December 10-14.
My birthday is December 10th.
“Gen-Con: John’s Birthday.”
Happy birthday to me!

(I just wrote this over at rpg.net. Someone was asking about an occult background for Los Angeles. So, on the spur of the moment, I wrote this…)

If you walk down Hollywood Boulevard, you will see the names of the dead, written in the streets (as the Kinks song says). So many famous people die in Los Angeles, and none of them can leave, because they are trapped here. Their names are carved in the very stone of the city.

Just last week, I was at Johnny Depp’s club, the Viper Room. The place River Phoenix died. He stumbled out the back door (I walked through it), fell down on the sidewalk (I stood where he fell), and his heart stopped (I stooped and touched the stones).

It was a warm night. The stones were cold.

It is a land where no one ever ages. Everyone is young and immortal. And weeping behind smiles.
This city is a god. A hungry god that makes bargains no-one should make with their eyes dazzled and half-closed. Souls are a dime a dozen. It isn’t looking for souls. Those with their names in the street made bargains with this city, sacrificed their names, families, and faces. The city took their sacrifices and gave them what they wanted.

It is a hungry city. A hungry god. One of the newest ones, young, and looking for those who will give unto it.

Welcome to Los Angeles. I love it here. And I’m never gonna leave.