http://search.deviantart.com/?q=by:The-Chosen-Millenium&section=today deviantART RSS for by:The-Chosen-Millenium en-us Copyright 2009, deviantART.com Thu, 17 Dec 2009 15:09:31 PST deviantART.com http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss http://s.deviantart.com/minish/widgets/apple-touch-icon-precomposed.png http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/28729957/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/28729957/ Thu, 03 Dec 2009 14:46:52 PST
We’ve all been going about this all wrong.

There is no such thing as The Great American Novel. No one has achieved riches from one idea. We – you, I, your friends, and everyone around you – have been going about this all wrong.

Myself and Q, we discovered this Great Truth whilst discussing the future of our lives: It’s not about the destination, but our focus ON it. So many of us, myself included, assume that, with one brilliant idea, with one unique talent, can achieve fame and fortune; that we can give up our nine-to-five lives and lounge upon waters of lenient indolence, if only we could write that one great novel; IF ONLY we could create that one amazing film.

To quote Tyler Durden, we’ve been raised to believe that one day we’ll all become Rock Gods and Movie Stars, but that’s IF ONLY we create that ONE GREAT SONG; if only we could BLANK that one BLANK BLANK.

But we won’t, will we? We’ll never be able to achieve emancipation from daily lives; we’ll never be idolized through marble statues or given granite stars. You and I, like our fathers and our father’s fathers, will simply whither and die in shadowed-obscurity.

I discussed this in great length with a very good friend of mine, whilst bemoaning the state of our lives. It was discovered, through great debating, that it was not WE who were to blame, but how we FOCUSED ourselves. Like so many billions of individuals, we sought out RICHES and FAME, refusing to consider the WORK and SACRIFICE required for achieving those ends. We never once figured in FAILURE; we never asked ourselves if what we were doing was worth no one caring for; we never asked if we would continue sacrificing our free-time, our sleep, our SANITY, to achieve.

Everyone wants to be rich; everyone wants to be famous; very few of us want to WORK.

But therein lay the rub: To be rich and famous, you have to WORK for it; to be successful, you have to give more effort than you EVER could to just survive.

Every day, you are bestowed twenty-four hours; every week, you are gifted one hundred sixty-eight hours. Still, the majority of us will only spend forty ours of those weeks working and fifty-six of them sleeping; the rest of those hours will be spent in front of the television or accomplishing menial tasks. No one, not a one of us, will be willing to sacrifice that last forty-two hours we are provided towards achieving ANY of our goals, no matter how menial OR lofty they may be.

This is, and even *I* am willing to admit this right-out, because we are too focused on the DESTINATION and NOT the journey.

We all want to be Rock Stars, but how many of us are willing to put forth the HOURS of practice required to master an instrument; how many of us are able to compose a song or devote any of our ever-so-valued free-time towards finding a band to join or exposing ourselves to an audience-at-large, without considering the POSSIBILITY that no one would ever care to listen to us? How many of us would-be-writers will *ever* devote ourselves to putting down our sewing needles and putting our calloused fingers to the keyboard; how many would put our thoughts onto paper and type them out and not CARE if anyone else liked what we wrote?

How often do we hear the successful complain about what they do? How many of the Starving Artists go to work smiling along the way? Who is the more successful: The person who hates what they’re good at, or he who is terrible at what he loves?

Not all of us are made to be writers, despite how EASY it may look; only a few of us can be movie stars, regardless of the glamour they produce. This is because, and I say this with a heavy heart, that it takes more WORK to become RICH and FAMOUS than it does to be MEDIOCRE and UNKNOWN.

But therein lay the rub: We ALL own stories that, we feel, are worth telling; we ALL have something we LOVE to do, with our talents being incidental in the overall scheme. The difference between we who WANT to do them and those who are SUCCESSFUL is that THEY do it REGARDLESS of whether they will become rich and/or successful for it. Those who are most joyous do what they do BECAUSE they enjoy DOING it and NOT because they stand to gain FAME or RICHES from it. For the creators of Penny Arcade and for writers like Steven Spielberg, they became successful AFTER THE FACT; they achieved success REGARDLESS of their goals. Spielberg’s goal was not opulence, but to get his work PUBLISHED; success, overall, was a side-effect of his novels being well-written and excellently-executed. J.K. Rowling wrote “Harry Potter” NOT to be famous, but because, she felt, her story NEEDED to be wrote; the success and fortunes PROCEEDED from the excellence of her writing style.

I wonder, though, out of those few who grace our newspapers and adorn our bookshelves,... ]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/26197249/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/26197249/ Sun, 26 Jul 2009 19:07:49 PDT
I've never believed in Fate. Destiny is the illusion of Retrospect: The trick of looking at things as they are now, and, through hind-site, experiencing the events as a preplanned narrative; forgetting the paths we could have taken and the choices we decided against.

The things we do set-up the changes we will experience down the line; the Outcome is determined not by Divinity, but by Decisions. If you push one domino against another, in all likelihood it will cause the entire line to fall. But there is nothing that says that you *have* to knock them over; there is nothing that says you can’t stop the chain of Effect.

The dominoes fall because of a conscious decision to push them and the resulting outcome of collapse, and not because they were destined to do so.

But face it: dominoes are no fun if left to gather dust. While there is always a choice, some choices are just more fun than others.

All you need is one little push . . .

And everything starts falling into place.

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/25706906/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/25706906/ Fri, 03 Jul 2009 00:29:22 PDT
If not for the situation behind the Situation, I wouldn’t be so upside-down. But when you waste half a day, waiting in line for new identification, only to get a call from your supervisor fifteen seconds before your turn is a fantastic indication of a terrible situation.

Ominous waves cascaded over me the instant I walked into the building. His office looked like something out of The Sting, with desks cobbled together with balsa and the carpets freshly stripped. It was Fannie Mae, right until the bailout check cleared. I felt like I should have brought a case of money and a safe place to stash The Goods, instead of . . . well, cupcakes, I guess. Or booze. Cupcakes and/or booze. “If you’re going to go out, go out right.”

Turns out, all the haggling and snaggling to get me into this position Right Away, was for naught: the heads of the contract, the Parent Company, had altered the Scenario. All the requirements that I had met previously were no longer the requirements, and all the skills and abilities I had honed were no longer sufficient for what could and would be considered a mindless Monkey Job.

He offered only scare eye-contact and only the barest of improvised lip service. I knew I was being lied to, at a base level. It wasn’t that I wasn’t qualified. It was that the Parent Company, the Great Contract Owners, had a straggler or two left over. And, with no place to seat them, they decided to throw me under the bus. After all, I hadn’t even been with them for two hours. Where was the harm?

So there I was, out in the cold without so much as a loincloth for protection. I should have been incensed. I would have been, too, had the same maneuver been pulled by *my* company several months earlier, for *my* benefit. But that’s what you get when you’ve situated yourself as a cog in the Military Fascist Device: In the jungle of Military Contracts, it’s every man for himself.

It's been a fancy ride up until now: Smells and sights and the occasional color. I’m unemployed now; unemployed, hopefully, for the time being. I had a job for almost two hours, if it's anything (which, incidentally, it's not). Now I have all the time to accomplish all the nothings I'd been missing these past two years.

Unfortunately, my budget no longer provides me a buffer for the slacking I'd really like to do. A long-planned Florida vacation bled me nearly-clean. Living beyond my means, assuming that I'd have the means to live when I returned, is the first and worst way to die. Nothing is guaranteed, not even a Guarantee. Mussolini taught us that, right before Patton drove into his palace, offering free colonoscopies. Sometimes you have to relearn the Hard Lessons the Hard Way, all over again.

Riding the pendulum all the way around, but, for some reason, my Spider Senses are quiet. Like none of this is happening; like I'm not even here. It's possible that the Cosmic Me knows something that I don't. It's a greater likelihood that it hasn't sunk in.

Then again, I've been nose-deep in five kinds of sugar. Baking is my Zen Garden. Nothing relaxes me like baking. Cookies. Cakes. Nuns. Politicians. If it can go in an oven, I can make it; and if I can’t make it, I can ruin it in a brilliant and unrecognizable fashion. When you’re buried inside a Box of Calm, there’re very few items than can break through. Possible eviction? Destitution? Resorting to prostitution to make ends’ meat? These are not among those. Don’t even register. Not even a dent.

The tunnel has a light at the end of it, if it’s any consolation. I’m meeting a job contact for coffee and conversation in the Too Early of tomorrow. It’s a candle, but it’s a light. All it needs is a little gasoline and a gentle breeze.

Coffee and cigarettes and mild delusions: Thursdays have a subconscious appeal in this sense. If not, well, I guess I’ll have enough time to finish those cannolis.

Thursday will tell.

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/24520659/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/24520659/ Thu, 30 Apr 2009 19:39:16 PDT
Ti~~~~~red.

Sleep-depravation. Mental faculties taxed. Weary. Too much on my mind. Too many thoughts clamoring at once – choking the synaptic pathways. Am I finding all the wrong “Whys,” or am I asking all the wrong questions?

Bed – mm, so cozy. No sleep for the wicked, though. It’s the march into May for me, and I’ve miles to go before I sleep. So I’ll endlessly stream my consciousness until I get to where I need to be.

I’ll close my eyes for another minute: There, I see a smile. The smile warms me; the smile cures. A Cheshire Cat grin with a Madame Curie glow. It’s warm under the blankets; cozy behind the eyelids. So hard to let them go. So hard to leave that smile.

Rain gathers and readies itself for the fall. I rise and ready myself for the drive.

It’s going to be another Thursday.

. . . Aw, fuck it! [smashes alarm clock and goes back to sleep]


* * * * *


It's when you can't have something that you *re~~ally* want it.

Right now I'd murder a small bus load of clowns for a cigarette. But I can't, because this damndable canker sore hurts like S&M and smoking will only exacerbate it (that and a few other reasons pertaining to exercising and gasping like a beached trout when I'm doing it). Which is tragic, because the nicotine numbs the pain.

Short-term misery versus long-term relief.

I think I'll get a drink instead.


* * * * *


I've been obsessing about a few things these past couple days. Well, really just one or two things, but they seem fairly obsessable. Thing is, I hate obsessing. Obsession leads to exaggerating the situation, which prompts desperation, and ends with exhasperation followed closely by excommunication. I tred a tricky track. Must not let go to the railing of common sense.

All will work out in the end. Whether or not they work out like I'd want them to is another matter, which requires vigilance and visualization. I remain hopeful -- I haven't been given much to worry over yet.

[raises drink] Here's hoping for the Best-Case Scenario. If not that, then at least the Best-for-Me Results.

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/24454566/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/24454566/ Sun, 26 Apr 2009 21:58:00 PDT
You’ll never guess who got back in touch with me?

That’s right. The Hurricane herself! After a two year hiatus abroad, ravaging coastlines unseen, she’s swept back into my Doppler Field – no alarm, no warning, not even so much as a darkening of the clouds – with a bit of her wind taken out of her blow but still no less frothing. Could it be that she’s been downgraded to Tropical Storm? Or is there more to her than meets the eye? What dark motives does she have? What secrets does she hide? And who is that intimidating midget lurking in the shadows? Tune in next week for the next exciting episode of Atomic Ex-Girlfriends from Behind the Iron Curtain!

Is it a trend? I think this could be a trend. This is becoming a trend. No, scratch all that, this is a trend. A trend, a pattern; clues at the scene of a soon-to-be crime. Ever since Redhead McCrazyton moved away, I’ve been tossed into Plot Twist after soap opera-ish Plot Twist. Twosomes; threesomes; eightsomes; a Noah’s Ark of womanly degenerate possibilities. And NOW! . . . This makes the THIRD ex-girl who has wafted back into my life in as many days! Seriously, it’s some kind of wave! “Dear Penthouse, I thought these things only happened in magazines, but never did I think it’d happen to me” scenarios dance in my head. Oh, it’s almost too much for one libido to handle – I may need to outsource this to some Asian lesbians.

Of course, I’m exaggerating the whole situation. Proportions are being blown left and right. For all I know, she could be IMing me out of some bizarre sense of priority. Unfinished Business, if you may. (Thankfully, the other Sequels have been . . . well, I don’t know about the rest of the audience, but *I’m* certainly enjoying these rethreading of old stories (provided, of course, they have better endings this time around. But I digress.))

Still, I’m reminded of an old proverb: “You can't do anything to make her want to come back. But somehow they know not to come back until you really forget. That is the rub.” She was the one who *really* hurt. She was my Charlie Nicholes (see “High Fidelity” for reference). When she left, I would’ve bitch-slapped the Pope (John Paul, not Captain Nazi-Pope) to get her back. I got over that, eventually. Then, eventually, I forgot why I wanted her back to begin with. Then, I forgot her, period.

And she knew to come back.

If the past is prologue, then I wonder what story these events are setting me up for.

Grab some popcorn and hurry on back. You’ll miss the best part.

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/23804434/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/23804434/ Fri, 20 Mar 2009 20:59:24 PDT
It’s been a busy week. Summary and summations and silly straws for everyone!

I’m a Pseudo-Uncle Today! A friend of mine just had his first child – Claire; 9lbs of Going-to-be-Socially-Awkward-ness. I got the call at 3am that the wifey had gone into labor; got a text at around 9am, trumpeting the triumphant arrival of the newest member of the Rank and File.

This comes on top of a fairly successful Saint Patrick’s Day. The poor boy and his very pregnant wife played chauffer to myself and my ne’er-to-well drunkard of a friend, The Beard. He and I, claiming “car trouble” had managed to cajole my ex-roommate into dropping us off at The Dublin Pub, wherein we drowned ourselves in Irish Car Bombs and Guinness and other such delicious drinks. It was a fantastic evening, marred slightly by our irritated observation of the distressing Hot Chicks to Ugly Dudes ratio (made more so distressing by the Hot Chicks *with* Ugly Dudes ratio. No exaggeration, we spied a man gargantuan enough to fit two girls into his pants with room to spare, *with* two girls who *were* trying to get into his pants. Dayton, where be thy standards?) Chatted with an old friend, ran into an old acquaintance, tore down the bar and lit the night on fire.

Of course, Beard, drinking three beers to my one, was ever the incontinent, but in a comical way – anything and everything we said was perceived as the funniest thing he’d ever heard, and he had become possessed by a Savant Obsession with hamburgers (ah~ drunken cravings, *there* be thy sting). My friend (now father to my pseudo-niece) took it all in good humor; his wife, on the other hand, maintained the patience of an exhausted woman who carrying a bowling ball strapped to her waist and had to endure a two hour drive with her husband’s drunken and hungry friends (“Officials were amazed at the amount of blood at the scene of the crime.”

Thankfully, I had a moment of foresight, and, at the last minute, managed to get Saint Hangover’s Day off. A fortuitous move on my part, considering I didn’t see the other side of my sheets until 5am. My luck continued to hold out – thanks to past experiences, I’d properly hydrated/drugged myself before bed, thus dodging the Hangover Bullet by mere inches (I was grazed, but unscathed).

In the car department, however, I’ve been less fortunate. The Beretta, while loyal and capable – having recovered from its Near Death Experience a few days ago – is well on its way to The Pasture. My newest car, similarly, is having some issues with its Air Intake Valve. Thankfully I have the kindness of friends to lean upon, and have been able to procure a Loaner Car while The Mean Green Machine is being hammered. Would have liked to patch up Baby, but, with Student Loans and other sundry bills chewing away at my hard-earned Surplus, the immediate short-term costs supersede the long-term benefits. A pity – it’s always done well by me, despite all the abuse I’ve forced it to endure. Though there’s little left to the old girl, she was, and still is, a good car. But far be it for me to get sentimental over an inanimate object. Maybe I’ll get lucky and Greeny will be a Lower Maintenance kinda girl. A cheapskate can hope.

My legs are going numb from blood-loss, and my stomach echoes like a cavern. Some cheeseburgers and a walk through the city may be in order. I think I shall take my exercise.

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/23531257/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/23531257/ Wed, 04 Mar 2009 19:55:42 PST
Progress! Forward momentum! Mmm, and mozzarella sticks, too. ^__^

The thing with chasing your dreams is that sometimes they’re faster than you are. The big dreams, especially. They love to hide behind the television and inside the refrigerator, or disguise themselves and go to parties.

Hence the need for cheap tricks and sorcery.

I find that a good slip-noose works well; Reese’s Pieces under a rigged box has intermittent success. However, for the best results, isolate yourself in a locked room, separated from the world, with only a stack of punk albums and beer for company. Dreams will eventually wear themselves out and give in within a short time period. Provided, of course, you don’t go mad in the process. But what’s a little madness between friends. [tweaked chuckle]

The job hunt goes. How well it’s going is a matter of perspective, but at least it’s going. I had a good nibble for a while, but I fear the goblins or the Swedes got to them before I could. Contract Jobs can be so fickle and legless.

My Acme Rocket is still holding together. It's minus one windshield wiper and bleeding out of its ass like Mother Theresa with hemorrhoids made of razor blades, though. Getting her started requires at least one virgin sacrifice a day. But she’s still driving. Gate Guard at the base have inadvertently made her drive far more taxing – douche with an M-4 said that if I drove my poor li’l Rad Mobile to his station again, he’d call the Proper Cops on me. Dumbass. A base twice the size of Fairborn and with more holes than the plot to League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, I’d like to see him try and keep me out.

Still can’t believe it’s been two months since Joe and The Bitch vacated. Bills are arduous, and I just realized that I need to pay my rent, but the opportunity to waltz naked through my living room and *not* sleep in a bed covered in cat hairs is well worth the exorbitant price. Still, days like today, it would be nice to have someone a little *fairer* waiting for me; someone similarly naked would be preferable, but I’m not known to be picky.

Mmm, thin mints: I crave them, I have them; so, if you’ll excuse me, I think I shall partake in them. Good night (for some -- and you know who you are -- greater night than others. )

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/23453286/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/23453286/ Sat, 28 Feb 2009 15:05:42 PST
First off, my hats off to anyone who can handle web comics with any steady regularity *and* maintain a regular 9-5 job, all while juggling the every-day hoopla that comes along.

Secondly, as you can probably tell, Poorly Drawn is still in its experimental stages. I've always fancied myself a writer more than an artist, and I think the reasons become fairly clear in the final product. Balancing layout vs practicality, digital editing vs hand-editing, what I *want* the comic to be vs what I can accomplish with my limited talents . . . it's all about finding that happy medium that you can work with. It doesn't help much that I don't have any true talent; nor does my own in-grained laziness benefit me in my processes.

Whether this comic is any good, well, that all hinges on the opinions of the audience itself. I can't lie, though, I am getting immense joy from the creative process. With luck, the quality will improve as I go along. With luck, PD&Q can become something . . . entertaining, I think is the word I'm looking for.

For now, this will do as it is: The Great Experiment; the journey into Unfamiliar Waters.

I think I'm ready.

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/23280098/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/23280098/ Wed, 18 Feb 2009 21:26:43 PST
]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/23240816/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/23240816/ Mon, 16 Feb 2009 17:45:28 PST
Playlist of the Now:

Cake - Sad Songs and Waltzes
Bill Withers - Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone
Belle and Sebastian - Beautiful
Chris Isaac - Wicked Games
Freddy Fender - My Happiness
Jefferson Starship - Jane
Cake - Mexico
Al Green - Love and Happiness
Elliott Smith - Hapiness
Dashboard Confessional - This Bitter Pill
Elton John - I Want Love

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/21205191/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/21205191/ Tue, 28 Oct 2008 16:25:52 PDT
Yay! I have a new scanner! And it only took three frikin' tries.

Time to get back to work.

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/20296759/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/20296759/ Tue, 02 Sep 2008 18:54:16 PDT
Got my Security+ Certification today. Fun little escapade. Was supposed to test at 9am. Showed up, only to be told, to my surprise, that I was *not* on the list to test. More to the point, I didn't even have a name in their database. Ignoring, of course, the $300 I paid in advance to take the damndable thing.

But violent outbursts and destructive litigations were abated by a simple call and an extra half hour of haggling. Apparently I was in a *different* system; a fact that evaded *both* myself and the desk-girl. Comedy ensues; audiences laugh. Drum rolls all around.

The test itself was something I'd been preparing for since June. Co-workers who'd passed the test provided me practice test material whose questions mirrored the test almost to the letter. And I'd made sure to study every letter and facet of that practice test.

. . . Except for Section D. For some reason, I always found a reason to jump over that section. Sometimes intentionally; sometimes unintentionally. And those few instances I did review it, the results were . . . low. Very, very low.

Spoiling the punchline, the test I took was almost explicitely Section D. Found this out five questions in. It was doom and dread for a good twenty more questions before I reached familiar coastlines.

Yes, it was a hairy situation. But, like any good Sicilian, I b.s.'ed my way through defeat and pulled a victory from my ass.

So I'm finally Security+ Certified. Which means a whole 25-cent raise. Woo hoo! [goes to high five someone, only to realize nobody's there]

Not the most exciting thing that's happened this weekend. Not even remotely. But it's the one that doesn't require a round of tequillas. . . . Well, it kinda does. But for *good* reasons. ^__^

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/20086786/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/20086786/ Thu, 21 Aug 2008 22:04:38 PDT
Iz mai B-Day!!! w00t!!!

Well, technically YESTERDAY was my B-Day (what with it being 1am now). But it's not a new day until you fall asleep, so it still counts.

And now I have to go to bed; because my birthday isn't a nationally-recognized holiday . . . yet. ^__^

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/19886067/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/19886067/ Sun, 10 Aug 2008 20:35:16 PDT
I'm baking cannolis. Who wants some? ^__^

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/19854421/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/19854421/ Fri, 08 Aug 2008 23:04:57 PDT
I don't have the answers. But the fact that I'm finally asking the questions is a good sign. Right?

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/19835216/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/19835216/ Thu, 07 Aug 2008 21:06:20 PDT
I like jobs. I like the sounds they make when they're pulled out from under me.

I knew the risks when I went into the wild world of Contractor. I knew that my desk was only as permenant as the contract -- once it expired, I was gone. But I was always led to believe that it was transitional. That it was like moving carpet: you were out long enough to slide the new one in. From my other friends -- all whom fly on hang-gliders made of contracts -- I got the impression that, as long as you weren't the office hunchback, you were almost guaranteed to be absorbed into the new collective.

Four months ago, I had the carpet pulled out from under me. It wasn't like it was a sudden-ordeal. I knew, going into the mess, that everything was under contention; that there was no guarantee that our company was going to get the new contract. But, again, I reclined back in my chair with all the ease of a home-owner waiting for the new carpet to arrive.

Only the carpet didn't come. It wasn't a temporary deal, and I was out.

Luckily my company had a contract closer-by. Same job. Same pay. More people. Less sleep. Still better than nothing.

Still the same mess.

The contract expires in November. As it stands, it doesn't look like there's going to be any new carpet coming in here, either.

[sigh]

Guess now's as good a time to do something.

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/19798980/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/19798980/ Tue, 05 Aug 2008 21:47:50 PDT

[] I am shorter than 5'4.
[x] I think I'm ugly sometimes.
[] I have many scars.
[x] I tan easily.
[] I wish my hair was a different color. - And thus I highlight it
[] I have friends who have never seen my natural hair color.
[] I have a tattoo. --(not yet, anyways)
[x] I am self-conscious about my appearance.
[x] I have/I've had braces.
[] I wear glasses.--(I upgraded to contacts)
[] I would get plastic surgery if it were 100% safe, free of cost, and scar-free.
[x] I've been told I'm attractive by a complete stranger.
[] I have more than 2 piercings.
[] I have piercing in places besides my ears.
[] I have freckles.
[] I hate my dad.
[x] I hate my mom. --(biological, not step)
[x] I have a brother.
[x] I have a sister. (plural)
[x] I've sworn at my parents
[] I've run away from home.
[] I've been kicked out of the house.
[] My biological parents are together.
[] I have a sibling less than one year old.
[x] I want to have kids someday.
[] I've had children.
[] I've lost a child.
[] I'm in school.
[x] I have a job.
[x] I've fallen asleep at work/school.
[] I almost always do my homework. --(well, *almost* always did)
[x] I've missed a week or more of school. --(when I was in school)
[] I've been on the Honor Roll within the last 2 years.
[] I failed more than 1 class last year.
[x] I've stolen something from my job.
[x] I've been fired.
[x] I've slipped out an "lol" in a spoken conversation. --(it’s sad, but true)
[] Disney movies still make me cry.
[] I've peed from laughing.
[x] I've snorted while laughing. --(but it was a manly snort)
[x] I've laughed so hard I've cried.
[x] I've glued my hand to something.
[x] I've had my pants rip in public.
[] I was born with a disease/impairment.
[x] I've gotten stitches/staples.
[] I've broken a bone.
[x] I've had my tonsils removed
[] I've sat in a doctor’s office/emergency room with a friend.
[] I've had my wisdom teeth removed.
[] I had a serious surgery.
[x] I've had chicken pox.
[] I was born in a different country.
[x] I've driven over 200 miles in one day.
[x] I've been on a plane.
[] I've been to Canada.
[] I've been to Mexico.
[] I've been to Niagara Falls.
[] I've been to Japan.
[] I've celebrated Mardi Gras in New Orleans.
[] I've been to Europe.
[] I've been to Africa.
[x] I've gotten lost in my city
[x] I've seen a shooting star --(the advantages of being a night-runner.)
[x] I've wished on a shooting star.
[] I've seen a meteor shower
[x] I've gone out in public in my pajamas.
[x] I've pushed all the buttons on an elevator.
[x] I've kicked a guy where it hurts. --(punched, but the principle’s the same)
[x] I've been to a casino. --(and lost it all)
[] I've been skydiving.
[] I've gone skinny dipping.
[x] I've played spin the bottle.
[] I've drank a whole gallon of milk in one hour.
[x] I've crashed a car.
[] I've been Skiing.
[x] I've been in a play. --(12th Night and MacBeth)
[x] I've met someone in person from myspace.
[x] I've caught a snowflake on my tongue.
[] I've seen the Northern lights.
[x] I've sat on a roof top at night.
[] I've played chicken.
[x] I've played a prank on someone.
[x] I've ridden in a taxi.
[x] I've seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
[x] I've eaten sushi.
[] I've been snowboarding.
[x] I'm single.
[] I'm in a relationship.
[] I'm engaged.
[] I'm married.
[x] I've gone on a blind date.
[x] I've been the dumpee more than the dumper. --(sniffle-sob)
[x] I miss someone right now.
[x] I have a fear of abandonment.
[] I've gotten divorced.
[x] I've had feelings for someone who didn't have them back.
[x] I've told someone I loved them when I didn't.
[x] I've told someone I didn't love them when I did.
[x] I've kept something from a past relationship.
[] I've had a crush on someone of the same sex.
[] I'm bi.
[] I'm gay.
[x] I've had sex.
[x] I've had phone sex.
[x] I've cybered.
[x] I've had sex in public. --(technically)
[x] I've had a crush on a teacher.
[x] I am a cuddler
[x] I've been kissed in the rain.
[x] I've hugged a stranger.
[x] I have kissed a stranger
[x] I've done something I promised someone else I wouldn't.
[x] I've done something I promised myself I wouldn't.
[x] I've snuck out of my house.
[x] I have lied to my parents about where I am.
[x] I am keeping a secret from the... ]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/19580966/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/19580966/ Thu, 24 Jul 2008 21:40:56 PDT
So this is where the high ends and the low begins. The point where the drunken daze gives in to the low, dark, unwholesomeness of night. Jack doesn’t want to be here anymore. Don’t have the testicles to give Am a try. Don’t know anyone that would let me have it. No one nearby, anyways. Al wants to play some more, but I have work in the morning. Al’s not a friend to anyone without a couple glasses of water and some Tylonol as a buffer.

Hunter S. tells it all, and he tells it truthfully. Fear and Loathing – not the way I want to be at almost 11pm. Too early to bring the hammer down. I’m at a point where “—In Las Vegas” is coming off as normal-reality. I’m not even paying attention to what I’m writing. Del Toro: he does a great job, playing the part. But I bet it’s not as un-real as reality may have been, if you were there.

No one knows what I’m talking about. They’re not at the level I’m at right now. Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m talking about right now. But that’s the beauty of it – writing what you don’t know what you’re talking about. “Too weird to live; too rare to die.” I wonder what Hunter S. would have to say, seeing me the way I am right now. He’d probably slip something into my drink and call me “ussy” for not being able to handle my Al, knowing full-well that there was more to the drink than Jack and Coke. And I’d believe him, because I’m a naïve drunk.

I should probably be more straight-forward. The audience doesn’t notice subtle-ty, even when it shanks them in the liver and tells the Warden that they’ve had it comin’. Too used to being spoon-fed. Should stop tryin’ to read what I’m readin’. Write and be-written. Gonzo-style. Need somethin’ harder than Jack and Captain. Want somethin’ harder. But my source is an hour away; two-hours and more, if you include the time it takes for him to get away from his obligations to the bitch called Capitalism. Want Ambian. Want something hard. Only have Jack and Coke, and right now – now being 11pm – that’s too little, too early.

Stop looking back, I yell at myself – berating myself for looking back at everything I’ve written so far. Trying to make sense of a drunken stupor while you’re in a drunken stupor is like trying to make sense of dying when you’re bleeding out. Stop now, before they realize you’re being honest instead of being profound.

A call! Are they onto me? Should I pick it up?

No. Don’t do it. It’s Homeland Security. They smelled Daniels on you. They hear you enjoying yourself. Fun goes against the Five-Year Plan. Don’t answer. That’s like admitting you’re guilty.

I answer.

“We’re dealing with vibrations right now. Are we in the same fucking car right now.”

God, why I am still writing this? Everyone wants to talk to me, but I just want to not talk to anyone. It’s almost one-a-em, now. God, who did I just get off the phone with? What did I tell them? Will it even make the 7-a-em, or will it get brushed off into the Ticker at the bottom of the screen? I wanted to not-talk to anyone today. I wanted to not-talk-to-anyone for the past week. Is that too much? Am I so popular that everyone wants me? It’s everyone who wants me, never the other way around.

I don’t have weekends to myself. I have weekends to everyone else. If I had a weekend that I could spend the way I wanted it, there wouldn’t be a Monday left to look forward to. There’d be nothing left. The world would have imploded upon itself, the shock would’ve been so fucking great.

It’s who I thought it would be. It’s everyone I thought it would be. They commend me for having a backbone, when all it was, was me being truthful. Maybe I should get drunk more, and then they’d get an honest me more-often. Work is for pussies. Maybe I should quit. No, can’t quit. Time Warner would slice off my dick a quarter-inch at a time; Sallie Mae, three-feet a second. I need Ambian. I need Mescaline. I need Mary-Jane. I need something to make me forget I have obligations in the morning, so I would have an excuse not to honor them tomorrow.

Fuck, what was the point to this? What’s the truth to any of this? Am I so savage that I would write everything I was thinking while I was thinking it? Would I rip out my Medulla Oblongata if someone suggested it?

I don’t fucking know anything. So I think I should stop this right now. I have to stop this right now. Jesus, how much is left in that bottle? Did I drink the whole thing? Would I be like this all the time, if I had no roommate to be my Super Ego? Jesus, how am I able to write any of this?

She’s a Lady. Whoa whoa whoa, she’s a lady~!

Ending the chapter. If I’m sober by... ]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/19475102/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/19475102/ Sat, 19 Jul 2008 00:29:50 PDT
Just got back from DK.

. . . And now I have to go change my pants.

Visuals aside, the movie met and exceeded even my expectations. And I went in expecting the cure for cancer and the meaning of life (which I totally got). So, yeah, it kicked my ass. And I'll gladly pay full price again, because I think there's a spot on my left cheek that it missed.

Now, if only Watchmen would come out . . .

Looks like I'll be getting ready to start it all over again. ^_^

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/19380693/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/19380693/ Sun, 13 Jul 2008 22:06:42 PDT
Heading to Rickenbacker tomorrow. 2-hour drive. Military stuff. I'm hoping it's just some quick standard operating b.s. -- make sure I haven't gone to complete shite since leaving the service, etc. I have one more year to go on my Inactive Reserve status; one more year until I'm 100% out from under the eye of the US Military. I'd be pissed to shit if I wind up being reactivated, with one year to go, right when I've finally settled into non-military living. (I've grown quite fond of my non-military hair-and-clothing, thank you kindly. X-D)

But we'll see what tomorrow has to hold. Until then, I'm to bed. I have to get up bright-and-early if I plan on showing up late to this thing. [innocent grin]

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/19243967/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/19243967/ Sun, 06 Jul 2008 21:58:16 PDT
Went to see Hancock just a little bit ago, with a friend of mine. Her plans fell through, and (for the first time in a long time) I had an opening. A nice alignment of planets; a shooting star across the Moon.

Warnings from friends and random passers-by foretold a movie that wasn't in sync with the mood set by the movie previews. So I went into the theater fearing another "Science of Sleep" (a good movie, but a wacky feel-good comedy it was *not*).

And, true enough, it wasn't a racious comedy-of-errors. But it was good. *Very* good. Once I finish this note, I intend to search Wikipedia to see if it wasn't a comic book before it became a movie.

What touched off the movie -- what made it, and will continue to make it, stand out -- was the ending. More specifically, it was my friend's *reaction* to the ending. She's going to eviscerate me when next we meet (98% of the reason why her name is omitted -- to protect my own ass). But looking over to see an incredibly cute, normally stoical, dark-humored woman wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes . . . Dark Knight will be a geek's wet-dream, and Ion Man may have made me geek-gasm, but that reaction has made Hancock as my Desert Island #1 Summer Film of all time.

Movie Previews to Note:

The Day the Earth Stood Still -- I've seen the original. This one looks like it'll stand out very nicely. Good choice of Keeaneu Reeves as Klatu. Should be a good movie.

The Dark Knight -- Like I have to say anything else about this movie, other than that it can't come out soon enough. X-D

That's all for now. When next you see me, I shall probably be minus my intestines. But that's the risk one takes when bringing up the cuteness of sterotypical feminine reactions from a unstereotypical woman with fists like diamond-rockets. ^_^

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/18939280/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/18939280/ Thu, 19 Jun 2008 22:16:40 PDT
Walking the Greene today, I was beseiged by an onslaught of things that, well, more-or-less disturbed me. I'm not a prude -- when have you ever seen an up-tight Anarchist? -- but certain things that are just plain wrong. Here are but five of them myself and my roommate were able to come up with:

1. People who dress their dogs in human clothes: Seriously, they don’t need to impress anyone. They don’t need Oaklies. They’re PETS! They COME with their own accessories! Hell, in certain elite circles, they *are* accessories. It’s a special kind of sad cruelty to take a creature that’s already covered in full and force it to wear a wool sweater. Just stop.

2. Fat People in Bikini’s: This goes for incredibly fat guys and Speedos. I know YOU have a fantastic self-image, but the rest of us have to deal with the REAL image. And, frankly, the differences are terrifying!

3. Stealing from Blind People: God already stole their vision. Why do you have to go and steal their dignity too? And, y’know, their money? My God, while you’re at it, why don’t you go into the first grade classroom and tell everyone Santa’s not real? Burn in Hell!

4. Jailbait: Seriously, what the hell is going ON here! It's like they're everywhere: girls barely out of JUNIOR HIGH dressing in clothes that I *thought* you could only get away with when you were eighteen and out of the house! Granted, I'm not complaining about the STYLE. I love a girl in shorts that barely go past her ass-crack. It's why I love summer so much. What I DON'T like is passing a cutie in one of those oh-so refined Daisy Dukes (with the writing along the ass -- because, y'know, if a guy's gonna be looking there, he might as well have something to read) only to find, upon closer inspection, that she's not even old enough to have a driver's permit. Every Goddamn time! It's gotten to the point that you can't check out a girl without checking out her ID first. Seriously, there needs to be an age limit on what you can and cannot wear, because this shit is getting frustrating. I notice a cute girl, and see that she's wearing clothes one would associate more with an older, more mature girl. It's that I'm noticing the *wrapping*, and wrapping says "legal and consenting." What I'm *really* getting is jailbait! I can't HELP it that what I'm getting is false advertising. That’s like buying a box of Raisin Bran and finding a live wolvering inside. What I *want* is a delicious cereal. What it LOOKS like is a fantastic breakfast. What I’m *getting* is bit in the ASS! Stop with the short-shorts! Wear a shirt that actually COVERS your bra. Hell, WEAR a bra. It's called the HONOR SYSTEM. If you wear a tighty tank-top that says SLUT, we're gonna ASSUME you ARE one. Thrity may be the new twenty, but fifteen is NOT the new eighteen. Stop confusing us!

5. Porno: Sure, porn may seem great. Okay, it totally *is* great. Naked people having wild, passionate, Animal Planet sex, all in the comfort of your living room? It’s the American Dream. But part of that American Dream is that YOU are supposed to be in the MIDDLE of that wild sex. But you're not. Seriously, it's like Ron Jeremy should just look at the screen and be like, “Hey, *I* can get laid. Why can’t you?” Because it's NEVER that easy! Dude delivers a pizza to a hot chick that doesn’t have enough money; hot cheerleaders who will do anything to raise the money to go to Dallas? Sure, these situations *may* happen in real life, but they NEVER lead to SEX! When was the LAST TIME getting laid was THAT EASY, or the situation was THAT CONVENIENT? And really, nobody’s chick is that hot, nobody lasts that long, and it doesn’t matter HOW long your schlong is, if you look like a dead raccoon, you’re not getting any action (without paying for it). Porn deludes us into thinking that at any given moment, during any given situation, a chick will become instantly horny and sex you up right in the middle of whatever you were doing. Porn reminds us of what we're not having, while giving us totally unobtainable expectations of what we *could*.

But those're my thoughts on the matter. I could be mistaken. I'm not, but I could be.

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/18617839/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/18617839/ Sun, 01 Jun 2008 21:11:56 PDT
Feeling good in the neighborhood. Overcame a bizarre sense of dread from Friday which, so far, has come to nothing (huzzah). Realizing that I could've made more plans for this weekend, but I figured I'd be busier with the family than I actually was, so I can't be blamed for erring in the form of caution.

Dandelion feathers are fluttering everywhere. Looks like snow in June, the way they drift down into thin blankets on the ground. The white froth they form in the pool isn’t as appealing a visual, but it still summons memories fantastic for those of us who thrive best in the winter.

It’s Sunday, but I wish it was Friday, so I could start back on the weekend again. Not enjoying the week that’s going to follow. Certain aspects/days, yes and definitely; the week as a whole, not as much.

Roommate’s fiancé is trying to use her Guilt Powers to finagle my roommate away and leave me stuck with the apartment by my lonesome. Not too unsettling – I’m a solitary monster as it is. However, I’m not keen on spending that kind of scratch for a two-bedroom apartment just for myself. It gets expensive as it is, and the Guard hasn’t finished paying off *all* my loans yet; still a lot of money promised to a lot of people. On top of that, I think she’s a rancid bowl of ass-flavored Jell-O, so I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of anything. (Yes, I am that petty.)

Still feeling good in the neighborhood, though. Still moving forward with the plans that I have. Still think “Kingdom of the Crystal Skulls” was a Shizno-flavored attempt at beating a dead horse.

This, too, shall pass.

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/18550779/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/18550779/ Wed, 28 May 2008 20:16:15 PDT
Yay, I have a sunburn! [sizzling sound effect]

Man, it's been a week of nothing. Hell, it's been a MONTH of nothing. Sure, I've been out and about; I've been with the crew, bashing hearts and answering prayers. But it hasn't been anything . . . meaningful. Fun, yes. But nothing that will get my name written down (for very long).

It's long been a dream of mine to be a web comic. I read comics like Dresden Codak and XKCD and long to be in that fraternity. And no, I don't have any kind of delusions of grandeur. I'm not skillful enough to draw in anything mroe than a modest fanbase.

But that hasn't diminished my zeal. And while I'm not quite ready for prime time, I'm to the point where I can look at my drawings and not have to repress my gag reflex.

Alas, just as when my energies seemed to be hitting an apex, my mind and body rebel against me. It's like I've never put a pencil to paper, or written a line of dialogue. All those weeks of practice and writing, and here I am, staring at the ceiling, listening to the dial-tone of my brain.

Writer's block on top of an artist's block. An aggravating combination. Mix in an onset of social stupidity, and you have a blande, blande *blande* man. Oy, I feel like the bastard child of Barney Fife and a loaf of Wonderbread.

I could go on, but my best friend is blasting away at some tiny robot monkey ninjas. and it's too cool not to check out.

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/17723415/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/17723415/ Sun, 06 Apr 2008 21:43:35 PDT
I'm trying to find someone. Someone I let slip away some time ago. Someone who, for all I know, may very well be dead.

I've never been one to just let things go. Stubborness is my greatest folly. But she disappeared so suddenly from my life that I didn't even get the chance to say goodbye. The last thing I heard was she was going in to see the doctor. It's been nearly four months since then. And all efforts to contact her have never been returned.

It leads even the most optimistic and naive man to worry.

We weren't very serious. We never dated long enough to get to that point. But, still, in that brief time, she was good to me. She baked me foccacio; she cuddled with me when I was cold. She understood that I was financially strapped, and tolerated my long absences while I scrounged for whatever job would have me.

I've never really been one to believe in love. But I do believe in loyalty. And, whatever feelings she may or may not have had for me, I'd at least like to know she's okay. That, somewhere, out there, she's happy.

I do not let it obsess me, though. And I absolutely refuse to become the stalker. My efforts to contact her ceased several months ago. She knows my number; she knows my e-mail addresses. If she is alive, and if she wanted to contact me, she would have done so long ago. And if something did happen to her, well, I think I'd rather spend the rest of my life deluded into thinking she's still alive and happy.

Unfortunately, I've never been one to just let something go. And, on nights like tonight -- when I'm at that uncertain zone between awake and dreaming -- my thoughts linger on her: Katharine, the girl who baked me bread and watched fireworks with me.

I don't believe in love. But I do believe in a good thing when I see it. Katharine was a very good thing.

I'll let my thoughts a little longer. It helps to keep me warm.

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/17401311/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/17401311/ Tue, 18 Mar 2008 19:33:01 PDT
It's been nearly two years since I started watching DeviantArt with any kind of regularity, and it's like I never went away. In nearly two weeks I've added, I think, five new Deviants to my watch list and spent a greater chunk of my spare time oggling and boggling their works.

I feel that I should give back to the community, but without a scanner, or any kind of talent, I'm regulated to being the bad cousin at the Christmas party.

Oh wells. Greedy I shall have to be. ^_^

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/17247721/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/17247721/ Sat, 08 Mar 2008 22:08:33 PST
There's always been something about cooking and baking that's been able to zen me out. Rough day? Deep-fried chicken with roasted potato cooks to cook out that aggravation. Blissful? Chocolate brownies with chocolate-cream icing for that extra emphatic exclamation.

For me, there's never been anything quite like getting into a good chef's flow. When all the ingredients are where you need them to be; when the portions are mixing together just right; when the kitchen air bursts alive with fireworks of garlic and olive oil -- in that instant all the incidentals and distractions of life and love fade away, leaving me to the company of hot grease and boiling noodles.

In my kitchen -- and yes, it is *my* kitchen. When you abuse and mistreat something as badly as my roommates have, then you have no right to it. My roommates use the kitchen to experiment and insult; I use the kitchen to cook. *My* kitchen. In my kitchen, there is nobody but me. And if there *is* somebody other than me, they best be peeling potatoes or mixing dough, because I *will* use their torso as a knife block. Seriously, with that much fire and that much boiling, the *last* thing I care about is socializing. Even if I had an entire football field at my disposal, there still wouldn't be room enough for two. I cook to *escape* reality.

Today it was deep-fried macaroni & cheese with a tossed salad. The other day it was stuffed cherry tomatoes with buttery noodles. Before that, I warmed myself to some home-made white hot chocolate milk. And I still haven't even touched any of my cookie supplies, which I had hoped to have used up two weekends ago. Had life not blind-sided me, I'd be gorging on some home-made pumpkin cookies right now, hoisting my own baking petard. If not for life, a couple of my closer friends would be reading this note over a nice, healthy dozen of my chocolate chip cookies.

Why not bake them now, instead of typing this?

Pride.

My father is a baker. An exceptional one at that. Had he trained a little more on presentation, he'd probably have his own show on Bravo or The Food Network. But, as he stands, he's still quite fantastic. His specialty, though, has always been cookies. It is no exaggeration when I say that the city stopped when my father baked. Chocolate chip, chocolate drop, pumpkin, cherry-nut, oatmeal scotchies -- he was Bruce Lee, if Bruce Lee baked cookies.

His is a shadow that casts large and long. Even here, in Dayton, and even farther, his cookies are spoken of with the all the passionate longing of a crack addict two days off the wagon. So, as much as I love cooking and baking, cookies are a matter of pride. And when I bake cookies, I don't just bake a couple. I bake as my father did: for an *entire city*. I fill up the entire kitchen; I use up every last ounce of sugar and flour. And when I am done, I am so exhausted I can't bring myself to *look* at the spatula for at least almost a whole month.

But I don't fret, nor do I worry. My obsessive-compulsive disorder has ensured that I will always have an abundant supply of cookie ingredients in my cupboard. So those cookies will come. Not this weekend, because of family plans. Hopefully next weekend. [cross fingers]

Tomorrow, though, it'll be brownies and, to commemorate my roommate's birthday, Gundam Burgers. Today, though . . . I am zen.

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/11112056/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/11112056/ Tue, 19 Dec 2006 02:03:14 PST

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/10967463/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/10967463/ Wed, 06 Dec 2006 01:16:20 PST
Yes. Yes, I would.

]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/4425183/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/4425183/ Thu, 27 Jan 2005 00:39:37 PST
It's late. I should be asleep.
But the mind does not let the tether
of the body bind it so.
I think I will let my spirit
roam the fields for a while.
It's snowing now --
no need to call it in so soon.

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey. ]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/4004470/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/4004470/ Mon, 06 Dec 2004 16:05:04 PST
I'm no artist.

Not to say I do not know how to draw. On the contrary. I've been doolding and sketching for some time now. For the longest time, all I wanted to *be* was an artist.
But I know where my skills lie; how far my limits will allow me to go. I may be able to draw. But I am no artist. I am a writer. Pen and paper are my easel and paint. I write with a thousand words what an artist puts down in paint. And I like to think I'm pretty good at what I do.

Still, there are...limits. There's only so much a writer can do...so far a writer can go...in the industry of comic books and manga, by himself. Usually, that distance is about five feet from the front door.

Necessity. If you cannot find an artist, become one.

I'm not an artist, but I will do what I must.

I am no artist...

...but I'm learning.

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey. ]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/3712628/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/3712628/ Sun, 31 Oct 2004 00:33:16 PDT
The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey. ]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/3672952/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/3672952/ Mon, 25 Oct 2004 17:08:01 PDT
Wow, it's been a while since I've posted. Five months, actually -- waaaay too long to be away.

Not that I haven't had any good reasons not to be around. It's not like I've been sitting at my computer since May, scratching my butt. Quite on the contrary; I've been a very busy bee.

Shall I bore you with intimate details, or would you prefer the Cliff's Notes take. Since I'm running on no brain power as of now, and since there's five months of archived memories to recall, I think I'll keep it short, sweet, and, lazily, to the point --

May-July: Spent my time in Mississippi, undergoing TDY schooling for DMS. Now, show of hands, who unerstood what any of that meant? [looks around at hands] If you're some of the few who do, then huzzah to you. ^_^

It wasn't such a terrible time, all things considered. The weather was nice the first week I was there and craptacular the rest (though it got me out of PT, so I won't complain *too* much). And I did swing by the Beau Rivage twice during my stay (first time was for a bit of roullete, the other was for the buffet).

Still, it wasn't exactly paradise. For those of you planning a vacation to Biloxi, MI: DON'T! Really, it's not all that it's cracked up to be. The casino's nice, but that's about all it has going for it. And there's a reason why we're told not to swim in the water (hint: It's also why not too many fish swim in the waters, either.)

Also, with TDY school came eeeeearly hours. 5 in the AM, to be precise. For you morning folks, that's probably not too big of a strain. But, seeing as how 5 AM was when I *normally* went to SLEEP, waking UP at that time was a bit of a chore.

Of course there was the whole issue with my credit card, and it taking pretty much until the last week I was there for it to activate (and, considering I had to use it to pay for my hotel, time was of the essence). I had to basically chew out a MSGT before it finally got activated (considering she's in charge of finance and considering I'm only an E4, that really wasn't the smartest of moves; and probably why my paychecks keep taking so long to come through [scratches back of head, anime style]).


July-August: My "two-weeks a year" obligation, which was bumped up to a double (at my request -- with a new apartment in the future works, I needed the cash). Pretty much the same as TDY, only without the tests and more hands-on stuff. Nothing challenging; just networking a bunch of conputers together, setting up e-mail accounts, etc. In the end we had a LAN game of Metal of Honor to "test our connectivity". (Ironically, despite being the latest, state-of-the-art Toughbooks from Panasonic, our laptops couldn't play it; only our regular, inferior PCs could [grim face].)

Still waiting for the rest of my pay to come in from that.

August-September: Busy! While unemployed, I searched for other means of money-making: Artist hunting. Despite how it sounds, it's not what you think. For those who don't know me, and those who know me but don't know me well enough, I am an aspiring comic book writer -- "aspiring" because I haven't been printed yet. The one draw-back of being a writer over an artist is that an artist doesn't NEED a writer to get into the business, but a writer needs the artist. It doesn't matter how good your script is -- you could be the next coming of Neil Gaiman, and it still wouldn't matter -- you'll need an artist to pen your works if you want to get published.

Which has been my quandry for nearly a year now. I've gone through a few artists along my path of attempting to get published. Some are prospective, but have other obligations. Others are too steep to afford. A few I thought had potential, but their artwork just didn't gel with what I wanted published. One or two e-mailed once and I never heard from them again. The rest...couldn't handle it. I'm veeeery picky, and veeeery specific on how I want certain things. Most times I'll give the artist leeway and freedom to have fun. But there are certain instances where I have to have it a specific way. And quite a few artists just couldn't handle it.

Not to say there haven't been some who've lived up and beyond my expectations. Loraine Sammy (aka Glockgal) is one of those artists who couldn't disappoint me, even if she tried. Twice I've commissioned her to do some fan art, and twice she's impressed me. But, then again, the scripts she penned-&-inked for me were ashcans, which I tend to treat more liberally than my own works. I'm more than certain that, if forced to endure my Stalin-like obsession over my own creations, she'd carve out my veins with a Sharpie... ]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/2525761/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/2525761/ Fri, 28 May 2004 00:58:48 PDT
A friend and I were discussing this, and I feel the need to express this to anyone who happens to pass along...

If you were given a coin with magical powers -- two maximum -- what would those powers be? What would be their limitations? What would the coin look like?

Mine would be a small medallian, bigger than a silver dollar but still small enough to be considered an average coin. A seafoam-blue gem would be carved in the center, and, on the outside, engraved in Latin, would be the phrase "Victory is not the person, but the circumstance."

It's magical properties? The ability to endow the holder with whatever skill or ability he may need in a given situation. For example -- if I'm drowning, the coin grants me the ability to breath underwater and swim exceptionally well. If I'm doing poorly on a math exam, I'd suddenly be able to do complex trigenometry in my sleep.

The catch? It's dependent on the situation, and not the will of the holder. So the bearer of the coin can't just summon any ability at any given time. There has to be a situation where there is a NEED for a certain skill or ability. And once the situation or circumstance has expired, so does the ability. Once the test is over, my math skills would revert to their sad, pathetic levels.

A bit more practical than that of my friends', though I'm more the practical type anyways.

What about you? What's your coin?

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey. ]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/2509145/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/2509145/ Tue, 25 May 2004 20:47:42 PDT
I've been defeated.

No...defeated isn't strong enough an adjective. Thrashed, mauled, evicerated, strung up on the rack and stretched to either corner of looserdome -- those are a little closer. I have been pummeled, reduced to a blithering Neanderthal of a fool, and in the arena I am most prominent in; a colloseum of combat which I hold some minor prestige, some sliver of honor and noteriety.

The arena...of Argument.

As a speech-writer -- at least, an AMATEUR speech writer with a few awards under his belt -- I pride myself on my ability to take even the most righteous and indignant zealot and sway them to my side. I wield pen and dictionary like a literary Monet. A bit of hubris? Yes. But I have several awards to back up these claims.

But today I met my match. No, my better.

Her name is Tiffany. A bright girl, a year or two my elder. She stands 'twixt the fenceline dividing attractive and homely. Methinks she would look better if her hair were a more prominent shade of blonde instead of the whispy variation; under certain lighting, she can often times appear to have old-lady grays, which makes her appear at least thirty years older than what she really is. But I tend to be highly judgemental of people's appearances to begin with. To someone else she might be teh most gorgeous thing since [insert gorgeous analogy here]. But, to me, she's just...okay.

But I'm rambling. Back to the point...

We two share the same philosophy class; a generally enlightening one at that, headed by a professor who bears a striking resemblence to Ralph Waldo Emmerson (I kid you not). Our primary philosophers of study are Kant, Schopenhauer, and Hegel...but, again, that's neither here nor there.

While we often shared tables togther, we've rarely shared more than a few casual pleasantries. I blame myself, really. I'm not much for waking up, and Philosophy is the first class of the day. As such, my wit and charm (or what little I am in possession of) are rarely operating at full capacity.

Today, however, I found myself in a rare mood. A full contingent of sleep and some fanciful dreams involving me and the crew of the Yellow Submarine left the air feeling of sitcom and my mood that of a schoolboy fresh from Summer Break. So with rivets in my belly and steel in my drive, I struck up a well-meaning conversation, one involving mutiple-syllable words (a far step from our usual "hi" and "bye" dialogues). Despite my next class beginning in mere minutes, I offered to treat her to lunch, which she politely accepted.

While sharing a few likes (comic books being the primary link), we differed on one key factor -- religion. Meaning she still had hers and I didn't. Not that I don't BELIEVE in God (I've seen too much NOT to). I just choose not to follow one set doctrine. I prefer philosophy. You don't hear of too many wars being fought over Plato or Nietzsche.

Having been trained to argue out of reflex, I decided to ride this ebb of religious differences. Not that I have any problem with people following certain religions (I myself was a Roman Catholic). I just have issues with people BLINDLY following certain dogmas and beliefs. Tiffany, for example, is of the FIRM belief that homosexuality is evil, and that the majority who practice it only do so because they've suffered some kind of sexual abuse in the past, and not because they were born that way. (Yeah, I know. Sounded kinda dubious to me.)

It was that point that got me discussing why she believed that way, and she stated that it says so in the Bible.

Gasoline on an open flame.

Having too much past experience with Bible-thumpers in the past, I proceeded about my point of trying to show that the Bible is an inherently flawed book, conveying the "word of God" AS WRITTEN BY MAN. The point I was endeavoring to get across is that basing one's whole faith on the Bible, or ANY document for that matter, is inherently flawed. That, while while the Bible may ASSUMEDLY be "inspired by God", the Devil can also work the hands of man. And, as such, there could be many points that were written with certain agendas in mind, or that certain points were removed or extracted, or changed out-right, for whatever reasons.

It was sad, my friends. For all my wisdom, for all my philosophy; for all my experience and insight, she played me like a cheap fiddle and I've never been so utterly devastated in verbal combat. I might as well have been bashing myself in the face with a clawed hammer. I assumed that I was dealing with yet another blind sheep, and instead got my arm mauled off by a lion. To say t... ]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/2424685/ http://The-Chosen-Millenium.deviantart.com/journal/2424685/ Thu, 13 May 2004 22:49:29 PDT
Huray! I'm officially a member of DeviantArt, and the only thing I want to do now is pass out. Heavens, why do I do this to myself -- staying up to hours befitting a denizen of the underworld, or some lower-tier vampire. I pine for the other side of my bedsheets. Oh, HOW do I pine...

Of course, I can't. Not if I want to get this stupid assignment done. God forbid I ever do anything NOT at the last minute. Ten hours 'til it's due, and I've BARELY started on the first page. You'd think it'd kill me to get my work done, oh, say, a few days before it's due, as opposed to a few hours/minutes/seconds.

*groan* I am such a masochist.

Oh, and hello. Nice to see you. If I should pass out, turn me over so I don't drool on my keyboard. ^_^

Ja ne.

The Chosen One has spoken. Heed and obey. ]]> ~The-Chosen-Millenium