'Alones' by Roy

Cover of 'Alones' by Aqua Timez

Am I taking this too far? I don't think so. In fact, I think I'm taking it just far enough. This is the real deal y'all and I ain't kidding. I've got ten hours labor into this one. So you listen good, you!

See you Saturday with another version of the same song, suckers!

It's sort of an inside joke.

Cover of 'Alones' by Aqua Timez, AGAIN


[UPDATE: I ended up recording and posting three different versions of this song over the course of four days, finally pulling out the e-drums and really going nuts on it. So, don't listen to this crappy version, please. Listen to this crappy version.]

Okay so... A day later the version of this song that I just submitted sounds like so much ass to me. The world just doesn't understand! It's gets to be so much with the playing guitar and the singing and the reading/reciting lyrics in a foreign language where 'e' sounds like 'a' and 'i' sounds like 'e...' Its too damned many balls in the air is all and the performance suffers for it.

Today the lyrics of the second verse are much more familiar to me -- almost memorized at this point. Aside from a tiny blemish here or there, today's version is much much better, I think.

(Tomorrow's will be absolutely awesome. -wink-)

Cover of 'Alones' by Aqua Timez


[UPDATE: I ended up recording and posting three different versions of this song over the course of four days, finally pulling out the e-drums and really going nuts on it. So, don't listen to this crappy version, please. Listen to this crappy version.]

Having been snowed-in and therefore finding myself home from work and barred somewhat indoors, I present to you my flawless performance of the song 'Alones' by Aqua Timez as heard in Bleach's OP6. Flawless, I tell you! but for the flaws.

Lord how my guitar needs new strings and my voice new cords.

February Bloom

ISO: 100, Exposure: 1/10 sec, Aperture: 4.0

Banda Wasabi

I cried a little. It's okay if you want to too.

We are a nation. A threat to your borders. Maybe we can't speak Japanese, but we can damn well sing it. You're going to have to deal with us sooner or later.

Hairu Nippon! Hairu Anime!


All seeking is directionless. See what you find.

When you are kneeling in the utility room meditating before work... When your inability to focus on the space between your eyebrows; to hold the flow of energy through your interlocked fingers at the forefront of your mind; to sit rigidly without questioning the perfection of your posture... When you begin, of these frustrations, to lose faith even in the purpose and goal you've placed before yourself; when none of it seems to come together and you wonder what you might be doing wrong or whether there's really any way to do it right at all -- Look about you and realize that you are standing in a wide field: An endless green pasture that leads to mountains and lakes and rivers and plains and low lands and valleys and caves and plateaus; an endless, unexplored bounty of truth and fiction, purity and taint. There are no limits or boundaries and maps are worth little here. For none but you can find this field - no other has ever visited this inner world of yours - so none can say for certain where you'll meet perils or where treasures lie. This is your own private country. None have come before you. Explore!

Forget direction and goal. To be directed is to follow a path. And surely there are many virtues to following paths; deride it not! But path-following is not seeking, it is path-following. Seeking has its own virtues, pleasures, hardships, and rewards, and no one may discover these by following paths, for no path leads where seeking goes.

Seek and let your heart be light. Seek and care not for what you find. Seek and worry not for direction. Seek and be steadied by the knowledge:

All seeking is directionless. See what you find.

AVG Offline Installer Download Link

It's harder to find than you'd think. AVG doesn't exactly publish this info, for some reason. This is valid for AVG 9.0 and at time of post pulls down the file "avg_free_stf_en_90_730a1834.exe."

I'm noting this link as much for myself as for you. In fact, more for myself. I never really cared for you.


Riven Accomplished

How many video games require that you take notes? I love this stuff. Today I completed Riven. Here I memorialize the greater portion of my notes - don't cheat! - including: translation of the Rivenese number system (you can extrapolate up to 24), sacred animal notes, submarine path, dome elevation maps, matched fire bead colors, and more! I guarantee I'll be pirating whatever comes next in the Myst library post haste. You've just got to play these games!

Games? Works of art!


After madness is clarity. So keep it up.
You're playing right into my hand.

Taken for Granted

It had been so long. I had hoped that I'd taught her some civility, decency -- if only as it regarded me. It seems like six months or more that she'd managed to treat me with a simple reciprocal human respect. But today she relapsed -- and how! Twice in one day - in the span of two hours, even! - and after such a long sobriety. What a shame.

First she told me to go get her mail. "Just go back downstairs and throw your shoes and your coat on, and your gloves and your hat that you just took off twenty minutes ago, since you just got home from work and go fetch my mail. I see your mother standing right there, getting ready to leave soon anyway, and who wouldn't be nearly as put upon to simply grab the mail on her way out as you would to get back into your whole winter outfit just to traipse down to the end of the driveway and grab the mail that I could easily wait to read tomorrow. But you do it! 'Cause... you know, I said so." At least that's how I heard it.

I looked at her like she had completely lost her mind -- as surely she had. Finally my mother offered to grab the mail on her way out. I walked away insulted and disappointed in this sudden regression to previously corrected behaviors.

A few hours later she shouted down the stairwell another order in the guise of a request: To go across the street "to so-and-so's house and pick up the this-and-that she's lending to me." You might think it was a question, a "Would you be willing to," or a "Could you do me a favor and..." but it was neither. It was an, "I've arranged for you to go do this without consulting you. I've already told her you're on your way so she's waiting for you now. And, oh yeah, she's about to go to bed so you better get going. See you when you get back -- which I've decided will be immediately. Bye."

She went so far as to let it slip that so-and-so had offered to bring the whatnot over to her, but that she had refused this sane and reasonable concept of not involving outside parties in an interpersonal exchange that had nothing to do with them. "Oh no!" she said, "Don't trouble yourself bringing it to me. I'll just have my house-boy Roy come fetch it from you like a fucking dog. After all, its late and its cold, and who wants to get all dressed up and run back and forth in this weather? Certainly not you or me! Let's just let my personal gimp handle it. Oh gimp! Oh minion! Where art thou peon? I have a job for you!" At least, that's how I heard it.

It would have been easy to just mumble under my breath hateful little curses at the socially retarded fool bellowing from the top of the staircase and go and do whatever stupid bullshit she'd arranged on my behalf. I could've went and retrieved the whatnot, walked back in and dropped it on the table like a goddamn brick - signaling just what portion of my asshole she could eat - then I could've come downstairs, brooded for a half hour over what a dried-up, sandy, old cunt... what a self-centered, psychopathic, geriatric child she is, and how roundly taken for granted I am by all in general. And then I could've gone back to whatever I'd been doing and slowly forgotten the whole incident. Yes, in truth it probably wouldn't have taken me five minutes, round-trip, and I'd likely already have placed this whole worrisome incident behind me.

But boundaries must be set. I've spent too many days of my life shoveling other people's loads in preference for the emotional convenience; too many days suffering my own desires' unfulfillment in order to keep the tentative peace. Well... It suffices to say that the whatnot rests yet still upon so-and-so's stoop.

Make no mistake, I've suffered for this claim of mine to dignity beneath the weight of an irrational guilt and its counter point of spiteful indignation. Still, I think its worth it. She must be taught. A child cannot be reared without punishments, consequences. Besides, for my pains I have earned something of infinite value, something I may never have understood otherwise. I have learned what a parent feels when they discipline their child. I know now that while the thoughtless child lie in bed scowling, full of hate for their patron, bemoaning the verdict rendered, the parent who punishes suffers all the more. For while the child rests in perfect, one-mindedness; in blissfully ignorant, selfish hatred of the sure injustice that has befallen them, the parent who punishes is meanwhile tormented by doubt and guilt; reproving their sternness, questioning the use of it, and at last even whether or not they were in the right at all. This splintering of mind is invariably more painful and tormentuous than the punishment given. I suddenly understand the commonly held, parental concept of ungrateful children. A parent punishes a child for the child's good and in punishing necessarily suffers this debilitating self-doubt and irrational guilt, and atop it all the child, who should be grateful for the stern guiding hand, who should praise their parent's willingness to withstand this self-imposed suffering on the child's behalf and for their betterment, responds not with appreciation and awe, but with hate, coldness, and the withholding of their love. I also see now why there are so few good parents and so many rotten children. For when a parent chides a child, they must needs be chide themselves ten-fold for it. ...Easier to spare the rod.

But I return now from depth and understanding to the topic at hand. In case you were all wondering, I am not an indentured servant, yours or any others, and have I ever been, I ain't no one's bitch no more. I've stayed longer than I meant, I've worked harder than you paid me for, I've carried mine, yours, and his so you could all have hands free to hold each others' dicks. Now guess who's done?

You want something from me, you can have the fucking decency to ask. And by the way, I'm allowed to answer no, and I will. Getting upset when someone doesn't agree to do something you ask of them, means you didn't really ask them anything. You took them for granted. You gave them an order with a "will you please" stapled decoratively to the front of it. And in my book that kind of makes you a piece of shit.


In the third round of Kooh's Pangya Festa tournament - versus Cecilia at Blue Moon, I believe - and having no more than six holes to work with, you'll note... I managed to rack up almost 1800 natural pang! (Around 2200 if you count bonus pang.) I know, I know... so young.

"How is this feat possible?" you ask? "What unnatural Faustian bond with the dark lord was required to achieve such stunning figures?," you inquire? "What the hell is a 'Kooh' and why does it have a 'Festa' you lost and desperate soul?" you bemoan?

First off, I'm talking about 'Super Swing Golf' for the Wii, aka 'Albatross 18,' aka 'Pangya,' aka the most repackaged, remarketed 3d anime-styled video golf game ever released. (Its a short list.) A 'Kooh' is a playable character, and an astoundingly sexualized one for an eleven year old girl. But then again they do grow up so fast... especially when they're eleven year old Asian girls who play golf and captain pirate ships for a living. (Just ask Luffy. He golfs, right?)

So, now that you're hip: How did I score 1770 natural pang on Blue Moon, and in only six holes?! By dropping not one, but two - count 'em - two shots in from over 160 yards out. -plunk- The first one was around 200 yards, actually.

You should've seen it! No potions or power shots needed, just a keen eye, a steady hand, and a barrel full of luck. (Luck is a skill too... apparently.) I even had a bit of curve on the ball to ease it back against the wind! Yeah, that's right. This wasn't no windless, straight-in sinker. No sir! I was hitting a friggin' 3W off the carpet, bounced the first-cut on my way up and rolled in for an eagle on a par 4 like it weren't no thang. Uh-huh! Detroit what?

The second was even more magnificent to watch. Get this, son. I loaded up a power shot, set myself a Tomahawk, adjusted for wind and under-hit to take a little length off; no powerspin required. That ball bursts into flames, goes flying at the pin like a snowball riding a bat out of hell, comes down - catches the beam a foot off the ground and rides it like a well-lubed stripper straight down into the hole. That's right,: I hit a 160y, tomahawk'd, motherfuck'n beam-in, mother-fucker! Albatross! Par 5! 500+ yards! Who run Barter-town?!

Master Blaster runs Barter-town!


It is important neither to speak with - nor listen to - people if you wish to know peace. People are horrible. They want you to come to them; they are lonely and troubled without you. Truly they suffer in your absence and feel it as a void within their hearts, and when you come at last with extended hand to comfort and enjoy each other's company they trouble you with tones of voice and flippant, caustic comments; act as if you owe them something; entreat you to hennish tales, rumors, and private judgments cast down upon strangers, always from a lofty pace of cowardice. People are petty children without reason, thought, or understanding. They do not wish any more of themselves than ignorance, nor can they see beyond their own inflamed sense of self. People are a massive unchecked ego. They have no redeeming virtue.

A person, an individual, alone in a room, huddled over some careful, private task -- this has dignity. There is beauty in the lone animal practicing his nature's inclinations. But as few as two of them become a bumbling of the task. Two must split attentions. Half a mind is left to know the work before them, half is set to watch and judge the other; to guess at how the other might be judging in return. Two minds are two minds split; what halves remain can hardly make a whole. And they and all are better off in solitude where men and minds and hearts may truly grow.

Take people in as small a dose as can be had and feel no guilt denying them your stay. They only want you there to hurt you. They only need you there to lean against, to gauge how much they weigh.

A Soft White 3D Lightbulb, by way of Myst

Last weekend I got it in my head to replay the old Cyan Studios game 'Myst.' Myst was epic in its day. It's too hard for me to concisely express all the reasons Myst was such a landmark game, and its not the purpose of this post to try, so I'll simply point to its most distinguishing characteristic: It was pre-rendered.

While other game developers and hackers were trying to come up with ever more efficient ways to calculate and render objects live, the creators of Myst went just the opposite way. They put their efforts into creating as "realistic" a 3d environment as they were then apt to, with little concern for rendering engines. Myst heralded the age of click-through 3d environments. Beautifully rendered environments presented primarily as static, pre-rendered images. Depth was added to these environments by splicing pre-rendered animations over-top, making all interaction with the game world into a truly cinematic event.

Well, I downloaded Myst and bested it in no more than eight hours. I'd played and completed it once before, mind you, when I was a child. But I was left so hungered for more of this thoughtful, rational, intellectual, and artistic style of play that I immediately sought out another game, 'Riven: The Sequel to Myst.' This I'd never played before. In fact I would discover there were a total of four sequels to Myst of which I'd never been aware. But I begin again to digress.

I'm playing Riven now and I have no qualms saying that the quality of the graphics and the 3d designs are up to par with, only where they do not wholly surpass, the games being released today. This from a game produced in 1997! Again, Riven benefits from pre-rendering, where the games I have to compare it to are all live-rendered; but I count it a strike against today's developers that they have chosen to shackle themselves and their artistic abilities to the limits of an live-rendering engine. Not everything has to be first person shooters, you know.

In any event I find myself artistically inspired by the visual beauty, the profoundly intellectual and challenging gameplay, and the pre-rendered delivery concept of Myst and its successor Riven. I've started drawing out my own, admittedly derivative, ideas for environments and landscapes. Playing Riven especially, has set my mind to a style of creativity I've not known myself capable of for years. This is the mind of a child at play with toy soldiers or an author whose finest arts are in fiction; in creating complex, subtle, nuanced worlds and characters whose every action and thought has a purpose, unfamiliar but logical and easily understood.

I've found myself penciling out ideas for structures: elevated huts in floodlands that solve the inconveniences of seasonal flooding in the most simple, droll, and subtle ways; Floating towers whose very structure mimics the cruelties of the class-based economy; Flat desert landscapes speckled with pyramid-styled homes hewn of rough-stone, grouped together into tiny townships interspaced between huge, cylindrical depressions in the earth where industrial structures, pipelines and catwalks, glint hateful scowls toward the land they occupy in the noon-time sun.

These ideas are mainly far beyond my abilities to recreate in 3d, or at least beyond my sustainable interest in doing so. Nonetheless one of them seems momentarily manageable and sufficiently curious, and I've the will to try.

Last night, as a sort of precursor to gauge my waning skills I chose a simple object from around the house to model with an eye toward photo-realism. Well, more like semi-photo-realism. Anyway, I knew how good I wanted it to look and today I finished what started last night, meeting my own criterion for completion of the model and refreshing my basic knowledge of Blender, the 3d suite I'm modeling with.

Soft white lightbulb.

[Update: Re-rendered under much more thoughtful and appropriate lighting conditions, and sans the ugly textured plane.]

A little light goes a long way.

Now onto marshland tree-huts with elevated docks and spiral staircases and canoes on ziplines...

Hair Loss