Don't watch if you are opposed to creative violence.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
Man in the mirror.
Its a funny thing, these identity crises. Its like having a bunch of mirrors in front of you and each one shows you a different image. And you don't like any one of them. And you know that you shift from one image to the other.
Here is the tricky part. Image A hates image B. Image C hates image D. And as you shift from one persona to another, you think back to what you have done and you hate yourself. You tell yourself that it wasn't you. But 5 minutes later, you're back to thinking that whatever you did was the right thing to do. And you admonish yourself for ever doubting that. Making you hate yourself even more. Its what people who like big phrases like to call a vicious circle.
It must be nice to have little care about the ethics of things. To just do things and expect people to allow you to get away with it for one reason or another. To never have to hold yourself accountable because doing that is just 'so hard'. To be able to tell yourself that you have a problem, but you can't solve it because..... well because you just can't. To be able to shift from image to image and still remain blissfully ignorant of what you are doing.
I envy people with the capacity to self delude.
Here is the tricky part. Image A hates image B. Image C hates image D. And as you shift from one persona to another, you think back to what you have done and you hate yourself. You tell yourself that it wasn't you. But 5 minutes later, you're back to thinking that whatever you did was the right thing to do. And you admonish yourself for ever doubting that. Making you hate yourself even more. Its what people who like big phrases like to call a vicious circle.
It must be nice to have little care about the ethics of things. To just do things and expect people to allow you to get away with it for one reason or another. To never have to hold yourself accountable because doing that is just 'so hard'. To be able to tell yourself that you have a problem, but you can't solve it because..... well because you just can't. To be able to shift from image to image and still remain blissfully ignorant of what you are doing.
I envy people with the capacity to self delude.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
Murder
Arthur looked distinctly out of place in the market that he walked in. His dark clothing contrasted sharply with the gay surroundings of a bustling square. It was a wonder that he had not aroused any suspicion just yet, but that was probably because none of the guards expected any trouble. No one ever did in this part of the country. Especially not in the early summer when everyone was in high spirits. The village clowns were out entertaining the children with their decidedly idiotic antics while an elaborate stage showcased the latest work by the maddeningly emo writer, Jasper Erathor. Arthur could feel the jolly energy grate at his conscience like a spiked mace dragged across the back of a condemned criminal. But he had to contain himself. He would get the last laugh yet.
Slowly shuffling himself, he maneuvered so that he had a good view of the crowd. His arm shifted slowly, creeping towards his waist. His mind cleared in anticipation of the rapture that was in store for himself. The rise and fall of his chest steadied, his earlier agitation put behind him.
Then he exploded. In two quick strokes, he had drawn his weapon and sliced open the chest of the nearest person. Before the first scream could be heard, the curved blade had already slashed two more times, each one slicing deliciously into the flesh of the victims. Arthur was ruthless, and he was in his element. The people would pay for what they have done to him. Not even the knights will stand in his way.
The crowd understandably stampeded. They bowled each other over and trampled the ones unfortunate enough to slip as they ran. But the roads of the marketplace were narrow, and the exits, narrower still. The square was turning into a cauldron of insanity. Arthur knew that he had to bring some form of order to the chaos that was before him; the irony of the fact that he had started everything eluded him completely.
The methododical murder kept its pace until Arthur's eye caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Sprawled on the ground, and trying desperately to get back up again was a woman in a long skirt and jet black hair. She had a subtle tuft of brown hair at the front of her head, marking her as a sorceress. One gifted in the magics, who use it when necessary, but are completely unaware of their immense power. Arthur had long advocated the purging of these witches, but no one ever seemed to be agreeable to his cause. Even if they did see the threat, they were quick to change their minds the moment they made any attempt to destroy one of the sorceresses. He wasn't surprised.
Arthur paused for a while. He looked her in the eye and saw the terror that he inspired. But he also saw a grim determination to survive and a glazing over the eyes that normally marked a subconcious invocation of elemental magic. Grinning like the like a demon in hell's torture chambers, he flung one of his daggers at the woman. He could vaguely remember the face. He remembered that it had existed in a time when times were not quite as dark as they were for him now. It was in the distant past, a memory so clouded in conflicting emotion that everything seemed warped and unreal.
The dagger sunk itself into her eye, ending the threat that she posed. He felt a strange vindication, like he actually had done some kind of service to humanity. It was a strange sense of misplaced heroism, something that he rather enjoyed. For a while. Before long, his objective of systematic murder overruled everything else and his face went blank again.
And his blade kept singing the song of death.
Slowly shuffling himself, he maneuvered so that he had a good view of the crowd. His arm shifted slowly, creeping towards his waist. His mind cleared in anticipation of the rapture that was in store for himself. The rise and fall of his chest steadied, his earlier agitation put behind him.
Then he exploded. In two quick strokes, he had drawn his weapon and sliced open the chest of the nearest person. Before the first scream could be heard, the curved blade had already slashed two more times, each one slicing deliciously into the flesh of the victims. Arthur was ruthless, and he was in his element. The people would pay for what they have done to him. Not even the knights will stand in his way.
The crowd understandably stampeded. They bowled each other over and trampled the ones unfortunate enough to slip as they ran. But the roads of the marketplace were narrow, and the exits, narrower still. The square was turning into a cauldron of insanity. Arthur knew that he had to bring some form of order to the chaos that was before him; the irony of the fact that he had started everything eluded him completely.
The methododical murder kept its pace until Arthur's eye caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Sprawled on the ground, and trying desperately to get back up again was a woman in a long skirt and jet black hair. She had a subtle tuft of brown hair at the front of her head, marking her as a sorceress. One gifted in the magics, who use it when necessary, but are completely unaware of their immense power. Arthur had long advocated the purging of these witches, but no one ever seemed to be agreeable to his cause. Even if they did see the threat, they were quick to change their minds the moment they made any attempt to destroy one of the sorceresses. He wasn't surprised.
Arthur paused for a while. He looked her in the eye and saw the terror that he inspired. But he also saw a grim determination to survive and a glazing over the eyes that normally marked a subconcious invocation of elemental magic. Grinning like the like a demon in hell's torture chambers, he flung one of his daggers at the woman. He could vaguely remember the face. He remembered that it had existed in a time when times were not quite as dark as they were for him now. It was in the distant past, a memory so clouded in conflicting emotion that everything seemed warped and unreal.
The dagger sunk itself into her eye, ending the threat that she posed. He felt a strange vindication, like he actually had done some kind of service to humanity. It was a strange sense of misplaced heroism, something that he rather enjoyed. For a while. Before long, his objective of systematic murder overruled everything else and his face went blank again.
And his blade kept singing the song of death.
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Okay, the Premier League sucks
I hate the people who just bought Manchester City. By extension, that means that I hate Man City now. Seriously, if you think Chelsea spending was bad, these Sheikhs will blow your mind.
I imagine that they will be spending in one season the same amount that Chelsea have spent over the entire Chelski era.
Its retarded, really. Rich man comes in and tells every club in the world - I want your best player. Here is his rated value, and an extra 20 million pounds just to help your decide. It is totally going to spoil everything that is fun about football. I swear, the season that Manchester City wins the premier league is the season I stop watching it. Bring on the La Liga.
Now will be the perfect time to introduce the foreign player cap. Do it next season as a big fuck you to all these rich bastards who think that a football league is their playground to have a bit of fun.
And the Brits are sitting there and taking it like a bunch of pussies. Man City fans parading in the streets in their Arab headwear. Well, fuck you, you bunch of sell-outs. Fuck you and your new Arab masters. Have fun being hypocrites, worshipping them on one hand and condemning their most fundamental idealogies on the other.
I imagine that they will be spending in one season the same amount that Chelsea have spent over the entire Chelski era.
Its retarded, really. Rich man comes in and tells every club in the world - I want your best player. Here is his rated value, and an extra 20 million pounds just to help your decide. It is totally going to spoil everything that is fun about football. I swear, the season that Manchester City wins the premier league is the season I stop watching it. Bring on the La Liga.
Now will be the perfect time to introduce the foreign player cap. Do it next season as a big fuck you to all these rich bastards who think that a football league is their playground to have a bit of fun.
And the Brits are sitting there and taking it like a bunch of pussies. Man City fans parading in the streets in their Arab headwear. Well, fuck you, you bunch of sell-outs. Fuck you and your new Arab masters. Have fun being hypocrites, worshipping them on one hand and condemning their most fundamental idealogies on the other.
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