This is Me, justified and stripped

So, it's kind of funny, taking personality surveys is something I abhor and find to be worthless in general. However, after taking two of them recently for a class I came to a realization. I didn't learn anything new about my strengths and weaknesses. I learned just how silly it is for me to take them. Each question, no matter what, both answers could potentially be mine. After thinking about this I realized why it was so silly, I might as well be two personalities. Sometimes I wonder where the quiet shy kid went from so long ago. This week I discovered where he went, or rather, why he went. When I became an SA it was imperative that I become something else, that I develop the ability to switch my personality like a lightbulb. On and off, on and off, time after time. After flicking my personality around like a switch for so long I wonder anymore which is the real me. Am I the quiet and shy boy from years ago? Am I the precocious and outgoing mentor that worked so hard to help people with their lives at the sacrifice of his own mental well-being? Or am I the third? This third one that has grown so much in the past year. The recognition of the stark realities of this world has left me jaded, my realization of weakness in myself and others has changed the way I see things. I have discovered despisal, abhorrence and hate. Some days it seems like that's all I remember.
Somehow, I think that I am none of them, or maybe all of them, combining again to form an animal of a completely different nature. Whatever it is it struggles and fights, continuously marching ahead into the darkness, only to run headfirst into a wall time and time again. Each time it picks itself up and sets out into the dark again, sometimes directly back into the wall it ran into.

On a completely different note, is it weird that after meeting an absolutely gorgeous girl who's nice, funny, easy to talk to and smart that I began considering her more as a little sister (despite her being just 1 year younger than me) before i even found out she has a boyfriend? If so, well, I'm weird, if not, well, it doesn't really matter anyway.
Sorry for not updating in a while, this whole school and having to invent and entirely new technology in the next two months is somewhat pressuring.

You must remember this
a kiss is just a kiss
A sigh is just a sigh
The fundamental things in life
As time goes by

Iron & Wine

Sitting here at work, not much to do, listening to the Around the Well album. Wow! This guy's good. Take the poetry of Dylan or Simon, the voice of Damien Rice, and the guitar work that fades from Simon to Ry Cooder. My pants are dirty :( . That's what I get I guess for helping the delivery guys unload.

This is shaping up to be an eventful year. So far I've been contracted to invent sky hooks, I've already aced two quizzes, and I met a girl who's so far beyond ordinary as to be altogether surprising. Beer tastes good, family guy is still funny, homework has turned into project work which is much more fun. Oh, and the whole chance to make a lot of money thing, that's nice too. For right now though I gotta run, I might actually have work to do. Before I go, Butch Walker-Letters and Iron and Wine-Around the Well are stellar from what I've heard. These are two albums I'll be requesting int he near future. Check 'em out. Peace.

Mountains

This is. End of statement. No ifs ands or buts. This is life, life is this. Love, share, dream, do. We are not meant for these dilapidated shelters of fear. Our paths lie forward, up into the hills where the snows fall soft among the swaying pines. We see not one, but an array of peaks. All distant futures and dreams of serenity. As we set forth from our hovels and fires of present comforts we are aware that the path is dark and uncertain, we are cognizant of the danger and tribulations that lie before us. Yet we embark anyway without hesitation on what will be the greatest journey undertaken by mortals, that of life. We shall walk through the sun and the wind, when the breezes blow soft, and when the gales shake our very souls. The hills will try us, and the valleys will fill us with despair. Yet onward we shall walk, for this is not the destination. Our destination is not the next peak that we can see, but the one beyond it. The path will split, twist and turn until we might end up on a different mountain top that we originally intended. Does this make the peak we currently stand on any less worthy, any less majestic? No, it makes it ours. We can wish that we were on a different mountain top, or we can look around us and admire the views we currently have. Soon though it will be time for us to go, while the most beautiful panoramas are found at the very summit of the mountains, they offer no shelter, so we must plunge again to the valley floor before we begin the ascent of our next peak. So it goes, father to son, mother to daughter. This is love, this is joy, this is life. To love above self, to fight without fear, to forgive without hesitation, to seek beauty in every soul. Pax vobiscum fratris.


Kira

Ghosts of California Pt II

The summer wind waved the tall grass and the low bushes in the South Georgia heat. A tall rock to the east stood well above the meadow and commanded an excellent view all the way to the pecan orchards in the south. To the west there lay a few small trees and some thicker underbrush. Two men walked around that area and beat the bushes with sticks. Apart from the cracking of brush and the whisper of a specter audience from the fields there was a nerve-wracking silence, broken only by the muted static of a two-way radio.
Suddenly there came a deafening crack and a piece of metal clanged and then swung back and forth. Immediately the radios came to life and orders flew from the vehicles parked north of the target. The two men with sticks were joined by four more that were now searching with renewed vigor. Two officers stood in the back of a truck and scanned the brush with binoculars. One stared at a spot for a moment, and then tapped the other to draw his attention to the object. The second smiled, “We’ve got him this time. This will be one of my most enjoyable days.”
They both chuckled and then one spoke into a radio. The men out in the brush converged on the spot and poked their sticks into the bush that stood there, yet again, they did not find what they were looking for.
Again, there came that unnerving sound of impact and again the target swung in the breeze.
The senior officer swore, “Damn! How did he do that? We had him for sure.”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Well, he’s a fine soldier.” He picked up a bullhorn and spoke into it, “You win! You can come out now.”
The two waited expectantly to see a shadow move and their man appear, but nothing happened. There came a startled cry from the men in the brush and one of them gestured toward the rock formation. On the top of it stood a bush carrying a rifle.
The bush turned and jumped down from the rock. It began walking to the vehicles.
When it arrived it appeared to grab its chin and throw its head back, revealing the face of a grinning young man, smeared with dirt and charcoal.
The senior officer stepped down from the truck and extended a hand, “Congratulations, son, you passed. Better head back to the barracks and get cleaned up before evening role call, you look like you crawled out of a sewer.”
The young man saluted, “Thank you, Major. I did, on maneuvers this morning.”
The Major laughed and patted the young man on the back.

It was the ninth of September, when that young man walked into the recruiting office and joined a fledgling outfit known as the GHOSTs. The nickname stood for Guerrilla and Hidden Operations Strike Team. Many said that the ‘s’ on the end stood for Snipers. Be that as it may, it was an elite unit, intended for extremely dangerous missions behind enemy lines. The men were taught to live off the land, how to track, how to hunt small game with only a knife and, most importantly, how to do as much possible damage to the enemy without being harmed themselves. All that, and they were only just finished with Basic.
After that, things got tougher, guerrilla tactics, operating and disarming nuclear devices, jumping from airplanes, operating stolen equipment, sniping, camouflage, and psych warfare.
Then came the final test. The boots, often called ‘spooks’ or ‘haunts’ by the drill sergeants, were taught how to fly. Not how to pilot, they could already do that in their sleep, no, they were taught the fine art of being launched from an airplane several hundred feet above the earth at several times the speed of sound and coming down safely ready to fight. Since the system is wonderful to watch in use, I would love to explain it to you, however the technical details are highly guarded military secrets and I cannot reveal them lest I commit treason. Let it suffice to know that there was a special suit worn by the Ghosts for this kind of mission that enabled them to glide for short periods provided their speed was great enough.
After this training, the young man emerged alongside his mates, a lieutenant in charge of the 2nd platoon of the famous, in fact legendary, Ghost Company.

“Cass, you see that stump over there.”
Sergeant Jeffery “Casper” Kentworth nodded.
“Just to the right of it, behind that bush. You see it?”
“Yeah, lieutenant.”
“Range?”
“I make two hundred and fifty yards.”
“Close enough, I make it two forty-five.”
The lieutenant’s rifle barked.
“Good call, lieutenant, you got him.”
Lieutenant James Carver grinned, “Sure did. That will irritate Corporal Zane and Cpl. Logan.”
The two laughed together. It was about eighteen months after they had joined up; they had completed their intense training and were now simply staying prepared in case they were ordered out to battle.
Carver slowly stood, checking his surroundings all the while. It was habit now; it would have felt strange not to check. Cass rolled to his left and then rose so that he was several feet away from the lieutenant but still close enough for easy communication.
These two had been leaders from the start. The commanding officers had chosen them early on as possible officers and had made them buck sergeants. From that day forward, they had attracted attention as leaders. Many others came and went but these two stayed, and not only did James Carver do his best to keep his own boot chevrons but saw to it that Casper kept his. The men that had trained under their command had excelled all others. Now James was a lieutenant in charge of the 2nd Platoon and Casper had taken his place as Assistant Platoon Leader and commander of the 1st Squad in that platoon. What had set them apart was that they led instead of pushed; James was a firm believer in never asking his men to do something he would not do himself. He led the charges on fixed positions, if there was a difficult shot to take on maneuvers he took it. Any dangerous ‘missions’ were under his command or, if he was needed with the rest of the unit, Cass would lead. So it was that they were in command of one of the most lethal platoons in the most elite unit in the world when the war started.

I will not go in to the politics of the war, how it started and why, who was right and who was wrong. Some say that the U.S. had it coming to them. Others say that tyrannical dictators, trying to crush any semblance of freedom in the world, started the war. All I know is that it was war and there was a job for the Ghosts. Killing was their business, and business was good.
A coalition of Central and South American countries had invaded the Southwestern United States. It was broadcast on the news that there was sporadic skirmishing south of San Diego and east through Arizona and New Mexico, then down into West Texas. The real story was that San Diego fell, and two weeks later Los Angeles followed it. San Antonio was in danger and the enemy was overrunning Silver City and Tucson. The Americans were reeling back and trying to regroup after the onslaught. Someone decided that this was the perfect place to test how good the Ghosts really were.

Sunshine...details

Technically I'm about three days behind in posting the second chapter to the story...well, bite me. Three days ago I was under an overpass in Indy with rain blowing in on me and trucks going by at 70 mph and I was retying knots swollen with rain over and over again until they seemed secure. Two days ago I was manically cleaning, moving, setting up, and playing Halo. Yesterday...eh, let's face it, yesterday I was completely useless. Anyway, I'll put a new chapter up tomorrow for those of you that want to read it, those that don't, skip it. Here's a little rhyme to keep you entertained.

Softly sinking sunbursts and the red river rays
Do well to calm the aftershocks of haunting in your brain
But it's good to pass the ghosts in ghastly pupils often glazed
And the final fleeting sentiments will follow through the haze

Lying here in languid lazy lackluster shapes
Are toys that tell of toddlers teaching us to play
With whimsical enthusiasm wishing we were one
Till the alabaster albatross alights among the shades

So wearily I waited for a knock that never came
Wanting to forget the past upon this bed I lay
sneakily aslumber with a shaky sense of shame
It's a dogs life in digits dying pass away your days.

Ghosts of California Pt 1

Prologue:
“Times such as these, require heroes of a harder steel…”

Seldom is it given to a man to become a hero in his own lifetime. Even more rare is his passing into history, thence into story and legend, while he yet lives. Yet men such as this do dwell on the earth at all times. Often they are the man next door, the youth digging a ditch, the boy riding his bike, and the only thing that keeps them from being noticed, is that the normal fires of life do not rage hot enough to smelt them from the common iron.
When, however, the circumstances of the world around them call for it, these individuals are capable of rising to such heights, that their lives will become inspiration to a new generation of heroes, who cannot equal them, yet nevertheless aspire to show the courage and strength shown by their new idol.
And so men who in a quiet world would have gone unnoticed, suddenly find themselves in the fore, leading others to glory and death. Those that would follow them must eventually die, however those that lead need not fear, for even if they fall in battle, their names and lives will live on, told and retold until their greatest accomplishments in life have been eclipsed by those attributed to them by others.
Once in a great while however, times will arise that will call for heroes that stand taller than the legends of old. Times that will call for men so far above average that by mere virtue of accepting their fate they become irrevocably changed, and can never walk again as normal men. Men such as this never die, they merely fade away until all that remains are the stories, true stories so fantastic that they are believed legend, and legends that become myth, until the mortal nature of these men is lost entirely.
The only thing that is forgotten is the man himself, who can never return to normal life, and is condemned to wander forever a world that refuses to leave him at peace, and is simultaneously incapable of challenging him to new heights, or sending him through the door of death to eternal rest.
James Carver was destined to be such a man. Little did anyone suspect this young man would one day be a hero. No one expected times to arise that would call to light his superior will, courage and natural ability to lead. Not one person in his small Georgia hometown ever thought to themselves that this boy would grow up to be a legend among heroes, a warrior among soldiers, or the Commanding officer of the most efficient fighting unit that his country had ever seen.
Carver was a fun loving boy, like all boys, and he wanted nothing more from life than sunny day, when he was young, it was for playing in the yard, then for fishing, then baseball. As he grew older his sunny days became more and more mature, he worked on cars, laid concrete, planted crops, chopped firewood, yet through them all there was one constant. Whenever the trees bowed in a breeze James Carver would stop whatever it was he was doing, and enjoy his life.
By the time he reached high-school he had decided that he was in love. He never fell in love, never tumbled head over heels, instead he grew up with her, day after day they were friends. Until one day when the two of them were walking in the woods.
They had stopped to rest on a flat rock, when a slight buzzing caught their attention. As they both turned the snake on the rock behind her struck. Without batting an eye James reached out his hand and caught the snake around the neck before it could bite her.
This single act, the reaction of a split second caused both of them to realize two very different things. She realized that he was not an ordinary boy, and because of her telling of the story he became a local hero. Every girl at the school longed to be with the boy who caught a snake barehanded. His actions were those of a hero, one with ability beyond that of others, saving the innocent from danger.
He interpreted the action differently. He viewed it as a colossally stupid move made because of a subconscious will to protect this girl at all costs. James Carver had not believed that he could actually catch the snake, he merely wanted to keep it from biting her. It was at this moment that James Carver realized that he was in love with Katherine Jacobs.
James was no fool, he recognized even at a young age that he would need something to show if he were to propose to Kate. He had seen his father and older brother go to work at the factory, scraping enough each week just to stay alive. That was not the life that he wanted to offer Kate. He wanted to offer her something a little more secure, nothing fancy, but not tiptoeing the line his father walked.
To accomplish his goal he needed an education, and to get that education he needed money, neither of these were things that he had. Then one night he and two of his friends were sitting on his back porch drinking a beer and discussing their pipe dreams.

One of James’ teammates threw his empty can at the back of the trailer and swore, “Hell, we ain’t never getting out of this town. We can dream, we can talk, but it ain’t never going to do no good. Born poor, raised poor, live poor, die poor. It won’t change just because we’re young and we want it to.”
Jeffery Kentworth, James’ best friend for years, wrapped his hands around his can, “Sure it can. I turn eighteen tomorrow, and I’m walking down to the recruiter. I’ll get out.”
The first one to speak scoffed at Jeffery’s plan. He called it ridiculous, risking your life for nothing, foolhardy, and many other things. Jeffery only nodded his head and watched the sun setting. James saw in his best friend’s eyes the silent resolve to get out. Silently, not wanting to say things he couldn’t back up, he wondered about the military. He had never given it a thought, but now that Jeffery was going to join, it made sense.
James knew that his talents were limited to the physical realm, but he did have an ability. Even after the other two had left James sat on his back porch thinking. It was a relatively peaceful time in the world, the terms only lasted four years. The odds of him dying in combat when there wasn’t a war going on were incredibly small, and benefits would be enough to take the risk.
After all, in four years Kate would be a nurse, or a teacher, and he could come home, he could save enough money to last them while he went to school and learned a useful trade.
He pursed his lips and pulled the tab off of his last beer, he smiled as he flicked it towards the house, he had been drinking for years, and it had never been novel. Even the first night his father let him drink at home, he felt like it was just a way to unwind after a rough day. It had become a tradition for his father, brother and himself to spend Friday evening drinking and talking. Since his mom died when he was young, and his father had never remarried, there was no one to object.
At last his thoughts resolved themselves. He looked up at the moon, already high in the sky and smiled, it might be his last night here for a while, but he’d be back, and when he came back he would have something to offer her.
Slowly he stood, savoring the hot stillness of the summer night air, the singing of the tree frogs down by the creek as the crickets harmonized. Tomorrow he would join Jeffery on his walk to the recruiter, the cicadas would play them a farewell march, and he would be on his way to being somebody.

Stories and such

Awright chilluns, we's gwan do this proper. I intend to start posting a story or two as serials on here, since they're too long for one post. Hopefully it will be a weekly thing. Some of them don't divide nicely into chapters so it might be uneven. The second story and conclusion are still in development, so it may be a while until they come out to play. Till then I shall do my best to entertain you in various and sundry ways.

Turn back drop the bottle pop
Everybody knows that you gotta stop
With the flows here we go let your nose
Guide you cause it isn't gonna find you
Going by the back streets
This is how a heart beats
Never know the pattern I just listen to the rhythm
Let the sound control your body plug yourself into the system
Uh-oh here we go made a joke now it's told
On playgrounds and there's sounds of parents anger
Don't blame me cause your kid is spitting oaths
You should remember take a lesson get involved in his life
Cause, not because, the change in his jokes
His mouth is dirty but that's not an accident
Maybe you should practice this thing called parenting
Heaven forbid we teach a child right from wrong
Let them learn how it goes in the movies and the songs
Alcohol, drugs, rock'n'roll are in
And they'll pick 'em up if you don't tell 'em about sin
Yes, no, here we go tell me white from black
Never thought you'd hear another kid talking back
But respect isn't given it's gotta be earned
And parents never in the house won't get a turn
So the kids turn to friends who turn to me to tell them when
But I'm just as messed up as any of them
Point your fingers in a circle till it comes back again
Finally the problem'll be identified then

Rendezvous with the future
Or is that what we forgot
Don't tell me what to do
When you pop pills to stay on top

Prozac, valium, percoset and helium
Ritalin, alcohol, nicotine and vicodin
Drugs are our culture hiding from the world
Sure they have their uses like helping boys to get with girls
Wait no, uh-oh, I shouldn't have said that
I might have offended you, too late to take back
Like I really care what you think about this song
See caring is like sharing it helps us all to get along
Too bad I'm not in preschool I might even act like I care
But your fashion money lifestyle isn't getting you no where
So blame it all on culture, music and the world
Whatever helps you sleep knowing you forgot your baby girl.

Rendezvous with the future
Or is that what we forgot
If we want to make a difference
We need to hold on to what we got