On Language [1.1]

   As one who grasped the concept of linguistics before motor mechanics, the world of language has long since fascinated me by realms of imagination. Within the blink of an eye, a man can create a whole new world. With the stroke of a new pen, a leader can send thousands of men to their deaths; in our present day, perhaps even destroy the world if he desired such. Whether mankind notices it or not, a multitude of organisms communicate constantly; they too have their own languages: monkeys use differently pitched grunts, plants utilise chemicals and fungi, and even our cells are communicating as we live and breathe. What a thought, that even within the iota of space that cells encompass, there is a transfer of data and information! This is indeed the scope of awe that should strike a man when pondering the matter of language as a whole!
   The breadth of one's mouth, the way one's cheeks move, the manner in which one's jaw is aligned; these are all minor details that effect the unique natural speaking patterns one may have. Consider a preacher. For this example, I would like to make it negligible what manner of preacher this preacher is, be it a preacher of peace, a preacher of Christianity, or a preacher of Luciferianism. As a man conveying what he believes to be true, it is reasonable to think that this man is preaching because he passionately believes in what he is saying and because he wants his audience to follow what he follows(or to learn and gain new knowledge from his words, in other words, to not walk off empty-handed). This is a man who has a certain goal in mind, and with any notion, let us also note that this man is very driven. Committed to his beliefs and with a foundation like the Bastille(lest it be stormed by madmen), this is a man who is not one to back down after nine or fifty stones have been cast upon him. Here we have the premise. As a passerby or someone enjoying their tea, what could you surmise knowing the previously mentioned information about the man, that is to say he is both driven, goal-oriented, passionate, and well-grounded?
 

   ERASMUS Friend, what say you of this man? It would appear to me that his words strike a dull spot into my spine and has the crux upon my soul! Such rhetoric! Such intensity! How could anyone discredit such a man's tongue? Surely he has convened with the divine!

   NICCOLO When I first saw the manner with which you dressed yourself and the raiment which has fallen upon you, I was under the impression that you were a scholar, well-educated, pale, and of the aristocracy. I am now under the impression that you are a low-minded plebeian who is far too easily influenced by the word of man and too graced by fanciful language. Stay your ear and stay your heart before some rotten corpse leads you into the pit! I think nothing of this man but terrible things which I find to be nothing more than obvious.

   ERASMUS When I first saw your eyes and jaw, I saw a languished spirit in need of fruit. However, after seeing such a scowl and scuffle upon my ears, I regret calling you friend! Do you not have the same human characteristics as I or the queen? What town do you hail from?

   NICCOLO Well, I will have you know that I am not from you. No, indeed, I have arrived just a fortnight ago from Milan. But now I see you people are like cotton, with little substance in your writing and speech.

   ERASMUS Cotton? I will have no more of this meaningless squabble. However, before I leave, tell me this, why do you look upon the preacher so belligerently? Do you simply disagree with what he says? Are you ignorant as to disparage everyone different from you? Everyone who disagrees with you?

   NICCOLO I laugh at your comment. How could an Italian be that ignorant? I look down upon him because of the gestures he uses and the way he launches his words and phrases. Take the verses he is using. This man puts them upon a pedestal when he should be placing them in a crossbow. Ponder this for a minute, an hour, a decade, a millennia, however long it takes you to understand. It is not the content with which exactly I find conflict with. It is how he delivers it. Even what I say to you now is a transfer of speech, which in this case, it is a gift to you. Of course, if you were to give your queen a gift, what would you have it be?

   ERASMUS I don't know...something of valuable to be sure.

   NICCOLO A blunt answer, to say the least. However, let's say you wanted to give her a golden ring. Would it be as precious if you sent a beggar to give it to her? How about if you wrapped it in cabbage leaves? Of course not. In the same way, language must be treated carefully. The words you use may dictate the ending, but the journey they take from your mind to another's affects the state they may arrive in.

Connery 1 : Beginnings

   I wondered to myself, could this world be saved from death? I learned the terrors in life at an early age, but I was also given the power to combat them. Power is a strange thing, a beautiful thing even. For it is too often that we will not act unless we have power. It is and always been my inherent belief that action comes first. The means to carry out that action can come later.
   I was cold and hungry when Father James Rubicume Connery found me; a condition that I had long forgotten. It was by a shallow creek that he had found me, asleep and bruised. I remembered escaping the clutches of my master as he bludgeoned me with a flail. My people, my kind, had been slaves since the Crusades of King Richard III, but I was the first to escape and live to tell the tale.
   They fed us as one would feed animals, broke us as one would break a horse, and neutered us as one neutered cattle. We were hated and they made sure that we knew that fact. But why? I asked myself. There were many possible reasons for this, but I could never get an exact answer. My people were different physically in comparison to the Scottish and the English. We had no pupils and we were, on average, much taller. But should this be a justifiable reason for the crimes committed against my people? I thought about this constantly as they forced me to work incessantly on the plantations. I was born a slave and had never known what freedom was, but I wanted to find out.
   So I ran into the darkness. Night encompassed the land and I ran towards the gate. My master, Henry Mason, was coincidentally by the gate and shattered my kneecaps. The pain was unspeakable for a boy of only 9 years old. Before Master Mason could extinguish what little life I had, one of my fellow slaves took his club and bashed his head with it. More men came to see what all the noise was, but I was already crawling on my belly, hoping to be saved by the darkness. They never found me in the darkness and I passed out by a creek with no idea how far I had crawled. Every now and then, I would awake for just a few seconds and find myself tied to a wooden board of sorts, moving up a hill.
   When I came to completely, I was on a soft mattress. The first thing that I noticed was my legs. I couldn't move them at all, and when I tried, it felt like they were being crushed from the inside out. I fell to the floor and closed my eyes, wondering if I was in heaven. I felt strong hands lifting me up and placing me back into the bed. I opened my eyes and saw a man wearing garments resembling that of a monk's. He had a beard encompassing the entirety of his jaw and shining aquamarines for eyes. We made eye contact and his blue eyes were burned into my memory. It was my first time seeing such eyes that were kind, but at the same time filled with regret. His gaze made me feel convicted, as though I had committed a grave error. They were filled with a cold sense of pity that made me feel as though I should be dead. Finally, he spoke. His first words to me explained why he had such a countenance upon his aged visage; a single observation that explained my very presence.
   "You're a slave, aren't you?" he said softly. His voice mirrored the wrinkles on his face. They sounded like a man who had gone through many tribulations and walked too far on his path. He had a voice that was fragile, like a bauble that would shatter any moment. I nodded in response to his question. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my knee; the man pressed down on it with his hand.
   "Wrong answer. If you are a slave, who then is your master?" he asked. He released his hand. "You're free. Cherish this feeling. Many of your people do not have the privilege that is liberty. I am Father James Rubicume Connery. You may call me Father James. From this day on, your name will be Jon Connery." he said. He had shocked me when he referred to my people as people and not my kind. This was uncommon.
   He reached out his hand and helped me up. Father James handed me a set of crutches and helped me walk with them. We walked to a long wooden table and he gave me soup made from milk, cheese, potatoes and mushrooms. Once I finished my meal, I went outside and felt the sunlight shining on my face. It was the first time that the sunlight didn't burn.It was the first time that I ate without being afraid of expelling diarrhea. It was the first time that I slept without fear of the master coming to condition me. It was the first time I had lived.

Khyl-Arms Prologue: Part 1

Khyl-Arms hospital was a special kind of a hospital. It wasn't the kind that healed people with broken arms or broken legs. The doctors there worked with people that no one else wanted to work with- the outcasts. I say doctors, but it wasn't a hospital with doctors either. No one had a medical degree, nor was anyone a Doctor of Philosophy. They were all simply broken people who came by the building everyday to help broken people.
Alex's parents had both died the year that they found out their child had been accepted to the prestigious Amherst University. With no one to help pay for the tuition or plane tickets, Alex gave up on everything-college, becoming a lawyer, the future, everything. With no better option in mind at the time, Alex decided to take a walk. It was during this gloomy walk that Alex discovered Khyl-Arms hospital. The building's exterior appeared to be extremely dilapidated as though it was hit heavily by it's age. Flora was growing in strange regions and there was a curious stench all throughout the area. Alex walked towards the entrance of the building and kicked the door; it opened slowly. The hallways were surprisingly clean and hardly resembled the outside of the building. After just thirty seconds, Alex found a boy in a chair, staring at the ground. Before Alex could say anything, the boy diverted his attention from the ground to the wall, then stared straight at Alex. The boy tried to stand up, but fell on his face and winced. With his arms at his hips, he looked at Alex and said, "My name's August. Who are you?"
"I'm Alex. I was just walking around. Do you have any parents?" Alex said. The boy's face wasn't concentrated on Alex's face anymore, but her pockets. After a few seconds, he looked at her face again and answered her question.
"No."
"Well, neither do I. Do you have any friends? Does anyone else come by here?" Alex asked curiously.
Instead of answering, the boy simply lay on the ground and Alex stayed with the boy until it got dark.

On Holidays [1.1]

The Korean holiday of Chusok is just around the corner. I've always heard it described as Korean Thanksgiving, but I don't see any pilgrims, Indians, or turkey. Now from what I've gathered, the holiday is centered around the moon, rice cakes, and a tradition of visiting your relatives. Well, I say visit, but you're really more or less there for the whole day. This is what prompted this post about holidays. Why do we celebrate them? Because we've always celebrated them! Because we do this every year! Really. A response that is as logical as a shark has bones. It always has disturbed me greatly that holidays are so promoted and sought with no pragmatic or progressive value. If we are to celebrate, let us celebrate our victories then, not theirs. I do not put down the act of celebration. This means that if we celebrate, we should not celebrate holidays without knowing their roots, but celebrate with full knowledge of their potency.

On Dreams [1.1]

Dreams are one of the most peculiar things that we experience in our everyday lives. We sleep everyday(hopefully) and most people dream everyday. It's a common experience that most people share. Although we have the liberty to experience it everyday, it's not exactly something we can easily force upon ourselves at will. We dream about various things, including our past experiences, possible experiences, and the unknown. There seems to be almost no limit to what we can and can't dream about. I once had a dream where I was at Port Discovery on a school field trip. Two years later, I went on a field trip to Port Discovery and every detail was exactly the same as my impeccable memory remembered it. Very curious, is it not? But I propose a far-fetched hypothesis.

Consider the following. What if our dreams are visions of ourselves in different parallel universes? What if when we enter REM(Rapid Eye Movement; the period in which most of our dreaming occurs) sleep, we're viewing a version of ourselves or our lives in a parallel world? That would explain the various dreams in which it seems as though we're seeing the future and it comes true. Of course, this has just about no evidence or proof supporting; simply a ridiculous, but interesting hypothesis that came to my mind.

Jon Connery, White Wing

Recently, I've been concocting a fictional character named Jon Connery. Born in Edinburgh, Scotland, Jon Connery was found in a field by a recluse known to the reader as Father James. Father James raises him in a monastery with another boy named Xarhiel; the two of them become blood brothers and grow up together until they turn 15. Jon wakes up one day to see his Father James' dead body hanging by a noose from the ceiling and his brother is missing. Jon begins to search for Xarhiel, and because he lived isolated from society for most of his life, he has trouble in the nearby town, Freemass. He begins doing covert missions for the authorities which garners the attention of an order who call themselves the Gandathgard. A member of the Gandathgard, Red Volt, recruits Jon to be White Wing of the Gandathgard. Jon is granted a gargantuan sum of money and property and the order gives him superhuman abilities in exchange for his loyalty. The only real orders that the Gandathgard give him are to do whatever they ask him to do when he is called upon. Other than that, he can do whatever he wants now. So out of all the things he could do, he starts searching for Xarhiel again.

Tears of Valediction

Sometimes you love someone because you've known them for a long time and you've grown close to them. Sometimes it will feel like you've known someone for a lifetime even though you only met them a week ago. Words do not properly form when I try to think about this too much, but I understand it has affected me. I now realize how much I really valued her friendship and presence. Although it's selfish of me to say this, parts of me wish she was staying. Sometimes you think you're tough or that you're so smart, but everyone breaks eventually. We just need to put ourselves back together.