With a chin support and a cocked eyebrow, I talk about myself.

I had a huge diatribe here about how awful and awesome I am.

Blogger is a cunt.

I talked about how much of a loser I am - Which is partially true, but for other reasons than what I was saying. I was selling myself as a self-actualising and self-fulfilling failure of a man, who had no business even dreaming for a good life.

WRONG. I came to see that after a phone-call to a friend.

I'm a good man.

A damn fine man.

I have some much going for me:

- Constant and undying support for whatever I do from my family.

- A form of creative genius that cannot be put onto paper.

- And the most wonderful girl in the world. I say it all the time, but it's never stopped being true, I love you, Babe.

I was writing for the sake of activity - and Introspection is easy with the wrong motivations.

I'm a helper. A defender. A guardian.

I'm a reliable man. Though I say that more often than I appear to be so.

I remember starting this post with "I do stupid things..." and attributing it to Gluttony for approval and praise.

Bollocks! You were writing for the sake of venting and application.

You're a glutton, and a sloth. Sure. But you're charitable, temperate, caring and kind.

I said, a while ago, to that special someone, that I'd start believing the hype that people said about me.

I am now. I've been slow in doing so, but now? I'm running, and no amount of stitching, cramping or vomiting will stop me. Colour me green and orange.

Fuck... I hate Blogger for being so damn picky. I really wanted to show how much of an idiot I can be!

A blessing is disguise? Maybe...

I remember the ending though:

I'm going to live to this creed:

Aspire, Actualise, Ascend, Acclaim.

That's what they'll all see in my footsteps - Words in chalk on my road of life! My human way!

People will look to me - the dynamo, the alchemic kettle of emotion and surrealistic integrity - And ask me who I am, and I will say this:

I'm a damn fine man.

And if you don't like it...

Fuck Off.

(There... Vented and turned about. My usual cocktail on a night where I just bob in the water.)

Once More with Feeling!

Play it again, Benny!

Boss... My arms hurt...

Play it! I need to hear this one more time!

The gears are so stiff... arrgh...

Keep it turning, greasemonkey. This cacophany must be heard at the right speed!

Is that why you're using it? Or is that... Hurgh... why you're using it on them?

Both! This music was passed down to me by my grandfather! And from his grandfather before! It's a generation of timpany whistles and mechanical symphony!

And... What does it do to them?

Brings them into my world, Benny. It makes them mine to control.

Why not a recording or something? That's a lot easier on me at least...

Stupid, selfish simpleton! It must be harmonic - Speakers cannot do that! Will not do that! And besides, you said you wanted some exersise...

Yeah... But not just my friggin arms and shoulders...

Hush up! Here comes the accompaniment!

Those whistles are so loud...

They have to be to pierce the defences of the human mind... Like a sonic infection. Crawling up the ear canal and cutting into all of that dull grey matter, turning it cotton candy pink!

You're a poet and a scholar, Mr. Pinkerton.

Please, Benny... Call me Paddy!

Okay... Paddy... So, who are those people down there... There are kids and adults there...

they're nobody special! Some may think they are, but, oh no... Nobody is special. All just drones, you see... Living their lives like insects and carnivores... they have no idea how much FUN they're missing out on!

So... you want to cause chaos?

No! Fun! Fun isn't like Chaos! Chaos is destructive and violent... Fun is constructive! Warm! Exciting!

So... this music'll make them have more fun?

In a way... It'll free them from their inhibitions!

Is... is that Governor Swifton?!

Well! So it is! Looks like he got a flyer too! Just like the mayor! and there is police chief Redfield!

My god...

And with the loss of inhibitions, comes the loss of sensibility! Insanity!

Paddy...

Mr. Pink to you, right now, Benny boy. Keep playing! Keep those bells and whistles rolling!

The Bound Man.

The Bound Man walks the earth, searching for the Key, or the Bladed Hand.

The Key is hidden, stolen away by the Pregnant Mother to taunt him.

The Father sits upon the Throne of Mysteries, looking down upon the Pregnant Mother with shame in his eyes.

The Mother sits to the side of the Father, not looking at anything, her eyes blinded long ago, devoid of emotion.

The Behemoth lumbers in the footsteps of the Changling, seeking a good mel.

The Changling follows the Bound Man, seeking a good meal also.

The Bladed Hand moves across the Map, once the Guide, cutting it into agonising ribbons.

The Tempest moves wherever the Night Watchman goes, following him and raining down upon him.

The Sun and Moon spin across the earth, making the Deep and the Mighty tremble.

The Deep just wants to be left alone, but The Legion drink from him.

The Mighty sits alone, awaiting the battle.

The Legion madly run whichever way the deem appropriate, as long as the Catcher doesn't get them.

The Catcher works for the Bladed Hand, seeking blood for his lord.

The Starchild sits, crying rivers of crystal tears, his voice that of the gods themselves.

The Flame jumps through the Ancient Forest, burning it's back and front.

The Shield and Spear lie in the hands of the Jealous Knight and the Slothful King.

The Jealous Knight seeks to become King.

The Slothful King looks to slumber longer than the world has lived.

The Madman leads the legion into battle.

And the World spins slowly around these fated tragedies.

Only the Bound Man will survive, to sit upon the Throne of Loss and hold the Orb of Chance.

He is the most tragic of all.

A Sleeping Kiss.

This is for you,
the sleeper, as I stand and work around you,
Looking back at your still-life form,
Through watercolours and oils.

We met, so soon and yet, at time, so long ago.
Through the Lady, most eternal,
Born when humans asked "What if..." and "I could...".
She saw us.
And she smiled.

For hours on end, we talked and still do,
A disjointed prose and poetry,
That we alone understand.

We have our jokes,
We have sadness and anger,
We have worry. Some more than the other.

But through it all, I think,
I know.
That you are just as good or bad as I,
And yet existing as so much more.

We've had the times where we made each other smile,
The sad times too, as well as those times where we've been angry.
And yet, with those, and times where we both can't find the strength to deal,
We do, with a guided hand.

I once thought that love was for someone else, and I donated mine too often,
To see another soul fly.
I thought my life was one of satisfaction in a fraction I could assist.
Yet now?
All I think about is you and I.

I stand on the edge of the future, trying to look into the light,
To see where I might be going.
I never see the full picture.
But a hand comes and grazes my brow, and another comes, and places itself in mine.
You help me. Guide me.

I don't deserve the help, sometimes.
I act like a child, waddling in the darkness.
But everytime I say so,
You silence me, and hold me closer.

I'm a bigger man now,
With your help, your presense.
A helping hand, a caring touch.
A kiss, stolen in jest,
means more to me than food.

I'm not a subtle person.
I can be such at times.
I admit.
But the majesty of life isn't lost on me,
so though my words are often sprawling and thuddish,
they come with honesty and definition.

You see this,
And you laugh. In joy.
In time, in time.
I love you, I love you.

For all the things that I could do,
To make you mad and worry,
I'm sorry.
Genetic furniture in need of feng sui.

For all the things I do,
That make you happy,
I'm glad. So glad.
Just to make you smile.

And for all the things you do that make me happy,
Thank you. Thank you.
Thank God for you.
I never want to let you go.
All mine.
I never want to lose you.
For never and ever.

Thank you.

Happy Valentine's day, Otter.
I hope you let me know how much you like it.

Like a Nerf Gun in a Nuclear War.

The individual in a time of war is useless in comparison to the unified opposition. The individual must be prepared for the three inevitable fates of his kind:
1 - To surrender: Become the opposition, forsake his pride.
2 - To fight and to die with grit and determination.
3 - Forsake his pride as the individual and become a part of the unified resistance.

One exception are those of the Odinistic variety - The Individual who forsakes all 3 options and trancends his position to become a hero, a tyrant or a conqueror.

The Odinists who then unify as a resistant front become the winners of war. That is another inevitability of war.

Those who win the war, define the laws of justice and the power available to the people.

The Odinist also define what the people can take, even after the war and laws have ended and been defined.

-- Czao Meng, lore and laws of war, 5th transcript.


I don't trust Commander Fries...

Why not?

He's too damn confident, Max! He talk about all of this like he's seen it so many times before!

Well, have you even seen him out there? He's a clear veteran of war, the way he acts and moves. It's not just ego or bravado, Uri. He's a true leader.

I know... But something about him gives me the creeps... Do you even look closely at him when he's out there? When he's waving that sword of his around?

Well, I see him from the back...

Sure, leader on the front line... But look into his eyes and you'll see what I see... He's a shark, a pure predator. His eyes are dead... They're rolled up into his head.

A berzerker rage?

No... Yes... It's that and something more...

More?

He's... He's more than any of us... He teaches us to be like him, instead of letting us find our own way. We imitate him, but we're nowhere close... Hence why I have this.

Uri... A trench-knife? We're meant to use the broadswords!

Exactly! Are you or anyone else even good with that damn thing?!

Well, I...

Watch this.

*Schick! Swoosh! Swash! Chang!!*

Impressive... Could you teach me?

That's the point I'm trying to make! I'm not going to teach you because you may not be good with it! You may be as good with a staff! Or a crossbow! A rifle, or harmonica!

...I see. I... I think I'd like to try without anything... Unarmed combat.

There you go! You could be much stronger! So much stronger! Everyone could! If they just tried their own forms of combat, stopped following Fries like puppet soldiers...

I'm going to go and find something usable on the net... See you later!

Goodbye, Max.

...

He's an excitable one...

Oh... Commander.

*Thumph*

What's this, sir?

A book. I think you'd enjoy it. I see potential in you. Not as anything other than your own person.

Sir? You think the same way?

Yes... But these people... Understand this, Larman... They're just conscripts. Clay, incaple of being truly shaped. Too dull to stand out. In you, I see faults, and bubbles, and a shape like no other. Some need molding to be confident, and instruction to stand and fight. Men like you and I? We lead. We are those who are written about in the history books. The heroes of war.

...I see. Is that what this book is about?

You got that much from the title? You have intuition and sense...

I also don't like to be overly-flattered...

Haha... I understand. I'll leave you to your reading. Have it back to me as soon as you finish. I'd like to get your opinion on the highlighted sections...

And if I agree with you? I assume that's what you want.

I'll introduce you to some of my friends... Other individuals, above the rest.

My Eternal Wrath and Scorn.

With anger and bile, you arose from the bed.
None so living, and not quite dead.
How could I have forseen this day?
The child I bore, a depravity.

You, so small and pale, were born from love,
Not sand and blood.
Yet all that comes from your mouth,
Is course and cutting.

Dirt and hate.

My intentions, while noble,
Proved to be a sheer and unabashed tragedy.
We, your father and I,
Could not have concieved you any other way.

Death, becomes life.

We took you in from the cold,
Out of the rust and stone.
We made you, as one only can,
When forming perfection.

Life, becomes death.

I do not understand it, why?
Why did you rise and tear us so?
Where did we go wrong?
We couldn't have known...

Questions without answers.

I cry, here now,
Out of ignorance.
Why were you born with such hate in your heart?
I cannot fathom your soul.

Soul of steel.

Why you could not tell us,
Why you awoke screaming in agony.
I cannot understand...
What can I do to soothe you?

Mother's milk.

I cannot feed you.
I cannot teach you.
I cannot love you.
If you are not here.

Shadows and shapes.

You ran from your womb,
In and under.
Through your safety,
Into darkness, into rain.

Misery and regret.

I do know this:
You were not born of human flesh.
I cannot touch you,
Without feeling your fear.

Your pain.

Your screaming.

Your hatred.

I want to hold you, my son.
As only a mother can.
But I know.
The embrace would bear no love from either side.

Is this how every mother feels?
Shame? Regret? Guilt? Fear?
What about Joy, in such circumstances?
I feel that too.

Joy to the world.

I see you yell, as a mother knows life.
I see you run, as a mother knows love.
I see you fall, as a mother knows fear.

All I see is my son.

My life.

My death.

My legacy.

High Way.

These nigh-immortal scars...

On the body of the land...

They join us across the magnificent expanse on this earth...

People, like my mother and father, considered the earth to be a sentient being... Capable of feeling pain, pleasure and disappointment.

If it did, I'm sure it would be disappointed in us...

We pollute it, and harp on about how we intend to save it, but it's too late now... No matter how many plastic bags we DON'T use, the world is doomed.

Do you know why they called them highways?

Because they are disconnected from the earth... Joined, but not a part of it, like the other roads, and pathways...

Long after this world dies, the highways will still exist. Mankind will take to the road.

Hell, we spend so much time on the roads anyway, being on there permanently wouldn't be such a bad thing... Only problems would be food and water.

The roads weren't made to grow food, or to hold water... And the earth will be too barren for anything to exist off of it for long.

Anything that would grow would be a dark, corrupted and disgusting abomination...

Why?

The world isn't going to end with war, or nuclear disaster...

It's going to stop. Dead. The core will slowly cool, bringing about a new ice age over a process of hundreds of years...

Anything that could be grown will be tainted by the mother earth's corpse... And the waters will run red and black...

How?

Ours is a world in balance... Barely. Between science and the extraordinary. Before the plane was invented, we used to dream of being birds... that fuelled them to fly. Now? We just see them, and it's mundane. Normal. The same with the deepest oceans being home to monsters and beasts of ungodly burden. The same with space, the light and dark void where the god's danced out of sight and in mind.

All gone is the magic of this world.

As soon as we hit Mars and discover there is nothing there but rocks and water - We'll all die a little more inside. We'll go further...

Jupiter. Saturn. Uranus. Neptune. Pluto. X.

We'll get there eventually... And with each advancement... Our own mystery-less world will die a little more... None will stay upon it's boring surface... Heading out to pastures new... Boldly going where none have gone before...

But if you never come back, you've never really been anywhere... Terry Pratchett said that... I don't remember which book, I read them as a kid... With my Pops.

He always told me to never take anything at face value - There will always be secrets...

He died. And he revealed all of his in a catholic confession. I never forgave him for that...

But I'm gonna stick around...

I'll make new secrets. New fables about this world for those who DO stick around. New rumours, stories, folk tales... But then someone will screw it up with religion, heh...

...

I'll keep walking the scars of the land... And the disjointed veins and arteries of the delta hubbed heart...

Why?

Because they're there.

Offbeat and In bed.

Off day. I'm going to curl up in bed and wonder where the good times have gone.

All but one person I've been in contact with today has been in an off mood, including myself.

Is it just me? Did I drag a black cloud around behind me?

If we all sat around moaning, nothing would get done.

Thank you to that one special person.

Goodnight, and Godspeed.

Ontoroph.

The Ontoroph is a huge, stag like creature that inhabits dark areas, especially wooded sectors and areas with running water.

The Black Forest can be considered such a place where it may be found, as it is generally a european animal.

As cubs, they are around 6 feet in height, able to leap to double that in order to reach vegetation and to avoid hunters/escape natural pitfalls.

The adults, are around 12-16 feet in height, though females are generally smaller. Their complete jump height has never been truly defined, as their leg strength and supernatural agillity makes it impossible for people to even see them, let alone catch and/or tag them. Set, hidden cameras and rare human contact has lead to the evidence we provide here.

The antlers are a twisting mess that begin to grow in adolesence. Yet, they grow almost symetrically. As adults, they are gnarled and sharp, for combat and to attract a mate, like real Stags and other horned animals.

Many folk legends surround the Ontoroph. One says that they were the personal hunting prey of the Slavic Gods, until a breeding pair escaped into the wild underbrush where even the Gods were unable to follow.

Another says their blood was able to cure mortal wounds. Ground up Onto antlers were supposed to be able to make the living dead and gravely ill sleep once again.

Are we to believe that any truly exist today?

If we view the Transtly Tape: We see some ...Thing, move within the tangled trees of Sherbein Forest, a place where the beasts were said to be vibrant. It moves slowly, deliberately. We then view the lens upon the camera shake, and we hear a gutteral roar...

A predator for a mythical cryptozoological being?

It isn't uncommon... the Grana were huge worms that fed upon the Turkish Lamassu. The Roc of Native American legend were hunted by the Mist Wolves, the Noraa.

So, what we may see is a huge carnivorus entity, capable of digesting an entire Onto, horns and all.

I suggest a study of the area for any huge indicators. A cordon and a step by step search.

PAPER O: Dr. Cameron Maddy.

Request DENIED.

From the Valley, My Son... They Come.

You never knew your grandfather, Thomas... He was a good man.

You've never mentioned him before, Dad...

I know, and for a good reason... But, you're old enough now to understand. He was a miner...

Everyone around here was... Even you.

Mhm. But he was around when it was a prosperous trade. None of this Thatcherite bollocks. Back when it was a man's trade! Real work! God's honest work! ...Not like today... No more real mining, none of the black stuff, or the ores...
He was the head of the boys, back then. Respected, well-liked, and a man of solutions. They all lived in the little estate near to the mines...

The abandoned one?

...Yes. Now it is. It used to be a happier place. Me and the rest of the kids of your gramp's generation used to play around it... Not like today's estates, where the kids keep the adults in their homes, and shank the people who go by...

Not everywhere is like that, Dad.

I know... But it's the image we see today. Just proves I need to stop thaking things as I see them...

What do you mean?

You'll find out... Anyway, we all used to play around there, and we all knew what went on with our dads... Well, one day, there was an accident. Tam... I mean, Mr. Harrison, as you know him-

My chemistry teacher?!

That's the one. Tam. His dad... He was caught in a cave in... They tried to pull him out, but the floor was weak below as well... It was a chain reaction, it went down for 3 floors... As they tried, when the rocks were falling, to stop him being injured... He was pulled apart, it was that violent a slide...

Jesus...

It was awful... They gave him a set of... Well, a fully false lower torso for the funeral. All the miners were buried up on the mountain - They boys dug the grave as well... All in the community.
Tam cried his eyes out for weeks... They were really close, his dad, that weekend was going to take him fishing... If he'd survived.

What does this have to do with grandad?

I... I'm getting to it.

Are you okay?

It's hard to recall... I haven't forgotten, but... It's a hard story.
Well, the safety men had to go in and see what needed to be done to make the mine safe again... It was a simple enough thing, all that was wrong was the gaping holes in the floor... It'd take a bit of time but, it was going to be alright all told...
The work began to unblock the tunnels... The mine was rich with coal. We couldn't afford to have it blocked off for long.
One night... There were noises. Long, deep, gutteral bellows... Like a huge beast, in pain... Or very, very angry.

Are you serious?

Deadly. No-one slept that night... And... When we woke up, Daisy was missing. She was Gary's sister.

Gary... Maxell?

Yes... She was a nice girl, loved walking in the woods, and looking at bugs... Well, as kids, that was boring, especially to boys... But she was nice...

How old were you all?

About 11... Daisy was 9.

What did you all do?

We couldn't do anything, us kids. Gary's dad, Marvin... He went on the rampage, started accusing people of taking her... He was like that, paranoid. He loved Daisy...

I guess I'd be like that...

But... Marvin LOVED Daisy.

...Oh.

Yes. We didn't find out until years later... Gary told me and Frank... He used to beat their mother as well. Paranoia.
After he was calmed down... We all searched. We kids searchd the places we thought she would be... Her normal places. The woodland paths, the pond, the playground... The safe places. She was a safe girl...

Did you-

No. No-one found her. The adults looked in the unsafe places... We found a scrap of nightdress at the main road... The main road was what linked up the estate and the town. A fairly long distance between. 30 minutes or so, at worst, by car. So, by foot, it would have taken hours to reach town. No-one would have gone by foot.

Then why was there a scrap by the side of the road?

Exactly. Everyone knew it wouldn't have made sense. If there was a car, it would have been at the bottom of the estate.
But she was a safe girl... She wouldn't have followed anyone she didn't know...

Then what happened?

Some nights later... Marvin said he heard her yelling outside, on the wind. She was yelling for Gary, and Ruby, their mother. I think it was harder for him to hear her NOT calling for him, rather than hearing her out there.
Anyway, we all heard her, us kids... Calling. She wanted to play...

What the hell?! Are you kidding?

...It kept happening... she was haunting us.
Revenant. That's what they called her. Like a ghost, but dangerous...
We didn't need to hear that our friend was like that. To us, she was just lost... Maybe she'd gone blind, and was lost. Scared...
They turned to my Dad. He'd help them out... He was as lost and scared as they were.
But he figured it out. The main road went past us as well... To the mine. That awful, fucking pit. We all made our way up there... It was a long way, and it lead to the Warren Gorge, a huge valley, all riddled with ventilation holes and other mine shafts. But the main shaft was like the mouth of a beast, scarred into the rock.

Dad...

We found more of her nightdress as we walked up the path to the track. We knew something had gone wrong...
We... We all heard the voices. More and more of them. We heard Lucy... And Tam's father. They were calling out to us... My father heard another man... He'd died in a blast when my dad was just starting out... Others heard men who'd just up and disappered... Nobody connected the dots... All died or vanished in the mine... There was a lot of blood in those rocks... Like a gullet. Fueling the fires...
With each man who'd died... It awoke something great and terrible... A beast, a demon who wanted more blood, more loss, more tragedy.

Are you-

We ran that night... But vowed to come back... One day, to kill it. To stop it forever.

...Did you?

No. We didn't go to it. It came to us.

What?

It was collossal. A huge, 4 legged beast. Hewn from rock and decaying flesh... It towered over the night skyline, under the moon. It was utterly titanic. It roared... the earth shook... We ran. It drew some of us in... Just from it's voice... the sounds of souls on the wind.

But...

We ran, son. We had no other choice.
Your grandfather never forgave himself for those who were lost to the beast... No-one dared to go back. We brought out the estates, just so no-one else would go into them, or develop them... No more loss. No more beast. It'd sleep forever...
He never forgave himself... One night... Dad vanished as well... But there was nothing on the wind...
We found a note later... He was going to seal the mine. Even if it was his last act on earth...
For all we knew... It was. There's nothing in that grave in the town, just the headstone...

So... What? Did he succeed?

We never went back to look.
But...

What?

I hear him sometimes... On the wind... He's trapped in there... The beast hasn't got him... I know it... He was too strong.

Dad... From what you've said...

He can't be dead... Well, I know he's... But not like that. He can't be...

He was a brave man, Dad.

Son... David... Never let anyone near that god-forsaken mine... It's too much for even God to handle...

I won't.

It comes out of the Valley... It'll come one day... I know it... I hear it on the wind... I hear them all crying... Crying...

If Looks Could Kill...

I'd be strung up to the lamp post behind the charity worker by my intestines.

The Witnesses would set me on fire.

Every Big Issue seller would have me explode for no reason the police would be able to find.

That twat who gives me a look for sitting at the back of the bus would have me beheaded by a tree.

And the surly waitress would crush my head between her fingers, as if no-one would notice.

But, adversely...

The charity worker would be choking on his UNICEF or Greenpeace pamphlets as I stomp on his head.

The Witnesses would be burning for using a little kid to try and stagger people into listening to them.

The Big Issue seller would explode into cancerous cells. 

The twat on the bus wouldn't survive the trip.

And the surly waitress doesn't notice me flicking her head until the neck breaks and she falls like a sack of King Edwards.

Why am I sounding so socio/psycho?

It's an odd turn of phrase... Never thought about it before...

What would you do, if your look could really kill?

Me?

1 person would die. That one guy who I hate with a passion.

Then I'd go blind.

An eye for an eye.

Messages from myself to me in the future.

I've often written messages to myself in the future. I have no idea when I really started doing it, but I end up writing stuff for myself either so I don't forget something important, or to not lose anything.

In the past, I've said things like:

"Never forget Kingdom Hearts or Love Hina!"

That was in my yearbook, right at the back. I'd gotten heavily into both of those during my school years. Love Hina came along just at the time I was beginning to consider women as companions and lover rather than just something that has longer hair. I remember picking up the first volume in Ottakars, as it was then, during my work experience period at Thorntons. I bought it and tried to get my head around the printing, and panel layout.

It started my love affair with Manga.

"I want to learn what must be known!"

Schwarzwald. The black forest. Also the name for an antagonist in "The Big O". The man was an enigma, talking about wanting to seek knowledge and uncover secrets - the truth that must be known. That appealed to me on a deep and dark level. It could have been what made me such a deep thinker, or what made me look at people and see them for what they are - Greasy slabs of meat that somehow are sentient enough to consider their condition. That phase passed. I grew to like those slabs. Love some of them like brothers. And some as lovers.

I knew what the soul was. That's what was missing before. I could never consider the soul of the person to be important. I was all too logical, except when it came to acting and drama.

"Voyeuristic Intention"

A simple phrase from "The Time Warp". Everyone I knew at the time of writing liked the Time Warp, and Rocky Horror. Hell, I was considering dressing as Frankenfurter for a costume contest... Silly youth.

It's an odd set of words. The intention to look at people without them knowing. "He peeped in on her nude body with voyeuristic intention". It's a dark set of words, or even comedic at some times. It added to my love of the written word.

Why am I writing all of this?

I often think about what I'd say to myself if I could go back in time at any time. Just on a whim. Good prospect for a script, huh? I keep thinking about the premise, and all that occurs is:

"This guy can go back in time and advise his younger self on how to get happy, but he keeps making things worse."

Or words to that effect.

Would it really make things worse to see how your life turned out? I mean, you could see that the path you were on with anything leads anywhere... 

But then, what's the fun in knowing where you're going? It loses substance, becoming a predetermined event.

Or... You get cocky and complacent about it. Never really working because you know what'll happen, and everything will work out okay.

No.

Never going to happen.

Nothing is set in stone.

The future changes with each movement we make. A slip here could lead to fame and fortune, as well as pain and anguish.

So... What do you do?

Put in another way. Leave a massage to you in the future. Let them know how things were, for better or worse. How they used to be.

That's why I save conversations that mean anything to me. A lot of them now...

So I can see into the past without the haze of memory and age.

Sure, I still forget things. But I know a lot as well.

And this is what I know right now:

"I trust myself too little. I'm working on that for myself and other people. I don't want to be lonely all of my life."

If Future Me (FM) gets this, he'll get his ass into gear and get over himself.

"You have the love of many different people. I believe in what they say about me. No-one is out to get you."

"Luck is part Opportunity, part Preparation, and a whole lot of Confidence."

"You once said you wanted to be like some people - Bonnet, Kaufman, Billington, Smith, Kinniku. Are you like any of them yet?"

Always good to throw in a question like that. Keeps me on my toes, or it will do.

Lastly:

"Never give up on yourself. You get bored, then depressed, then paranoid that way. Go out and breathe in deep. Look at the people and know that no man is your enemy. You are your own master."

Covers the bases.

To the few readers that I may have, and some that I know:

"Everything I do is in the name of a higher power I keep within myself. It may change it's name occasionally - Temperance, Love, Compassion, Wisdom - But it's all me. Thank you for being with me along the way."

...Jeez. Me of 5 seconds ago sure was melodramatic. That looks like a suicide note!

Guess it's up to me of 5 second from now to make it better:

"Thank you. I love you all."

There. That sums it up nicely.