walled garden

garden of the absolutes, only pure things can gain entrance... everything that exists outside of the garden is just echoes of what is inside.

Conan is my Hero!

Well, last night in a tavern, a captain in the king's guard offered violence to the sweetheart of a young soldier, who naturally ran him through. But it seems there is some cursed law against killing guardsmen, and the boy and his girl fled away. It was bruited about that I was seen with them, and so today I was haled into court, and a judge asked me where the lad had gone. I replied that since he was a friend of mine, I could not betray him. Then the court waxed wrath, and the judge talked a great deal about my duty to the state, and society, and other things I did not understand, and bade me tell where my friend had flown.

By this time I was becoming wrathful myself, for I had explained my position. But I choked my ire and held my peace, and the judge squalled that I had shown contempt for the court, and that I should be hurled into a dungeon to rot until I betrayed my friend. So then, seeing they were all mad, I drew my sword and cleft the judge's skull; then I cut my way out of the court, and seeing the high constable's stallion tied near by, I rode for the wharfs, where I thought to find a ship bound for foreign parts.

Pissing Contest (or Pissing Wars) a Board Game

ok so here's the game, you have 1 - 4 players and you have a game board with a bunch of spots on it connected with lines. 

each player chooses a dog, there's 3 kinds of dogs, small dog (fast, weak), medium dog (average speed and attack) and big dog (slow speed,  powerful attacker)

ok so on the board there's a number of spots that are designated pissing areas (like a fire hydrant, a rock, a tree, etc. depending on which board you're playing on).  the object of the game is to "own" all the pissing areas by being the last dog to piss on each spot. 

the game works like this:

each dog has 3 "lives"

you get 1 movement dice if you're a big dog, 2 if you're medium, 3 if you're a small dog.  you roll the dice to see how many spaces you can move

if someone lands on a space another dog is on, then its dog fight time!  Each dog throws their dice (1 for small, 2 for medium, 3 for big) and the highest number wins.  The losing dog loses 1 life then has two choices, fight back or retreat.  Fighting restarts the fight where each dog throws their combat dice.  Retreating means you go back to your starting spot, AND you lose all pissing spots to the person who defeated you.  When you're out of lives, you're out of the game. 

last one standing or first one to own all the pissing spots wins!

there can be various terrains, like backyard, junkyard, forest area, cattle ranch, etc. with different obstacles to diversify the game. 

Story 2 - The Bull

Quesero was a beast of great strength.  Like many before him, he was doomed to a violent death from birth -  to die at the hands of a matador for the entertainment of guests at the Tafalla Arena in Madrid, Spain.  Every day he would pace his stall, waiting for when he could finally enter the ring to face his redeemer.  There was honor in this death, he had believed.  To die a true warrior was an opportunity to be cherished.  However, sometimes the bull wasn't killed.  There were bulls of legend that met their slayer head on and did not fall, but instead fell the matador in turn.  The man would then be carted off on a stretcher or limp to safety, a victory for the bull. Occasionally the bull would kill the matador... that was the greatest victory of all.  Most bulls were simply killed with little struggle while the crowd cheered and celebrated at the skill of the matador while the bull whimpered his last futile breath.

Quesero was half-asleep when he was called out and a man put a rope around his neck and began to tug.  The time had finally come, his reckoning was here at long last.  Quesero shook his head to clear his mind, the trainer, believing the bull resisted, lashed him across the back leaving a bloody line. The trainer then led him along and untied the rope before opening the steel gate.  The sun blinded Quesero as it beamed down on him as he walked towards the exit of the tunnel.  He closed his eyes in a squint as he trotted down the path towards the center, his fur gleamed in the sun, his muscles and arrogant stride gave him a certain majesty that momentarily silenced the fans.  When the crowd began cheering again he felt like a king as he continued forward to meet his foe.

And then, finally, there he was:  A man in a sequined shirt that glittered like firelight in the sun and wearing pants of pure white - in one hand he held out a red cape and waved it as the crowed oohed and ahhed, especially the children who gazed at the scene in terror and curiosity.  In his other hand he held a blade of gleaming steel, long and slender. The bull fighter bowed to Quesero and Quesero lowered his head in response, snorting.  Win or lose, Quesero knew this day was his last - a thought he kept as he circled the outer rim of the arena.  As he picked up speed, the kicked up dirt made a small dust cloud that trailed him giving off the effect of great ferocity to the crowd.  The matador's footwork was good though and he kept his body facing the bull, lest he be trod upon.  Finally feeling the moment and seeing his opportunity, Quesero charged.  The bull slashed with his horns to make contact with soft flesh, but the matador made a deft move and slipped the attack before getting a jab of his own in right below the ribs.  He retracted his blade and blood blotted the ground.  Quesero limped a retreat, and tried to muster up the strength and rage for another go.  As he paced, a feeling came over him, if complex animal emotion could be translated into words this is how it would be described:

Quesero.  You are a bull.  You have no comprehension of the world around you, no way to even ponder the wonder of existence.  You have been bred through thousands of generations by men who wanted to use you, your ancestors, your brothers, your fathers, your sons, for sport.  They kill you for their pleasure and amusement.  You have no way to understand what a crime this is, to understand the cruel fate of these circumstances inflicted upon you.  You are an animal that can only live (and thus must live) in the moment.  Right now is your time.  Your last moment of life.  You can go quietly, or you can let the world know that no matter how briefly, you exist and that you did not go quietly. 

Quesero hesitated only slightly before rushing towards the matador and then broke to the right towards the wall.  Fueled by a spirit of righteous indignation, he leaped as no other bull had leaped before (and may never again), clearing the wall before landing in the stands.  The crowd fled in horror, screaming when Quesero drove into them like a freight train, sending bodies flying everywhere.  He roared and flared, scattering grown men to the ground like they were rag dolls.  He jumped the stairs and plunged into another group of screaming fans with great fury.  Revenge!  Revenge for the Bulls! Revenge for all!

"I EXIST" Quesero bellowed (in Bull language).

He then was shot by a tranquilizer gun. 

life, whatever that is, faded to black.

The end.

short story 1 - The Bog

The lake Chuck lived on was not always a lake, it was once a swamp.  In the 1800's the shipping industry flooded the swamp with water from the great lakes to the north  in order to support a national canal system - before technology made them obsolete, the canals were the fastest and most efficient want to transport goods.  When the swamp was filled with water, a small island floated to the surface on the north side of the lake.  It was an island made of bog pushed down by a slow moving glacier drifting southward at the end of the last ice age, flattening northern Ohio in it's wake before finally melting.  The bog island was unique to the region because it had flora that was only found far to the north in Wisconsin and Canada.  Because of the fragility of the place and fear of erosion, any human contact with the island was strictly forbidden. 

Chuck stared out from his dock one evening and pondered.  Every day he looked at the island with mild curiosity but on this day, his musing led him into an inevitable conclusion... he decided he HAD TO GO THERE.  Someday nature would have its way and the island would be gone forever - all things pass, and so too would his opportunity to set foot on this ancient sacred place.  Knowing the noise from his boat motor would draw the suspicion and ire of his neighbors, he slipped over a few houses down where someone had an old sail boat.  The sail boat was not well-kept but it would suffice to provide him silent transport to the island. 

There was no moon that night as the sail billowed out against the wind and the boat quickly scooted through the darkened water, only the stars lit the way.  It was about a 10 minute voyage to the island before Chuck finally arrived at the lone dock on the island, a dock that had a large sign in the center of it that said "TRESPASSING STRICTLY FORBIDDEN BY STATE LAW" on it.  Chuck tied a rope around the sign post to secure the boat and disembarked.  There was a small wooden boardwalk that led into the heart of the island so he began walking along it.  He had never been, nor knew anyone that had ever been on the island so it was all unexplored terrain for him and in the darkness he was cursing himself for not bringing a flashlight.  Not wanting the entire expedition to be a waste and a lost cause, he decided to go just a little further in search of something to make the felonies he committed (theft, trespassing) worthwhile.

The further he got in, the thicker the foliage was and the darker it got.  Soon he could only stay on the boardwalk by touch and sound, the noise of his shoe on hard wood became reassuring to him.  Why was he doing this?  Where was he going?  He did not know.  He kept walking into the darkness though.  Before long he arrived at the end of the path.  Just to test, he placed a single foot on the ground and his foot sank into the bog and he felt the cold dampness of the lake soaking his shoe. Though he sank in a bit, it felt quite firm and he felt confident the island would hold him.  He continued walking when suddenly the bog gave way and he fell in.  He began to sink but as he struggled against it, the bog acted like quicksand and he sank further in.  Quickly he was in to about his neck.  He felt as though he were encased in concrete and he could not move at all.  Fear crept into his mind as he realized no one knew where he was and he was so far off the trail and the trees and bushes were so dense he would not be seen from the air.  Would Chuck die?

DOES CHUCK DIE?

who cares?

The end.

Gilgamesh

What you seek, you shall never find.
For when the Gods made man,
They kept immortality for themselves.
Fill your belly.
Day and night make merry,
Let Days be full of joy.
Love the child that holds your hand.
Let your wife delight in your embrace.
For these alone are the concerns of man.
--The Epic of Gilgamesh