March 31, 2013 - 10:21pm — Seed
The first person I saw in the midst of today's fog, or, at least, the first person to approach me, was Ourania. She was badly hurt, it looked like. There were wounds all over her...I walked her to a tree to help her get her mask on...And I walked her to a slab halfway back. I hoped she'd stay there; she could barely move...And I didn't want to lose one friend in defense of another. To my relief, I never saw her enter the field of battle, even though she watched from nearby. That's fine, though, since she was safe.
I?...I may not have been in the best shape, but my one attribute in a battle is my endurance. I'll manage. I went out to take a place by Dag's side to defend him.
I confided in Verve, since she was there... That I was still afraid. Afraid that, even though I'd tried and struggled in spite of myself... I was still scared. These battles, this struggle...It all made me sick, with the wrongness of it all. Being necessary isn't the same as being right... Or is that the words of a perennial coward?
The battle seemed much more relaxed than last time...Or maybe, because the timing was different, the different people producing a different flow of battle. Oh, there were times I, too, had to battle intensely, moments where the front line couldn't manage it, and the creatures would come leaping, fangs bared, out of the fog. They were foglike themselves, at once clear and indistinct; shape, to them, was just another way to attack, another way to give rise to fear. But just as often, the fighting would be so far away that I didn't even know if there was fighting going on -- it was all indistinct running, hoofbeats like distant thunder. I was awed by them, those fiery waves that raged like tsunamis, the frothy tide of allies roaring in.
During breaks, I'd check people; friends like Saosin or Verve for certain, and for the people I didn't know, I'd pick people who I hadn't seen checked by somebody else, as many of them as I felt I could.
March 30, 2013 - 8:38pm — Seed
Once, I wrote a poem for a stag in a rather lot of trouble.
Something began from that moment. I didn't intent to let it end today... And I ended up writing a pair of poems for that stag in a rather lot of trouble. To some extent, they were to steady my own nerves, though.
[center]1. Your Wound
leaks memories; deer caught in
his struggle, your wound
bleeds stories fading
the ground in splashes
of half-real fog-light.
I mumble dream-verses,
soak in hope to sponge
against your wounds:
do you remember, then,
those winters, those springs,
those talks of colors half-real,
longings we ourselves cannot devise?
Have these faded, too, into
the blood and the fog that eats
at your limbs? I press my head to your heart
longing still for its signal
that you will rise again, and days
will be as they were.
2. The War in the Fog
I spot you in the fog.
where your body presses, light splinters
in slender, wavering shafts. Your wound
is deep, and in the tremble of the air, howls
of fanged beasts rise, clawed
and fully ready. I wait, and bear your hope.
I feel their thunderhead-rising, and can only hope
to trick them from you in the fog:
oh, the futility of such escape, death and its claws,
but still, my fear is sharper, driven in my heart, a splinter
that you may not rise again, howls
at tornado pitch through me. I will wound
if I must, the sniveling beasts that wound
their way through the day, or so I hope:
has night already broken? The howls,
ceaseless. The bodies, lost in fog.
You and they are all alive; my words splinter.
Heartbeat. Earthquake. Courage. Claws.
They circle without meaning, avoiding the clawed
out sight of your chest, my heart's drop at your wound.
The crowd races and darts, recollects, bands, splinters,
organized only by the passing moment's will.
March 30, 2013 - 7:41pm — Seed
Please forgive the disorganization. This was written rather on-the-fly, in whatever order I could put it together in.
I cannot describe my relief, his form arising like a star, into the fog. Or did it descend? In that moment, the world seemed empty and bendable. My friend. My precious friend. I thought you were dead, you know that? The world seemed much emptier, without you. I had so much I wanted to say -- news and stories, bits of philosophies... Other than Sage, you were the only person I could ever really talk ideas with. I missed you.
He looked so small, curled up their, his fur damp with blood and mist, his breath lighter than the touch of fog. Many people rushed to be beside him. I sat with him for a long time before the battle started.
If that was the terms of today's battle, I knew it would be worth it, if anything would be. His face was so haggard...His body, so broken and wearied. Oh, my friend... I am, I know, not the finest friend or most steadfast companion. I'm weak and indecisive, uncharismatic to my core, a pale figure in your shadow at the best of me... However. I hoped sincerely I would manage this service.
...And, afterwards...One day...Surely, if these points can be defended...I will walk beside you, and tell you stories, and remind you what a wonderful place this horrible world of ours is. Looking at him on the ground, curled up and barely moving...I felt like that was what I wanted to do the most, what I could do best for him. This world can still be a beautiful, peaceful place. I promise.
Of course, that would have to wait.
The first wave came suddenly. About half of us, maybe more, stuck by Dag's side, forming a shifting shield around him, turning to our enemy like flowers to the sun. The rest chased, baited, attacked; I lacked the swiftness and martial prowess to do that...And anyway, I didn't care if I defeated them or not; if they lived, I'd be gladder than if they died.
March 30, 2013 - 2:28am — Seed
I do not fight often. I sensed the storm brewing; I think a lot of us did. I think that's why we were waiting there, on Dag's hill.
I do not fight often. I think it's the easy way. I don't think it accomplishes anything, really, except maybe stopping someone from fighting you. And only for a little while.
Today, I accepted that a little while was good enough. I learned my lesson -- I'm not a hero, not a warrior. I can never be that...And most days, that's for the best. Most days, I believe the world is better off with one less warrior -- one less person willing to surrender to doing hurtful things because they're an easy way to pass on hurt. But today...
Today, I felt there may be some worth in just stopping the fighting for a while.
When the first one came, it felt less like a war, less like a battle, and more like a stampede. Everyone just bore down on that solitary scout, pouding him and chasing him. For my own part, I stayed back; I think everyone got more hurt from being in a clutter than being for him...I only came forward when it felt like the creature itself was on the offense, when it was running to something, instead of just escaping the crowd.
I...Even if its life may not be the same as ours -- or maybe it was, as brief and insecure as so many...Or maybe it's just moved elsewhere. I don't know, but...
I wasn't happy. Seeing it fall.
...When I saw one fall...No, each time one fell... I found myself thinking "It didn't have to be this way." I suppose that's childish, naive thinking. Maybe it's their nature, that all they wish to do is fight deer like us, kill deer like us. But...If that's the case, then what I really felt, what I really wanted to say was "Nature isn't everything." and "I'm sorry."
Even if those sentiments are meaningless...One day, I would like to be able to say such things to them, or their representitives, or someone.
March 26, 2013 - 3:30am — Seed
I need to write more. I need to do more, so that I might write more. I need to get back into things, and catch my hooves beneath me once more.
Today, I started with a little run with a nameless deer; he got distracted, but I enjoyed it. I always secretly hope a nameless deer will one day become named, and see me again, and say, "oh, you are the deer who was nice to me. I remember you." Do nameless remember, when they become named? I don't know.
After that, I joined Verve, Herla, Gehirn, Djinn, and a few others I didn't know in sitting in the birch forest.
...I don't know why Verve suddenly has hands; it seems an odd thing to ask. I mean, I spent quite some time first trying to make sure they were actually hands, since I really did not have a frame of reference. Then...Then I tried to think of a way to ask that wasn't rude, over-presumptuous, or that hadn't been said a million times.
"So..." Is about as far as I got trying to formulate that question. Or statement. I'm not sure what it would have been. Of course, the fact that I was staring intently at the birds flying by, trying to put my thoughts together, that I at least mannered to avoid ungentlestagly staring.
They're odd things, hands. I've never seen them before. I had...sort of a vague sense of it, like the pronunciation of a word you've only read. I'm not sure this is what I pictured; the bend is so extreme, the joints knotted... There's a sort of branchlike beauty to them, though. It's hard to say. The length of the fingers suit her frame, though I worry a bit about the joints... And I can only imagine that the mobility they offer...Must be a boon and a treasure. I can only imagine that they'll let her work in new ways... And, come to that, offer her some new options for the self-adornment she enjoys so. And the possibility of gesture, of expression...Of dance, perhaps? Is that too fanciful?
Well, these are my thoughts, so I suppose how fanciful I am doesn't matter.
March 19, 2013 - 4:36pm — Seed
I've been planning for a long time to do a revival of this event,
which for TL;DR purposes is a gathering, ideally meant to be held on some sort of reocurring basis, to play "playground" style games. And now I'm finally getting off my backside and doing something about it!
So...I was wondering if anyone was willing to help me with some ideally pretty simple CSS for a page, or help me put together a nice image to act as an attention-grabbing "flyer" of sorts. While ideally, volunteer work would be best, I'm sure I could help trades, too.
But that's a little limited for a post like this, right? Does this idea still sound interesting to people? Any sort of game you'd particularly like to see? If you've done events, any tips about scheduling I should keep in mind?
February 24, 2013 - 4:49pm — Seed
I'm such a fool. Such a fool. A fool. A fool.
Let me start at the start. The start? Where would that be, you ignorant sap? Where do you put the start, huh?
I love her. That is the start; like any good start, that decides the end. The end is that she's gone, like Payton before her...And I'll likely never see her again, not in flesh and not in truth. I knew this would happen. This is why I never wanted to be in love with her; this is why I never said anything.
Fool that I am, it changed nothing.
And so the end is I sat among the flowers, weeping like a child. I buried my head among the flowers, and I wished I was never born a deer. I wish I had never seen deer running, because then...Then she'd have gone through her life happily, never having known that I existed. I'd have never known of her. All my feelings would have had another end.
Take me back, blossoms. Take me back. Let me abandon all this petty social existence to the tracking of seasons with my sap, the endless waiting for spring -- but a spring that comes! A spring that will always return (I could have waited forever, if I had the hope, of a certainty one day)... Let me abandon heatache for the softly-scented world and the certainty of shuffling with the wind in my leaves. Please. Please. Let me rot and devour me.
Leaves and flowers fall off my antlers in droves, flash-freezing in a private winter.
Deer wandered by; I wanted them to leave, and tried not to engage them much. They indulged me, and left...Still, I felt it was too crowded. Too public, too intrusive. I went to de drinkplaats, where very few deer go, for one reason or another, and hid myself in the fountain.
Reed came to see me. I...I didn't want him to see. He must have snuck up on my while my head was down. I didn't want anyone to know. Be a squirrel, make him think it's OK... Plunge my face in the water, taste the magic running onto my tongues, pretend that the wet spots on my cheeks is simply water...
February 19, 2013 - 9:14pm — Seed
Seed's in a rather thoughtful mood this week, and thought he might try his hand at telling a little fairytale, just to shake off some writer's block...And so that he can have a story to tell this little one
when he sits with her.
"I know a story I heard once. It's about a place in this forest, one I'm rather fond of; it's a place of beauty and of wonder, and I hope you'll think its legend is likewise, since I thought I might try my hand at telling it to you...
De Drinkplaats Legend
Once upon a time, there was a fountain. Its creation is a story for another day, so let it be a fountain. It was a fountain for remembering; it remembered the water pumped from it endlessly, and so the water flowed endlessly, even long after its creators stopped pumping the handle. It was a gentle fountain, and every day the creatures of the forest came to drink from the water and splash in pool formed by the white stone at its base.
This time in the forest was not very peaceful, however, and one day when the sun was high and blazing hot, scorching its way through the trees, a little dove came flying to the fountain with ragged wingbeats. It hardly looked like the same creature the fountain had always known; the doves who had always come to see the fountain before were white, but this one was stained red with blood. The blood of the dove drained pink into the fountain’s waters, and her breath moved her chest only slightly, with the quick flickering of a dying flame.
“Oh, little dove,” said the fountain “whatever has happened to you?”
“It was the beasts who roam the forest. They leapt upon me while I was flying, and ripped me to pieces,” said the dove in a thin voice. “I am going to die.”
“Surely there must be something I can do to help,” cried the fountain. But the dove shook her head.
“It is too late for me,” said the dove.
February 17, 2013 - 10:10pm — Seed
Not for me, silly. For Seed! Today's his fifth birthday in the forest, and my fifth TEF-aversary. It's been a fun 5 years, and if I can get enough energy in-gear, I'll do my best to make a good sixth one, too.
... I should have prepared an art or something. Oh, well. I hope to get Seed on this afternoon/evening, and have a bit of birthday fun!
February 14, 2013 - 9:38pm — Seed
Oh love...On this, most festive of your days, I offer forth some ruminations...
I'd write a Valentine, but there's no one here now to recieve it. Well, perhaps I'll write one to store for later...
This shall be updated with new stuff as it's written.
Had Roses Time Enough
Cease your tumble from some blossomy cloud.
Abandon the fate born for you, the airy path
or inconstant love and vein-winged damselflies:
Let not the wind break your petals,
turning the soft red into a near-black bruise,
crumbling the velvet of your flesh to rot;
don't let the ground consume you, fading you
into mulch and mold in amongst the leaves.
Just stay, and wait awhile,
that one day I could see you,
held forever in her eyes.
((More Later, one presumes. In the meanwhile, perhaps you'd like to check out Seed's Poetry Corner for your fix?