“It was a dark and stormy ni—”

“Nobody starts a scary story like that anymore daddy!” my daughter giggled, “I want a real really scary story!” I wiped the sleep from my eyes. I felt so much more tired than normal—like something had sucked the life out of me. It had been a long day

“Alright, alright, I can tell you a real scary story. It happened to my cousin.”

“Uncle Ricky?”

“No, my cousin. Now hush up or you aren’t getting a story at all.” My daughter settled into her bed and pulled the blanket up a little. I set the book I was holding on her nightstand and turned the light in her room down.

“This story was told to me by my aunt Stephanie. Her son—my cousin— Mort, lived in the high mountains in Colorado. One year, for his birthday, Stephanie went to go visit him. It get’s quite cold in Colorado around the time of Mort’s birthday, especially in the mountains. This year there was a heavy snow, and Mort’s house was so far off the beaten path that they couldn’t safely leave his house. She said the winds were so strong that even the big trees would bend against them.

“One night, the winds were incredibly strong. They had locked up the whole house, and shut the windows good and tight, but they could still hear the windows rattling. The fire would flicker nearly out every once in a while when a strong wind caught in the chute. She said they sounded like wolves snarling. Anyways, Mort and Stephanie decided to pass the time telling stories. You see, there were no computers back then, and with the storm the television and phone lines were out. So they took turns telling stories. Stephanie told a couple from Chaucer, and Mort told a few that he knew from his studies at school. Mort complained for most of the night that he felt tired, but Stephanie kept him talking.

“Mort finally got around to telling a story about The Seer, which was a scary story told out at his college. The Seer is a man that went insane studying about immortality. According to Stephanie, The Seer had his wish for immortality granted, but at the cost of his body. He became a spirit in the night, invading the bodies of people, and making them do terrible things. One man murdered his wife and children. Another woman drowned a passerby in the lake. The only way to escape The Seer was to kill the person he had invaded in a very specific way.”

“How did they find that out?” My daughter interrupted.

“Well, you see, people had tried stabbing their assailants, breaking their necks, and so on, and the body kept coming for them. But on one very stormy night, not unlike the night Stephanie and Mort were telling stories, The Seer invaded a man asleep in his bed, and set him off to kill his wife. When the seer invades a body, he acts, talks, and looks the same, but there’s almost always something slightly different, like the color in their eyes is too bright. For the wife, the happy glow of her husband was gone, and, panic-stricken, she grabbed a kitchen knife and stabbed out his eyes. Blinded, The Seer had to abandon the body and recover far away. You see, the eyes are the gateway to the soul, and from their The Seer enters.

“Mort finished this same story and went they each went to bed. That night, Stephanie could hear the wind howling at her window, like something was trying to get in. But eventually, she fell asleep. Stephanie woke a few hours later to a crash in the living room, like a vase shattering. She slipped into her nightgown, and walked out into the living room. ‘Mort?’ she whispered. ‘Mort was that you?’ Mort walked around the corner from the kitchen. ‘Oh, thank God it’s just you. Something—” but she stopped short. You see, it was at this time that Stephanie noticed that Mort had a thick butcher knife in his hand. ‘Mort, what are you doing?’ she said with horror. Mort slinked closer to her, and raised his arm high above his head. ‘Mort no!’ she cried out. He brought the knife down, but she just barely avoided the fatal strike. Instead, he cut deep into her arm. She ran for the kitchen, and grabbed a huge pot from a drawer.

“She could hear Mort behind her, and she flung the pot at him. He avoided it and looked at her. She could see that his eyes were a deep red, like something possessed. She realized with horror what had happened. She grabbed a slightly smaller pot, and this time hit his wrist with it. He dropped the knife in shock. Stephanie picked it up and stabbed into his left eye. He screamed in pain and fell to the floor. Stephanie stepped back and dropped the knife. Tears came unbidden to her eyes. She turned back to the counter and cried. Then suddenly she heard a noise, and she spun around. Mort was back on his feet. ‘Why mother?’ he said with a hoarse voice ‘Why did you do this to me.’ She froze, her vision blurry from her tears. She started to brush them away, to apologize, then suddenly felt a cold pain in her stomach. Horrified, she looked into Mort’s right eye, and saw it there, unblinking, and red. He stabbed her two, three, four more times, then let her slide to the floor. Then Mort’s body too sunk to the floor, and a wisp of air rush out of the house as the spirit left. The Seer had struck again.”

“Wait wait wait. You said that your aunt told you this story. How could she do that if she were dead?” My daughter giggled, “that wasn’t a real story!” She laughed, and I laughed to.

“Oh yeah, I forgot. You remember that scientist I told you about? The one that became The Seer? Well, some character traits die-hard. For him, it was vanity. He always felt like he had to remind people about who he was. He loved to tell people his story.”

“Wait so then how do you know the story daddy?” She asked.

“Well you see,” I paused and looked her dead in the eyes, “I am The Seer.”



I often fancy that love is like writing.

Built from the heart, but crafted from our words,

It is eloquent, always inviting,

And innocent like the songs of the birds.


Any love story needs some revision;

Two lovers don’t always see eye to eye,

But if a future they can envision,

They ought to give the next chapter a try.


Only together can you turn the page

Or end a sentence with a question mark.

Until you reach the smiles of old age,

And cherish that you never fell apart.


Yet while every story must come to close,

End to true love is something no one knows.


The blood had pooled in the middle of the road, crawling slowly through the cracks around the body. The body, that of a young man aged 26, was sprawled out with his head slumped to the left. He was well dressed, in a black coat and a white button down shirt with thin blue stripes, stained crimson from his wounds. He must have been thrown out into the road quickly after his injuries occurred, because a thin spattering of blood led back to the sidewalk. It had occurred just in front of Auguste Rodin’s Hellfire Bar and Grill, at roughly 1:15 in the morning, based on the temperature of the body and the state of the blood.

It wasn’t until later that we found the knife. Or rather, parts of the knife, which appears to have been shattered by an unknown force (one theorist suggests that it was probably caused by a sudden change in temperature from extreme heat to extreme cold, though the cause for this occurrence is still uncertain, and has been rapidly dismissed as impossible). Unfortunately, even after reconstruction, the knife has given us little to no information on his death. It’s a short, thick blade, with a well worn handle, yet in spite of this there are no traces of fingerprints, DNA (aside from the victim’s blood), or even a brand name.

On the man’s person there was a wallet with no identification, credit card, or any other means to give a name to his person, though he bares a striking resemblance to Mihr, a man I knew in high school. Additionally, he was carrying an envelope that was curiously addressed to a location that does not exist with the simple message “RUN.” The confusing part was that the addressee was simply titled “All.” We have attempted to find someone by this name for follow up, but we were unable.

After attempting to view street cameras, it was discovered that power had gone out that night between the hours of 12:00 am and 2:00 am. No suspicious behavior exhibited in the hours leading up to and following the event, when footage is available. Police are still searching for any information on this occurrence. If you have any information, please do not hesitate to contact us. Additionally, it would be of great assistance for you to put the word out, as we know you have a great capacity to gather information. We are at a loss for where to go next.


~ letter addressed to the Chivant Bridge society



*This is fictional, please nobody freak out. Side note, there are 3 references in this, based on names. I recommend you puzzle your way through them. They will hopefully grant you a little more insight into the meaning.


I can’t talk long, they’re coming for me. All I can hope for is that you will get this message. What you see around you is an illusion. Everything around you is an illusion. You can catch it slipping every once in a while. Like when you walk through a door and forget what you were doing, or when you have a sudden twitch in you eye. Or that weird buzzing that feels like your phone had vibrated, but it was just a spasm in your leg.

Why do you think, when you look through a mirror, there is always someone looking back at you? Do you ever smile because that person was smiling back? But if they are you, then who are you? Which one of you is really “you?” You see, they’ve hidden reality from you, behind computer screens and American dreams. It’s to keep your eyes away from what’s really there, to keep your mind from seeing through the lies and deception.

They’ve divided us mentally by our race, our sex, our social class, and so on. It’s ever changing to keep up as we get ever closer to understanding. And then they divide us physically. They’ll put oceans between families and walls between landscapes. There are no borders to humankind, yet we have borders between one another. Ask yourself, who put them there?

I ask, no no, I beg of you, please take this message down. Memorize it, take it to heart- we must stand up. Stand up against the enemy. Spread this message, make it the spark that starts the roaring fire for us all. Wake us up. Please!


Hello everyone,


Happy Tuesday, the most productive day of the week. Ironically, also the day I have the least amount of time to write on my blog. Anyways, I wanted to talk briefly about progress. Specifically, I read a chapter on progress for a class recently that changed how I thought about it. Progress is typically thought of historically as a good thing. If we are always moving forwards, we are always progressing to a higher plane of existence. This implies better lives, happier people, less work, and so on. Except that’s not where we are.

Let’s look at the United States as an example. To use Bernie Sanders’ rhetoric, people are working longer hours for less pay. And yet, no doubt, people will say things today are better than they were 100 year ago. Sure, this is true in many ways for race, sex, and so on, that things are “better,” but in doing so people have been…I don’t know, silenced? It’s almost like because things are somewhat better we are expected to shut up and be happy about it. If you were being tortured 5 days a week, and then a few months later they dropped your torture time down to 3 days a week, should you be happy? No! You’re still being tortured! Obviously this is a bit of an unfair analogy to make, but work regulations have been a pretty massive problem in our society for far too long. People complain about unions being unnecessary, but these are the same people who used to believe that it was ok to put children through 12 hour work days (I mean, maybe not literally, but they are their spiritual successors).

Ok, well let’s just say that unions are not perfect, but they are important to employer-employee discussions, since that’s a whole barrel of another topic. Progress, as it is currently thought about, may not be progress in reality. In creating a “better” system for humankind, we have also decimated our ecosystem. This reading I mentioned earlier, titled Lies My Teacher Told Me, written by James W. Loewen, presents the position that our so-called great, developed country is actually keeping other countries from “developing” in the same way. This is because, the way we waste energy and resources compared to other countries is insane. If every country on Earth were like this, the planet would become a desert wasteland. Which nobody wants to live in.

So how do we fix this? Well, short answer is that we have to put regulations in. But in terms of the problem with “progress,” we have to think more about the negative effects of our work, rather than just focusing on the positives. That’s how we end up with damaged ozone layers and deforestation problems. That’s how we end up with The Great Barrier Reef being declared dead (though just a portion of it is, there’s still time to save it if we work hard). We need to be more considerate. What do you think? Is that unreasonable to do?


At the base of the mountain sat a temple, covered in moss from solitude. A solitude so lonely that even the rocks and the trees around it do not understand it. This temple sat for many seconds of eternity, alone and uninhabited, until one day it was discovered by an immortal man. The man had walked through the dense trees and vines until he stumbled upon it by what he thought to be chance (though any knower of things realizes that there was no chance about it). For a time, the man sat too, contemplating the world around him. He would walk through the empty hallways, and observe how the walls would echo back to him.

And for a time, the temple felt happy, until the time came for the man to leave. He built a great fire from moss and leaves and tinder that were scattered about the temple. The fire heaved and burned hot, and spread wildly like an unchained animal, searching out every crevice of the temple until it finally subsided into a deep sleep. For the first time in ages, the temple was clean. But the temple was also sad, because it was once again empty. And long after the dust had settled, after the wind had taken the ashes far away, after the vines had come to reclaim their territory, The Purifier came. He came like a demon, with all his disciples. They harnessed the temple, and it became the center of their world.

The temple felt happy, at least, it thought it did. It had been cleansed again, and the people gave it detailed attention. They built pillars and statues just for it. They broke down old walls and rebuilt it brick by brick, so that it was bigger and stronger than before. They remade it so much that the temple could scarcely remember the man from long ago who had come into the hallways and made them like a home. Until one day he returned.

The temple saw the man step through the trees in amazement. The smile across his face was more of surprise than of joy, and he walked slowly up to the temple. Up it’s numerous golden stairs until he reached the main entryway, which had been had been redesigned larger and more grand than he remembered it. He saw the new tiling, and could almost hear the roar of the statues on either side as he walked past. The people looked at him in both awe and in fear as he walked through the halls—really much more like corridors now. Eventually, he came before the main room, which too had been made more lavish, and looked upon where he had sat and meditated. Instead, before him sat The Purifier, demonic and powerful, in a throne constructed of a gold so vibrant that the man had to shield his eyes to speak.

The man and The Purifier spoke for hours, sometimes shouting, sometimes so quietly the temple could hardly hear them. Of course, the temple did not understand what they said, but she could tell that they were at odds with each other. For days upon days they spoke, the man standing, and The Purifier in his throne, until finally there was a heated silence, and The Purifier rose slowly to his full height, with a grim anger on his face. He pointed at the man, and from him burst forth a flame deep blue and hot, and it engulfed the man. There was a single tear that rolled from his eye as he was burned black to ash, and he looked at the temple with a sad smile, until finally the flames subsided and there was nothing left of him.

The temple became enraged, and shook violently, and implored the mountain above her to help bring her freedom. She realized now she had not been brought kinship, but instead had been conquered; that she had been brought from ruin to ruin. That it was not for her that these people cared, but only for themselves. And the mountain granted her wish, and erupted in smoke and molten lava. The mountain choked the people, and burned them to ash, like The Purifier had done to her friend. The Purifier ran to the top of the temple, as if to escape the ocean of death around him. But the tide was rising now, and it chased him up the stairs.

The Purifier turned to the mountain amazed, but not frightened, and he said something that was passed along by the birds, to the lions, and all the way through the world to me. This he said:

“In fire I was born, and in fire I will die. But it will not be at your hands, it will be at my own. One last, beautiful purification.” And then it is told, that as the lava reached the last steps, The Purifier put a hand to his chest, his fingers tensed against his heart, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then, he ignited, and exploded into a spectacle of red and white, before being carried off with the wind. The temple screamed, enraged and pained with sadness. That it would be known that the last victory could not be hers. She sat there again, for years to come, as the mosses came back and the ashes gave way to new growth, and waited, in solemn silence, until inevitably another would come to take her again.

– The end



*A quick note, I don’t own this image, it appears to belong to the wiki.guildwars site, but I cannot find an artist to credit the work to.


I looked out into the night sky

And watched the stars passing by;

Into the deep dark of night,

And I felt my being take flight.

Up into the clouds my spirit flew,

Up into places I never knew,

Like an unchained soul I saw

A galaxy that left me in awe.

Past hazy Venus and violent Mars,

Out past the light of the stars,

I saw wondrous places; people too,

With hearts vibrant through and through.

Greens as bright as spring’s first day;

Unending sunsets for lover to play.

And past that to the great unknown,

Where faded purples and blues are born,

Until I came upon a tiny shore.

And found myself in a downpour

Of rain and terrifying new things

With their own cold and biting stings.

On that shore I found a house,

Inhabited by a little mouse,

And he said to me in a quiet voice,

“It’s time for you to make a choice.”

“A choice?” I asked him with surprise.

Said he, “Do you even realize

How far you’ve come, or where you’ll go?

All the things you’ve come to know,

Yet you are here alone, a spirit lost

In space, forgetful of his past.

You forget the laughter of your mother,

And the warm embrace of your lover.

So it’s time for you to choose,

Which is a greater thing to lose:

The people who you love so much,

Or the universe you have yet to touch?”

I paused and took a bit to think,

Until my heart began to sink.

The secrets yet to be uncovered,

And great lands still to be discovered.

Or the people who got me there?

Those who would love me forever?

I wandered back through the beach,

To a tree with a single peach,

I took a bite into the skin,

And quenched my hunger within.

I could go on alone forever,

Into unforeseen, incredible weather.

Or I could go home and tell me friends,

And finally find my journey’s end.

And so that night, again I flew,

Past places that alone I knew,

Back again through blue and purple,

Through the cosmos I began to hurl,

So fast though space and time,

That the very universe began to unwind,

Until I found myself in the clouds,

To see my body on the ground.

I could see my body so unchanged,

Yet I would never be the same.

And into my lonely vessel I flew,

To tell this story, just for you.


Hello everyone,


Alright, so, the third and final debate is out of the way and we get to discuss it. Now, hopefully things have digested in your stomach a little bit, and not given you too much indigestion, because talking about last night it certainly a curiosity. I’ll try to touch on both candidates today as quickly and succinctly as possible in my short time.

Ok, so let’s get down to it. Today I’d like to start on the left, with Hillary Clinton. She did a pretty good job as usual. Now, I know there are a lot of people that don’t like her, but it’s pretty hard to argue with how prepared she is for these speeches. I mean, her closing statement was pretty indicative of that—it was made up on the fly and sounded like it had been prepared two weeks in advance. That’s pretty hard to do, even for a professional improve actor. Especially when staying in line with policy. She was composed, firm, and stuck to positions that were backed up with evidence. The Wikileaks refutation she made, in which she pointed out that numerous US intelligence agencies have linked these leaks to direct hacks by the Russian government to sway the campaign trail is a great example. Another great use of factual evidence was in the comparisons between the two candidate’s tax plans, in which she cited several bipartisan economists as having backed her plan as the more likely one to create jobs and promote income for people.

Of course, not everything about her is perfect. She interrupted Trump more than I would have liked her to, because to me it seems to put things “in his court,” so to speak, but that doesn’t mean by any means she was a weak. Her interruptions seemed to knock Trump a little off balance at first, because she had been polite to him the first two debates. She was also very forceful in negating his position on abortion, where she didn’t challenge his obscene statements about “day before” abortions, and indeed asserted herself as not only a person well aligned with women’s healthcare, but also the struggles that women go through daily.

I know I am left leaning, but Hillary’s debate last night was phenomenal, even for a “normal” debate. Much less one where she had to juggle a guy who does not play by fair rules. And that’s, unfortunately I think for Republicans, what happened with Donald Trump. Trump’s debate was a weird one. He started out…well, worse than his second debate, but still less “off the charts” than we have come to expect. That being said, there was a turning point, and I think it’s because Hillary got under his skin. I mean, telling a candidate she does not deserve to vote? A vote that is a protected right? Day-before abortions? Now, regardless of your position on abortions, abortion does not happen the day before a child is supposed to be born, even in late pregnancies. And if it does happen as late in the term as Trump claims, it’s not called an abortion, because the procedure is different. It’s a C-section, or induced labor. And it’s done because there is a problem with the child. It might surprise you, but nature isn’t perfect. There are a number of babies that develop without brains, or that die in the womb. And if they aren’t taken out, the mother will die too.

None of this is fun or fair. There’s no “I got out of it.” And this is how Trump has built his campaign, and I think (I hope) that this will be why he fails. His debate last night because a microcosm for all the problems he has created. A lack of respect for citizens, a lack of respect for people in need, a lack of respect for people who have done good, and a lack of respect for people who do not bow to him. He’s acted like a dictator in this election, and in all honesty, the bullying, the lack of emotional control, and the whining are all indicative of this. Democracy is a hard thing. And it does not come without faults or compromise. And the only way to usurp that is to defy it—which is exactly what Trump has done.

This is dangerous to the America we aspire to be, even if we are not there yet. Let me know what you think. Is it unfair to say this about Trump? Why?


She swallowed. The milk was cool and refreshing after a long day of work. She set the glass down on the counter, still half full, and looked out the window, admiring the uncharacteristically blue sky and the pinks and yellows of the neighbors flowerbeds. She wondered how the world could be so beautiful and so loving.

She heard the creek of the hardwood as she walked through her kitchen to her bedroom. The wood was cold beneath her socks, but she liked it. It, in many ways, was comforting to her to know that even on a warm day like today her house was a place for respite. She pulled off the sweat ridden t-shirt and pants she wore, and threw them in the hamper. They caught at the top of the pile for a moment, before listlessly rolling to the ground. She rinsed herself off, all the sweat, dirt, and filth from a day’s work melted away like the winter’s frost in spring.

She turned the water off, and for a moment paused to kick the small specks of dirt that now lined her tiled floor into the shower drain, before eventually drying off. She dressed herself in a pair of warm pajama pants and a long t-shirt, then walked back into the kitchen. She picked up her cup of milk, and took another small sip. As the liquid crossed her lips she looked back out to the world outside. It was nearly sunset, with the blue sky giving way to a beautiful orangish color.

Her eyes wandered through the clouds before finally settling on her husband, who was walking up the steps. His head was bowed in deep thought. She lifted the glass of milk for another sip. It was already half empty. She drained the glass, leaving but a thin residue along the side of the glass. There was a knock at the door. She swallowed.


     The lights flooded the room, blinding him momentarily. He put on his goggles, tinted black so as to fight back against the waves of brightness in the room. When he reopened his eyes, he made for his gloves on the table—a thick, well-worn leather pair, grown dusty from his hiatus from his work. He knocked them twice on the table, then slid them over his hands. He clenched his fingers into a fist, then released them, and smiled to himself that they still fit. He coughed.

     Wiping the spit from his lip, he walked himself across the room to the spiral staircase that divided his laboratory and his testing space. As he ascended the staircase, he felt his fingers tremble with anticipation, and his heart was racing. Eventually, he reached the breaking point between the rooms. To enter a much shorter room, with a ceiling 10 feet from the floor he now stood on. The rainfall from outside had turned from a light pitter-patter to a deafening assault on the building. He moved to the lever on the right of the room, and put his hand on it as if to pull it. Then paused. He’d forgotten something. Oh yes! He moved to the table in the center of the room, which was the only furniture to speak of in the room. On the table there was another glove-like object, though not nearly as well fitting as the leather pair he had dawned earlier. It’s clean, sleek look contrasted the dust and cobwebs of the room.

     It was, indeed, a device, with a hole for him to insert his right arm into, much like a glove. So much so he had named it “the power glove,” (a rather rudimentary name in my opinion, but it got the job done). He put his arm into the glove, which went nearly up to his elbow. It was quite cold on the inside. So cold, in fact, that it sent goosebumps up his spine. Unlike a glove, however, there were no finger holes in this device, rather, a small steel bar at the center to hold onto. The device was not light in weight, but in no way exhausting to hold. It’s weight almost felt natural.

     In his left hand, he held a small remote, with 3 buttons on it. Two of the buttons were a dark green, one was labeled “on,” the other labeled “off,” and a third button was a bright red, labeled “release.” He walked back over to the lever on the wall, and with his left elbow he pushed the level down. There was a loud rumbling, like the tremor of thunder above, as the sky roof cracked open to reveal the storm outside. Rain came down in large loud droplets, cleaning the dusty table in the center in moments.

     The man walked over to the table, reared back, and kicked it out of the way, then looked up into the sky above him. His goggles were assaulted with raindrops, but the flashes of lightning were clearly visible. He pressed the “on” button, and the device on his arm began to make a low whirring sound. A wry smile crept across the scientists face for a moment, before he coughed again. He cleared his throat and looked up, the device by his side growing ever louder. It had began to light up, with a dull yellow light. The man held his arms up to the sky, with the device centered on the storm above him. It felt like an eternity there, with the device hissing in his ears, until suddenly there was a flash of light and a loud CRACK that nearly knocked the man off balance. He regained his footing, and looked in his hand—or rather, the device in his hand. Trailing from the end of it was a bolt of lightning, trailing all the way back up into the clouds far above him. His eyes widened with glee, and he swung his arm back and forth. He had harnessed the power of the gods!

     The device was now full of bright lights, thought the whirring had returned to a dull hum. He adjusted his grip inside, and lifted the device so that it once again faced skyward. His hand with the remote was trembling. He pressed “release,” and before his eyes the bolt retracted back up into the sky. The machine began to whir again, and a tiny sphere appeared where his palm would have been in the device. It crackled, then began to grow. It was shifting as if it were alive, and little sparks popped off the sides and into the air for a moment before fizzling out. When the sphere was about the size of his head, he once again pointed the ball skyward, and pressed “release.” There was another loud CRACK and the ball imploded, before sending bolts of electricity skyward, piercing into the clouds above. The man smiled.

     He had finally harnessed lightning.