I once told Astrid that I sometimes wanted to be mortal again. She didn't understand why. I told her that love doesn't last forever -- but I wanted it at least for a lifetime. She kissed me, told me not to think about those things; it would, in fact, last forever. And while I worried, I never doubted her. If she said it would last forever, then of course, it would.
So when I started feeling estranged, I thought "don't take it personally. It's not personal. She needs space." And I gave her space. I know what it's like to have to step back from everything and regroup, gather pieces of yourself and fit them back together -- nothing broken, just general repairs of the soul. But now, it seems to have surpassed the need for space.
For the past two weeks, she has not said one word to me. I know only what she does through the child. It seems she is always busy with others, never has time for me. Before these past two weeks, she would tell me herself. She'd be busy but we'd make a date for an intimate little restaurant in New York to spend time with each other while her sisters took the babe. And I'd get to the restaurant -- and she'd never come. She never apologised either for standing me up -- told me she was busy, lost track of time. I allowed it, knowing she would never truly or intentionally do that to me. We would start to have a conversation, and then she'd tell me she had to leave for something, hold that thought, and never come back. We had a period where neither of us said anything to the other for four days prior to this.
I would say it is as much my fault as hers -- after all, it takes two for a conversation -- but even when I have tried to talk to her, address her, if she doesn't find something else to do in the middle of it, she ignores me.
I suppose she woke up. That's all I can think of. She woke up and realised that whatever else I am, I'm not good enough for her -- that others deserve her time, her affection more than I do.
I can't say I didn't see it coming. I told her she'd get tired of me, no longer want me. She told me it was nonsense. I told her it was true.
Maybe she'll come out of this, and I can go on with my life, feeling like I haven't lost the (second --after all, the baby comes first) best thing that's ever happened to me. If she doesn't.... I don't want to think about what that would mean.
Friday, February 9, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
Sort-of-Squire Education
I've been having fun tormenting the poor little sort-of squire. I am having him brush up on his ancient civilisation geography. He is pretty okay with the Roman geography from Republic to Empirial times. Deep in his core, he's Roman. It's almost revolting. He speaks Latin pretty well for a contemporary mortal.
It's the Greek he's having a little problem with. I gave him until tomorrow to know it. The only places he knew were Mt. Olympus and Athens. That would not cut it. After all, he should know where Sparta and Mycenae are at the very least. And I thought places like Delos, Dodona and Eleusis would be beneficial for him to know as well. It is my chosen culture -- he should know something about it.
Seriously, he should just be grateful that I have not enrolled him in a Ancient Greek language course. I've tried to at least to get him to use the letters and start trying proper pronunciation. He makes it up fairly well -- his actor's training coming in. The little one helps him too -- poor Valt, so humiliated by being instructed by a babe. But hey, if he knew it before he came to me, he wouldn't have had to start learning it now. No sympathy.
A regular slave-driver,
Z
It's the Greek he's having a little problem with. I gave him until tomorrow to know it. The only places he knew were Mt. Olympus and Athens. That would not cut it. After all, he should know where Sparta and Mycenae are at the very least. And I thought places like Delos, Dodona and Eleusis would be beneficial for him to know as well. It is my chosen culture -- he should know something about it.
Seriously, he should just be grateful that I have not enrolled him in a Ancient Greek language course. I've tried to at least to get him to use the letters and start trying proper pronunciation. He makes it up fairly well -- his actor's training coming in. The little one helps him too -- poor Valt, so humiliated by being instructed by a babe. But hey, if he knew it before he came to me, he wouldn't have had to start learning it now. No sympathy.
A regular slave-driver,
Z
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Monday, January 22, 2007
Too Bloody Perfect
I know "they" say that life has a habit of taking over. And like many other things "they" say, I thought it was complete bullshit. I mean, after all, 900 years of nothing to do pretty much cures you of saying "well, things just got in the way, and I was too busy" because, face it, there's nothing to do in Alaska. But even we fossils can be surprised sometimes -- and yes, life did get in the way. So I wasn't here, as I am sure you all noticed.
Now, just because I'm out there battling the "forces of evil" for all you spoiled little brats to continue living life as you know it, don't all fall apart at once with your overwhelming gratitude and concern.
So, what was the fearless Z doing? Good question. I ask that myself now and then. Making an ass out of myself probably, or at the very least, doing the wrong thing at the wrong time in the wrong place -- particularly if my astounding (bad) luck continues to live up to its reputation. So what was I doing? That's right, voluntary active service for the undead army of the Virgin (read in: slut) Goddess, brought to you by Hell's one and only Acheron (the brand where you can shit on everyone and come out smelling like roses!)
As if fighting along side those dead-beats isn't enough, there was no internet, so I had to endure their company as well. I don't know about any of you, but being in Ash's company for anything more than a few hours makes me look for the vomitorium. Was there anyone ever alive who appeared more disgustingly perfect? He doesn't let you know that his words of wisdom are plagarised from some of us (like me) who had more sense than he did when they (I) met him. He doesn't let you know about how many minds he's screwed up with fictitious thoughts (like blaming a certain person for the destruction of an entire town left to that certain person's care). The way he likes to drop melodramatic little hints about his life to arouse sympathy and then act as if he never meant to say it. He doesn't even tell you that he has made mistakes. Ash? Make mistakes? Oh, neeeeeeeeeveeeeeeer. Ugh... It was a terrible terrible time.
Ash, dude, just like, look in a toilet after you've gone and see that your turds are brown and stink like the rest of ours. Sorry to break it to you, but they are not diamonds. FYI.
But! It wasn't all Ash talking about himself. The others talked about themselves too. Okay, you know what? If any of you bastards are reading this: if I wanted a friggin biography, I would have asked you for it. Likely, if I can't find it in a textbook, then your life really wasn't all that interesting anyway. Why would I want to know about them two thousand years later? Yeah, that's right. Point.
I did get a little free time in the midst of this boyscout one-up-ya camp-fire story-telling time however. And I made good use of it. I found myself a studio. I like Mt. Olympus and all that. Really, it's amazing to be living there, among the Gods and Goddess I worshipped in my lifetime -- underdog success story, slave turned demi-god. But.... Yeah, don't I sound ungrateful? But, it's not a good place for me to work -- and when I say work, I mean sculpt. I like the glass enclosure, I like the sun coming in at every angle. I don't like when one of the muses (I can't tell them apart) comes tapping on the glass and then tries to use sign language to tell me something that I could have lived without knowing. Or when Astrid's sisters come into our apartments and stand there watching me as if I'm some sort of exhibit. I can imagine them thinking "I never get over how much those humans look like us. It always looks like an ant farm from up here." Not for me. So, hopefully, I will be able to outfit the new studio with everything -- maybe even start branching out into metals. That would be very interesting.
Worn out Z, signing off.
Now, just because I'm out there battling the "forces of evil" for all you spoiled little brats to continue living life as you know it, don't all fall apart at once with your overwhelming gratitude and concern.
So, what was the fearless Z doing? Good question. I ask that myself now and then. Making an ass out of myself probably, or at the very least, doing the wrong thing at the wrong time in the wrong place -- particularly if my astounding (bad) luck continues to live up to its reputation. So what was I doing? That's right, voluntary active service for the undead army of the Virgin (read in: slut) Goddess, brought to you by Hell's one and only Acheron (the brand where you can shit on everyone and come out smelling like roses!)
As if fighting along side those dead-beats isn't enough, there was no internet, so I had to endure their company as well. I don't know about any of you, but being in Ash's company for anything more than a few hours makes me look for the vomitorium. Was there anyone ever alive who appeared more disgustingly perfect? He doesn't let you know that his words of wisdom are plagarised from some of us (like me) who had more sense than he did when they (I) met him. He doesn't let you know about how many minds he's screwed up with fictitious thoughts (like blaming a certain person for the destruction of an entire town left to that certain person's care). The way he likes to drop melodramatic little hints about his life to arouse sympathy and then act as if he never meant to say it. He doesn't even tell you that he has made mistakes. Ash? Make mistakes? Oh, neeeeeeeeeveeeeeeer. Ugh... It was a terrible terrible time.
Ash, dude, just like, look in a toilet after you've gone and see that your turds are brown and stink like the rest of ours. Sorry to break it to you, but they are not diamonds. FYI.
But! It wasn't all Ash talking about himself. The others talked about themselves too. Okay, you know what? If any of you bastards are reading this: if I wanted a friggin biography, I would have asked you for it. Likely, if I can't find it in a textbook, then your life really wasn't all that interesting anyway. Why would I want to know about them two thousand years later? Yeah, that's right. Point.
I did get a little free time in the midst of this boyscout one-up-ya camp-fire story-telling time however. And I made good use of it. I found myself a studio. I like Mt. Olympus and all that. Really, it's amazing to be living there, among the Gods and Goddess I worshipped in my lifetime -- underdog success story, slave turned demi-god. But.... Yeah, don't I sound ungrateful? But, it's not a good place for me to work -- and when I say work, I mean sculpt. I like the glass enclosure, I like the sun coming in at every angle. I don't like when one of the muses (I can't tell them apart) comes tapping on the glass and then tries to use sign language to tell me something that I could have lived without knowing. Or when Astrid's sisters come into our apartments and stand there watching me as if I'm some sort of exhibit. I can imagine them thinking "I never get over how much those humans look like us. It always looks like an ant farm from up here." Not for me. So, hopefully, I will be able to outfit the new studio with everything -- maybe even start branching out into metals. That would be very interesting.
Worn out Z, signing off.
Tuesday, December 5, 2006
Being Social
My squire is sick. What a big baby.
So he's been absolutely no use to me -- hey but what's new?
Looks like Astrid posted on her own blog at Thanksgiving. Yeah, we went down to Sanctuary to see what was going on. After all, need the little one to have as many experiences as possible. It was pretty crazy. Everyone was there. Everyone. And of course matters weren't helped by the fact that so many ate like animals -- probably, because many of them there were animals.
The baby was surprisingly sociable to everyone. Gods know he didn't get that from me -- blame Astrid for that one. He used so many languages, I couldn't keep count. And then, he's also learning dialect too, as I found out. He's learning Jesse's drawl and has even developed some Simi-speak. Simi thought it was absolutely delightful and carried him around like a teddybear showing him off to everyone. I felt proud.
I was reluctant though to have Astrid bring the little one over to his biological uncle. Valerius can think whatever the hell he likes of me but I won't have him looking down his aquiline nose at my child. I watched at a distance as my little one started chatting away in Latin. It was a better attempt than I had ever managed -- and in Rome, anyone knew your status by how you spoke the language. I think Astrid's brother-in-law was impressed though he tried to hide it behind his impervious facade of superiority. I heard him respond back in Latin, but I didn't catch what they said. Astrid assured me it was nothing but good.
Signing off,
Z
So he's been absolutely no use to me -- hey but what's new?
Looks like Astrid posted on her own blog at Thanksgiving. Yeah, we went down to Sanctuary to see what was going on. After all, need the little one to have as many experiences as possible. It was pretty crazy. Everyone was there. Everyone. And of course matters weren't helped by the fact that so many ate like animals -- probably, because many of them there were animals.
The baby was surprisingly sociable to everyone. Gods know he didn't get that from me -- blame Astrid for that one. He used so many languages, I couldn't keep count. And then, he's also learning dialect too, as I found out. He's learning Jesse's drawl and has even developed some Simi-speak. Simi thought it was absolutely delightful and carried him around like a teddybear showing him off to everyone. I felt proud.
I was reluctant though to have Astrid bring the little one over to his biological uncle. Valerius can think whatever the hell he likes of me but I won't have him looking down his aquiline nose at my child. I watched at a distance as my little one started chatting away in Latin. It was a better attempt than I had ever managed -- and in Rome, anyone knew your status by how you spoke the language. I think Astrid's brother-in-law was impressed though he tried to hide it behind his impervious facade of superiority. I heard him respond back in Latin, but I didn't catch what they said. Astrid assured me it was nothing but good.
Signing off,
Z
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Sort-of-Squire
I have mentioned my sort-of Squire a few times throughout this. And after the discussion we had last night, I think it's about time I say a few words about him.
He was good enough to set up the page layout for me. I sculpt, carve, kill. I don't do html. Latin and Classical Greek and English in all its variations have been more than enough languages for me. I leave the technical language bullshit to someone else. Yeah, good for you for figuring it out, my "squire." He's a lazy ass but he's actually kind of useful.
Yeah, he's my liason between me and the rest of you. He's my PR guy, will occasionally come on here to unscreen comments and do technical bullshit.
First time I met him, I was... taken aback by the similarities. He and I are frighteningly alike. Astrid didn't believe it either. And I'm not just talking about attitude the size of Alaska. His name makes him sound like a Finnish super-hero too. It's also very useful that he's pagan. I don't have to destroy any fragile ideas he may hold about bastardised organised religion.
Okay, fellow scum of the earth, the little guy is babbling at me in Macedonian and I have to go see what he wants.
~Z
He was good enough to set up the page layout for me. I sculpt, carve, kill. I don't do html. Latin and Classical Greek and English in all its variations have been more than enough languages for me. I leave the technical language bullshit to someone else. Yeah, good for you for figuring it out, my "squire." He's a lazy ass but he's actually kind of useful.
Yeah, he's my liason between me and the rest of you. He's my PR guy, will occasionally come on here to unscreen comments and do technical bullshit.
First time I met him, I was... taken aback by the similarities. He and I are frighteningly alike. Astrid didn't believe it either. And I'm not just talking about attitude the size of Alaska. His name makes him sound like a Finnish super-hero too. It's also very useful that he's pagan. I don't have to destroy any fragile ideas he may hold about bastardised organised religion.
Okay, fellow scum of the earth, the little guy is babbling at me in Macedonian and I have to go see what he wants.
~Z
Thursday, November 2, 2006
Halloween
Halloween is an experience, let me tell you.
Granted, it's not as bad as Mardi Gras, but still....
In Alaska, living out in the middle of nowhere, in a place that only fractionally counts as being in the area of Fairbanks, there wasn't much call for trick-or-treaters. So, Halloween was something I didn't know much about. What was I supposed to do, leave the light on?
Because the baby is getting older, Astrid and I decided to take the child out.
~Note about the little one~
I don't talk much about my kid. I know a few of you have been asking, but no. I didn't have a childhood, no role models in my life, no good examples to follow, but one of the sure things I am going to do is protect my kid. Sure, maybe most of you can't get to Mt. Olympus, and if you did, probably wouldn't know what the hell to do once you got there -- but on the offchance that we're down among mortals, or you are one of the few with the access key-card to Mt. Olympus' luxury honeymoon suite all expenses paid, I'm not saying anything more about my child than the bare basics. I'll spout off all I feel like about my own dubious existence, but my kid is not a subject for this journal. Even that author-woman who has been letting out a shit-load of secrets and fabricating a few stories of her own, at my demand, changed his name. You didn't seriously think we'd call our child Bob.... did you? No, seriously, my kid doesn't get jeopardised and I won't do it here.
~Back to Halloween~
So we took the baby. He got dressed up in a little cherub outfit -- toga (Greek-style) and golden wings. Astrid didn't seem to feel Eros would mind, considering Eros gets blitzed every so often and does his own Michelangelo impression with whatever's handy to serve as a large adult diaper. I've been unfortunate enough to witness it.
Astrid was going to simply wear her typical Olympus garb, but that wasn't happening. After all, she was requiring that I ''let loose'' and dress up too (yeah, you can imagine how that request went over). She finally decided on being Sarah from Labyrinth.
~Labyrith tangent~
Anyone see that movie? Was Jim Henson on a trip when he decided to do this? I mean, I fully expected it of David Bowie.... but... Kermit? Can you see Kermit wanting any part of this? I can't. And that little frog thought he had too much trouble being green... But, I have to admit, I liked it when Astrid sat me down and turned it on and nestled herself under my arm and against my chest. She originally suggested I be Jareth, and though it is generally assumed -- and I agree -- that I am insane, it's a great relief that I don't consider myself as crazy as David Bowie.
~Labyrinth tanget done~
So, you've asking yourselves "Wait, *you* Mr. Anti-social Former-DH of Questionable Sanity dressed up?" And essentially, the answer to that is yes. Why? Not for any masochistic desire of my own, but because I have a child, and not wishing to be even an ounce of the same worthless calibre *my* father was, I will do anything -- yes, *anything* -- to make sure my child grows up with as many good experiences as possible, even if that includes said-father to crack his marble-veneer and paint himself for the holiday.
Which I did. I was The Crow.
~Tanget on the Crow~
That movie was probably based off the whole DH experience.I don't know who let it leak to movie producers, but shit, that struck a little too close to the truth for the way things happen. Sure, it's not a crow that brings us back, and we've pledged our souls to eternal service in the meantime, but the Act of Vengence stays the same. The miraculous healing abilities stay the same (unless you're like me and get screwed over on that one). And your bad-ass-o-meter fluid breaks glass, it's gone so high.
~Crow tanget over as well~
So I was the Crow. Eric Draven. And surprisingly, I didn't feel all that compromised by the face paint. After all, he is an imposing figure who, like me, sought revenge -- even if mine wasn't for quite so selfless a cause. I just wanted someone to pay. And the Crow certainly made them pay, in ways from which I could have taken a few good lessons myself. I painted my face, put on a torn black t-shirt, taped up a pair of torn leather pants, put on the thigh-length leather jacket and carried a guitar around on my shoulder all night. Only thing wrong was the hair length. I'm letting it grow out again, and it grows fast, but not that fast. The goatee disappeared for the occasion as well.
It was relatively uneventful. Many people commented on our costumes -- when they had courage enough to get within seven feet of me -- and the kid seemed to enjoy it, saying "Happy Halloween" and "Trick or Treat" in Classical Greek or Atlantean or whatever language happened to come into his head, sometimes mixing languages as well. Eventually he got it right.
Signing off to take the kid to Italy for All Soul's Day,
Z
Granted, it's not as bad as Mardi Gras, but still....
In Alaska, living out in the middle of nowhere, in a place that only fractionally counts as being in the area of Fairbanks, there wasn't much call for trick-or-treaters. So, Halloween was something I didn't know much about. What was I supposed to do, leave the light on?
Because the baby is getting older, Astrid and I decided to take the child out.
~Note about the little one~
I don't talk much about my kid. I know a few of you have been asking, but no. I didn't have a childhood, no role models in my life, no good examples to follow, but one of the sure things I am going to do is protect my kid. Sure, maybe most of you can't get to Mt. Olympus, and if you did, probably wouldn't know what the hell to do once you got there -- but on the offchance that we're down among mortals, or you are one of the few with the access key-card to Mt. Olympus' luxury honeymoon suite all expenses paid, I'm not saying anything more about my child than the bare basics. I'll spout off all I feel like about my own dubious existence, but my kid is not a subject for this journal. Even that author-woman who has been letting out a shit-load of secrets and fabricating a few stories of her own, at my demand, changed his name. You didn't seriously think we'd call our child Bob.... did you? No, seriously, my kid doesn't get jeopardised and I won't do it here.
~Back to Halloween~
So we took the baby. He got dressed up in a little cherub outfit -- toga (Greek-style) and golden wings. Astrid didn't seem to feel Eros would mind, considering Eros gets blitzed every so often and does his own Michelangelo impression with whatever's handy to serve as a large adult diaper. I've been unfortunate enough to witness it.
Astrid was going to simply wear her typical Olympus garb, but that wasn't happening. After all, she was requiring that I ''let loose'' and dress up too (yeah, you can imagine how that request went over). She finally decided on being Sarah from Labyrinth.
~Labyrith tangent~
Anyone see that movie? Was Jim Henson on a trip when he decided to do this? I mean, I fully expected it of David Bowie.... but... Kermit? Can you see Kermit wanting any part of this? I can't. And that little frog thought he had too much trouble being green... But, I have to admit, I liked it when Astrid sat me down and turned it on and nestled herself under my arm and against my chest. She originally suggested I be Jareth, and though it is generally assumed -- and I agree -- that I am insane, it's a great relief that I don't consider myself as crazy as David Bowie.
~Labyrinth tanget done~
So, you've asking yourselves "Wait, *you* Mr. Anti-social Former-DH of Questionable Sanity dressed up?" And essentially, the answer to that is yes. Why? Not for any masochistic desire of my own, but because I have a child, and not wishing to be even an ounce of the same worthless calibre *my* father was, I will do anything -- yes, *anything* -- to make sure my child grows up with as many good experiences as possible, even if that includes said-father to crack his marble-veneer and paint himself for the holiday.
Which I did. I was The Crow.
~Tanget on the Crow~
That movie was probably based off the whole DH experience.I don't know who let it leak to movie producers, but shit, that struck a little too close to the truth for the way things happen. Sure, it's not a crow that brings us back, and we've pledged our souls to eternal service in the meantime, but the Act of Vengence stays the same. The miraculous healing abilities stay the same (unless you're like me and get screwed over on that one). And your bad-ass-o-meter fluid breaks glass, it's gone so high.
~Crow tanget over as well~
So I was the Crow. Eric Draven. And surprisingly, I didn't feel all that compromised by the face paint. After all, he is an imposing figure who, like me, sought revenge -- even if mine wasn't for quite so selfless a cause. I just wanted someone to pay. And the Crow certainly made them pay, in ways from which I could have taken a few good lessons myself. I painted my face, put on a torn black t-shirt, taped up a pair of torn leather pants, put on the thigh-length leather jacket and carried a guitar around on my shoulder all night. Only thing wrong was the hair length. I'm letting it grow out again, and it grows fast, but not that fast. The goatee disappeared for the occasion as well.
It was relatively uneventful. Many people commented on our costumes -- when they had courage enough to get within seven feet of me -- and the kid seemed to enjoy it, saying "Happy Halloween" and "Trick or Treat" in Classical Greek or Atlantean or whatever language happened to come into his head, sometimes mixing languages as well. Eventually he got it right.
Signing off to take the kid to Italy for All Soul's Day,
Z
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