Sunday, June 25, 2006
Troops
Monday, June 12, 2006
When Words are not Enough
I'll admit that I've run out of time to write, at least on the same daily basis that I was doing before.
These days work ends too late, and re-minisce is too exhausted after work to write.
Or else work ends early, and re-minisce is too busy hitting the gym / swimming pool / getting a tan to write.
Or else work ends rather late (which is slightly less late than too late) and re-minisce comes home to his computer, and mmorgs. One of the simplest escapes from the mundanity of everyday life - fantasy. Having despatched too quickly of Terry Pratchett's Thud! I'm now cast adrift with very little to distract myself from the sheer inanity of daily living.
These days I've been playing Ultima VI Online. It's not aesthetically very pleasing with its dated 1980s bitmaps and there are no fancy 3d graphics or directx lighting effects. But it has that certain nostalgia-factor that characterizes an all-time hall of famer, that all RPG fans will cleave to as if by instinct, and a beautiful storyline. It also has an incredibly friendly community, and all in all... it's nice.
I've been meaning to write about something for a while though. Perhaps I haven't done, because I've been trying not to. Can anyone spot the pattern here? I, escapist.
*****
"Don't get involved."
As I watched the coming of the End, I couldn't help but feel saddened - who wouldn't be? There had been something magical there once, something special. Something involving Words. Something far from ordinary.
Two friends, two separate paths.
A friend, to me (and here, I emphasize me... the definition differs from person to person) isn't someone who dispenses gifts, or gives advice that someone wants to hear.
When trouble ails us, do we seek out friends who speak the truth, or people who reaffirm what we wish to hear? Perhaps we are all different, and have different needs and desires.
A friend, to me - listens.
Perhaps a fan listens too - but fans are blinded to certain truths and realities. Fans cannot see - or refuse to see the imperfections and flaws that are as much a part of ourselves as our strengths and aptitudes.
Friends, in contrast, acknowledge - and tolerate them.
Don't go and listen to me, and then to her, and try to change things.
I confess to doing the former.
Sometimes it is not the worth of the words themselves that are important as it is their simply being spoken. All people do deserve that right - that is true.
All people.
It would have taken a fool to be blind to the inevitability of it all.
Emotional bridges are burnt when people lose their inability to listen and to empathise with each other.
It's not a sin to be selfish... it's perfectly natural when the time comes. Who wants to see the other side of the coin, when one has seen it too many times, perhaps?
Sometimes, insight is a curse.
Yet sometimes... it takes two.
I listened, and I knew that there was nothing left to do - nothing left to change.
It saddened me, immensely.
I did not pass judgement... I will not take a stand. There was as much wrong in both of them, as there was right.
That is only natural.
And in the aftermath, I hope that I still have two friends I can still count as - friends. Perhaps now two separate friends, rather than the single entity you once were. And I wish you both well.
Heed not the thoughtless rants of your fans - or dissentors... after all, words are only words, and sometimes words are not enough...
These days work ends too late, and re-minisce is too exhausted after work to write.
Or else work ends early, and re-minisce is too busy hitting the gym / swimming pool / getting a tan to write.
Or else work ends rather late (which is slightly less late than too late) and re-minisce comes home to his computer, and mmorgs. One of the simplest escapes from the mundanity of everyday life - fantasy. Having despatched too quickly of Terry Pratchett's Thud! I'm now cast adrift with very little to distract myself from the sheer inanity of daily living.
These days I've been playing Ultima VI Online. It's not aesthetically very pleasing with its dated 1980s bitmaps and there are no fancy 3d graphics or directx lighting effects. But it has that certain nostalgia-factor that characterizes an all-time hall of famer, that all RPG fans will cleave to as if by instinct, and a beautiful storyline. It also has an incredibly friendly community, and all in all... it's nice.
I've been meaning to write about something for a while though. Perhaps I haven't done, because I've been trying not to. Can anyone spot the pattern here? I, escapist.
*****
"Don't get involved."
As I watched the coming of the End, I couldn't help but feel saddened - who wouldn't be? There had been something magical there once, something special. Something involving Words. Something far from ordinary.
Two friends, two separate paths.
A friend, to me (and here, I emphasize me... the definition differs from person to person) isn't someone who dispenses gifts, or gives advice that someone wants to hear.
When trouble ails us, do we seek out friends who speak the truth, or people who reaffirm what we wish to hear? Perhaps we are all different, and have different needs and desires.
A friend, to me - listens.
Perhaps a fan listens too - but fans are blinded to certain truths and realities. Fans cannot see - or refuse to see the imperfections and flaws that are as much a part of ourselves as our strengths and aptitudes.
Friends, in contrast, acknowledge - and tolerate them.
Don't go and listen to me, and then to her, and try to change things.
I confess to doing the former.
Sometimes it is not the worth of the words themselves that are important as it is their simply being spoken. All people do deserve that right - that is true.
All people.
It would have taken a fool to be blind to the inevitability of it all.
Emotional bridges are burnt when people lose their inability to listen and to empathise with each other.
It's not a sin to be selfish... it's perfectly natural when the time comes. Who wants to see the other side of the coin, when one has seen it too many times, perhaps?
Sometimes, insight is a curse.
Yet sometimes... it takes two.
I listened, and I knew that there was nothing left to do - nothing left to change.
It saddened me, immensely.
I did not pass judgement... I will not take a stand. There was as much wrong in both of them, as there was right.
That is only natural.
And in the aftermath, I hope that I still have two friends I can still count as - friends. Perhaps now two separate friends, rather than the single entity you once were. And I wish you both well.
Heed not the thoughtless rants of your fans - or dissentors... after all, words are only words, and sometimes words are not enough...
Friday, June 09, 2006
Alternative
They meet again many years later.
Another traffic junction, another city.
Perhaps she has lost the ephemeral sheen of youth, and perhaps he has lost the effortless coolness of immaturity. They are dressed in older, more subdued work-clothes.
The camera tracks her as she walks, focusing then panning in on her downcast, world-weary eyes - glancing up and widening in surprise... and then a trace of hope enters them. The faintest, most hesitent trace of a smile flickers across her face for a split second.
From the opposite side of the road, the camera watches as his eyes meet hers - dull, moody and uninterested; the eyes of a stranger lost in thought in his own private world - for a split second they engage, then they slide away. He does not recognise her.
The camera keeps pace, backing away as we see close-up the edges of her eyes crinkle, and the roots of her brow furrow as the two pass shoulder to shoulder, traces of tears welling up, but not quite falling. Her face dissolves in silent - subtle - anguish, eyes losing their focus, teeth biting down hard on her lower lip - no melodrama here, it has been too long for that now. Perhaps her jaw sets, or perhaps her distracted gaze focuses on nothing at all. We notice her head and shoulders bob faster and faster as she quickens her pace, straining to escape from her past... and then the camera slows to a stop and loses her as she walks into it, passing out the shot. As this happens he, out of focus and somewhat in the background now falls back into focus... turns his head to the side - just imperceptibly - a fraction of an inch - and slows to a stop - or perhaps he doesnt stop? He hasn't turned back to look at her - yet.
Fade to dark.
Another traffic junction, another city.
Perhaps she has lost the ephemeral sheen of youth, and perhaps he has lost the effortless coolness of immaturity. They are dressed in older, more subdued work-clothes.
The camera tracks her as she walks, focusing then panning in on her downcast, world-weary eyes - glancing up and widening in surprise... and then a trace of hope enters them. The faintest, most hesitent trace of a smile flickers across her face for a split second.
From the opposite side of the road, the camera watches as his eyes meet hers - dull, moody and uninterested; the eyes of a stranger lost in thought in his own private world - for a split second they engage, then they slide away. He does not recognise her.
The camera keeps pace, backing away as we see close-up the edges of her eyes crinkle, and the roots of her brow furrow as the two pass shoulder to shoulder, traces of tears welling up, but not quite falling. Her face dissolves in silent - subtle - anguish, eyes losing their focus, teeth biting down hard on her lower lip - no melodrama here, it has been too long for that now. Perhaps her jaw sets, or perhaps her distracted gaze focuses on nothing at all. We notice her head and shoulders bob faster and faster as she quickens her pace, straining to escape from her past... and then the camera slows to a stop and loses her as she walks into it, passing out the shot. As this happens he, out of focus and somewhat in the background now falls back into focus... turns his head to the side - just imperceptibly - a fraction of an inch - and slows to a stop - or perhaps he doesnt stop? He hasn't turned back to look at her - yet.
Fade to dark.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Flashback
It caught me by surprise.
I was walking down the street, striding, really - alone for the afternoon - trying to absorb the sights and sounds of an alien city, and to reach the Brewery District before sundown. I'd underestimated the distance and time was passing alarmingly quickly, so really I wasn't thinking about much more than walking at a brisk pace. It was a lovely clear day, albeit slightly chilly, and birds sang from amidst what sparse leaves the trees were wearing.
I glanced askance at nothing in particular, and stopped dead in my tracks.
Toronto is a very, very flat, and very, very large city. I hadnt truly appreciated it from the air, since, well a sprawling city is just another sprawling city from that high up... but standing in the middle of that road close to the water's edge, I saw it then.
The main street - the central dividing dotted line upon which I stood - stretched away into infinity, further than my eyes could see, vanishing into a pinpoint of converging lines.
And dotted at regular intervals (for Toronto is also a very, very planned city - much like New York) every ten meters or so, at every junction, were traffic lights, identical in every way.
The lights changed before my eyes, from red, to green - a hundred - or perhaps even more - lights fading out in choreographed splendour, and a hundred - or perhaps more - fading in, as one.
The thought arose, unbidden in my mind. Perhaps that one off stint as producer has done something to what few brains I have left.
But I thought then - what a perfect, perfect scene for a shot. The protagonist, and his female lead deep in conversation - or not - eyes never leaving each others', speaking with more than words in a tiny almost-freezeframe of eternity...
... and in the background, in soft focus (or perhaps not in focus at all) - a road to infinity, with a thousand lights flashing change in secret symphony.
I was walking down the street, striding, really - alone for the afternoon - trying to absorb the sights and sounds of an alien city, and to reach the Brewery District before sundown. I'd underestimated the distance and time was passing alarmingly quickly, so really I wasn't thinking about much more than walking at a brisk pace. It was a lovely clear day, albeit slightly chilly, and birds sang from amidst what sparse leaves the trees were wearing.
I glanced askance at nothing in particular, and stopped dead in my tracks.
Toronto is a very, very flat, and very, very large city. I hadnt truly appreciated it from the air, since, well a sprawling city is just another sprawling city from that high up... but standing in the middle of that road close to the water's edge, I saw it then.
The main street - the central dividing dotted line upon which I stood - stretched away into infinity, further than my eyes could see, vanishing into a pinpoint of converging lines.
And dotted at regular intervals (for Toronto is also a very, very planned city - much like New York) every ten meters or so, at every junction, were traffic lights, identical in every way.
The lights changed before my eyes, from red, to green - a hundred - or perhaps even more - lights fading out in choreographed splendour, and a hundred - or perhaps more - fading in, as one.
The thought arose, unbidden in my mind. Perhaps that one off stint as producer has done something to what few brains I have left.
But I thought then - what a perfect, perfect scene for a shot. The protagonist, and his female lead deep in conversation - or not - eyes never leaving each others', speaking with more than words in a tiny almost-freezeframe of eternity...
... and in the background, in soft focus (or perhaps not in focus at all) - a road to infinity, with a thousand lights flashing change in secret symphony.
