Sometimes

• Sometimes I feel so alone, yet I am surrounded by people.
• Sometimes I shout out loud, but I am rarely heard
• Sometimes I hide, but want to be found.
• Sometimes I smile, yet still cry.
• Sometimes I am calm, but on the inside I am furious.
• Sometimes I reach out, but think "What's the point?"
• Sometimes I dream happy dreams, where I'm dying.
• Sometimes I pretend, just so people won't worry.
• Sometimes I try to love, but all I can think of is the pain that is sure to come.
• Sometimes I'm trapped, but don't want to be free.
• Sometimes I feel scared, when I should feel safe.
• Sometimes I wonder what comes after death, but I'm scared to find out.
• Sometimes I wonder who really cares, But I can't think of very many.
• Sometimes I have a lot to say, but other times I have no words.
• Sometimes I hear "Get over it", but that makes me hold on even tighter.
• Sometimes I try my hardest to succeed, but still fail over and over again.
• Sometimes I wish to be normal, but normal is boring.
• Sometimes I wish that the people who call themselves my friends would take the time to listen, but no one ever does.

Creation Myth of Heimurinn (Complete)

Here is the Creation Myth of the world called, "Madstrag" or "Duintraile" depending on who you ask.
But for simplicity, we will refer to it as "Heimurinn". The differing names are those given to the Companions by the Skaldar and Caerduine respectively.

*****

At the beginning of time, there was nothing. The Void, as the sages call it, was what existed; a great expanse of darkness. Despite the darkness of the Void, it was not empty. Creatures of unknown shape and figured dwelled here. This period of darkness continued for a millennium. The creatures of darkness wallowed in the grime and filth of the void.

This is when newcomers appeared in the Void, the Eight Companions. With them, they brought light. The creatures of darkness hated the light and recoiled from it.

Now like the world, the Eight are known by different names.

The leader was called Worgi -or- Wathain. He was the eldest of the group, and bore a blond beard.
The second was Valling -or- Malla. She was so beautiful that she glowed with radiant light.
The third is named Velfur -or- Spairod. These three were sibilings, though it is unknown who begat them.

Then there was Riggsi -or- Farthach. He was the biggest of the Eight, and stood twice as tall.
There is Fryigg or Dorcha, her hair was as black as the Void itself.

There are the twins, Kjallisi -or- Oghear and Bjarndur -or- Faohier. These two brought two of the most powerful things into the world, Ice and Fire.

The last of the Eight was, Laturan -or- Baseag. He was queer. Quiet and sneaky, he loved the darkness.

So the Void Creatures hated the Eight. They cursed the light and fled from it. One of the creatures, whose name has been long forgotten decided to try and kill the Eight. He gathered and army and plotted to wipe light form the Void forever.

Not there was one being who like the light and did not like the idea of it being snuffed from existance. His name was Madur -or- Duin. He told the eight of of the Forgotten One's plan. The eight began to argue. Worgi, Valling, and Velfur, trusted Madur; but Kjallisi, Bjarndur and Laturan didn't. Riggsi and Fyrigg wanted nothing to do with the conflict.

The Forgotten One, seeing the divide decided to corrupt the Eight. He poisoned them with a dark spell. Those who trusted Madur were able to fend off the poison, but those who didn't, succumbed to the pestilence and joined the Forgotten One.

Thus the battle began. Worgi, Valling, and Velfur were fallen upon by the hordes of darkness. Surrounded on all sides, the three fought valiantly, but it appeared that all was lost. Untill Worgi pushed his way through to the Forgotten One.

The Forgotten One raised his axe and mace and charged at Worgi. There in the middle of the field they clashed. The Forgotten One cleaved Worgi's shield in twain, and shattered his sword. Worgi stumbled backwards, feeling for a weapon. The Forgotten One Raised his weapons to the sky in victory and made to strike Worgi down. But luckilly Worgi's hand found the shaft of a spear and jabbed it into the Forgotten Ones throat. He fell and disappeared.

Upon their leader's death the armies of darkness fell away in retreat.

The three who had been poisoned returened to their natural state and the day was theirs. But battle is not with out price. Madur had fallen during the battle. The Eight gave him a funeral, which all funerals of man mimic.

Lyla Jones, Bounty Hunter

     Lyla couldn’t remember what woke her, the screeching of metal on metal and the sudden jolt of a halting train, or the nudging of the ebony mustang that shared the boxcar with her. She pushed the brim of her hat away from her face and she squinted to make out her surroundings from the slivers of light that filtered in from the cracks of the doors.The gelding nudged her again, making a quiet whinny. 

     “I’m awake!” she groaned sleepily, pulling herself off the floor, and dusting off her canvas trousers. She pushed a strand of orange hair away from her face and behind a pointed elvish ear. She stretched and yawned. 

     She tightened her gun belt and slid the retention strap off the hammer of the revolver secured to her leg. She unholstered the pistol and flipped the cylinder out. All six chambers were filled with brass .45 caliber rounds. She clicked the cylinder back in and returned the revolver to the holster. A large knife encased in a leather sheath also hung off the belt.

     She found her mahogany coat, atop one of the shipping crates that took up a good portion of boxcar, and pulled it on. The horse nudged her again. 

     He pawed the floor and snorted.

     “Alright! Alright! Gimme a second,” she grunted, “You need not be so impatient Ashes.” She slid open the car’s doors and blinked as the bright light hit her face. She lead the horse out of the car and onto the loading platform. She put her boot into the stirrup and pulled herself atop the horse. She rode her way off the platform and around the station. A wooden sign hanging outside read, ‘Bywater Station & Telegraph Office’. 

     She reached into her breast pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper. She unfolded it and stopped to read it. The letterhead read, ‘Soldera Telegraph Service’. 

RECIEVED AT:

COLBY’S RIDGE TELEGRAPH OFFICE

7.14.89

TO: L. JONES

EMPANEL, MEET MR. DWYER AT WASP CLUB, BYWATER, TO DISCUSS JOB OPPORTUNITY.

     She had received the telegram three days ago, and had hopped aboard the train from Colby’s Ridge, to Fork Junction and then onwards to Bywater. 

Bywater was the fourth largest town in the Bowl, after Beaconsville, Colbert’s Point, and Sullivan. It had everything an up and coming town needed, an airfield, a station, a jail, a town hall, several clubs and bars, a park, docks, an airship port, and it even had paved roads.

     She hated coming to Bywater. As a rule, she avoided it as much as possible. It felt claustrophobic with the automobiles puttering about, and sidewalks filled with people. But the prospect of a job, was reason enough to visit. 

What I Really Want For My 21st Birthday

This year, 2015, marks the date of my twenty-first birthday. Now, the twenty-first birthday is a major thing here in the United States because once you turn twenty-one you can finally drink alcohol. Normally, when someone turns twenty-one they celebrate by having a pub-crawl or something related to booze. But since I'm not "normal"(we've discussed this already), I don't want to do something like that.

What I would really, really, really, really, like for my twenty-first birthday, is for all of my friends to watch a series of videos. It's simple. It costs nothing, except for the cost of your internet bill, and probably won't take a long time to do. Definitely much shorter that having a party or something like that. It would mean so much to me, if they could watch these videos that I will be embedding below. I will also include my own thoughts on the subject of the video. I would also like my friends to let me know that they watched all the videos. Either by commenting or liking the Facebook post, or message me.

Enjoy! :)

Rosie King. This is one of the first videos I have shared to death. It describes what it's like to be autistic.



Amythest Schaber is another person I have discovered, probably through my mum. In fact the majority of these videos will be by her.



This is the first video I think I saw of Amythest. It really hits home because I've had so many of these things said to me. One of the things I absolutely hate hearing is "Let it go" or "Grow up" or "Welcome to being an adult" or something to that effect. To me saying anything similar to the phrases I listed means you are dismissing the fact that I have an issue with something or someone. And because of this, It makes me hold onto whatever I have a problem with even tighter. It also makes me very upset, because I came to you with something that is bothering me, I trusted you to try an help me work through it, and you basically laughed at my issue and dismissed it as not an issue.

As for my special interests, I love Vikings, Scotland, Hardboiled Noir, Westerns, Science Fiction, World War II... Huh... interesting, those are all the things I write about or own RPGs based on these things...


This is something my parent's have experienced numerous times. Mostly due to stress. She speaks of some videos that simulate Sensory Overload. The one that I feel is the best, or closest to how I feel when going places. Watch that video here.



This is something that I think I've been going through in the past few months. Continuous dark thoughts, depression, contemplating suicide, rage, etc.


Stimming. Here is something most of my friends don't see, because I'm afraid that I'm going to be laughed at or made the center of attention... One way I stim is to gnaw or chew on something, a guitar pick, pencil, or whatever I happen to find in my pockets. Another thing is to fiddle with my lighter. I have a Zippo and I love the sound it makes when it opens. That plink! click! plink! click is so satisfying. I also flap when I get incredibly excited. Like when I watched the Star Wars Episode 7 Teasers, I was like an excited little bird. Music also is something I use to stim. Either I play music, or listen to music really loud. I know there are even more things I do to stim, but I can't think of it right now.



I don't really say this stuff out loud, or if I do it's under my breath, for the same reason I don't stim in public really. There are several phrases I often use to soothe myself. "Valar Morgullis/Valar Dohaeris", "Shotgun", "The night is dark and full of terrors", "Buttons! Ooh! I love buttons!", "It was a dark night in a city that knows now to keep it's secrets",  "Protect me cone!" along with several other things. A lot of these are quotes from A Song of Ice and Fire, or Red Vs. Blue.



 I seriously think out every social situation down to possible words to use in sentences. Because then I have a way to "predict" what might happen.


Sometimes it happens... sometimes it doesn't


Thank you for reading, watching and listening.

The Lightsaber Duel (An Essay)

The lightsaber. An elegant weapon, from a more civilized age. It is the weapon of a Jedi Knight and Sith Lords alike. Though nothing beats a good blaster at your side. It is an iconic image of the Star Wars Saga. I bet I could show a picture of a lightsaber to someone random joe on the street and they would know what it was and probably me able to imitate the sound.

Now let's take a look at the lightsaber duel. I'm not talking about the über flashy duels of the Prequel Trilogy, but I'm talking about the duels from the Original Trilogy, Episodes IV-VI. Now I'm by no means a master swordsman, but I've done research, however rudimentary, into fencing and sword techniques, and let's just say I've noticed a few things.

Let's start with the Ben vs. Vader duel from "A New Hope". The duel isn't very energetic or fast; most likely due to the Graflex illuminated blades, and also because a lightsaber was supposed to be an incredibly heavy weapon. But it's obvious to me, where the inspiration for the choreography comes from; 14th-16th Century Longsword Fencing.ROLL THE FILM!


Alright, so they are holding the hilt of the saber with both hands in the standard Longsword grip (See Right). They work in the Triangular foot work pattern, which is a standard martial art stance, at least to my knowledge.

 I know that the lightsaber is basically a Space Katana... but when you look at the measurements of the lightsaber (From Wookiepedia)

• Hilt: Usually 24-30 cm (9-12 in)
• Blade: Usually 145 cm (57in)

And then the measurement of a 15th- 16th Century longsword (From Wikipedia).

• Total: avg. 100–130 cm (39–51 in)
• Blade: avg. 90–110 cm (35–43 in)

Pretty similar, wouldn't you say. Though a note about the blade length given by Wookiepedia, I own a Master Replica's Force FX lightsaber, and I can tell you the blade is not 57 inches. It's actually ~36 inches, which in turn matches up with my Cold Steel Hand-and-a-Half Practice Sword, which is essentially a 15th-16th Century Longsword.

On to the "The Empire Strikes Back" and the climax of the film, where Luke squares off with Vader for the first time. Lights please!


Again we see the standard longsword grip from Luke. But Vader switches back and forth between the two handed grip and swinging his saber with a single hand. I think this was done to show that Vader was the significantly better swordsman. This is my absolute favorite duel of the series. Especially with that big reveal at the end. The image to the right is taken from a fencing manual displaying a fencer using a buckler.






Now to "Return of the Jedi"

At this point I've already covered most of the similarities that I see between Lightsaber Fencing and Longsword fencing. But I wanted to mention at 4:09 in this duel Luke uses a stance which looks very similar to the Ox Guard of the German Longsword Fencing Manual, as depicted in the images to the right.

"This was the formal weapon of a Jedi Knight. Not as clumsy or random as a blaster. More skill than simple sight was required for its use. An elegant weapon. It was a symbol as well. Anyone can use a blaster or a fusioncutter—but to use a lightsaber well was a mark of someone a cut above the ordinary."
―Obi-Wan Kenobi

Creation Myth, Part I.

Here is the Creation Myth of the world called, "Madstrag" or "Duintraile" depending on who you ask. But for simplicity, we will refer to it as "Heimurinn"

At the beginning of time, there was nothing. The Void, as the sages call it, was what existed; a great expanse of darkness. Despite the darkness of the Void, it was not empty. Creatures of unknown shape and figured dwelled here. This period of darkness continued for a millennium. The creatures of darkness wallowed in the grime and filth of the void.

This is when newcomers appeared in the Void, the Eight Companions. With them, they brought light. The creatures of darkness hated the light and recoiled from it.

Now like the world, the Eight are known by different names.

The leader was called Worgi -or- Wathain. He was the eldest of the group, and bore a blond beard.
The second was Valling -or- Malla. She was so beautiful that she glowed with radiant light.
The third is named Velfur -or- Spairod. These three were sibilings, though it is unknown who begat them.
Then there was Riggsi -or- Farthach. He was the biggest of the Eight, and stood twice as tall.
There is Fryigg or Dorcha, her hair was as black as the Void itself.
There are the twins, Kjallisi -or- Oghear and Bjarndur -or- Faohier. These two brought two of the most powerful things into the world, Ice and Fire.
The last of the Eight was, Laturan -or- Baseag. He was queer. Quiet and sneaky, he loved the darkness.

So the Void Creatures hated the Eight. They cursed the light and fled from it. One of the creatures, whose name has been long forgotten decided to try and kill the Eight. He gathered and army and plotted to wipe light form the Void forever.

Not there was one being who like the light and did not like the idea of it being snuffed from existance. His name was Madur -or- Duin. He told the eight of of the Forgotten One's plan. The eight began to argue. Worgi, Valling, and Velfur, trusted Madur; but Kjallisi, Bjarndur and Laturan didn't. Riggsi and Fyrigg wanted nothing to do with the conflict.

The Forgotten One, seeing the divide decided to corrupt the Eight. He poisoned them with a dark spell. Those who trusted Madur were able to fend off the poison, but those who didn't, succumbed to the pestilence and joined the Forgotten One.

Snowflakes

Snowflakes,

From a distance they all look the same,

But upon closer inspection

They are all quite different.

Some might be comparable to another,

but look carefully,

Even the comparable ones

are vastly dissimilar. 

Snowflakes,

A natural occurrence,

Impossibly beautiful,

But only if you take the time to get to know them.

So Poetry hasn't been my thing since high school, unless it's an epic poem in the style of Beowulf. But thanks to someone I've met recently I've become inspired(?). 

Are you sure?

     Something was wrong. He opened his eyes and turned to do discover his wife was missing. He sat up and looked around the bedroom. He tossed back the sheets and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. A pair of metal dog-tags hung around his neck encased in rubber silencers; they rested against his toned bare chest. The alarm clock on the bedside table informed him that it was three-thirty in the morning. He got up, and stretched. Yawning, he headed into the hall. There was the distinctive woosh and thump of the back sliding-door. He made his way downstairs and through the kitchen. 

His wife was standing out in the backyard, staring up into the clear night sky. The stars twinkled like millions of candles. He slid the door open and was greeted by the cool summer air. He shivered, wishing he had put on a shirt. The grass was soft beneath his toes. His wife, in her tank top and shorts didn’t seem to hear him. Her brunette bob fluttered as a light breath blew past her. Her argent skin seemed to shine in the dual-moonlight.

     “Sweetheart?” he said. Her head adjusted slightly, acknowledging him. “What are you doing out her? Is everything okay? 

     “Yeah…” she muttered, “Just needed to think some.”

     “You had another nightmare, didn’t you?” He asked. She nodded. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and slouched to rest his chin on her shoulder. She barely reached his shoulder when she stood next to him. 

     “Whatchya looking at?”

     “The stars,” she muttered, turning her head skywards.

     “Thinking about the war?” he asked.

     “Yeah.”

     “It’s been a long time.” 

     “Yeah, but sometimes it feels like yesterday,” she commented.

     They stood there watching the sky until the sun’s rays began to peek over the horizon. 

     “Your daughter be up soon,” he yawned, releasing her from the embrace for the first time. She turned to him. Her natural lavender eyes looked into his hazel.

     “My daughter?” she hissed playfully.

     “Yuuuupp!” he stretched, grinning. She returned the smile and wrapped her arms around his neck.

     “I love you.”

     “I love you too,” he said before giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

     “Chris, I want to go back,” she whispered.

     “Back to Elysia? Are you sure?

     “Yeah. I’m sure.”

     “Alright.”

---------------

I created these characters for a Halo/Red Vs. Blue Fan Fiction I wrote a while back. Yeah, I wrote a fan fiction, deal with it. I thought I had lost all the files when my laptop crashed, but I was looking through my iCloud documents  I discovered two of the documents. I read through them again and oh my god how my writing has improved! But I remembered how much I liked the characters of Chris, Jeanne, Alex, and Liz. So I thought about for a bit and decided to bring them into this Far flung Sci-Fi Universe I had in the back of my head. Those of you that have read the Jack and Rubi stuff might be familiar with the planet of Elysia, but I can't remember if it was in my reboot or the original...

But anyways, after spending 80+ pages with the characters they got burned into my mind. I love war stories, and enjoy military strategy and such. I've been toying with the idea of a military type story, and might do it with these characters.

(Online) Dating

Lo! Here we have one of the most baffling, bewildering, complicated, perplexing and upsetting thing ever, dating and relationships.

Dating is fucking bizarre. Since I don't enjoy going to bars or anywhere with a lot of people, the whole thing of meeting new people doesn't really happen. Even if I see someone attractive at the coffee shop or at my friends store, how do I approach them? What do I say? How do I begin a conversation? So, instead of becoming stressed, I just keep my mouth shut and absorb myself into whatever I was doing at the time. After a while I decided to take up online dating. It had to be easier than actually meeting people in person. Right?

WRONG! Online dating is even more complicated and confusing. At least the way I see it. You are plunged into a world of arbitrary statements, self-advertising, answering stupid questions so that you can be "matched" with someone who is "compatible".

So here is something that is part of the Profile, "You should message me if:". This section is filled with statements like, "If you can grow a beard", "If you aren't an asshole", "If you have tattoos", and numerous other autocratic statements. How do you know if you aren't an asshole? Search me.

Another thing I've noticed. People keep saying they want honesty in a potential mate. Believe me when I say, "I am over qualified to fill that position." I have some restraint after years of getting into trouble for simply telling things how they are.

I've been on Ok Cupid for about a two years now, and Plenty of Fish for just about 7-8 months, with little to show for it. I've gone on a few dates, but they've never really lead anywhere.

I keep having acquaintances and friends tell me that I'm interesting, or I'm attractive. Well... They're obviously lying. Because according to my success rate in dating in general, I am the most hideously, ugly, horrible, monstrous, repulsive being on the planet. Yeah, I'm not buff, "swoll", or even thin. I know I'm a overweight, and am taking steps to rectify that.

So If anyone has the answer to that ever elusive enigma that is dating.... GIMME! Because I'm sick of this whole fumbling charade I keep playing.

Cynicism and "Busy"

As I've stepped away from adolescence and into adulthood, I've noticed something. I have become increasingly cynical towards the world and my life. I theorize that this is the direct reaction to a series of events that have happened in the past few years. Bad breakups, constant rejection, confusion, frustration and numerous other things.

As an Aspie I already have trouble with, for lack of a better word, "things". Things I have already mentioned in previous posts, that I don't feel the need to go into again. 

While I talk to people, I put on a mask, a facade, a veneer, a frontage, a bluff, so that I may appear, okay, fine, alright, not wanting to break down and cry like a little baby because I just cant handle everything that is going on in my life right now and I just wish it would stop for just a second so I can catch my breath and organize my thoughts. It's kind of like that Smokey Robinson and the Miracles song, "The Tracks of My Tears". I smile, I joke, and I laugh, but really, I just wish someone would take the time to realize that I'm sobbing inside.

I've often asked myself, "Would anyone miss me if I just disappeared for a little while?" The obvious answer is, well my parents and family would notice. But what I really want to know is, would any of my "friends" notice (Friends is in quotations here, to express the emotion of cynical doubt that I have been feeling recently). Would they even bother to take a few moments from their busy life to ask, "Where is Galen? He was here a second ago." My summation? I don't know, they appear to be so busy with their lives that they hardly have time to read one of my posts, or watch that six minute video, or read that short little story I sent them, or listen to an idea that I have. That is my belief, formed from perpetual observation, and I'm going to stick by it until someone corrects me. 

This brings me to another thing I've been hearing recently, "I'm sorry I can't. I'm really busy," or some other variation of the statement. 

Yes. I don't have a full-time job. But not for lack of trying. Even though I might not have a job or get a steady paycheck, DOES NOT MEAN I AM NOT BUSY! Seriously. I am busy writing, drawing, writing, reading, painting, writing, watching a favorite television program, gaming, visting Iswed or Heimurinn or Fawrion, playing music, exploring internet, or writing. These things all occupy my precious time and just because they are typically considered "pastimes" or "hobbies" doesn't make them "non-busy-making". Just because I'm busy with things that I enjoy, not a soul-sucking wage slave job that makes me want to do nothing more than get wasted out of my mind when I get home, does not make me Not-Busy.

Side Note: I wouldn't say I'm typical. So of course things typically referred to as "pastimes" and "hobbies" probably shouldn't apply to an Atypical. If I'm willing to take the time out of my precious time to read something you post, or ask me to listen to an idea, or what ever. You should take the time to look at my things.

Now I understand that people actually are busy. No quotations this time. I completely understand that you have to make money to pay the rent and bills. I get it! I really do! But when you've heard "I can't, I'm busy," with no explanation, for the 10,000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000, 000th time (Exaggeration), it becomes tiresome and feels like a cop out.

The Final Words of Jennifer Eclberg: Part Two

I found myself standing in front of a overgrown church. I was wearing a dress made of cotton, that was reminiscent of colonial times. As I looked around I could see I was alone. I was confused as to where I was. I heard the rustling of bushes behind me, and as I spun around I could see two red orbs crouched amongst the underbrush. I was frozen. I saw it draw closer. I willed my legs to run away, but I couldn’t. It moved out of the bushes revealing its self as a massive dog. It must have stood at least as tall as a human at the shoulder. I could see its massive yellow teeth glisten with spittle in the moonlight. Finally I found the ability to run as a wave of terror over took me. I sprinted into the cemetery, slamming the wrought iron gate behind me and sprinting through the solemn rows of graves. I tripped over a root, tearing my dress and bloodying my knee as I plummeted to the ground. I frantically searched for the pursuing beast, but it appeared to have disappeared. I stood and for some reason headed deeper into the graveyard. I approached a mausoleum. Suddenly I saw the beast step out from the behind the columned tomb. It turned to me with those burning eyes. Moving faster than I could blink, it pounced.

It was then, that I woke up. My scream waking my sleeping partner. She was concerned but I told her that it was simply a nightmare and to go back to sleep. I stepped into the bathroom for a glass of water.

When I looked at myself in the mirror, I noticed something on my neck. Upon closer inspection I saw what could only be described by as bite marks from a massive dog. Horrified at the sight the drinking glass slipped from my grip and shattered on the floor. Alina burst into the bathroom, a softball bat in her hand. When she saw that I was alone, she relaxed. She asked what happened. I proceeded to show her the bite mark on my neck. But she claimed that there was nothing there. I insisted, tracing the teeth marks with my finger, but she only gave me a concerned look.

She led me back to bed, insisting that there were no marks on my neck. But I could feel them. I was bewildered on how someone as detail-oriented as my wife couldn’t see the marks! 

I didn’t get another minute of sleep that night. I sat upright in my bed staring out the window. I’m not sure if it was for the lack of sleep, but I saw something moving in the yard. I stalked to the window and peered through the glass into the street. I spotted movement on the other side of the road. As I squinted to make it out, I thought that it was simply a trick of the light, until a pair of searing red orbs appeared. I opened my mouth to scream but no sound could be heard. I watched it stalk between the trees trunks. Pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth! I wished I could tear my eyes away, but I stared at it in dumfounded horror. 

As the sun began to rise the visage of the beast seemed to fade as night gave way to dawn, and dawn gave way to morning. Alina was concerned. Saying that I needed rest, that I had been pushing myself too hard at work. She had me call in sick and ordered me to stay in bed and sleep. I gave her a kiss goodbye and promised that I would get some rest. 

But as she pulled out of the driveway, I did return to bed. But instead of sleeping I opened my laptop and searched the internet for stories in the area about a giant black dog. I came across a webpage dedicated to North Carolina’s legends and ghost stories. There, I found the story of “The Demon Dog of Valle Crucis.” There was an drawing of a dog with burning eyes in front of the church I saw in my dream. 

I studied the page, as if I was studying for a test. Taking in every detail. How the morning mists seem to linger, and how the town had a bizarre silence, even on the nicest summer days. I continued to read, finding the story about the two young men, who were driving along Highway 194 around midnight, when a black shape leapt out into the road. They swerved and as they looked to see what they had nearly ran into; and thats when they saw it. A massive black dog with scorching red eyes, bristling fur and shining yellow teeth. They looked to each other and one asked the other if he saw the beast. The man simply replied, “No, and neither do you.” They sped off down the country road at breakneck speeds around hairpin turns. When they looked into the rearview mirrors they saw the beast not only in pursuit, but keeping pace with the car. It was not until they crossed the bridge where the two rivers that ran through the valley met at a perpendicular angle, when the beast gave up the chase, as if stopped by some sort of invisible barrier. 

My eyes had grown wide. My hands were shaking. I had seen the beast, outside my window; but I lived in Rosewood, Asigee County. Boone and Valle Crucis were two counties over. I slammed the computer shut and slid it away from me, as if it had transformed into some foul creature, like an opossum or a snake. My heart was in my throat. I drew the sheets up around me, like a young child, fearing the monsters that lived under the bed or in the closet. 

Listen

Here is something that I seem to be saying a lot recently. Listen. Just listen!

I like to talk. You can ask my parents, who have spent countless hours of their lives listening to my blather on and on about what ever is going on my head. Bless them. As an Aspie, I think the biggest compliment anyone could ever give me is letting me express my creativity how I want, when I want, and where I want. I have these imaginary worlds that I just want to show people, and the only way for me to share is for someone to listen.

I like to push the envelope. I’m incredibly keen on seeing how far I can take something; just how much can the branch take before completely shattering into a bazillion splinters. Why? I’ve asked myself that exact question numerous times. The conclusion I’ve come up with is: 

“I enjoy pushing the envelope because I know the reaction I’m going to receive. If there is anything I have mastered via my social ineptness is how to get a negative reaction from people. I know that if I tell someone about this demonic creature I’ve come up with, that all the creatures are male, and the only way for them to reproduce is to impregnate a human female. After being implanted, the embryo grows quickly over the course of twenty-four hours. Once it is fully grown, it proceeds to claw its way out of the woman’s vagina causing extreme laceration and ultimately death, they are going to have some sort of negative reaction.”

You’re squirming aren’t you? Is your face is contorted into a grimace of horror and disgust? Good! Because that’s the desired effect. 

I’ve also come to the conclusion that I’m sadistic. Not in a S&M type way. What I mean by sadistic is that I love to watch people becoming paranoid or nervous. I enjoy playing games that allow for me to watch someone’s face as the paranoia of not knowing or uncertainty washes over them like a great wave. Probably because it’s a similar feeling that I get on a daily basis. 

But back to being listened to. 

I hate being ignored. For me to be ignored is one of the biggest insults. This has happened several times when I message people on OK Cupid. Things will be going so well, but as soon as the figure out that something isn’t quite right about me… “Nope, not talking to him anymore.” Because of this, I wrote up a copy and paste message so that I can explain that I have been diagnosed with Aspergers, and explaining my various ticks and quirks.

Here is the message: 

“Hey, how's it going? I'm Galen. I'm going to be honest here because I'm so sick of people finding out later and then completely writing me off as damaged, or think that something is wrong with me.

I have been diagnosed with Aspergers, a high functioning form of Autisim. What that means is that sometimes, well most of the time, I don't understand social situations and customs. I'm stupidly brutally honest; I'm not trying to be mean though... I look at the world differently. I often retreat into my own world. Sometimes I just don't have words to express my ideas. I like routines. I have the tendency to go on and on about one thing, as I assume this message is going to turn out as.

I constantly wish to be "normal", and then I ask myself "What is normal?" Just because I've been made fun of for enjoying worlds where magic exists, or because I don't conform to societies narrow view of "normal". Asking me to be "normal" is kinda like telling someone who's gay to just start liking the opposite sex. 

Nothing is wrong with me. This is just how I am. I'm caring, creative, and understanding, and brutally forcibly honest. 

Sorry about the several paragraphs but after talking with people for a while, and then I tell them I'm diagnosed with Aspergers, they ignore me. So I figured it would be better to nip it in the bud and tell someone in the first message.”

This allows me to figure out who is willing to listen to what I have to say, and not just write me off because I’m a wee different. 

Different

Let’s see. Where should I begin? 

Well, I always knew I was different. I wasn’t like the other children; I rarely made eye contact, I preferred to read opposed to play outside. To me that was normal. As I grew older I struggled to find my place… Hell, even now, I still don’t know where I should be. But I do one thing…

I know who I am. I can do things most people can’t. But yet again, I can’t do things most people can. I don’t like to say, “I have Aspergers” or, “I am Autistic,” because it doesn’t feel like that. I don’t know what it feels like. I prefer to say I have been gifted with something that doctors refer to as Aspergers. A lot of people seem to think that Aspergers or Autism, means that there is something wrong with the diagnosed person. Nothing is wrong with me, or anyone else on the spectrum. We are just a bit different.

Different… In my short twenty years on this bizarre and alien place we like to call Earth, I have learned some interesting things. Society seems to praise brilliance and innovation in just about every field. They praise; hell, glorify even, the people who think outside of the box. Just to name a few, Martin Luther King Jr., Gandhi, JFK, Tesla, Darwin, and Einstein. All of these people were different, they make you think, they challenge your preconceived notion of reality. They pushed society forward, forcing us to change. They made you listen to what they had to say.  I have a few words out to describe these people, extraordinary, interesting, brilliant, amazing, fantastic, intelligent, creative, and innovative. 

I watched this video titled, “Rosie King: How autism freed me to be myself”. This is probably one of my favorite videos explaining what Autism is like. This little British girl gave me the words to explain what it feels like. My favorite point she brings up is that people try to fit everything into these tiny little boxes with specific labels.  Why? Because even though, we as humanity praise the extraordinary people who have changed the world for the better, we are fucking terrified of anything new or different. Humanity is programmed to hate anything different. It is a savage hangover from our primal pasts, and because of this we try to force out anything or anyone that might cause unrest. We all try to be “normal”. We hate anything bizarre, strange, queer, or different…

Normal. What does “normal” mean? According to Dictionary.com, Normal as an adjective means, “conforming to the standard or the common type; usual; not abnormal; regular; natural,” -or- “serving to establish a standard,” -or- in Psychology, “approximately average in any psychological trait, as intelligence, personality, or emotional adjustment,” -or- “free from any mental disorder; sane.” 

Sounds rather boring to me. But according to what I have seen and experienced; being made fun of for: being interested in dragons, elves, and goblins, being bad at most sports, loving the idea of traveling through space and discovering new and exciting places, not being interested in anonymous sex, etc… Normal must be the greatest compliment someone should ever be given. Right? 

Oh contraire, the compliments we give are along of the lines are, “You are amazing,” “That was awesome!” What if someone told you, “You are really normal!” It’s laughable, because no one does that! We praise the extraordinary but then we cut down those who are different because they are different. 

Just look at homosexuals and transexuals. The LGBT people that I know are some of the best people I know. They are loads more interesting than a lot of the people I periodically come into contact with. Here we have these incredibly different people, and guess what? They can’t get married. They are cast out by their own families and friends, just for being a little bit different. Do they not bleed when they get cut? Do they not breath the same air as everyone else? Are they not human beings? Then why do we prosecute these people? Why do we try to make them into this thing called “normal”? Oh, because they like to have sex with members of their own gender? Because they aren’t happy with their gender and want to change it? What?! 

Why does it matter that Jim likes to have sex with guys? Why does it matter that Lisa likes to sleep with girls? Why does it matter that Jackson/Jackie isn’t comfortable in their own skin and they are taking the steps to become comfortable? Guess what? It doesn’t. 

The same goes for people on the Autism Spectrum. Here we are, being made fun of not because of who we like to have sexy-fun-time with, but because we look at things differently, or we don’t behave exactly like everyone else. People on the spectrum are as diverse as everyone else in the world. Not one of us are exactly the same. We are as diverse as fingerprints or snowflakes. We share a lot of the same traits, but we are all unique. We just want to be accepted the way we are.

Every day I go through a titanic struggle. I have to fight through every second of every hour, of every day, of every week, of every month. I have to live with a persistent feeling of doom, anguish, and terror. Am I exaggerating? Probably, though not by much. It’s not as easy as one might think. I hate hearing that “life isn’t fair.” No shit, life isn’t fair. You can easily talk to someone, when I don’t even know how even begin. You can go to the supermarket with out having to mentally prepare yourself. Imagine if you will, that every second of the day you are scared; scared that you might make someone angry, scared that you might be singled out, scared that you might run into someone you know, terrified you might accidentally do something wrong. Yeah, life isn’t fair. 

Welcome to New Angel City

 You seem like a good kid. Now, what a nice jasper like yourself is doing here is beyond me. You must have gotten off at the wrong platform, down at the train station. 

The only people who come here are people who are interested in making dough by getting wet. Not like a how a twist gets when when some mug she fancies plays with her snatch, though if being a roundheel is your goal, I’m not one to judge. But I mean wet, as in getting your hands wet with blood. “Wet-work” is what some of the gunsels like to call it.

The rain slicked streets and the shady back alleys provide the perfect nesting ground for the things that go bump in the night. Here you have horned-bastards that look like half-demons, and then there are those angelic sons-of-bitches; believe me when I say they are hardly angel-like.

There is nothing really here, except forgotten dreams of prosperity, a corrupt police force, twisted politicians, more crime and violence then you could ever beg for, and the incessant nearly-perpetual downpour. 

I’ve lived in the city my whole life. I’ve seen what it does to people. It turns the innocent red hearts of people into cold black stones.

Welcome to New Angel City.