(Think) Different: Redux

Let’s see. Where should I begin? How about with a quote?

"Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do" ~Apple's 'Think Different' Campaign

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'm just a bit different.

Different… In my short 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.
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 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.

Now that the Supreme Court ruling, we have taken a step towards acceptance of those that are atypical.

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.

Crazy

I must be insane. For my whole life, I've refused to conform to societies pre-conceived notions of reality and what is acceptable. I saw no need to dress "in-style". No need to force my beliefs on anyone. I spoke my mind, and didn't care what people thought of me. I tell things how I see them. I am brutally honest. I notice the small things, like the smell in the air, the sounds that surround me, the texture of my seat, the tastes of the food I'm eating. I don't bother with petty social situations and small talk.

I create worlds, places, and landscapes. But I don't consider myself a god in anyway because those worlds, have their own gods. I simply gave life to something, out of nothing. I am in no way divine. I create languages that have never and probably won't ever be spoken out loud. I disappear into worlds that solely exist in my mind and in the billions of words I write.

I want to share these worlds but no one wants to visit them. So I become frustrated and upset. I become angry, because I see people with "less interesting and detailed" worlds have others flock to visit. What's so special about those places that mine doesn't possess? I don't really know.

Alienation is the product of non-acceptance. Most days I feel alienated because of how I think or speak, and thus, the cycle of rage and frustration continues. I don't understand why things happen or why people think the things they do. I get angry because no one sees what I see. I think they are all blinded by "what is socially acceptable"; so worried about what is appropriate or what is taboo, that they miss all of the small yet important things in the world.

Thus I must be crazy; because I refuse to conform to societies pre-conceived notions of reality and what is acceptable. I see no need to dress how everyone else does. I speak my mind, and don't care what people think of me. I tell things how I see them. Autism is my super power.

So many songs express these emotions...

Oingo Boingo- "On the Outside"
"They laugh at me out loud, they say I'm just a clown
That I ain't got no ride, I'm on the outside
The girls look really cute, they really make it work
They think I'm just a jerk, I'm on the outside"

The Beatles- "Nowhere Man"
"He's a real nowhere man
Sitting in his nowhere land
Making all his nowhere plans for nobody"

"Doesn't have a point of view
Knows not where he's going to
Isn't he a bit like you and me?"

Joan Jett- "Misunderstood"
"It was hard to get along when I was still in school
I never meant to do no wrong but I broke all the rules
An' I was prone to non-conformin', but what harm did I do?
I could see the world was crazy an' I was crazy too
Misunderstood with no one I could tell
Misunderstood by people I know well!"

Dream Theater- "Solitary Shell"
"He seemed no different from the rest
Just a healthy normal boy
His mama always did her best
And he was daddy's pride and joy"

"As a boy he was considered somewhat odd
Kept to himself most of the time
He would daydream in and out of his own world
but in every other way he was fine"

"He struggled to get through his day
He was helplessly behind
He poured himself onto the page
Writing for hours at a time"

Saga of the Bear-Folk: A Strange Forest Part II.

And thus, the Bear-Folk followed the directions of the pixie, until they came up upon a massive ebony fir tree. A silver finger of flowing water drifted lazily through the clearing.They could see that there was a door crafted of planks nailed together covering the entry in to the hovel.
Blooma called out, "Mieselk! Are you home?" But no one answered. The Bear-folk searched for signs of the mysterious guardian who was supposed to dwell here.


Suddenly a great booming voice called out from behind them, "WHO TRESSPASSES ON THE HOME OF THE MIGHTY MISELK!?" The party spun to see who uttered the words. They spied a great albino elk with antlers stretching out further than any man could.
"We are not tresspassing!" called Blomma, "I need help!" The great elk blinked and looked at the pixie.

The elks head twisted unnaturally and the beast contorted, as the sounds of breaking bones and snapping tendons echoed through the timber stands. Then an old man with a long argent beard stood in front of them. He appeared as human save for the pair of antlers extending from the sides of his head. He hurried over to Torgar, who's shoulder the Blooma was perched, and plucked the pixie up and hurried into his hovel. Kol and Torgar peered inside.

The strange man bustled about and pulled ingredients off shelves and tossed them onto the table. When he was satisfied with what he had gathered he chanted in the eldritch language of the Huldrfolk. A light glowed around the pixie and her wing was restored. She joyfully zipped around the room, sprinkling glitter behind her.

The strange man, who was called Mieselk, beckoned the Bear-folk inside. He seemed to speak their language. He gave them a tea made from herbs. They all drank it except for Kol and Mjorla, who remained cautious.
Miselk puffed on a large pipe the size of an aurouchs horn, and the room was filld with an oily-smelling smoke. He asked who they were and where they came from. When they told him their story, he became startled. He explained that they were in the Huldrskegg, the ancient forest of the Fae. He cried that the must get too Brunkornskegg, one of the gateways back to their homeland.

But before they could leave, there was a sound of what sounded like the mix between a horse and a bull.
"Quickly! You must leave! She is close!" cried Mieselk, "Follow Blooma, she will take you to the stone!"
Following the Pixie, the Bear-folk took off towards Brunkornskegg.

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**This is my account of the events of the Saga of the Bear-Folk

Opening Verse of the Saga of the Bear-Folk (Revised)

I recently updated my opening poem to the Saga of the Bear-folk, with that I needed to update the language. Here is the updated poem! I've also begun to create the language of the Fae creatures in the adventure I've been writing.

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Skarrn:

Lo!

Hjer byrja ferdhalakkar fra Bjorgdunar

Jog fra aegisagr thaejar…

Thekksagr byrja

Hvenr runekorn avsolja

Idh Rytarrskegg

Harrik, viedunnath-megg

Rugla megg skjirkorn

Seiflath fra Bjordunnar, Ivrik Arnbjorg dun nuldorn

Nefingja brrodhath halkur dhing

Tala fra gothing

Avsulta hultn

Brrodh fra gultn

Bafudhra tredhorn

fra runekorn

Harrik fra viedunnath-megg sorn

"Ath finga korn,

Sjodmad, sithur Nartr-frottr

Strarg fra assmattr.”

Thar a mokkithr vittegg

droppen far mugg fjltegg

fjltegg sithur himokk

Unni gothing slettlokk”

Translation:

Lo! 

Here begins the journey of the Bear-Folk,

and their Epic Saga

This story does begin,

When a rune-stone was discovered

In Rytarrskegg

By a fisherman called Harrik

Bemused by the strange monolith,

The Bjordunnar Chief, a man named Ivrik Arnbjorg

Called forth the the clan for a meeting

To discuss this discovery

It was decided,

That a group of warriors,

Be sent to investigate 

The rune-stone

Harrik the Fisherman said,

“That to find the stone,

One was sail north-east

along the coast.”

Until a great white tree

is spotted at the mouth of a river

Then one must sail up river

Until you come across a placid lake.”

Saga of the Bear-Folk: A Strange Forest Part I.

The Bear-Folk were awoken by the warble of a loon and the trickling of a creek. They discovered they were no longer in the hall of Faeinuldi and his wife Astra. They were on the banks of a babbling brook. Another runestone, though this one only had one rune displayed, was cloaked in moss on the opposite bank. Whispers could be heard among the leaves and branches of the timber stands surrounding them. The ship they traveled up the river in was nestled among some trees. Ivrik cried out, “What sort of Fae hell have we been sent too!?” 

Mjorl was the first to stand and as he reached for his sword, his belt mysteriously undid itself and fell to the ground. The whispers among the trees turned into laughter. Mjorl drew his blade and called out to the voices, demanding they show themselves. Kol decided to go back to sleep, but there was a cracking and a branch fell and hit him in the face! An acorn was tossed from among the branches and hit Ivrik in the temple. This was followed by a chorus of laughter.

Suddenly the laughter stopped and the forest was silent, save for the flapping of large wings. There was a horrendous screeching and a monstrous creature crashed through the canopy. It had the body of an elk, and colorful feathered wings instead of fore-legs and it’s back legs had the appearance of an eagle. Screams of horror come from the branches and the zipping sounds fill the forest as the beast snapped at what appeared to be empty air. 

The beast spotted the band, and lunged at them. Riddare and Mjorl fired arrows into it’s side, while Ivrik, Kol, and Mjorla’s blades sang. The monster flew up and streaked towards Ivrik, knocking him to the ground. It’s jaws gnashed at Ivrik who swung his great blade and severed it’s head. Blood splashed over his face.

Once the beast was felled, Torgar noticed something near the stream, a sparkling light. He discovered a pixie weeping on a rock, whose name was Blooma. Her crimson hair was mangled and tiny tears streamed down her cheeks. One of her wings, which appeared as those of a butterfly, had been torn off. 

Riddare looked over Torgar’s shoulder and asked, “What is it?Some sort of bug?” Torgar informed him that it was a pixie. Torgar asked the pixie if she was okay.

“Halugaashi tsauttaa minaashni! Nie suyotaarve etta mimasaa Mieselk…” wept the pixie. Torgar scooped up the pixie, and she gripped his hand and her hand glowed, and then he could understand her.

“Please help me!” she repeated, “I need to see Mieselk!” When the asked who Mieselk was, she told them that he was one of the guardians of the forest. She was afraid of the dead creature. When Torgar asked her about the runes and began to draw the runes in the dirt, she got scared and erased the marks, saying that Torgar shouldn’t draw those. Because the “Queen” would appear. They asked who the Queen was, but the pixie wouldn’t say. 

Thus they set off to find the guardian named Mieselk.

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**This is my account of the events of the Saga of the Bear-Folk