Well, another year grinds to a close...
Happy New Year everyone - may 2010 bring you good things. As long as you deserve good things ;)
Thursday, 31 December 2009
Friday, 18 December 2009
The Blood Sugar Blues
It's no fun being diabetic.
I guess that should really go without saying. But aside from obvious health problems there are the mood swings. I know when my blood sugar level has dropped because I start to get paranoid. When I ask Keith out of the blue if he still loves me, his response is always 'when did you last eat?'
And I know I was a nightmare to live with before I was diagnosed with diabetes. One minute I would be my normal, cheerful self, the next I'd be tearing at my hair and beating my breats. The whole world was out to get me! The friends who stuck by me (you know who you are) deserve a medal for their patience. But those mood swings are a thing of the past thanks to my two new friends; metformin and glicazide.
Well, they were a thing of the past, until last weekend.
We were away for the weekend, spending some quality time with my dearest friends. I'd packed a few clothes, their Yuletide gifts... the only thing I had forgotten was my medication. But that wouldn't be a problem, right? It was just a couple of days. I'd watch what I ate, everything wuld be fine.
Riiiiight.
Things, as you might have guessed, did not go as planned. Sure, I was mindful of what I ate, but we were a little less careful about when. My blood sugar was on a rollercoaster and it took my brain along for the ride.
It is a terrible feeling, knowing that you can't trust your own mind. Dark thoughts ran around my head, irrational angers and almost crippling self doubt. Intellectually I knew the cause; a temporary chemical imbalance in the brain, all nice and scientific and logical. But logic doesn't play a part in these thoughts and emotions. The heart feels what the heart feels.
Four days later I was able to think clearly again. Almost clearly. Still the poisonous thoughts linger, fostering anger and distrust towards people who have done little or nothing to deserve it. Why is that? Were my feelings so real then that now they still have the taste of truth? Or is there a kernel of truth at the heart of them that keeps my doubts burning?
I'll be buggered if I know.
I guess that should really go without saying. But aside from obvious health problems there are the mood swings. I know when my blood sugar level has dropped because I start to get paranoid. When I ask Keith out of the blue if he still loves me, his response is always 'when did you last eat?'
And I know I was a nightmare to live with before I was diagnosed with diabetes. One minute I would be my normal, cheerful self, the next I'd be tearing at my hair and beating my breats. The whole world was out to get me! The friends who stuck by me (you know who you are) deserve a medal for their patience. But those mood swings are a thing of the past thanks to my two new friends; metformin and glicazide.
Well, they were a thing of the past, until last weekend.
We were away for the weekend, spending some quality time with my dearest friends. I'd packed a few clothes, their Yuletide gifts... the only thing I had forgotten was my medication. But that wouldn't be a problem, right? It was just a couple of days. I'd watch what I ate, everything wuld be fine.
Riiiiight.
Things, as you might have guessed, did not go as planned. Sure, I was mindful of what I ate, but we were a little less careful about when. My blood sugar was on a rollercoaster and it took my brain along for the ride.
It is a terrible feeling, knowing that you can't trust your own mind. Dark thoughts ran around my head, irrational angers and almost crippling self doubt. Intellectually I knew the cause; a temporary chemical imbalance in the brain, all nice and scientific and logical. But logic doesn't play a part in these thoughts and emotions. The heart feels what the heart feels.
Four days later I was able to think clearly again. Almost clearly. Still the poisonous thoughts linger, fostering anger and distrust towards people who have done little or nothing to deserve it. Why is that? Were my feelings so real then that now they still have the taste of truth? Or is there a kernel of truth at the heart of them that keeps my doubts burning?
I'll be buggered if I know.
Saturday, 5 December 2009
Seven Legs (Story)
A story I wrote for my writing group - the piece had to include a ninja and a spider...
I do not like spiders. It’s funny really considering the dangerous life I lead that I should be afraid of something I could easily crush beneath my fist. I risk death on a nightly basis without flinching and yet the mere sight of eight hairy legs –
- or seven in this case. She’s damaged goods, like me.
I watch her as she tries to climb out of the bathtub, a crawling shadow against the white marble. Somehow she finds purchase on the smooth stone, inching higher and higher. I watch transfixed. Sitting beside the bath in a towel with another wrapped around my hair I feel oddly vulnerable. All I need to do is turn the tap and wash her down the plughole. But I don’t.
What stays my hand? Not pity, never that. I have taken so many lives without a sliver of remorse. And I will take one more before I am done.
The spider slips on the water-slick marble. She falls, tumbling back to where she began. I don’t help her. She has to do this alone.
Alone.
The world is a very lonely place. There is no sense of community anymore. And yet people crave it, that sense of belonging. I know I did. That’s why I joined a gang.
I’m not proud of the things I did with the Northwall Crew but I could justify them then. They were my family and we were at war, trying to hold onto our precious territory. Blood was shed for the sake of a postcode of all things, as if we could own the streets! I soon saw the futility of it all. And when I refused to obey orders they beat me to within an inch of my life.
Their loyalty was a lie. I almost died. When they realised that I had not their threats kept me quiet. They hounded me and, without the Crew’s protection, so did the other gangs. I was in hospital more often than I was out. The police couldn’t help me, not without my co-operation and I knew where that would lead. I have never felt so helpless.
The spider lands on her back, legs flailing desperately. It might be kinder to kill her, flush her down the drain, anything but watch her struggle. Life is too short to fight and suffer this way. My hand finds the tap but I don’t turn it. Not yet.
And the spider begins to climb once more.
Somewhere along the line I met Nathan of Clan Kumo. His clan took me in, protected me. They taught me the art of the ninja and I became kunoichi. The clan seemed so different to my former gang, following the rigid code of honour practised in ancient Japan. This is what I had always hungered for! And Nathan, Grand Master Nathan… I longed for him too.
The things I did for Nathan, the lives I have ended. He told me that my actions would protect the clan. I was so besotted by him that I couldn’t admit the parallels between this and my former life. The one difference I clung to was the code of honour we all followed. It bound us together and justified my every action. It made me strong.
Soon I was second only to the Grand Master. Nathan told me that he had nothing else to teach me. But there was one more lesson to come.
Dark legs twitch at the edge of the bathtub. Almost there, almost there. I move my fingers away quickly, shuddering at the thought of her touch.
Nathan told me the truth last night, when he was drunk. How the gangs I despised had paid us to execute their rivals. We were killers for hire and it was just business as far as Nathan was concerned. Personal feelings didn’t come into it. He had lied to me to ensure my co-operation. But now he wanted to tell me the truth because he didn’t want me to hear it from someone else. Because he loved me.
I couldn’t square this truth with the code practised by the clan. How could I trust him after he had lied to me, lied for years? How could I trust the clan? And he said he loved me!
I so desperately wanted him to love me.
No. If there ever had been this strict code of honour in the clans of antiquity, well, it didn’t exist for Nathan. It was just words to guarantee our compliance. But to me it was everything.
He never saw the blade coming, my tanto slipping between his ribs. I caught him in one final embrace. His lips tasted of blood and wine. Love and death are much the same; they both wound the heart.
Nathan dishonoured our clan. He sullied me with his lies. No amount of scrubbing could ever scour me clean. I draw my tanto from its sheath, marvelling at the shining steel. There is still purity in this world.
The spider finally reaches the top of the bathtub. Her movements are slow now, hesitant. And then she stops. Her legs fold beneath her with beautiful finality.
She’s gone.
I do not like spiders. It’s funny really considering the dangerous life I lead that I should be afraid of something I could easily crush beneath my fist. I risk death on a nightly basis without flinching and yet the mere sight of eight hairy legs –
- or seven in this case. She’s damaged goods, like me.
I watch her as she tries to climb out of the bathtub, a crawling shadow against the white marble. Somehow she finds purchase on the smooth stone, inching higher and higher. I watch transfixed. Sitting beside the bath in a towel with another wrapped around my hair I feel oddly vulnerable. All I need to do is turn the tap and wash her down the plughole. But I don’t.
What stays my hand? Not pity, never that. I have taken so many lives without a sliver of remorse. And I will take one more before I am done.
The spider slips on the water-slick marble. She falls, tumbling back to where she began. I don’t help her. She has to do this alone.
Alone.
The world is a very lonely place. There is no sense of community anymore. And yet people crave it, that sense of belonging. I know I did. That’s why I joined a gang.
I’m not proud of the things I did with the Northwall Crew but I could justify them then. They were my family and we were at war, trying to hold onto our precious territory. Blood was shed for the sake of a postcode of all things, as if we could own the streets! I soon saw the futility of it all. And when I refused to obey orders they beat me to within an inch of my life.
Their loyalty was a lie. I almost died. When they realised that I had not their threats kept me quiet. They hounded me and, without the Crew’s protection, so did the other gangs. I was in hospital more often than I was out. The police couldn’t help me, not without my co-operation and I knew where that would lead. I have never felt so helpless.
The spider lands on her back, legs flailing desperately. It might be kinder to kill her, flush her down the drain, anything but watch her struggle. Life is too short to fight and suffer this way. My hand finds the tap but I don’t turn it. Not yet.
And the spider begins to climb once more.
Somewhere along the line I met Nathan of Clan Kumo. His clan took me in, protected me. They taught me the art of the ninja and I became kunoichi. The clan seemed so different to my former gang, following the rigid code of honour practised in ancient Japan. This is what I had always hungered for! And Nathan, Grand Master Nathan… I longed for him too.
The things I did for Nathan, the lives I have ended. He told me that my actions would protect the clan. I was so besotted by him that I couldn’t admit the parallels between this and my former life. The one difference I clung to was the code of honour we all followed. It bound us together and justified my every action. It made me strong.
Soon I was second only to the Grand Master. Nathan told me that he had nothing else to teach me. But there was one more lesson to come.
Dark legs twitch at the edge of the bathtub. Almost there, almost there. I move my fingers away quickly, shuddering at the thought of her touch.
Nathan told me the truth last night, when he was drunk. How the gangs I despised had paid us to execute their rivals. We were killers for hire and it was just business as far as Nathan was concerned. Personal feelings didn’t come into it. He had lied to me to ensure my co-operation. But now he wanted to tell me the truth because he didn’t want me to hear it from someone else. Because he loved me.
I couldn’t square this truth with the code practised by the clan. How could I trust him after he had lied to me, lied for years? How could I trust the clan? And he said he loved me!
I so desperately wanted him to love me.
No. If there ever had been this strict code of honour in the clans of antiquity, well, it didn’t exist for Nathan. It was just words to guarantee our compliance. But to me it was everything.
He never saw the blade coming, my tanto slipping between his ribs. I caught him in one final embrace. His lips tasted of blood and wine. Love and death are much the same; they both wound the heart.
Nathan dishonoured our clan. He sullied me with his lies. No amount of scrubbing could ever scour me clean. I draw my tanto from its sheath, marvelling at the shining steel. There is still purity in this world.
The spider finally reaches the top of the bathtub. Her movements are slow now, hesitant. And then she stops. Her legs fold beneath her with beautiful finality.
She’s gone.
Friday, 4 December 2009
Atalanta
This is Atalanta, or more accurately was. She was my brown house snake (or African house snake), a small breed of colubrids from pretty much all across Africa. Males tend to grow to 3 feet long, females sometimes over 5 feet. I think Atalanta was about 4 and a half feet when she was fully grown. They are a docile breed, taking well to being handled. Atalanta never bit me, not even when sloughing (when snakes are notoriously temperamental) and only bit my dad the once :)
Atalanta was between 15 and 20 years old when we had to have her put to sleep last year. I had her for almost 10 years myself. She was winding down, had little interest in feeding and was unable to slough her skin properly. It was very tough letting her go. Many people find it difficult to understand how I had become so attached to a snake, but she was really part of the family.
I often think of getting another snake. They are fascinating animals, very calming and easy to keep. But Atalanta was one in a million and I think I'd be hard pressed to find another snake with her good nature.
Gnome Bard
Another of my roleplaying characters but I can't remember her name.
She was a gnome bard who had more than a touch of Barbara Windsor to her.
Bash the Bishop
The Rt Rev Graham Dow, Bishop of Carlisle, has stated that the recent flooding in parts of the UK are God's judgment on the immorality and greed of modern society (see full story here.)
Funny, I could have sworn it was the rain.
He says that "We are in serious moral trouble because every type of lifestyle is now regarded as legitimate." So tolerance is a sin now? I call myself intolerant in the title of my blog, looks like I'm just a beginner.
The religious right have always been exceedingly vocal, heard above the voices of the sensible members of their faith. It should be funny really. The evangelists are, generally speaking, as mad as a box of frogs. But people do listen to them...
Funny, I could have sworn it was the rain.
He says that "We are in serious moral trouble because every type of lifestyle is now regarded as legitimate." So tolerance is a sin now? I call myself intolerant in the title of my blog, looks like I'm just a beginner.
The religious right have always been exceedingly vocal, heard above the voices of the sensible members of their faith. It should be funny really. The evangelists are, generally speaking, as mad as a box of frogs. But people do listen to them...
Sunday, 29 November 2009
Autumn Days (Poem)
These are my autumn days,
Growing colder by the hour,
Sitting in my lonely bower,
As the sun sinks in the West.
Memories of my springtime days
(Our verdant cabin, treasured home,
The forest thick with scent of loam)
Sit heavy in my aged breast.
I mourn the loss of summer days,
An Indian summer, warm and still,
Before I felt autumnal chill,
When life, and I, were at our best.
Now creeping close, my winter days.
This land so barren, trees so bare.
The weight of years does not seem fair
And life becomes a constant test.
Yet memories of all my days
Bring so much joy, too much, I feel
For just one turning of the Wheel.
A life well lived before I rest.
Growing colder by the hour,
Sitting in my lonely bower,
As the sun sinks in the West.
Memories of my springtime days
(Our verdant cabin, treasured home,
The forest thick with scent of loam)
Sit heavy in my aged breast.
I mourn the loss of summer days,
An Indian summer, warm and still,
Before I felt autumnal chill,
When life, and I, were at our best.
Now creeping close, my winter days.
This land so barren, trees so bare.
The weight of years does not seem fair
And life becomes a constant test.
Yet memories of all my days
Bring so much joy, too much, I feel
For just one turning of the Wheel.
A life well lived before I rest.
Saturday, 28 November 2009
Zebadiah Groat (Roleplaying)
Zebadiah was another character from a Burning Wheel game - he was Lillin's host.
A sweet-natured wizard with a terrible stutter, he was an odd match for the demon... but was smitten with her.
Earhart and Quimby
Amelia Earhart - everyone knows her name. Well maybe not everyone, but she seems pretty popular at the moment. First Night in the Museum 2 (oh Amelia, how the mighty have fallen) and now a new film about her life simply entitled Amelia have once more set her firmly in the public eye.
And it's easy to see why Amelia has such enduring international fame. In 1932 she became the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic Ocean. She was setting records in a male-dominated field, one of the rare women pilots in the pioneering age of aviation. But perhaps she is best remembered for her mysterious disappearance in 1937, the subject of numerous conspiracy theories. It is a shame that the circumstances surrounding her death should overshadow the achievements of her life.
But Amelia wasn't the only American aviatrix of her time. she wasn't even the first. That honour goes to a woman by the name of Harriet Quimby.
Harriet was something of a trendsetter; she drove a motor car, smoked (scandalous for a woman at the start of the 20th Century), was a reporter, a playwright. In 1911she added pilot to the list, being the first American woman to gain her license. ON 16th April 1912 she became the first woman to fly solo across the English Channel, piloting a monoplane she had borrowed from Louis Bleriot for the occasion.
Sadly the Titanic had sunk just the day before. That tragedy dominated the headlines and Harriet's achievement went almost unremarked.
Still, Harriet went on to become a star turn in the flying circuses that were so popular at the time. She wore a plum coloured satin flight suit with a hood and cat-like goggles - quite a fashion statement! Three months after her Channel crossing she attended the Third Annual Boston Aviation Show, taking the organiser William Willard for a spin over the bay.
No-one knows for sure what went wrong. Harriet's 'plane crashed, killing both herself and Willard.
Now Harriet was one of Amelia Earhart's inspirations, and yet few people today have ever heard of her today. Perhaps it was just the unfortunate timing of her greatest achievement. Regardless, I doubt we'll be seeing a Harriet movie coming out of Hollywood anytime soon, mores the pity.
Friday, 20 November 2009
True Crime
In 1951 the Witchcraft Act (of 1735) was finally repealed.
Sixty years on I am able to practice my craft without fear of prosecution. Oh, there's persecution from time to time, a little religious bigotry here, a touch of condescension there. A lot of willful misunderstanding. But at the end of the day, I'm legal! I'm here, I'm queer... Sorry, wearing the wrong minority hat for a minute there :)
The comparison is somewhat apt though. Homosexuality was only decriminalised in England in 1967. Both groups have been condemned by the church, demonised and ridiculed in turn by the tabloids. Both are said to indulge in 'unnatural practices'. Two small sectors of society, compartmentalised by the misconceptions of the public at large.
(The big difference between being gay and being a witch; I chose to take up the craft. Sexual preference is a fallacy (phallus-ey?) - I did not choose to be gay. Better instead to call it sexual determination. Something in our genetic make-up determines who we get the hots for and we have no more choice in the matter than we do over our height, our eye colour. But I digress.)
It is so easy in these enlightened, tolerant times (heh!) to forget where we came from, how much easier we have things than those who came before us. And yet...
When civil partnerships became legal between same-sex couples in 2005 there was an outcry! The moral crusaders felt that by allowing gay couples the same rights as heterosexuals that it would somehow erode the moral fibre of society. I'm not sure just how us evil homos were going to achieve this.
I remember one protester who insisted that marriage was for the sole purpose of begetting children. I always thought it was a declaration of love, but then I'm just an old romantic. Besides, how many kids are born out of wedlock? How many heterosexual couples choose not to have kids? How many all-girl couples do? All-guy couples too for that matter, but they need a lot more than a turkey baster...
And the tabloids seem unable to seperate witchcraft from satanism, gleefully mislabeling them as one and the same. Satanists worship Satan, an wholly Christian creation. Nothing to do with us pagans.
Even Pope Benedict XVI got a few sly digs in. Back in 2003 when he was just Cardinal Ratzinger, he wrote a letter of concern about the Harry Potter novels. He felt that the tales of magic and witchcraft were 'subtle seductions, which act unnoticed and by this deeply distort Christianity in the soul.' He was a little late jumping on that bandwagon.
In 2002 pastor Jack D. Brock of Almagordo in southern New Mexico announced to his congregation that Harry Potter was, in fact, the devil. Well, I suppose they are both fictional characters.
It wasn't the first time that the people of Almagordo had spoken out against Mr. Potter though. The year before, they had burned copies of Harry Potter books alongside novels by Stephen King, ouija boards and, oddly, AC/DC records.
Now book burning... There should be a law against that.
Sixty years on I am able to practice my craft without fear of prosecution. Oh, there's persecution from time to time, a little religious bigotry here, a touch of condescension there. A lot of willful misunderstanding. But at the end of the day, I'm legal! I'm here, I'm queer... Sorry, wearing the wrong minority hat for a minute there :)
The comparison is somewhat apt though. Homosexuality was only decriminalised in England in 1967. Both groups have been condemned by the church, demonised and ridiculed in turn by the tabloids. Both are said to indulge in 'unnatural practices'. Two small sectors of society, compartmentalised by the misconceptions of the public at large.
(The big difference between being gay and being a witch; I chose to take up the craft. Sexual preference is a fallacy (phallus-ey?) - I did not choose to be gay. Better instead to call it sexual determination. Something in our genetic make-up determines who we get the hots for and we have no more choice in the matter than we do over our height, our eye colour. But I digress.)
It is so easy in these enlightened, tolerant times (heh!) to forget where we came from, how much easier we have things than those who came before us. And yet...
When civil partnerships became legal between same-sex couples in 2005 there was an outcry! The moral crusaders felt that by allowing gay couples the same rights as heterosexuals that it would somehow erode the moral fibre of society. I'm not sure just how us evil homos were going to achieve this.
I remember one protester who insisted that marriage was for the sole purpose of begetting children. I always thought it was a declaration of love, but then I'm just an old romantic. Besides, how many kids are born out of wedlock? How many heterosexual couples choose not to have kids? How many all-girl couples do? All-guy couples too for that matter, but they need a lot more than a turkey baster...
And the tabloids seem unable to seperate witchcraft from satanism, gleefully mislabeling them as one and the same. Satanists worship Satan, an wholly Christian creation. Nothing to do with us pagans.
Even Pope Benedict XVI got a few sly digs in. Back in 2003 when he was just Cardinal Ratzinger, he wrote a letter of concern about the Harry Potter novels. He felt that the tales of magic and witchcraft were 'subtle seductions, which act unnoticed and by this deeply distort Christianity in the soul.' He was a little late jumping on that bandwagon.
In 2002 pastor Jack D. Brock of Almagordo in southern New Mexico announced to his congregation that Harry Potter was, in fact, the devil. Well, I suppose they are both fictional characters.
It wasn't the first time that the people of Almagordo had spoken out against Mr. Potter though. The year before, they had burned copies of Harry Potter books alongside novels by Stephen King, ouija boards and, oddly, AC/DC records.
Now book burning... There should be a law against that.
Thursday, 19 November 2009
Cats, cats, cats, everyone's talking about cats...
Anyone who knows me knows how much I love cats.
I am blessed (or maybe cursed) with two cats, one a flame-point siamese, the other a shaded oriental; Jay and Liza respectively. Jay looks like a miniature lion, long and lean with a noble head. Liza has the most amazing blue eyes. They both have strong personalities and very penetrating voices.
I have never kept siamese cats before and though I'd heard they were vocal, nothing could have prepared me for the assault on my eardrums. Sometimes its impossible to tell what they want. Sometimes I think they just want to complain.
They are very intelligent cats. Jay has worked out how to open cupboards, forever searching for treats. He climbs everywhere, knocking down pictures and ornaments with reckless abandon. Liza prefers to pace the floor, lap after lap of the flat, circling like a slightly chunky shark.
They follow us around when the mood strikes them, even to the toilet. Liza doesn't have any respect for privacy. She follows our flatmate's girlfriend into the loo, sitting on the cistern and purring. Maybe its just girls going to the bathroom together...
Either that or I have cottaging cats.
Nico Serafini (Roleplaying)
This is Nico Serafini, a character from a roleplaying game that I ran. It was a dark future setting; the polar ice-caps had melted, putting most of the world under water. Nico was a treasure hunter living in the floating shanty-town above London, routinely diving down to the museums and galleries beneath the waves in search of the next big score :)
Lillin (Roleplaying)
Well, I threatened to start putting my pics on here...
Lillin is a character from my friend John's roleplaying game. She's a demon with something of a lust for blood :)
Monday, 2 November 2009
First Post
First post on my first blog :)
I guess the only news I have that's blog-worthy is that I'm a published artist now! My sketches feature in a book written by a friend of mine.
The book is The Earth's Library - A Multidimentional Healing System by Maryelle Grace. Currently available from her website in paperback and pdf form (along with a range of shamanic and complementary health services) it should soon be on Amazon.co.uk. as well!
For Maryelle's website go to Rainbow Medicine Lodge
I'll be posting some of my doodles on here very soon.
Matt
I guess the only news I have that's blog-worthy is that I'm a published artist now! My sketches feature in a book written by a friend of mine.
The book is The Earth's Library - A Multidimentional Healing System by Maryelle Grace. Currently available from her website in paperback and pdf form (along with a range of shamanic and complementary health services) it should soon be on Amazon.co.uk. as well!
For Maryelle's website go to Rainbow Medicine Lodge
I'll be posting some of my doodles on here very soon.
Matt
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)