To correct some wrongs

Er.. accidently posted early, currently editing in text..

My original accusations to SOE (Sony Online Entertainment) was as a mmo ruiner; however, as things go along I realize that SOE indeed is more of a game fixer. Vanguard: Saga of Heroes is a game conceived and consequently ruined by Brad Mcquad. The concept and direction of the game, while I wasn't a fan of the game even at the beginning, was ambitious and his indecisiveness with funds led the game down a bad path. The visuals of the game were outstanding-- the gameplay and world not so much.

The games launch could be considered one of the worst going as low as Turbine's/Microsoft's AC2 and Ncsoft/netdevil's auto assault, both games which as of the day this is posted do not exist in the gaming world anymore (quickly, R.I.P Auto Assault. As of august 31st you have wrongly been scrapped-- more on that later).

Originally, SOE's role for vanguard was simply to manage accounts and billing. The horrendous launch caused SOE to consume the smaller, not-so-well-known Sigil Games who had developed Vanguard. SOE, while employing 50 members of the old Sigil team, is attempting to improve the game much in the same way they improved EQ2: without changing the general gameplay, but through small improvements that make a big impact on the game.

To note that Brad had previously developed Everquest for SOE and while the game was a niche game in the whole of the gaming community (such as the previously created UO) it was a more-then-decent game.

Auto Assault: I didn't play it all too much. I did beta test it. It was a decent game. Tabula Rasa: a not-so-decent game. I didn't like it all too much when I did beta test it and refused to do anymore. What does it have to do with Auto Assault? Auto Assault was a profitable game, it had a decent sized community, but it was still scrapped to make room for the generic sci fi-shooter mmog. The problem with this is NCsoft is gambling away a game with a system that at least works decently for a game that doesn't only fail in being any sort of exciting, but has even less appeal.

Auto Assault could have stood to exist. And for that I wish it did though I do not play it.

O.K I am done rambling on about gaming. Carry on.


Something new...

Well, needless to say, I'm back. Or.. I think I'm back. In any case, I've been writing a lot to myself more then to others, so that would explain my silence, as well as my tendency to go into a clinically depressed state (that is, being depressed for more then a few weeks, which happens quite frequently to me... My last bout with it lasting over a month). So sorry to anyone who reads, but my brain disorders sometimes are too painful to fight through and I don't want it to affect the message of my writings.

That being said, I do know that some of my work (especially poetry) can be seen as depressed to the point that it isn't poetry anymore but simple nonsense and crying from the depths of what can be percieved as a heart, but really, of the mind. It also pains me on a more intellectual level in that it is lucky of me to have time to be depressed in a world in which people die all the time-- sometimes without warning, without aging, without time to know. In the end, however, I do forget these messages that even I when in a sane state can conceive because I do fall into a depressed state and that is enough to warrant silence in periods.

I came here to compose a story however I find myself more interested in explaining my forgetfulness of my blog. I also came here to explain to some people my silence when attempting to talk to me. Occasionally, people will speak to me and I'll stop speaking back. This isn't on part of depression entirely, but I run out of things to say. I also bite my tongue a lot to keep myself from saying certain things often of late and can't think of anything to reply with.

Anyway, hope that satisfies people who care, seeya


that poetry jig i was gunna do but never did? yea..

I am a poetry fan, and am a poet at the oddest of times (instance: when I have writers block). So today I thought it'd be nice if I took portions of writing I've done lately and post them here (non in a complete form) in both the prose and poetic forms. But first! I must do that dreadful update thing that I generally do.

The spring term started. I'm (not) excited about it. I had to drop a class or two because my schedule was in chaos, however, and the classes to be cut happened to be the ones I wanted. So, that said, I'm glad my education is going forward this spring unlike last winter when everything was at a dead halt.

Hm.. not much else, so without further ado: the excerpts will begin!

The first is of an unnamed story that I've been writing in parts. This is the first portion in chronological order of events, and only an introduction. I've got more then this, but this is the extent I want to share (the rest is largely unedited). While this portion, too, is unedited, it is largely the closest to being complete.


The smoke filled my village when I was a mere 9-year-old child. My parents disappeared in the fiery source of that smoke and the villagers who could get away disappeared into the distant mist and darkness of a cloudy midnight. The image of their torching skin fill my head to this day. The reaction is sorrow at first, but in all I realize that there could never be a happy ending to such a story.

I was too young and naïve to realize what had caused the fire. There was a commotion among the villagers. They ran by each other, some shoving others into a nearby fire in order to get away. It must have been horrible if it could drive neighbors to betray each other murderously and without a second thought. I remember crying that night and thinking those tears would last an eternity. The orange beat of the flames, chilling screams from seemingly everywhere, and the cracking of skulls beneath the houses of which the now dead slept, all haunt my sleep to this day. No image will kill my temper more than that of my parents, however, and that bond we as a family shared.

I wasn’t sure what to do anymore. Suddenly the flames seemed to be a small detail in the larger picture of what was to happen with my life. Whether mercy would end it here or I would have to face the fact of my funereal existence. Long I sat there. Reflecting, thinking, worrying, crying, and all the same wanting to run for the hills with the rest of my village.

The trek from the village seemed longer than it did in past days when playing in the vast hills and trees was the activity of the time. It felt like an exile with no purpose or cause yet for the cause of life I made it. Perhaps it was that I felt bound to those screaming in the background. Those souls yet to pass that desired witness to their death called for me to be there yet I failed to look back. What would I have seen or heard had I looked back at them? I wonder, still, whether or not the answer I seek now would have been revealed. Yet I pray I will never know…


Next is a poem I wrote today. You probably won't be able to guess it (hint: I put the subject in parenthesis).


Open the gates--
crack the nut
then close-- lock them down.
Throw the keys--
bury them under trees--
in a concrete courtyard.

Show me a glimpse of heaven--
let me shake the seraphs hand at the gate
suddenly I have been condemned--
and to the depths I go!--

Under an ashen cherry bush--
I watch the black noon sky
I feel a pain in my feet--
missing the azure blues


I'll add more later, since I'm still trying to get one of my short stories into word. Once I'm done I'll post it in its entirety here.


An update

Well, been a while.. (long while..) so I thought I'd say something (which, in this case, is better than saying nothing). So, without further delay... Okay, maybe more delay...

Anyway, stupid jokes aside, I started a rather stereotypical western. I actually rather enjoy it seeing as I have no other choice while it occupies my mind while I'm sleep deprived. Its only a short story, while I'm guessing means 5-15 pages long on paper, about 2.5-7.5 pages typed, and not very long on blogger where it may end up at some point. Not that I think the average reader (myself) is a fan of westerns, I just feel the need to share my creation with the world of people who may or may not care about it (again, myself). Its written from a first person view of some random guy who only exists as a storyteller, but may have some back story (stay tooned!!!). He/she (whichever, you pretend which, it doesn't particularly matter) has become "indebted," to a, "mysterious," "thing," that carries around dead bodies on pack horses and travels from town to town, "collecting," more corpses. Whats Its purpose? Does it have one? Do I actually have a direction with this story? Find out!... one day.

The old story I was talking about is still being written, still progressing well. I've decided (simply out of a vague decision to) to make it a sci-fi novel. I never really up to any point hinted toward any higher technology, but stating this when I intend on releasing any bit of it will allow readers to know that more technology exists beyond what is there (and in later additions/changes, I may hint at technology differently). Also, since it does hint (I'm going to be careful stating that it actually is there) at some mystical presence (physical, metaphysical, or spiritual) moving events along, it could also be assumed as a fantasy. That is up for interpretation.

Now that the self promoting commercials are over, now to the juicy stuff!!!

There isn't any. Sorry I'm dull. It is easier to write about what I'm writing about, though, so I do so. I don't have any complaints about my life up to this time, no secret loves, no hobbies being progressed, no spiritual journey, no meaning of life discovered. Life is just average (a little more so since I did start playing EQ1 again with firri... who probably doesn't read this).

I suppose now, I should compose some form of poetry to add some entertainment to this blog. Seeing as I get bored of my own ramblings, I don't doubt the same from others. I realize I'm not interesting enough for anyone to voluntarily read, so here's a treat!

The words upon this empty page
which meaning do you grant them?
their purpose lost in the moments gait
for what reason are you running?

stop and see allusion
see purposes unknown
tread lightly in such soft places
or no where you may be

whose eyes are those upon me?
will i ever know?
alas lost in this dark places
the one Plato knows