Kyon Kyon Nothing

Masochism

2007-01-28T01:14:00.000-08:00

A little trick I learned from my somewhat-well-spent-time in journalism. Put the entire story in the first paragraph.

I never really passed that class. But the point is that I took it and at least I know what rule I'm kind of breaking. This isn't a news story after all. It's more of a column, which is funny, because I never got around to learning how to write those, let alone a decent news story.

In any case, that's neither here nor there in terms of where I'm going. Masochism. Specifically the kind where I want to know something even though it already hurts to know what I do, so much so that it makes me want to recall what I had for dinner (which was actually quite delectable).

It's only girls that make me feel this way, where I have to know everything so that I can understand who they are and if there's anything I can do to help them out. Sometimes it's just for my own peace of mind, and other times, it actually seems to help a bit (for them not me). But there's a catch to knowing. Especially when there's a certain someone's feelings involved. The catch is that knowledge brings pain.

That's the truth of the universe right there laid out bare. The truth brings pain. But doesn't it also bring a sense of peace and comfort in knowing? Well, if anyone asked that, please read the following adage: "cold, hard truth." Got it?

It's always a catch-22 with the truth. You want to find out who the girl likes? That's fine and dandy until you realize that you have feelings for the girl. Then what do you do with the truth? Sabatoge the relationship? Do nothing at all (actually, that's probably the wisest course of action overall)? Or encourage them at the expense of your own heart?

Over the years, I suppose, choosing one over the other builds up a habit. Which eventually builds a wall. One of spite, indifference, or fear of commitment. "How can she choose him over me?" or "I'll let things work out, and however it goes..." or "I'm not good enough"

Truth is a double edged blade, half of which cuts into a person's sensible writing, making them split paragraphs and jump from one topic to another without so much as a topical sentence. The other cuts, and it cuts deep.

The End.

A Sex Quickie

2006-11-29T23:40:00.000-08:00

Men are not cooler than women. Women are not cooler than men. And there was absolutely no reason my words are worded with men appearing first. If you still feel gypped, then think about this: "First is the worst, second is the best, and third..." hope you understand what I'm saying children.

Now, sexism. I don't know why so many of y'all think I'm a chauvinist pig, I'm not. I'm a Taurus. But I truly believe [insert first two sentences here]. I think that women should get equal pay. I think that women should be allowed to go unshaven for weeks, and that guys who shave their legs shouldn't be looked at as weird.
However, I don't think that women should be so overly enthusiastic about feminism that they completely forget the guys. Don't go spewing off facts that may not be entirely accurate (the pay gap, for example...is it really as bad as everyone says?) or saying that men are the cause of all the evils in the world. We're not the ones who opened the box, you know. Kidding. But seriously, there are plenty of crimes and evils that women have committed too. Elizabeth Bathory, anyone? That was a serious one. Andrea Yates?
This isn't to bash on women, however, there are plenty (I mean PLENTY) of male criminals. I won't even bother to bring them up, since you've already got your own list I'm thinking.

Anyway, the moral of the story before I lose track, is that women != men && men != women), but that doesn't mean women>men or men

Now the anecdotes.
I remember reading this in AP US History, but I don't remember the exact quote. It went something like:
Just as when men built airplanes, they polluted the sky. If you choose to vote, you can no longer hide between makeup and a petticoat.
It was something about the fact that every choice has a consequence, and that we can't have it both ways. So women, don't ask me to pay for the date, and then yell at me for being a jerk and paying for it. And I promise that I won't tell you that you can't get a job, or that your role in life is to be used as my personal sex toy. And just to let you know, I'm learning how to please women, so don't think this is all bark (actually it is, with my lack of sex and all, but at least understand).

nya.

Mine Kampf.

2006-11-13T02:41:00.000-08:00

A tale of the daily struggle against the onslaught of the plague known as the female race.

Girls make me angry. Very angry. They'll flirt with you one second, and the next thing you know, they're taking your pens, borrowing your erasers, and then, when you least expect it, dump you in the barren wasteland of nowheresville after you dump your more faithful girlfriend. Oh, and did I mention the fact that she put all your stuff in her locker which you don't know how to get into?

Well, maybe it's just me. For some reason, just talking to this one girl stresses me out to the point where I can't concentrate clearly and I actually have to get up and take a short walk just so I can continue a conversation. Whenever we end up arguing, it's always her that ends up blaming me for things (not initially, but in the end, it always ends up my fault) and it's only once in a blue moon that I'll get an apology. And by apology I mean something to the tune of, "I'm sorry," instead of, "whatever then." And never will the apology be given the day after an argument.

Well to this I say, "BOO!" And yes, I did happen to watch the Princess Bride, so bugger off. I'm sick of being the one to take the proverbial high road and grovel for forgiveness, which I'm not even sure is being given. Sure, it's great for a person to be nice and apologize, but I'm betting after a few dozen times, even the nicest person will get bloody fed up with it if nothing changes.

Fortunately, this experience has given me a new view that could be considered the silver lining to this entire fiasco. It allows me to see through those eyes that I mistreated so badly, and experience firsthand what exactly I did to other people. It allows me to make sincere apologies to the people who deserve it. And sincere-sounding ones to those who don't.

nya.

Gas for My Printer

2006-11-10T16:53:00.000-08:00

The lifeblood of a printer: ink. And unfortunately, my printer is dying.
Yes, dear ones, my printer is out of ink. And this brings us to that moral (i.e. financial) dilemma that is buying ink.
Why is ink so expensive? At $20 per cartridge, it makes me wonder if it's really worth buying ink, or if I should just hire a copy cat (if you haven't seen the commercial...). But in all seriousness, when it comes time to change the ink, it makes me cringe to think of all the moths that can begin to take up residence in my wallet again.

Everyone complains about how much the gas companies are making, but has anyone considered how much ink makers are screwing us? Well, me in particular, but us?

Back in the days when I could print as many sheets of paper as I wanted, I never thought about how costly ink was, and for all practical purposes, I didn't care. For that, I have to apologize to the founder of the school, for I didn't believe you when you said that ink costs a lot. I thought it was yet another thing you said just to oppress the kids like me.

Now I understand, that when the printer says that it's out of ink, it really means that I can still print at least 20 more pages before it really might be out of ink. And when they're having a sale on ink, that's the time to stockpile for the arduous months until the next sale.

Filler: A Time Killer - Knight's Night

2006-11-09T07:09:00.000-08:00

There is no shining armor for a pale white knight

I cannot save you from your wants and desires

I cannot sweep through the night

And run to your open arms

I am not an image of perfection

A broken mirror

Of shattered dreams

And splintered pain embedded into hearts

At the boundary of open tears

The door closes and halts the flood

Washed back into the caverns

And cause a trembling hand

The stabs of pain through my throat

As the blood drips through my hands

Each drop staining the ground

Like fallen roses

The crimson scythes cut through me

As I fall back through the memories

My eyes flash as the words pass

Line after line after lie

The rain falls and washes away

And the scars remain

Bleeding and wounded

I lay

Tired and confused

I begin to fade into

The past

Becoming an invisible shadow

The specter of life

Haunts me as I journey

Through time and space,

Through every place my heart wanders

I see and touch

And live again

Through the world of fantasy

Living the if only and I should have again

Living, dying, breathing

Is all I can do

To retrieve the chilled warmth

That penetrates my mind

A desperate hound

Dog seeking the scraps

From the table of memories

Of warm touch that can never be

Thus I cling to what I can

Draining the life from those around

In hopes that I may return again to you

In glory, in splendor, in masculine perfection

Suddenly a crossroad

A choice between two paths

One a shrouded darkness

The other a mountain trail

My heart splits along this road

Across the valleys we must call

As the milkmaid and the cowherd

And our ravens across the sky

As for now I sit in glory

But a pale reflection I am still yet

Illuminated by the glow

Of a radiant sunbeam

Yet I can find not my place

In sunlight and joy

Pinned to the summit

Of untrue truth

To dive into the abyss

The chasm below

To fall into the darkness of the trench

Would be a betrayal, a lie, a desire

It will be different he says

And lies to her once more

As he repeats the past

And keeps his heart

Locked in a basket of lead

In his fortress of solitude

And surrounded by memories

He hides from the cruelty of a frozen world

Falling to the gate

Stars around

Destroy the enemy as you are frozen

Shed the tears over your murderous hands

And stab your heart

As your enemy would

Because your love and hate

Will be the same

And cry over your heart

Cold and still

Lying forever

Because you lost

And scars run forever deep…

2006-10-14T04:45:00.000-07:00

Is candy corn a decoration or an edible part of the Halloween tradition?

Personally, I always thought that candy corn was a decoration until around the age of 12, at which point I accidentally ate some, mixed in with other candy. I found that it was midly edible, although not particularly tasteful.

As Halloween approaches, I once again begin the annual sanity-check.
"Why am I going trick-or-treating? I'm kind of old for this, right?" And so on.
In the end, I usually go trick-or-treating, regardless of my current age and regardless of my level of preparation. For instance, I once went out in merely a jacket, a hat, and a single prop, insisting that my costume was that of Ash Ketchum. Unfortunately, I spent most of the night explaining my costume for strangers, thus leaving precious little time to garner candy from the surrounding area.

However, with each passing year, my wisdom in costume preparation has grown, and now I plan out my costume at least a month in advance, each time becoming just a little bit more elaborate each time. Only a little though.

FIRE IN THE SECOND ROW! THIS WHOLE PLACE IS A POWDER KEG!

2006-06-13T02:12:00.000-07:00

Klaxons blared as whirling white lights spiraled frantically across the room. The deafening noise beat upon any unfortunate eardrum who stood within a meter's radius of the deafening alarm.

Kyon here, substituting for Kit.

You've got to hand it to whoever came up with the idea of fire alarms. I mean think about it. A handy way to cause a distraction, an efficient way of dealing with emergencies, and a good helping of American trust by placing the alarms where any two-bit terrorist could get at them, even if only to screw them up.

Fire alarms are tools in the hands of the wise, and weapons in the hands of the genius. Okay, I know that sounded a bit too happy-bunny for most people's tastes, but you have to admit, they make a formidable tool/weapon in any (wo)man's purse/toolbox.

In the case of Kit, however, there are no instant fire alarms that he can quickly pull and cause a distraction. Instead, he is forced to use basic ninja tricks of misdirection, including, but not limited to: smoke bombs, ninja stars, logs, animals, and giant stuffed animals.

In any case, fire alarms are cool weapons we are gifted with in this modern day and time. Yay.

Reborn from the flames of a burning...duck?

2006-06-09T03:50:00.000-07:00

Now introducing, the origin of...me, Kittaren Shiruba.

First off. Kittaren: a play off of the word Kit: shortened version of the word kitten.
As in cat. I'll explain my partiality to the feline a bit later.
Shiruba: Japanized version of silver. Or rather, Silva in this case. A name of someone I truly admire.

Okay. Now to explain my partiality to cats. My good friend, "Witch," always teased me about being her familliar. So I went along with it. Now I am partial to the feline.

Character's Name: Kittarren Shiruba
Character's Gender: Male
Character's Age: 19
Character's Occupation: Infiltration specialist (not assassin, per se)...professional ninja
Description of Character: One of the few customers to frequent the Torrid Inn, Kittarren Shiruba can most often be found sleeping in a chair directly facing the bar. At 5' 7", he isn't the most imposing of characters, but is too often lost within a bustling crowd. Fortunately, his job plays off of his ability to disappear within a crowd. As a freelance spy (or "ninja," as he prefers to be called) he holds many valuable secrets about many people.His dark brown hair and deep oak eyes are often hidden under the rim of a black bandanna or his favorite detective hat.
Special Abilities: Invisibility based on emotion, and (but of yet untapped) magical potential

That's the basics...

BSOD: Under Construction

2006-06-09T01:40:00.000-07:00

Hello World.

Press any key to continue....

*brought to you by Kittarren Shiruba Enterprises