Please Leave Me

... Lots of comments whilst I am gone.

Long live the King

In Memoriam

My dearest Blogger family,

Today we mourn the loss of a friend. I know those of us who are still present on Blogger are spread out far across the net and separated by a lack of connective algorithms; but we are still a community that can stick together like few others can. In 2018, Desmond Frias of the blog "Into the Mind of Desmond" met with an untimely demise.

Desmond was an innovative writer here on Blogger. He was like all of us. He had an appreciation for the little things and could find ways to weave that beauty into words. He struggled with the mystery of existence and sometimes fought to find some significance. He came to this place to write his thoughts, much like all of us, and then left in the way that we all eventually do.

Desmond came to Blogger in 2009 in pursuit of an easy place to track his thoughts and feelings for his future self; an online journal if you will. He blogged for 8 years until 2017 where he announced that would only be blogging once a year. He claimed to have never been persistent in anything, and that it was a miracle that he had blogged for as long as he did. I for one am glad that he wrote out his thoughts for so long. As he now rests in another land, his blog is his legacy.

On January 26, 2018 Desmond met with an unfortunate bike accident. According to his friend Lenin, the church was packed at his funeral. My condolences go out to his friends and family.

Desmond is not the first blogger that I have found deceased; but I thought it appropriate to share his life and lack thereof with all of you. It does us good to mourn the dead so we can find our own peace in traveling the first and final journey we are assigned at birth. Long live Desmond.

Long live the King.

The Immortal Assembly

"Papa," my daughter asks hesitantly, "Why do you look so much younger than mama?"


"Because I am an Immortal," I replied sweeping the stray strands of dark hair from her face.


"You've told me that, papa; but what does that mean?"


"It's a long story, my dear; a story that carries the weight of a thousand generations. It is not becoming of a father to bestow such a burden on his daughter until she is of age to bear it."


Her blue eyes sparkled pleadingly. "Please, papa? I can handle it!"


I breathed a deep sigh. "I suppose you ought to know what future awaits you. Come and sit with me, little moonchild. I shall tell you the secrets that I have kept for centuries."





She smiled wide and climbed up into my lap. We rocked back and forth as I drew from a story as old as time.


"When God scattered mankind at Babel, the human race spread to the very ends of this fruitful planet. But the archangel Gabriel saw that the human race was without sound leaders and wise people to guide these nomadic groups. So he selected seven people-one from every continent-to guide the masses. He took favor on these chosen leaders and gave them many gifts. Among other abilities, he gave them immortality."

We grew up together. All but one.

"Immortals cannot die. There must always be 7 immortals to guide the lost sheep of this darkened world. We do not age, and we do not decay. We can only be set free by passing on our gifts to a worthy legacy. As you know, our family is of proud Indian heritage, and we bear the immortality of Asia with us always. One day, my daughter, you will receive these gifts as well. You are heiress to the immortal mantle and the archangel gifts that I bear. If you one day choose to accept my wings I will promptly wither away and die, but you shall live forever."


My daughter's eyes grew teary upon this news. "But papa!" she exclaimed defiantly, "I don't want you to die!"

I held her tight and gently wiped the tears from her eyes. "My dear little one, please do not cry for me, for I have lived for years upon years; centuries longer than any man should have to suffer through. I have laughed, loved, cried, and buried those who were dear to me. If you do not to take this upon yourself, I understand. But I do not think I could bear to one day see your grave."


We spoke no more and were contented to hold each other tightly, clutching the moment we were in like a cliffside as the abyss of time's cruel progression loomed darkly below us. As we wiped our tears away, there was a sharp and desperate knock on the door.


I rushed to answer it only to find Lee, the Immortal of North America. Her wings are made of arcing electricity, but they are not the normal bright blue that they tend to glow. Lee was hunched over, heaving heavy breaths. Her auburn hair was scattered from the wind and her brow was drenched in sweat. Her electric wings looked ragged and wilted. She continued to pant, unable to speak. "Good grief, dearie! Do you need some water?" I asked urgently. She held up a single finger, begging me to give her a moment to catch her breath. My daughter watched from behind the rocking chair, frightened at the sudden appearance of a mysterious stranger.





Lee took a deep breath and forced herself to stand upright. Though normally calm and collected, her brown eyes were full of desperation as they flicked back and forth. "There's an emergency. Mr. Kova has summoned the Assembly of Immortals. We're meeting at the South Pole."





I interjected. "The Assembly? But they haven't convened in millennia! And Kova is a myth. We always joked that he had been frozen in ice this whole time, remember? There's no way that there's still a surviving member of the original Seven! This has to be a hoax!"

"I'm afraid not," said Lee, "Kova is real, and if he's come out of hiding, it means something big is going down."


I looked at my daughter, who was now joined by her sister and mother. My wife looked at me with knowing eyes. "Go," said my wife, the strongest woman I shall ever know, "I'll hold down the fort. Call me as soon as you can."


I stepped over and held my family tight. "Papa will be home soon, my dear." I assured them. "I will return as soon as I can. Everything is going to be okay." I kissed them all and wished them well. It had been many years since I had left my home, but I felt a disturbance in my soul as I stepped out the door.





So I spread my wings of lightening and flew like hell.


Long live the King

No Such Thing As Sanity

I held her shaking shoulders as she sobbed.


"I don't want to feel this way," she cried, "Will I feel crazy forever?"


We held each other in silence, like lost little children who have realized that the sun is setting. I squeezed her tightly as I tried to remind her that there is always darkness before the dawn.


"It's quite alright to be crazy, my dear. And besides...

... we're all mad here."

Long live the King

Queen of the Sea

"Who is that mermaid in the painting, papa?" my daughter asks.


"That is your mother, of course," I say as I brush her coffee-colored curls.





"It doesn't look very much like her," she objects, "why does she look so different?"


"My little Sunshine, your mother was once a beautiful mermaid and queen of the sea. That is why she has ocean eyes. But she gave up her tail to be with papa."

"How did it happen,  papa?"


"There was once a prince with hair and eyes as black as coal. He was estranged from his throne and took to traveling distant lands while researching all the cultures he found.


The prince found himself upon the cusp of clear lagoon that bordered the sea. He made camp for the night and awoke to see a beautiful woman in the water. Her eyes were a shining grey like the sea on a stormy night and her long, golden-red hair sparkled brightly in the morning sun.


Now Winter was quickly setting upon on this coast, and the woman asked the prince if he could keep her warm. Always the gentleman, the prince reached into his saddlebag and collected some spices and dried leaves that he had gathered on his travels to the Eastern Isles. He lit a fire and boiled the ingredients into a sweet, spiced beverage and gave it to the woman in the water. The drink was warm and aromatic as it tingled in the back of the woman's throat and warmed her chest. The prince had charmed her with his kindness and she fell in love.


The woman revealed herself to be the queen of the sea. She governed the vast oceans with the rest of the royal family and was charged with caring for all the small sea creatures. To some, she was known as the kindly Seahorse Queen. She showed the prince her tail, expecting him to flee as humans are known to do when faced with the unknown. But the prince was unfazed and kissed the queen's hand in greeting.





The Seahorse Queen was taken with this prince of the land, and she gave him a token of her appreciation: the royal trident, Riptide. She knew he would use it to keep peace in the land of humans. The prince took it with gratitude, but he feared the queen would be left defenseless, so he reached into his cloak and retrieved his golden dagger which he called Midas.


"It's coated in pure gold, your majesty, so it won't rust under the water," said the prince.


"I shall carry it always, my sweet prince." said the Sea Queen.


"Will you be returning to the ocean now?" The prince asked hesitantly.


"I'm afraid I cannot return to my home," said the queen, "for a horrible storm arose behind me and washed me into this lagoon from which I cannot escape. I have been stuck here for many days as a barrier of land bars me from swimming back into the ocean."


"Then I shall stay with you, your highness. If you are to be stuck here, then so shall I be."


The queen was grateful, and the prince stayed by the shore for many weeks. In the mornings the young, dark prince would brew his spiced tea to warm the pair; come evening they would chat about the fantastic worlds they have seen and would talk late into the night.





As time went on, the days grew colder and the rogue prince would dig his trench between the edge of the lagoon and the tideline of the ocean. After several days of tireless digging, the prince finally broke through the barriers on each end of his trench, creating a canal that connected the lagoon and the ocean.


It was a tight fit for the mermaid queen to swim through, but with enough wriggling she managed to swim out gracefully into the ocean where she waved a somber goodbye to the prince before disappearing into the murky depths of the sea from whence she came. The prince waved backed forlornly before trudging back to the camp that he had come to see as the two's home. He slept next to the shore as always, gazing up at the stars and wishing that he could see the beautiful mermaid just one last time.


The prince awoke at sunrise and began to pack up his horse as he no longer had reason to remain by the sea. As he went to brew one final pot of spiced Chai, he saw a beautiful head of golden-red hair emerge from the waters. The queen had returned with a book of spells that she had procured from the royal library beneath the waves.


"Why have you returned?" asked the prince, confused but elated to see the mermaid again.


"Do you want me to be with you?" the Seahorse Queen asked.


"Of course." replied the prince.


"Forever?"


"Forever and always." the prince said with confidence.


The mermaid nodded and quietly opened the book she had brought. She turned to a marked page and begin reciting words in a tongue long forgotten by most, and as she spoke the words enveloped her in light. The mermaid ascended from the water and her tail split in half and the halves turned into legs. She walked up onto the beach for the very first time and the prince threw his cloak around her. The two embraced and the prince promised to always keep her warm.


The two laid together in the prince's small shelter, but the prince would not find rest. He gazed at the queen's beauty and admired her in the moonlight. He felt uneasy as he glanced out at the vast sea and his anxiety grew. Eventually he could take it no more, and while the queen slept he mounted his horse and rode to a nearby nomad encampment.





The sun was beginning to rise as the prince reached the edge of the camp. He sought out the council of a romany enchantress. The prince feared that the queen would not be content with him and grow to miss the blue seas that she gave up to be with him; So the enchantress gave him a vial of magic water filled with Seahorse dreams and a magic spell to recite.


The prince rode back to his camp in a haste and was relieved to find the now-human sea queen still sleeping. He sprinkled the magic water over her and quietly whispered the spell in her ears before tenderly kissing her forehead. The red sunlight that bathed the queen's slumbering face seemed to shimmer for a moment and the prince breathed a sigh of relief. He stepped out and began brewing their morning tea, but this time he would make it the sweetest it had ever been. Today was to be celebrated.


When the queen awoke, she saw her reflection in the waters of the lagoon that she once dwelled in. Her eyes sparkled a bright blue like the very sea itself was alive in her irises and she felt the love of all the small ocean creatures warm her chest.


The prince had given her ocean eyes, so that no matter where they were she would always be able to see the sea and she would never tire of being with him."





I finished brushing the ends of my little princess' hair. "And that, my Sunshine," I told her, "is how I met your mother."


Long live the King

I Have A Fantasy

"Do you have any dreams?" they ask.


"I suppose I do," I say, "But they are so very specific that I doubt they could ever be reality."


"What do you see when you close your eyes?"


Many things, dear readers. Many things. Here is one that has been persistent as of late.


Fred Rogers. Bob Ross. Jim Henson. Bill Watterson. Hayao Miyazaki. Brian Jacques.

All of them soft-spoken old men who saw the world through eyes untainted by malice or crushing realism. These were innovators of television, movies, art, animation, cartoons, and literature who all sought to change the world through the minds of humans. In my dreams, I am with these gentle-toned gentleman at a diner; Somewhere outside of time that is filled with only a few other patrons. Early-morning sunshine streams through the aged windows as the songs of sparrows can be heard in the distance. If one could strain their ear, they may even hear the far off sounds of a train.


We are gathered at a round, oaken table on this dull, autumn day. We dine on classic American fare, (steak n' eggs for me, of course). The old timers speak quietly about days of yore and their gentle gazes speak volumes on how they consider the world's potential. They share their visions in hushed tones as if the worlds they are creating around us must remain a secret. Being the young man of the group, I simply sit and listen, basking in the wisdom and imagination that exudes from these giants. (And since it's my fantasy and I can do what I please, Adam Young is with me and we are fanboying together as we snatch at the imagination that surrounds us, clinging to each enchanted tale. I feel like Adam and I would be good friends.)

(Secretly I always picture it here, a place I visited annually as a child.)

I do have a fantasy: To be among minds that see the world not for what it is, but what it could be.


Long live the King