#and justify that with the fact that i grew up playing in my dad's workshop

[certifiedwerewolf]

There's apparently a stigma against gaming the system to the extent that I did but in my defense, I had committed to playing Healer and needed to game it to make my build work specifically as a Healer. But also that level of gaming to learn as much magic as she could as fast as she could is exactly the kind of thing Lucy would do and that Beezy would facilitate because he, uh, needs her to have lots of spells to, uh, commit to his cause >.>

[thevindicativevordan]

Why I Like Superman

This is a post I’ve been going over and over in my head, trying to suss out my feelings. The simple fact is I love Superman, and I have for as long as I can remember. I wore Superman pajamas as a kid. I watched cartoons like Superman: The Animated Series, Justice League, Legion of Superheroes, and was hyped as hell when he showed up on The Batman cartoon. I drew variations of the S-shield all over the sides of my school notebooks, and I tied a towel around my neck and pretended I could fly.

One of my favorite Xbox games to play was the Superman Returns tie-in game (remember those?), because it was the only game I could play that let me fly around, shooting off heat vision and freezing people with arctic breath. I still remember the opening that had you destroy asteroids, and being absolutely wowed as a kid by the big finale which had you slam into the largest asteroid at supersonic speed to destroy it. Took me forever to beat the Warworld arena level though because I didn’t know how to block.

Because there were no local comic shops near my home for me to go buy issues at (not that I even knew what a local comic shop was at the time), I kept up with his, and the rest of my favorite DC heroes adventures, via reading the DC wiki. I spent so much of my time waiting for my mom to get off the computer so I could go online and catch up that my parents installed parental blocks because they were worried about what I was doing.

In short he’s been a constant favorite of mine throughout childhood, through my teenage years, and straight on into adulthood. I never developed the dislike or distaste for him that some people did, and he never dropped out of the top spot for me like he did for others. There were times when he shared the top spot for me with Batman and Spider-Man, until One More Day wrecked my relationship with Spidey and I grew bored of the endless cycles of Batman being a dick to the Batfamily and then learning he needs them. But even throughout his lowest points (and God have there been so many of those in the last decade), he’s remained the top guy for me.

But why? I think it’s in part because of the type of genre he embodies. He is of course The Superhero, and he lives in the genre he founded, but he also lives in a type of optimistic science fiction genre that’s downright extinct nowadays. As a kid I was a massive science fiction fan, and my dad was friends with a guy who was also hugely into science fiction. This guy had a basement full of science fiction books written from the Golden Age of Science Fiction, up until the cyberpunk era kicked off in the 1980s. He was happy to hand novels off to me, and his private library beat the hell out of our public one. I devoured stories of fearless heroes in space exploring new worlds, first contact with alien races, mindbending new technologies that seemed like magic, about transcending our mortal flesh and becoming part of a universal, transcendental whole, stories that didn’t just talk about technology but about the human condition. Stories that while sometimes bleak, painted a positive picture of the human ability to overcome our inherent flaws and be a powerful force for good. And ultimately Superman speaks from the same source.

It’s not just about the powers, although those who completely dismiss their appeal are making a mistake I believe. It’s about humanity, about our ability to transcend our base natures, reflected in this Strange Visitor from Another Planet, who embodies our virtues and our vices, who is torn between the fear of doing too much and the fear of doing too little. Who hides his true self behind a pair of glasses because he craves the fellowship of humanity more than any amount of glory or riches. His no-kill rule a firm affirmation of the value of life, all life everywhere no matter it’s form. His greatest love, Lois Lane, is his co-worker and greatest rival as a reporter, who has everyone’s number in her phone, be they crime lord or living saint. His greatest friend, Jimmy Olsen, is the guy everyone else ignores or bosses around, but is a rich kid weirdo who gets up to all sorts of bizarre adventures that keep the Daily Planet afloat. His childhood friends are superheroes from the future, his home City of Metropolis is 10 years ahead of everyone else in terms of technology, his dog can shatter concrete via barking at it, his home den is a ice crystal castle situated at the North Pole, like Santa’s Workshop. In short his life is one where even the mundane corners hide fantastical attributes. By living among us, he helps to elevate us, to make our daily grind interesting by seeing through the lens of his life. As others have said, we walk our dogs around the block, he walks his around the solar system.

But it would be a mistake to assume that Superman doesn’t tackle the darker sides of life too. Even the most optimistic sci-fi novels that I read as a kid had dystopic elements in them, intended or not. His home planet of Krypton was our technological superior, yet ignored the warnings of it’s chief scientist, and died a victim of it’s own greed and arrogance with Kal-El as the Last Son. His birth parents died in the fires of self-perpetuated genocide, his adopted parents the Kents often fall to mundane heart diseases or accidents, which even his power can not save them from. His greatest enemy Lex Luthor, is the one person who can understand his loneliness, his need for the public’s approval and acceptance, and yet the shared enmity between the two has ruined any chance of them forming a friendship that could have been. The shining City of Metropolis venerates Luthor as well as Clark, reflecting the greed, selfishness, and callousness of it’s other favorite child. Suicide Slum stands as a testament to the limits of how much Superman can improve life. The Phantom Zone is a spinechilling example of the inhumane treatment of prisoners. His foes ran the gauntlet from greedy businessmen out for money at any cost, to victims who have suffered at humanity’s hands and seek revenge, to sociopaths who treat other peoples pain and lives as a source of amusement, to murderers who care not from where the blood flows, only that it does, to tyrants who seek to crush all resistance underneath their heel, to gods who wish the elimination of free will itself. Each of them force Superman to confront the fallibility of human nature and wrestle with whether or not his faith in both them and himself is justified.

In a sentence? I love Superman because he’s a character you can do almost anything with, from comedic hijinks, to serious dramas, to distributing horror stories, to exciting adventure stories. He reminds me of the best type of science fiction stories, ones that explore people and existence from all sorts of angles, that never lose sight of the emotional human core at the heart of all the high concept existential concepts. He’s made me laugh, cry, think, get motivated, get angry, and sometimes just get writing. He brings the big ideas and the human emotions that keep me reading comics throughout all the Big 2′s bullshit. He still believes in the human capacity for good, in spite of our flaws, in spite of how few of us seem to believe in that capacity ourselves, and he shows us that it’s still there by touching our hearts through his stories. That’s why I like Superman, and why he’s my favorite superhero.

[diedreaming-blog1]

my first post.

I’ve finally started. I’ve been thinking about doing this for a few weeks now and I decided I should get it over with. This is a stream of consciousness kinda thing for the most part. I’ve got some problems and I’m not sure if they’re justified or if I’m just being a bitch, but they’re there nonetheless. I’ve been depressed for fucking ever and used to have really bad OCD and anxiety. Pretty shit childhood I think as well, father is emotionally unavailable and mother is fucking narcissistic or some shit. Even writing this down I feel like I’m just going for pity points here, oh poor me my childhood was so bad. I didn’t die of cancer when I was 10 or something so it clearly could’ve been much worse. Maybe I am being a bitch, maybe not, who knows? I’ve got stuff driving me absolutely insane right now though that much is certain. Maybe if I write about it and get it out in the open it’ll help. So i think I would’ve been depressed and shit even if my parents weren’t idiots. Apparently when I was like 6 I wrote in my journal that the only reason I hadn’t killed myself was because I knew it would hurt my parents too much. I don’t remember writing that or really anything from when I was 6 but apparently it’s true. I think I’m a pretty strong willed person, when I put my mind to something I usually get it done. I remember I was having really bad feelings of “guilt” when I was young, from the OCD I think. I had symptoms of anxiety too I assume but I can’t remember what those were. So I went to the local childrens hospital and was diagnosed with depression, anxiety and OCD. Real shit hand but that’s the way she goes. My mother was diagnosed with the same things at the same time because she recognized so many of my symptoms in herself. I couldn’t even begin to imagine living for 30 years thinking you were just insane, not know what was wrong with you or how to deal with it. I think that would drive anyone crazy, it certainly did her. She always had problems, so did my father. Neither one of them had good childhoods, mother was raised by a father with an un-diagnosed brain tumor and a mother with the same problems as her. My father was put up for adoption because he was born out of wedlock, and was adopted by some very odd people who liked to help kids who had problems. He grew up with foster siblings and the few permanent ones were fucked up with fetal alcohol syndrome and stuff. Basically, I can’t blame them for not knowing how to act properly, or raise a kid well, they never had good examples to learn from. However, that didn’t help me at the time because I didn’t understand all that stuff. My mom was pretty severe in her visible symptoms, she wouldn’t sit on a bus seat or touch an elevator button, weird stuff like that. I can’t think of anything worse and that sounds pretty tame but she was just, off, I guess. My father was almost if not completely emotionally unattached to me, part of that being his upbringing and part of that being his job I think. I can remember him saying I love you and stuff but I also remember from a young age that I felt uncomfortable calling him daddy (I never really called my parents mom or dad, weird I know). It seemed to, informal? he wasn’t a “proper” type of person, didn’t care about elbows on the table and shit, so it wasn’t weird because of that, I think I just didn’t have a proper relationship with him. He definitely tried to do the right things. We used to go out to the workshop and make stuff. We did that a lot, he loves to try weird shit. He’s recently gotten into knife making. Anyways, he definitely tried to “bond” and did all the regular stuff like teach me how to ride a bike. But he was also kinda crazy I guess? I remember two specific incidents when I was less than 10 years old where we would be driving somewhere and get into an argument and he would just start screaming and screaming. Not just regular shouting but with rage, almost aggressive. I don’t remember ever being scared for my safety I don’t think, although maybe I was. I’m pretty sure this happened more than twice because one of the times I remember forcing him to pull over so I could walk home, as we were about 2 blocks away. That’s not the kind of coping mechanism an 8 year old develops on his second try I don’t think. Writing all of this I just noticed I wrote much more about him than about my mom, I’m concerned that I have attachment issues or something with him, maybe seeking his approval. Well, I know that I have issues with his approval. I feel very strongly that I was made to be felt I was never good enough as a child. Not that he ever said that directly, but it felt obvious. I remember one time I came up with the idea of a snowblower, basically thinking we should use a ride on lawnmower to shoot the snow away from the road or whatever. It’s obviously not an original idea, but I remember him immediately saying something along the lines of “nope that’s been done” and then very specifically “all the good ideas have been thought of”. He didn’t say hey good idea or anything first, just shot me down. Many of my ideas were like that. I should talk about my mother, I thought of a good example of how she affected me. I remember that growing up I was never ever allowed to sleep over at other kids houses. I had and still do have one friend I would genuinely describe as a brother, and he was allowed to stay at our house, but never me at his. It wasn’t a genuine safety concern, I grew up in a fairly affluent neighborhood for the time, all of my friends were typical good kids, parents knew each other very well. I think this was her anxiety, but I wasn’t allowed to stay at someone elses house until I was probably 11 or so. That may be normal to other people but in this area with these friends it was weird, and didn’t go unnoticed. I think the biggest thing she did though, which is very hard for me to talk about, is this. When I was in grade 3, she was having a particularly hard time with things I guess, and was binge drinking to cope. She would binge drink in the morning, get super drunk I guess, call the school to tell them I was going home with her friend and their family, and then make herself throw up and sober up so she could come and get me. I was going through basically the same thing, I had panic attacks weekly and was really fucking struggling with my anxiety and OCD, and just wanted to go home to her, but she was doing this. Some days it was so bad that I would go home early, or she would call me in sick. Anyways, the family friend. The mother was normal-ish, kind of hillbilly I think, and the father was notedly weird. The kids were on another fucking level though, two of them ended up being autistic and one of them is just weird I think. So grade 3 me was getting sent to their house maybe once or twice a week, not knowing why and hating it so so fucking much every time. I would cry when I got called down to the office or when she would get me when school was over. I always had a hard time showing emotion in front of people. even then, so I hid most of it. It was insanely difficult to cope with all my problems, plus this, plus the fact that I felt I had to act happy and behave well. I didn’t know why I kept getting sent there either, and thought it was because of me I think. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me though I think. One time when I was there, the sister and younger brother were playing in the parents bedroom. I saw and was already freaking the fuck out because they weren’t supposed to be in there and I had this huge problem with guilt and doing the right thing still. The sister is in probably grade 6 or 7 or something, and the brother was a year or two younger than me. Point being, she’s big, he’s small. So they were rough housing and she had this game where she basically molested him. It didn’t seem sexual from either party, but he definitely didn’t like it and cried for her to stop. It took all of the courage I had but I said something like “hey you shouldn’t touch him there” because obviously everyone’s taught that that’s a bad place to be touched. She justified it by saying she wasn’t actually touching anything, just going around it. basically cupping his junk in her hand. He seemed genuinely uh, perturbed? by this. It clearly wasn’t a small thing to him. I didn’t ever mention it to anyone. Not to his parents, or a teacher or my parents or a councilor. I just blocked it out. I completely forgot about it until grade 8 or 9 I think. But I spent the rest of that year seeing him and feeling so fucking guilty that I didn’t have the courage to help him, and knowing that all I had to do was say something. I don’t know why I didn’t, I think i was afraid of people not believing me or being told I was exaggerating. I don’t think it fucked the kid up too much though, apparently hes doing pretty well for an autistic kid. I remembered all of this because for whatever reason it was explained to me what was happening in grade 3, about my mom drinking and whatnot. This was during the summer and I was going to a science summer camp at a university, and so all these fucking emotions got brought back up and guess what happened? I was told I was overplaying everything and was still sent to the fucking camp. Again I had to pretend like nothing bad was happening to me for 6 hours a day. What the fuck is wrong with them that they did this too me twice. I know they didn’t know any better but how the fuck does a child deal with this shit. It wasn’t fair. I felt like my whole fucking world was falling apart, that this was the literal end of life as I knew it, and I was sent to fucking summer camp. Also when I was 10 I was diagnosed as type one diabetic, I forgot to mention that. So that was pretty tough. I learned how to deal with trauma well though. The day I was diagnosed I had been suffering from a high blood sugar and dehydration for so long that I was told I couldn’t wait for and ambulance to take me to the hospital and that my dad had to drive me. Then they spent about 45 minutes trying to give me an IV. I counted 17 different needles, but most of those they dug around in my arm for a bit first, before taking it out and trying somewhere else. I was always good in high stress situations like this so I wasn’t too too freaked out, but I again felt like life as I knew it was over. I mean I guess it was, but I had this insanely strong sense of impending doom, same as when I was told all the shit about grade 3. This seems to be a reoccurring problem and I think it’s related to the fact that I don’t like change, or maybe I don’t like change because of all this shit. Whatever. I had a few really close calls and more recently honestly almost died twice. the last time was the worst I guess. I have this problem of refusing to do my insulin, I always have. It’s so fucking dumb because I know it’s literally killing me and I’m a full grown man but yeah, sometimes I just don’t do it. I think it’s either a self harm thing or me trying to forget that I have diabetes or something. Anyways, the last time I was hospitalized I woke up and felt sick and I would normally in this situation, so I did some insulin and drank a bunch of water and shit but it was just getting worse and worse. It’s hard to describe but it gets so bad that you feel like you literally do not have enough energy in your body to do anything beside lie still. Even breathing was hard. It’s not like being tired but it feels like someone chemically prevented your body from making or using energy. This time was so bad I couldn’t drive myself to the hospital as I previously had, so I asked my mom to call 911. She did and as she was on the phone I really felt like I was dying, so I told her to ask them to hurry. I didn’t want to say more because I didn’t want to freak her out, she was pretty calm as this wasn’t the first time I’d been hospitalized. She got off the phone and told me they were coming from a neighboring city, which concerned me very much. I really didn’t know if I was gonna be able to like, last, until they got there. I did, and they got me to the hospital just fine luckily. I was given an IV with a whole bunch of stuff, insulin and supplements I think. I was still so fucking concerned that I was gonna die, still felt very strongly that I was dying. I wasn’t scared though, it’s weird. I don’t mean that in a “oh I’m so tough I don’t fear death” kinda way, because I do. But I just understood that there wasn’t anything I could do at this point. Either I made it or I didn’t. After my ketones went down and I got whatever supplements in me, the doctor told my mom that I had in fact just about died. I don’t think he said any percentage or bullshit like that but he said I was super fucking lucky, and also an idiot for not doing the insulin, which I knew already. Allrighty, I’ve been writing for like 70 minutes, this was pretty nice actually. I’ll return here tomorrow. 1/3/2018