tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-178633562024-03-15T19:10:00.239-06:00Spastic InhibitionsThe ramblings of a man about life and fiction.T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.comBlogger258125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-4523897144125428962013-09-27T18:15:00.001-06:002013-09-27T18:15:24.398-06:00The Crumbling EmpireHad a discussion with a friend about the possibility of a Greek civil war. With the Veteran's Union in Greece pretty much offering up an ultimatum in regards to dissatisfaction with the leadership and those in power, is it any surprise? What's more of a surprise is that such an ultimatum hasn't made the rounds in North America. The corruption in Canada, nevermind the US, can been openly seen on T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-76762295439216929442013-07-23T14:22:00.002-06:002013-07-23T14:22:20.820-06:00RAOS - Sweetly, My Child
Hammering feet, hammering heart
Her maddening dash t'was at the start
Fightful leanings of monsters dire
She fights for life's very fire
With hazy breath, beneath jungles cowl
Aleha dashes from beasts most foul
Their roars echo through leaf and tree
Unknown pursuers, she cannot see
They gain but slowly, their romping tirade
Her last endurance, however well played
It wans away, the T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-6344018761804669292013-07-16T15:01:00.000-06:002013-07-16T15:01:22.062-06:00Plugs - Landscaping Your EscapeShould've probably done this a while ago. Friend of mine wrote an excellent story piece. Go read it, you won't be disappointed.T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-17544321526620604962013-07-07T19:51:00.002-06:002013-07-07T19:51:31.896-06:00RAOS - Beached DreamsHe awakes to his own screams of pain and the roar of waves crashing on a shoreline.
Hands hurriedly grope for wounds half-remembered as he struggles into a half-sitting position. Fingers pressing against skin beneath fur that was whole instead of broken. But the agony within him spoke of wounds, of pain, of having died. I've been shot, he thought in panic. Hadn't I? Was it all a dream? One was T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-69191633676190500122013-07-04T12:11:00.001-06:002013-07-04T12:17:06.698-06:00Forum Dueling Basics -- Quick LinksA set of quick links to all the FDB stuff I've written over the years.
And I Thought This Wasn't Possible: Overpowering, and why it is and isn't.
The Long Road: A thought on how to improve your writing.
Dialogue: The Misfortune of Talking to Others: Natural conversation as opposed to forced.
The Art of the Internal: Internal monologue and its place in dueling.
Judging Focus: An idea on T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-71596230674361934522013-06-27T19:26:00.002-06:002013-06-27T19:26:16.854-06:00Forum Dueling Basics - And I Thought This Wasn't PossibleAuthors Note: This was originally written in May of 2009, but I never posted it. So, here it is in all its glory.
Funny thing happened yesterday. I thought it'd be amusing to join a Newb Duel Tourney on RPFF, since it was open to everyone. I submitted a character that I've had for a while through a sign up, spent all of fifteen minutes writing up the backstory I hadn't bothered to put down on aT.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-56090513458402215762013-06-26T17:56:00.001-06:002013-06-26T17:56:41.573-06:00RAOS - Edge of the SeatThe slide is pulled back. It flows forward, taking a round from the magazine and moving it into the chamber. The trigger depresses, activating the striker. Instantaneous pressure causes the ignition of the primer that burns up the gunpowder in a flash. The quick-burning reaction creates an overpressure that shoots the bullet through the barrel while simultaneously moving the slide back to eject T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-36793057980337010122013-06-21T22:07:00.000-06:002013-06-21T22:09:06.021-06:00It Can't be THAT HardMy personal life experiences are somewhat interesting. I'm a cancer survivor. I've never broken a bone, but I've been dropped, fallen from heights and been hit by dropped and falling objects more times than I can count. This includes and is not limited to actual trees that were once standing moments before -- but that's neither here nor there. I've been to Afghanistan, deployed to active T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-29224887878198672662013-06-20T21:47:00.000-06:002013-06-20T21:52:40.204-06:00Forum Dueling Basics - The Long RoadAt some point, you'll need to be honest with yourself. It won't be nice or pretty, but it is a kindness -- even when emotions are running high and you think you're going to be crushed under all this "negative" weight. At the moment you won't recognize it as being kind, let alone useful. How could they say such a thing?
I'm talking about criticism.
Too many don't know how to take it, and when itT.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-85643940796600224282013-06-09T00:30:00.000-06:002013-06-09T00:30:02.532-06:00Get Out of the WayOh, I had a bit of an adventure today. Earlier today. In a parking lot. I was at the point where I was actively thinking of getting into a fist fight with several people. One of which was an old man. A couple were women. And I would not have felt ashamed to have lain them up on the ground like bruised and beaten fucktards. I went to a book fair today. It's a yearly thing, and I go because it's anT.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-45626917711189406032013-06-08T19:23:00.002-06:002013-06-08T19:23:42.247-06:00Forum Dueling Basics - Dialogue: The Misfortune of Talking to OthersSo, dialogue has a time and place, much like persons wanting to experiment (it's known as college), but in dueling, RPing or even writing in general, we know when dialogue shouldn't be happening: when you're driving a fist down another persons gullet with intent to find their reproductive organs through their intestines. This of course means that when you're fighting, you shouldn't be talking, T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-35653683195952079932013-06-07T19:52:00.001-06:002013-06-07T19:52:25.234-06:00Culture Shock: Riding Down, Coasting UpRecently, a friend of mine linked me to a forum that was having an RP tourney, or that's what he alluded to it being. I, already warming to the idea of another duel tourney (having done one already this year) jumped in ill-prepared and unknowing (I'm like that, being all-up-ons when it comes to duel tourneys). Well, I was in for a culture shock.
Their main method of "dueling" is that each personT.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-71796901451295475482013-06-04T16:52:00.003-06:002013-06-04T16:53:08.632-06:00Well, it's been over a year. How about some fiction?The interstice rippled open, a blackened wound on reality that gushed exotic particles that wavered in the air as smoke and just as ephemeral before dissipating in sulphur fumes. From it stepped something, a something that didn't walk so much as jump and wavered there on the precipice of being here and being elsewhere. The mind was still trapped beyond, but here, the body seems to shrink while T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-17163180922811421022013-06-03T16:57:00.000-06:002013-06-04T16:58:03.122-06:00WPCA - Just BusinessThe door flung back on its hinges crying out in a deranged squeal. A man came through, bobbing as he held onto a pair of zap-strapped legs that jerked back and forth. A second man appeared, hanging on precariously to the shoulders as the bound figure spasmed and jerked. Muffled screams from behind a gag mimed the doors previous cry while tears ran in rivulets beneath the awning of a blindfold.
T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-72188152489879038562012-08-28T09:16:00.000-06:002012-08-28T09:16:44.536-06:00The Problems With Being NiceI got to how I don't like the word "nice." In the past few years I've really, really started to hate that word. I hate the connotations for it, how it's lumped in with the politically correct crowd. I'm told to be "nice," to act "nice." "Nice" is supposed to personify me, wholly take me over. But what really is nice? Looking up the definition gives you this:
pleasing; agreeable; delightful
T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-91025027959423323832012-08-05T09:02:00.000-06:002012-08-05T09:02:17.568-06:00You Can't WinLiberal, Conservative, Communist, Nazi. See what I did there? It's the standard dichotomy between the two political sides. One side calls the other stupid and the other side mirrors it, both not seeing their own stupidity or how they're being manipulated by the media in the echo chamber (rights for rights and lefts for lefts). How is it that I'm no longer allowed a voice, and am told that I T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-15835453264715206272012-07-24T16:10:00.002-06:002012-07-24T16:10:52.153-06:00RamblingsIt is an odd quality. Faith in any amount moves a person or a mountain, and when it lacks, it does nothing more than eat away at the conscious. The decision is to of course have it, an active choice, required daily. Like prayer. Faith is in all things, from the man of faith (the misnomer descriptor for anyone believing in a higher power, because all persons are people of faith, even when they T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-80075236656383153692012-04-18T11:45:00.001-06:002012-04-18T11:47:15.577-06:00Accountable or Responsible?accountability, noun
the state of being accountable, liable, or answerable.
Education . a policy of holding schools and teachers accountable for students' academic progress by linking such progress with funding for salaries, maintenance, etc.
responsibility, noun
the state or fact of being responsible.
an instance of being responsible: The responsibility for this mess is yours!
a particular T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-47260503499932761632012-03-27T19:30:00.000-06:002012-03-27T19:31:32.406-06:00The Culmination of a Half-Year of Non-Thought (Part 4)It was a rather green Christmas where I was. What little snow had come melted. At best, maybe a week of cold and then it was gone in the wind. Literally. Lots of wind, hustling and bustling through the city, keening away. People complained about the wind until it stopped and the cold came back. Then they'd complain about the cold and the wind, hearing them, would swoop back in and gush about T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-43469196339152730522012-03-16T20:21:00.000-06:002012-03-16T20:22:28.438-06:00The Culmination of a Half-Year of Non-Thought (Part 3)Packing. Boxes. Totes. Clothes stuffed into bags, garbage and otherwise. Sealed up tighter than a . . . well I won't finish that analogy. Derailed. Denied. But I am approaching the horizon, the epoch of a long journey in an ever expanding storyline of anger, frustration, hated, ignorance (certainly no bliss to be found here, so move along), spite, apathy. The adjectives march by like a parade, I T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-2121788601404412922012-03-08T16:10:00.000-07:002012-03-08T16:12:46.367-07:00The Culmination of a Half-Year of Non-Thought (Part 2)There is a knock upon my door. A knock-knocking of poignant importance. My seat is left with a flurry and spins in my absence as I abscond to the top of the stairs, leaning over to peer down and through the window. Another knock upon my door, a knock-tap-knock. Impatient, insufferable, intolerant persons upon my step are gathered like a storm that hasn't properly visited this winter.
DejectedlyT.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-24640349543244641782012-03-06T18:51:00.001-07:002012-03-06T18:52:55.891-07:00The Culmination of a Half-Year of Non-Thought (Part 1)Where to begin, where to begin. A statement, not a question, because there is no question inasmuch as to the fact that things have indeed happened to me. The percolation of non-thoughts, for I can't say I have truly been thinking, and deeds, for they are actions in name alone, of a morbidly malcontent societal zombie has broken down the tirade dams erected against the brazen beast of a supposed T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-76779852073601433272011-08-11T15:09:00.002-06:002011-08-11T15:13:24.404-06:00Equality for AllThe world spins slowly, burning. The fuel is the rage of a people, a thousand peoples, tens of thousands, millions...billions; nations large and small. The zealous feed them, lies in the morning, at noon, in the evening. Like cattle, like sheep, they are herded in, grazed, fed their quota, and sent out. The untruths are satisfying, the feeling of rightness, of fairness, of equality, bred into T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-33504542742340348462011-08-06T17:07:00.001-06:002011-08-06T17:07:52.695-06:00InvasionI am a proud member of the nation of Wakefulness, and like all persons of my nation, I gladly wage a war every evening. It need not necessarily be in the evening, either, but whenever the lethargy takes me. Those moments of tiredness awaken in me a bloodlust. With that, I begin my usual assault upon the nation of Sleep.
That foreign, disgusting country. I cannot remember its exact location, nor T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17863356.post-84883043476500811242011-07-19T20:57:00.001-06:002011-07-19T20:59:11.674-06:00Time Well SpentIt's dawning outside, a sun rising. I see only blackness and find myself nodding off intermittently. Wakefulness is fleeting, grasped barely and holding only the constant thrum of a diesel engine. The vehicle quakes slightly with each turn, each pothole, the rise and ebb of the inline-eight cylinder providing a lullaby.
Cool air sifts in through the sentry hatch while the orange fireballs of T.C. Visaretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03494986497851079342noreply@blogger.com0