Artbooks, Dark Souls, and Swagchirin.

The Navy is still processing my information - as of most recently, they'd requested an unneeded Doctor's Write-Up. Brown was pretty miffed about having her time wasted, and spent the entirety of my call saying, "I stamped 'Normal Physiology' on the front, what don't they get?" My Father, however, assures me that they are being intentionally slow about processing me to make certain I am the kind of person capable of wading through red tape. Thankfully, I wade through red tape quite casually. Just about every day in fact, so I should be passing that test quite readily.

Things are going kind of well. Emily's eagerly anticipating the release of Dark Souls on PC, and we've been fawning over people dishing out mad carnage with caestus, silly whips, and mad two-hander dead-angles. Money's going to be a little tight, but I'm hoping the Navy will finally get the lead out and I can give her the remainder of my cash before shipping-out where I won't need it. If I ever wind up Dark Soulsin', I'd love to wear the Maiden's Outfit and a pair of battle-mittens. And probably work for Gwyndolin. Because he's a violent religious trap, and they just don't make Good-Guys like that anymore. They're almost exclusively the generic villains now.

Also, Quelaan's pretty cool, too.

As Sabina put it, "I never thought I'd want to hug a spider."

I could stand to forgo Gwyndolin on a different character and do some Daughter of Chaosin'. Yeaaah, and I'd use that silly Summoner's Trident. And I'd Humpty-Hump my way to victory.

I've got plans with Dustin today - I'm hoping to write a firework scene. I wanted to write something that was really showy and neat, and had a lot of sensory information. That black gunk you get on your hands. The sulfur-smell of a dead firework. All the bright colors. The clouds of smoke that hang in the air afterwards. All the little paper casings that are left-over. That's a lot to write about. I hope it goes over well.

Tomorrow, I'm probably gonna skip lifting weights to go another stint in cardio and do a timed push-up and sit-up routine. I've yet to beat nine minutes and some change as my best time, but I can do ten minutes after walking the three miles one way there. However, I've been working my abs and legs, so I'm anticipating better time on account of being fitter.
I think I'm finally getting results for my abs. I came back from the shower in my boxers and an undershirt and my sister'd remarked, "I'm starting to be disturbed by the amount you're working out. I can see your abs through your shirt."

That's precisely the result I'm looking for beyond simply 

being able to manage the fitness circuits for the military.

If you hadn't read earlier, I'd shared my really terrible Touhou Raps on GetUmpt's community boards. I've considered posting them on Tumblr as well, and after my first post regarding them, I got a really delightful image from a stranger. Without further ado, I'd like to offer you a second helping of Swagchirin, courtesy of the lovely Plus1000Years:

Thank you so much. You have no idea how much I appreciate this silly stuff.

Talking with Rigel, I'd received a really wonderful album - the fourth installment in the HOSPITAL^ anthology. I'd considered buying the second installment for a very beautiful picture and some really curious music. I can afford it right now, but the solid quid I've got left is kind of saved for an emergency. When September comes around, I might treat myself to it. I really like it because it's an innovative idea:

HOSPITAL^ has more or less gotten a bunch of very skilled artists to draw amazing pictures depicting the mindset, emotion, idea, misconceptions, and other sensations of being interred in a hospital. These range from the atypical moeblob pictures to beautiful paintings and fullblown comics. Afterwards, they'd taken a bunch of very obscure but quite talented musicians and assigned them a picture to build a track around. So essentially, it's a pair of small artbooks that have a soundtrack for each picture contained.

When I was a kindergartener, my father had left a copy of Calvin and Hobbes on his work-desk and I'd begun reading it in secret. It was amazing. Prior to that, I'd read small stories but none in particular that really enticed me enough to read casually. It had pictures fulls of whimsical playing that I could relate to. It had silly depictions of things I was being taught in school. It had words I didn't understand like 'Tyranny', and things I loved like Spaceman Spiff and Tracer Bullet. I own a small few comics in paper. No real artbooks. But the concept behind owning them is quite the same. I really hope that someday, a child or person cracks it open, and it's unlike anything they've seen prior and they're changed a little - understood, inspired, entertained - I don't know. Just better off for having opened it up, like I was.

Anyways, I've got to go to the Gym and Church now. And after that, I've got to do my laundry and tidy-up.

My bed has been unmade for two days, I have a pile of gymclothes in the "I'll wash those later" corner, and after sorting my socks last night, I'd dumped them lazily on the floor. Kind of a busy morning, I suspect, but it'll be alright.

Also, I'd had an odd dream - I had kidnapped several people as advised by my father to collect ransoms off of them. They were nice people. A mother and her daughter. Some guy. They were sitting in the back of a covered truckbed. It was kind of dark. When I saw how worried they looked though, I thought "I can't do this - they're really good people, and I'm troubling them and stealing from their families," I tried to explain that my background check was in work for the Navy and that I couldn't afford to have it compromised because it were my only chance at respectable income in the day's economy. I pulled up to an apartment complex that the people lived in. I let them out and I apologized and requested they not turn me in and compromise my career. I abruptly woke up after this. It was an odd dream - apparently even in my subconscious I'm just not that great at being an utter villain.

First World Problems and Buddhist Swag.

There's just a few sensations quite like going to bed exhausted, knowing you've left a Torrent running and will get to listen to really slick music in the morning, only to wake up and realize your ISP is doing maintenance and has turned-off your connectivity, and so your torrent has capped out at two-percent. One that comes to mind is finding a respectable gift-box addressed to you only to find it contains a two day-old fart left by an amusing if not rancid hobo; you're initially sort of amused by the sheer chance of it lining up like that, but at the same time it's a pretty bad stink.

Things have been a little weird - as they never fail to be less - and I've been in a bit of a rut; a variation on that old Recipes for Life bit I'd given you some time ago that I'll introduce to you later.

Lately, my days have been concluding pretty early - at 9:00 or 9:30 PM depending on how hard I've worked-out and how much crap it's mandatory I do. That's also like, 6:00 PM for Emily, which makes it feel a good deal more outraging than it is at face-value to me.

It dawned upon me yesterday that there has not been a single day within the past two months where I have traveled less than six miles using muscular force. I usually do this from 12:00 to 3:00 or so.
For the first time in a long time my legs are pretty shot because I took two days to work them while letting an injured wrist rest on one day in between. My left hand's been really pained and sensitive every time I press it palm-first.

Typically, around 5:00 AM I play a few rounds of GetAmped2 with Liam and the Maid Army, but I don't see that lasting for too terribly much longer; I've just about maxed my little character there, at which point I don't think I'll see the appeal of just wailing on newbies without reward. I might make a new character or something, and just go about doing everything -right- this time around, now that I know what I'm doing, but I don't know. I really just don't.

Moreover there's been this massive cloud of interpersonal drama hovering around Maid Army as of late. And it's really unfortunate. I don't really know how to fix it, and I don't like the way its going. To put it in a nutshell, a really cool ex of mine is on rebound for a hemophiliac I bought a pizza for. It sounds really absurdist when said like that, but that's what's going on. Rebound-romances are almost exclusively pretty terrible, though, and while I'm trying to be a force of reason regarding it, if you've ever tried reasoning with someone whose slightly enticed and massively irate at the same time, you'll understand that I made very little headway whatsoever.

Speaking of interpersonal drama - that's another big part of my day. Usually around 3:00, I get onto Steam 'cause that's noon for Emily, and I've got a fairly good chance of seeing her around and chatting about silly things in Dark Souls, getting the Metaphysical Forecast, and just generally being happy and talking. The only problem with this is that the moment I get on, I wind up with a whole bunch of not-Emilies telling me their woes.

And they're not good woes. They're what I like to call "First-World Problems." I sincerely just don't get it, so I have a bit of a hard time feeling any sort of empathy or sympathy for people who come to me with them. People who tell me, "Videogames aren't fun anymore. I don't have fun anymore," or "I don't care about anything."

I don't know what to say - "If you're bored, you're boring," comes to mind. I sincerely want to tell people with these problems about caring and problems about videogames (and these are benign problems that they claim send them "spiraling into fits of depression," mind you) to just go out there and do some volunteering like I did. Go and work-out like I do. Get into my kind of rut - maybe some relaxation will suit you more then. Moreover, instead of bitching incessantly to me about your privileged lifestyle, you'll be benefiting a someone else who's down on their luck. Or maybe an animal - I fostered a lot of kittens in my time volunteering for Saint Joseph's Animal Control Department.

Just a footnote - if you're sincerely distraught about videogames and your ability to care about things, I'd like to refer you to this Comic that explains how I misperceived you somewhat, and warn you that I'm not exactly interested in helping you. I encourage you to get over yourself and go do something different.

Now then - excuse me while I do the same thing myself!

Also, I feel I should tell you, I recently filled out a small "About Me," blurb on GetAmped2's community page. It looked a little something like this:

"Hello - my username is AnIchirin.
In-game, my username is also AnIchirin.
I am a member of Maid Army.
I enjoy wearing Tryhard Panties in the form of my Magenta Grappler's Arms.
I prefer the map Waterfall as it's slightly less obnoxious than Great Avyon.
Hit-Accessories and Explosives are also pretty awesome.
I often pretend to have swag. I do not, in fact, have it.
I use AutoGuard like a talentless nerd.

Offline, I am an aspiring Naval Intelligence Officer.
I live in New York.
I enjoy working-out, classical literature, and the U.S. Postal Service.
I am a respectable chef.
I've done a lot of community service in my time.
I try and take care of my friends.
I enjoy Toohoo, among other silly things like .flow and webcomics.
I am in a relationship with a beautiful woman.
I think Onikobe Rin is pretty boss and save a lot of his work. "

In response to reading this, a man I do not know but now greatly admire, Cwas, drew a picture of what he perceived me to look like. I hope you'll appreciate his attention to detail and accuracy in depicting me:

The following is a muscular sailor in a chef-hat with a book in one hand, swaggin' shades on, and pictures of Ichirin Kumoi and a ⑨ stuffed into his boots.

Thank you, Cwas.

 

The Official Pyon Post.

I guess it's kind of a Plat du Jour. A friend of mine, Shawn "Pyonta," has been in pretty awful health since I've known him, but he grew concerned that he might die, and I panicked.

Pyon's been concerned for his life often. His life has been, as I recall him once saying, "One prolonged staring-match with Death." He often survives. Other times, he flat-lines and comes back. It's never easy, and there've been times where he blatantly has lost some of his senses for extended periods of time. Even, once, his circadian rhythm after a lesion damaged his Hypothalamus. It's all a sum of his HHT - Hereditary Hemorrhagic Telangiectasia. As I understand it, his body doesn't produce capillaries, which kind of power-houses and detonates his vessels. Moreover, I believe it makes anomalous vessels or severe breaks and lesions in his brain, liver, and lungs. I don't know. It's kind of technical, and I read about it with a rudimentary understanding of many of the terms used. I only have a basic medical education.

But his Girl's always been the thing to get him through times like, well. Everyday. And he loves her dearly. They exchange caffeine-molecule coffee cups. He's stayed up late to catch her waking up. They've kind of been the couple I've wanted to be like, frankly.

But she left him recently. And his health sort of nose-dived. Or at least Pyon's will to live.

I didn't know what to say to him. I can't even claim to relate to him when the guy fends off shit that would cripple me, daily.

I don't know if he's got a long time or a little time, so I think I'm just going to tell you guys about Shawn. In fact, I'd typed the title of this to be "Dandelion Wine," but I think I'll change that right about now and call this The Official Pyon Post.

Maid Army's always been kind of an odd place. I think my statement that we're a Loose Collective of Don't-Give-a-Fuck is about right, until we have an event. Like the marrow drive, or the Package for the People we assembled. There were times Chat was active, and there were times it was dead. I think I met Shawn when it was live and when Fistbeard used to hang around there, too. Probably two years ago. Maybe three at this point. I was definitely ousted from the graced of Twohou if I were spending that much free time in Maid Army, because the two didn't get along.

But I remember we were all talking about how often I mail people, and I had just gotten some odd postcards featuring people arguing on a sign advertising bacon, Brando's moustache, and many slices of pie served at a Psychiatric Convention. I'd said that I wouldn't be above writing anyone in Maid Army. Fistbeard jumped aboard and so did Pyon. Pyon even wrote me back.

We began talking daily, and we had a mutual friend in Connor "Cat" Manley. Pyon had just recently been admitted into the hospital for an extended stay, and Connor was craving baked goods. I made a massive batch of what Shawn says is now his favorite flavor of cookie - Cranberry and White Chocolate Oatmeal Cookies. They briefly earned me the title of Food Waifu. It was pretty crazy, though. Suddenly, there'd been a huge demand for them. Everyone wanted some. Even Liam who never asks for anything. I made like, six batches in two days. I didn't want to look at another cookie for a long while.

...Funny story about Liam's - I mailed them in an impact-proof envelope and they never arrived. We like to joke that they were lost at Canadian Postal-Check, and that they have rotted and mutated far into sentience and now resemble something akin to the Venus Fly Trap from Little Shop of Horrors. Feeeeeed me, Seymour.

Pyon's never had too easy a go at life. I remember the moment he got out of the Hospital, post cookie-arrival, he'd chased his dog into the woods and got bitten by wild dogs. And another time where someone tried to break into his house, and Pyon'd actually stabbed the man. He spiraled into panic and guilt because the man died after fleeing the scene and the Police kind of found the body.

Once, they'd even opened him up to cauterize the lesions that often plague his lungs, and they'd accidentally sewn him back shut with a scalpel inside of him. I believe he literally removed it by hand, tugging it through his sutures. There are few things as utterly bad-ass as that. Bruce Lee probably comes close.

These things, they were  all pretty outrageous. I used to tell Pyon he should write a book.

...His names. Shit, I should talk about that a bit. Pyon's always had a hilarious fondness for over the top offensive screen-names in game. I think it may have been a fondness started by his friend, Johnny Cuntwreck, but I'm not certain He started it himself. Most recently, he's used VirginBuster, The Mighty Dark Lord Fuckblade has always been my favorite because of a short instance where I joined him as his lackey, Archduke Coital-Cutlass. And finally, in the hay-day of Katawa Shoujo's popularity, ~^*4n1m3k1ng Cr15pych4n 420*^~. As rude as it seems, Shawn did, in fact, actually like Hanako as a character, while I did not, because Cat and I had a big, dumb falling-out over his fixation with this character and his youthful, self-centric attitude. In addition to those I have distinct memories of, there are also such treasures as THUNDERCOCK SOULPUNCHER, MALICE CANNONFUCK, and Dicksmash McIroncock.

Pyon's also an avid doodler, writer, and such. I'd like to include some of it. Starting with something he wrote during his employment at an Arcade:

"32 Observations About This Goddamn Arcade I'm Working At"

Actually, I just walked behind this counter for the first time in a week. I'll look at your ticket voucher shortly.

Ma'am, do not act impatient with me when you're the one barging past the wall of ten-year-old flesh eager for cheap prizes and candy demanding I get your son his prize this instant. It is a plastic trophy, not a pair of wire clippers for the bomb.

Hmm, I probably shouldn't mention bombs here. There was a big thing about that in the handbook and the required evacuation and such. So I should totally mention bombs here.

Please shriek a little louder. If you shatter my eardrums into enough pieces, I will evolve a second consciousness able to assist you in getting a goddamn Blow Pop.

The Monopoly Machine didn't give you your tickets because you were trying to tip the goddamned thing over. I wish it didn't stop at merely denying you your tickets and token, actually.

Jesus, those donuts smell delicious. I should totally get so-- wait, I can spend two more dollars and eat until I want to throw up. Not this time, donuts!

Holy shit, why don't I work where the food is? I'd never have to deal with all those kids.

As you can see, half of China, I'm one person. Please wait your turn.

You, um, see that huge machine that says "Ticket Center"? You put your tickets in there.

No, not the Receipt Slot. The one that says "Tickets Go Here".
There are only two slots, one of which is slightly more obvious than facial necrosis. You put them in that one.

This slip says twelve tickets. You cannot buy anything more than twelve-- no, Air Heads are thirty. You can't afford anything on that side of the count-- If you can't afford something that costs thirty tickets, why would you think that you can afford something that costs one-hundred fifty?

You can get four different items. Pick one or some of those. No, now that you've spent seven of your twelve tickets, the five remaining are not able to cover a purchase of twenty-five hundred tickets. Get a piece of fucking gum.

Yes, you're welcome. Don't come back.

Good, you're back. Good thing you won two tickets then ran back here screaming.

Two tickets will get you stickers. Out of these two jars. No, Blow Pops are not stickers. No, neither are Nerds Ropes. Two tickets does not mean you can get two of anything.

So you have one ticket. Why are you asking for two of anything?

Oh good, you're back again. With a whopping three tickets this time.

No, Blow Pops were twenty-five before. The prices have not been lowered. You still cannot afford them. Perhaps if you saved them instead of spending them every time you got them.

Oh, good. It's your... Guardian. Person. If he reeked any more of pot, I suspect the emergency sprinklers would be going off.

Oh, wow. I actually like this kid. He may be taking a while to decide things, but at least he isn't a fucking retard about it.

Jesus Christ, don't you ever stop? It's seven tickets. You should know what you cannot afford by now. I'll give you a hint: It's everything you ask for.

Oh, good. You've got twenty-seven tickets. Here's a goddamn Blow Pop.

YOU HAVE TWO TICKETS. WHY ARE YOU ASKING FOR ANOTHER ONE? I'm glad I gave you watermelon flavor.

Oh, my favorite demographic. Teenaged emo girls. Hmm, I wonder what that pause before you say the word "pickle" implies. You're so delightfully witty.

Actually, it isn't my fault you didn't win at a game dictated purely by chance. Please don't get mad at me.

Actually, I'll go ahead and take care of your prizes after I count the seven hundred and forty two pennies you gave me in addition to your ticket slip.

Why do these pickles either never sell at all or huge mobs rush in demanding them? Anyway, ma'am, I'll make your change in a moment, you needn't glare at me like that. There are so many other places you can go.

For the love of god, you're back again. You... Are you trying to sell me a bag of confett-- This confetti is worth five-hundred dollars? You are actually trying to sell me a bag of confetti for five-hundred dollars. You should be so thankful this counter is between us.

Hi, Captain Pothead! Here to usher your five kids out of the arcade?

Oh, those two machines didn't give you your tickets? Here are two more tokens, you probably should not play those machi-- You're playing those exact two machines again.

As you can see, it's midnight, the machines are off, and the arcade is closed. Please come back for two Jolly Ranchers tomorrow.

That one, about the twelve tickets...? You'd think that was a little kid, wouldn't you?
Old enough to be my mother.

At this point, I'd also like to share Pyon's delightful evaluation of the cult-classic, Cyberbu//y:

Pyon's a hilarious, snarky guy. He's got more snark than I can care to enumerate. You've seen his artwork - it's all pretty great. You've seen his writing - it's all pretty great. And if you'd like? You can see his short-lived blog in my subscriptions.

The Plat du Jour is Dandelion Wine. I'll tell you about it later. For now, enjoy some Hat.

Don't Stop Me Now.

I'M HAVING SUCH A GOOD TIME. I'M HAVING A BALL.

I'm feeling pretty stellar. Last night was just about THE MOST STELLAR DAY IN THE PAST TWO MONTHS OR SO, despite the general occupied trend of my past few days. It's pretty crazy, and I don't know where to begin. I think I'll begin with the weather, because that's how all small-talk works. We'll start small and work our way up.

Yesterday was sweltering. It was just HOT. There's no good word for it beyond that. Humid, stagnant, breezeless HOT. The whole day was like that, and it was nice to just parade around in sandals for a change. The heat kind of got to me though, and it held hands with my exhaustion from the night before, which ended on a kind of tense note as I was trying to resolve some anxiety Claire'd been feeling, and chose to do so in my typical confrontational, upfront, A-is-A manner. It wasn't the best way to go about things, because I'd wound up making everyone agitated, but it kind of resolved. Sort of. I think there's still some residual stuff, but I'm-...

Well, that has NO REAL BEARING on what I'm trying to say. I was up until 1:00 AM being pushy and forward, and then fixing the fact that I was pushy and forward. The fact that I usually crash at like, 10:00 PM and wake up at 5:00 really does me in, because I wound up facing the heat exhausted, and it culminated in a bad headache - my jog? I could like, feel my brain rattling in my skull. It was pretty terrible. Like PLAYING YAHTZEE WITH MY NOODLE.

I was kind of anticipating one of those hot, still evenings where it's just hot enough to be pleasant. Instead, a massive, massive torrential downpour came after an hour of still thunder and lightning that crackled around the full moon. It was pretty amazing. More amusing, I don't know what sort of event was going on but standing outside last night in itself was amusing. You see, for some reason, the apartment juxtaposed to mine?

 HAD A GREEN DAY COVER-BAND, A VERY BAD ONE, PLAYING BRAIN STEW AND A FEW LOVE BALLADS AT 11:00.

Does it stop there, Zack? Is that the end of late-night shenanigans?
Surely there's something funnier...

YOU BET YOUR ASS IT GETS BETTER!

See, once the lightning began, it began without rain, non-stop, and so bright that you could momentarily see entire spans of the city lit-up like some sort of colossal God or Alien Overlord had taken a snapshot of it with an equally colossal Polaroid camera. It was beautiful, and I wasn't the only one who thought so, because you see, there were a couple of drunken frat-boys at the end of the street, beers in hand, discussing it with AWESTRUCK STONER WONDER, which I will now quote below:

WOOOOAAAAH-...LOOK AT IT MAN. THAT WAS A MONSTER OF A THUNDER. LOOK AT IT. IT'S STILL GOING. THAT'S AMAZIN', DUDE. THAT'S FUCKIN' CHOICE. DO YOU THINK ANYONE TELLS THAT WHAT TO DO? THERE'S NO "GOVERNMENT AGENCY" THAT REGULATES THAT, BRAH. THAT SHIT'S UNTAMED. FUCKIN' MASTERPIECE, MAN.

I snrk'd harder than I'd openly snrk'd in a long time. 
I laughed like a damned hyena.

Shortly after, this torrential downpour began, at which point I donned sandals and stood out in it for a bit, and I did so with really great company on the other side of the globe doing the same and enjoying a particularly BALMY AND PLAYFUL breeze that'd kicked up. I laughed at the fact that I just emphasized balmy and playful, but it was distinctly such. 

Did a little roleplaying for the first time in a long time - I've had one of those dry-spells. I haven't really been into much ever since Onni passed away - he was kind of my go-to-guy for adventure, and nothing really felt the same without 'em. Me, and a fellow friend who used to play with him have been trying to kind of fix the weird, "Don't want to write anything," spell that was cast on us without Onni, so we've begun writing together. Last night featured a pretty great dramatic hostage situation. The captors reminded me a lot of the Patron-Minette Gang from Hugo's Les Misérables. In addition, I got to write about plum liquor. While I've heard it tastes a lot like Pedialyte, I've had a slight fascination with plum liquor ever since attempting to make my own Umeboshi, and seeing how neat it looks with little salted plums suspended in it over ice.

Plus, Characters Who Drink Liquor are cool. They always seem aloof, carefree, and intriguing.

Same thing with people who smoke anything other than cigarettes, like a pipe or cigars!

Anyways, where was I?

Crap, I don't really remember where I was going with this, so I'll end-out on a Recipe for Life:

THE AMAZIN' FUCKIN' CHOICE MASTERPIECE

 (Serves the entirety of a Green Day cover-band audience)

Ingredients:

1 full Green Day Cover-Band (rotten, lyrics coarsely chopped)
½ day Sweltering Heat.

½ day Torrential Downpour

3 Frat Boys (pickled)  
Thunder and Lightning (deveined with regulating Government Agencies removed)
1 Wonderful Person on the Other Side of the Globe

1 Moon (full)

1 bout Roleplay

1. Preheat oven to 10—³²° Kelvin, and add Sweltering Heat. When contents erupt into a firey conflagration, reduce to a low boil and add Torrential Downpour.
2. Add Green Day Cover-Band and Frat Boys. Stir in Thunder and Lightning until amusing awestruck statements and love-ballads punctuate your boil.
3. Spoon the contents of your day over your pre-admired Wonderful Person on the Other Side of the Globe, and place the full Moon on top. This should bring out many wonderful facets and unexplored yet pleasant flavors of exciting bipolarity.
4. Garnish with a sprig of Roleplay. Serve thoroughly pleased, amused, and otherwise Fuckin' Choice.