Good day fine people and lurkers of the web!
As the Title suggests, I'll be revamping this blog and giving it a content makeover. Too much has happened in life and many things including my perspectives on life have changed. Due to this I'll be changing the focus of this blog to reflect said shift. I haven't written properly for a very, very long time and wasn't following my vision of the life I wanted for a good six years. Below is a sort of comprehensive list of things I'll consider writing about.
* Any major Cosplay projects
* LARP ( live action role play)
* Medieval fayre, period dress, festivals and events
* Archery
* Dungeons and Dragons 5e content (and other tabletop RPG related things)
* Character creation
* Console and/or PC gaming content
* General costuming
With the more nerdy side of things out of the way, I will be continuing my writing in other areas as work and life permits. I'm also happy to announce that I've started work on a new novel or series of novels and short stories that are more in line with the message I'm trying to convey. On top of this I will also be changing the look and layout from dark and obscure to inviting and approachable!
I truly hope you are all warm, healthy and safe during this global covid-19 pandemic!
Sincerely
Your Resident Chimera
Tuesday, 2 June 2020
Saturday, 28 September 2013
Here it is, your official teazer to 'Where Angels Fear' the novel I hope to have in print in the near future, feedback is welcome
“Don't you know that a midnight hour comes when everyone has to take off his mask? Do you think life always lets itself be trifled with? Do you think you can sneak off a little before midnight to escape this?”- Soren Kierkegaard
“Horror is the removal of masks”-Robert Bloch
Chapter 1: Summons
On the edge of the Thames bank, in the ruined city of Westminster. A small hooded figure sidled and slid lithely through the shuffling crowd of the busy dockside. The river edge smelt of smoked fish, manure and the sweat of workmen. An untidy array of makeshift tents stood hugged against the Victoria embankment, providing some shelter to vagrants and fishermen. Here the trading boats and fishing vessels unloaded their burdens. Crewmen dropping their crates of shipment noisily on the bank, and piling them high underneath the Waterloo Bridge; until they could be moved or sold. This was the unruly part of Old-town, and yet ironically the safest due to being close to the great wall and it's patrolling Lawmen. Tap-houses and brothels lined the streets. An atmosphere of wary suspicion perpetually enveloped these parts.
Beneath an overcast sky, Angela pulled the hood of her cloak closer, the scarlet locks of her hair bounced with every stride. The steel heels of her boots clicking on the concrete. The unusual color of her hair had always drawn attention, and she could feel the lascivious stares of men following her. Her rather tight-fitting suit was covered by her cloak, and yet did nothing to hide the inviting movements of her curves. Despite her provocative attire, the attention was unwelcome. Angela felt an uncomfortable pang rise in her lower abdomen as she sensed one of the older dockworkers had stood up from a crate; and had begun to follow her through the crowd. She was relatively known in these parts, known as a troublemaker and a sleuth. And had thus made many enemies . Her eyes darted from side to side uneasily, scanning the crowd for exit. She could feel the stranger's gaze burning into her back. Men and women criss-crossed in front of her, dirty children scampering underfoot. A shuttle bus hooted underneath the bridge and dock-hands hurriedly loaded small crates of fish, and other produce to be hauled to the Trafalgar-square bazaar.
Cloak lashing loosely about her as the wind picked up Autumn leaves from the concrete, and deposited them elsewhere. The bare limbs of trees swayed unstably, further enforcing a feeling of vulnerability, and uncertainty. She spied the uppermost floors of the Somerset house peering over the top of the Waterloo bridge, her destination. Quickening her pace, and lowering her head she moved through the crowd, attempting to leave the man behind. She weaved her way past fishermen and the common whores yelling bawdry at them. The air was pervaded by a constant industrial buzz of shouts and noisy conversation.
She passed underneath the shadow of the bridge, where crates of trade goods were stacked high.
Just then the Shuttle's engine sputtered weakly to a roar. Lurching forward, it passed directly behind her; obstructing her stalker's view. She heard the driver curse at him and hoot. Seizing the opportunity she flitted into the deepest shadows, where she was unseen. And waited. It was quieter here, a world almost removed from the din outside the shadow's sanctuary. Noises still filtered in and she could hear her pursuer’s footsteps smack against the tarmac, and echo as the sound bounced against the roof of the bridge. In these shadows she was safe, and it gave her a measure of certainty. From behind a crate, she could see him looking for her between the piles of cargo; and wondered what he wanted from her. On closer inspection she saw he wore a brown cloak, the hood of it was pulled back around his dark hair, that fell across his shoulders. His chin wore rough week old stubble. He seemed anxious and his gaze shifted from one crate to another while muttering to himself. Angela needed to hurry, Alistair, Grand Archivist to her guild , had called her back into his service. His office was located in what used to be the Somerset house. The compound was now occupied by the order she had belonged to for most of her life. The Watchers Guild.
Those who keep vigil. Keepers of secrets and guides in the dark.
For a moment she contemplated killing her pursuer, and idly slid her fingers over the hilt of one of her daggers. Angela didn’t particularly like killing outside of contract. It drew unnecessary notice, not to mention the mess. She needed to keep a low profile. So body count attached to a simple excursion; was out of the question. Angela made her choice. While he was looking the other way, she side stepped, her back hugging the wall. Slipping stealthily around the corner; and out from underneath the other end of the bridge.
Crashing into a couple who were joined at the arm, she hurriedly muttered an apology before the woman grabbed her wrist, Forcing Angela to look at her. “Angel?!” Exclaimed a familiar voice from a friendly face. It was her sister.
Cassandra's frizzy, Blonde shoulder-length hair; bobbed with excitement. “I was just looking for you doll! We have something to discuss” She continued, with a mock air of sophistication. It seemed her little sister was with a client. A stringy fresh-faced youth. Dressed in a stained cotton shirt, brown bowling hat and a worn waistcoat, that was undone at the clasps. He wore the rather blank, watery expression of a dim-wit. Regardless of this rather clueless and boozy appearance, his presence made Angela uncomfortable. Noticing this, Cassie flipped her little gloved fingers playfully on her client's arm, and leant forward. “But pe'haps not now” she whispered loudly, cupping her mouth with her hand, as if she planned to reveal a state secret. Her round red cheeks glowing with apparent drunkenness. “Sure Cass, anything you need” Angela said abruptly, remembering her pursuer. “I’ll come by the Flailed Wench later in the Eve”. The Wench was a haunt for most of the Dock locals, and sometimes escorts; like her sister. Angela could never understand why Cassandra didn’t stick to the more, upper-class clients that frequented her guild. Cassandra belonged the The Courtesans, It's guild-hall was a Bordello; run by a rather feisty Madame Velour. Cassie smiled broadly, and blew her older, darker sister a kiss before moving off.
Angela went on her way, before her stood The Somerset House. An imposing multiple story complex of late Gothic imperial architecture. It had been her home for many years, and that of her guild members. One of which had offered her an unspecified assignment. Moving down the blackened street;
Angela. Spy, assassin and Watcher, made her way towards it.
* * *
Taking a bite of a sour apple, it crunched in her mouth. Hesitating she watched movement in the streets below, swallowing slowly; the tangy fruit slid jaggedly down her throat. She sat on the edge of the roof amidst stone gargoyles, overlooking her balcony. Located in the Somerset House complex was her safe-house. It gave her an overview of the Thames, and served as a lookout for any activity in the streets below. With one heeled bootleg hanging over the edge, Angela casually leant back on one hand.
In the other she dangled the apple by its stalk. The rattling metallic sounds of industry carried on the wind through the old, run-down Westminster city. Plumes of smoke from workhouses in the distance, cast the clouded sky in mottled brown notes. She awaited a messenger from her superior, a summons to his office; and a briefing of her new assignment.
A single drop of rain fell on the hand grasping the apple stalk, and she brought it closer for inspection. The liquid slid lazily down her palm and splashed on the stone parapet on which she sat. Before long more joined it and they spotted the surface of the brick, staining it a darker shade of gray. A voice from inside her room woke her from the trance. She took one last bite of the fruit and tossed it over the edge for the birds. Scooting forward, she dropped down softly onto the balcony, and met the gaze of her bewildered messenger. Her call had finally come.
* * *
Angela accompanied her guide down the corridor, the wooden floors were scattered with Persian rugs. And they made her footfalls barely audible. The hallway was lined by multiple wooden doors on each side, and candles were mounted against the walls. Their flames wavered with her passing. The guide who summoned her to see Grand-archivist Alistair, wordlessly lead her way. It was Alistair's assistant and young nephew, Gregor. He was a quiet youth, and slightly built. His dark hair was slicked back, and he wore dark linen pants and a black button-up shirt that gave him the appearance of a little shadow preceding her. Angela had noticed Gregor attending a few concealment classes on the guild grounds, and wondered if he desired to become a sleuth like herself.
They came to the end of the hall where a door already stood slightly ajar. And she could see Manuscripts piled on a wooden desk. Faint candlelight trickled through into the hallway as Gregor came to a halt in front of the entrance. They could hear the shuffling of footsteps from inside. Her guide let out a startled yip when a hand grabbed the edge of the door. It swung open to reveal a graying man of sixty or seventy. Alistair sniffed at them and panted loudly. A droplet of perspiration rolled down his nose and he wiped it away with the edge of his sleeve. “Angela, you could not have come at a better time!” his blue eyes widened dramatically. “You summoned me, archivist?” Angela asked indifferently. “Yes yes, in you come then” Alistair waddled hurriedly out of the way to let them enter. Ushering them to seats opposite his, in-front of the desk. Gregor took a seat and peered around curiously, Alistair gave him a dirty look, making the boy recoil. Angela declined and walked to the open window facing the courtyard. Alistair's office was located in the upper north-west wing of the compound. Rain pelted the new Acolytes being initiated outside, and she heard their voices recite oaths despite the relentless downpour.
Angela turned to face them, leaning on the windowsill with arms crossed. The dim lights from outside making her seem little more than a hooded silhouette.”Excuse the mess, I'm preparing a lecture, you see?” She nodded curtly at this. Alistair shuffled around his desk among his papers for a second, before taking a seat and announcing that one of his maps, detailing that of the London underground railway tunnels; had been stolen. “It is unclear who may have done this, or why. As you well know, the Underground is no longer used for its original purpose...” Regaining himself, Alistair paused to adjust his monocle, and fold his hands on top of the desk. ”It now serves as living space for Old-towners who wish to escape the rigid restrictions enforced by the Paladins.” He continued matter-of-factly, in the tone of a teacher lecturing his students. Gregor glanced curiously at her at the mention of The Paladins, and she grimaced in disgust. Paladins were Elite enforcers ruled by an equally pseudo-religious fanatic, that everyone called 'the Bishop'. The Bishop held an almost absolute power, equal to that of a monarch. He and his boot-licking sycophants presided over Newlondon, and its overindulgent citizens. She had no love for The Bishop or the harsh laws he imposed from behind the safety of the Great Wall, a barrier to keep the poor out and the wealth in.
“Irrespective of the apparent unimportance of a loss like the one of this map, I assume you need me to investigate this?” Alistair seemed pleased at her inquiry. “ It would help set my mind at ease Angela. After all, if someone has had access to my personal books, they could have laid eyes on documents containing valuable secrets… some of which may already be missing.” Alistair sighed and sat back in his chair, he looked weary, and she decided to leave it at that. Angela stood upright to leave and turned to her superior. Alistair may not strike the most imposing physical presence, but she had the utmost respect for the man. “If there is nothing else, Grand-Archivist, may I take my leave to begin the assignment?” Alistair glanced at Gregor distrustfully and made the boy leave the room. His shoulders dropped, reluctantly Gregor dragged himself from his seat and slouched his way to the door, whining and muttering to himself all the while. Casting one last longing glance at her and Alistair, before closing the door behind him. “Good grief, that was a dramatic exit!” Angela chuckled. “ He's a good child, That Gregg, but sticks around far too long for comfort.” Alistair looked hesitant and a sign of concern flashed across his face. “He's your flesh and blood, and he admires you...One could even go so far as to say he aspires to be you.” He sighed and looked up at her. She had moved silently to his desk and her fingertips lightly touched the edge of the carved mahogany table. Angela stared down at him. “This task....” she paused, thinking ”Few outside the guild possess the necessary skills to bypass our safeguards unnoticed” she said with a slightly raised brow. “However, no possibilities should be left unexamined” withdrawing her hand, Angela turned abruptly, leaving Alistair to his Preparations.
© 2013 Nina Roux
Thursday, 26 September 2013
Joining Adsense!
Will soon be joining adsense, bringing you great adds from google, tailored to the specific Audience of Chimera Journals... WAtch this space
Wednesday, 25 September 2013
Previews to come soon: Where Angels Fear
With the writing of my new novel underway. I will be posting some sample pieces to whet your appetite for adventure, mystery and intrigue.
Novel title: Where Angels Fear
It is a sci-fi horror novel, the story is placed in an apocalyptic and futuristic Westminster City, London.
Cordoned off from the rest of the world. London is divided and at war with itself as two factions consisting of numerous guilds face off in a struggle for survival amidst a world rife with cult murders, crime, vice, disease, hedonism and deadly politics. Among the citizens of Oldtown, an impoverished faction. A Watcher and contract espion assasssin named Angela takes the stage as our enigmatic protagonist.
Unraveling clues to a murder that, at first, seems without motive: Leads Angela to the doorstep of a cult determined to tear down the foundations of what order remains in London. When an encounter with a sentient artifact sends Angela on the same trail as the Order of the sightless eyes, an occcultish brotherhood responsible for a disease that ravages the very mind of it's victim. London's sinister past is revealed and Angela races against time to maintain her own sanity.
Thursday, 22 August 2013
Sunday, 10 February 2013
The unnamed poem-By The Chimera
Since my absence lately has been nothing short of shameful i decided to post a piece I wrote a little while back,Make of it what you will,it has a profound personal meaning to me but what it means to you is up to you to decide, The poem is unnamed and will remain unnamed hence its theme of loss and confusion, I thought it was quite fitting.
art by Zdzisław Beksiński - 1972
Torn away from me, the I that was known to be
Struggling against an impassable tide
In fits and starts
Gasping
Ripped from the shore, not in sight, a doubtful vision
I swam out to sea
Pandemonium cries over the water
The others came, and filled my spaces with sand
Dust gave rise to beings
Torment their breath
Bedlam’s Genesis
Merry crowd
It tore at my knowing
Knowledge of what was
Lineages passed by my vision in a flash-flood of despair
An innocence lost to the imperative of survival
Ebb and flow back to land, bathed in its naked light, stillborn,
ripped from the womb and tossed squirming on the shore
gasping and prone, face pulled taught in horror
eyes wide in apprehension
the I that was, tore at skin
condemned I am
sealing cracks with brittle bone
before the levies break
The surges of they of me of we and us the nameless I
Raging …the writing on the door…
A sight given light
Ball and chain
No pleasure without pain
Loss before gain…spinning screaming carousel confusion...
again
and again
and again
A knock on the door..
Key in the lock..
Bury it
Bury It
Lock it away
Stash it away
Before you come crashing down.
Wednesday, 30 January 2013
Wednesday, 18 July 2012
Call of the Unknown
A Creative Visualisation
A cure for writers block, inability to focus on a task at hand. To open your mind by breaking down the walls created by anxiety and life in general.
That’s why I have compiled a list of visualisations and meditations (begin to visualise as you continue reading and allow your thoughts to stray in any direction, and therefore seek the weaknesses in the wall blocking you) this little visualisation is not meant to be anything ‘religious’ or meant to reach a so-called ‘higher-state’ …it’s little something I’ve written to help you reawaken a bit of creativity, And I hope it helps you along when you try to write, but just don’t feel up to it ( it’s a good visualisation if you want to kind of ‘reset’ and calm yourself…it’s a refresher.)
Without further ado:
“Creativity comes when we are Shaken from our rigid mindset”-TheChimera
The purpose of this meditation is to relax and subdue the chaotic interior into clarity, without taming your impulses, become the eye of the storm which around rages a hurricane of creativity. Be a catalyst to which all things are drawn .like static in the air before that storm, the smell of rain on the wind, alighting the senses to an almost predatory alertness, you shake with a mixture of fear and exhilaration as the cacophony of thunder draws near on the horizon.
The light flashes in a shadow of ominous clouds, Triggering recollection of something you thought lost. Awe.
Briefly you see an image outlined by the light in the sky and you know immediately that your being watched… you stand in the open, naked, alone and vulnerable. When the rain comes, you welcome it wholeheartedly …something draws near
Padding on silent feet …The unknown circles you as its prey…, you feel its eyes on you , digging into you so intently that you cannot help but feel an almost, juvenile violation…It weighs your worth, Disregarding your now fragmented self-image.
Hushed by its Authority. You hold your breath...and wait
It’s Cold-calculating intelligence, measuring your every feature…the low rumble of Its voice whispers secret knowledge, it offers understanding. It offers Clarity.
At a price,
You must survive its trials, and its assessment of your ability to wield its gift.
Are the rewards greater than the risks?…the risk of being forever irrevocably marred by what you will see?
The clarity is there, just beyond your reach, like a flicker of something moving in a dark room…just at the tip of your fingers, at your peripheral vision… The Unknown draws closer, so close, you can smell it. It smells mercurial and alien, like empty space. The Scent of its presence overwhelming you, drawing you in like a fly…You will be its student…You can hear its voice…closer now…A voice like crackling flames, with a hint of a hiss, like rising steam. Its presence is overpowering, staring you down. Daring you, to take up the challenge. You stand at a crossroads.
Apprehension building inside of you, an overflowing well, bursting. The Unknown shakes your very conscious, Its voice rises to a roar, Like the heating core of a volcano, you can feel its presence emanating toward you, pressing you closer to the edge of the cliff. Images of your dashed and broken and body flash into your mind…What if you fall?! And the prey that you are, gasps for familiarity and comfort struggling against the All-ambient presence of the Unknown, it scoffs at your cowardice. You are only its prey, its humble student,
For now…
It casts your Illusions of safety aside, With an electric Nova The Unknown edges you closer. One final blast sending you over. It lets loose a psionic scream that echoes inside your scull, reverberating throughout your nerves and synapses, driving you over the edge of your wit.
You plummet.
Crashing through layers of an ethereal, planar world.
The sound of its voice rages above your panic. And you turn to its faceless Embrace
Reach outward, upward towards an infinite space… a space so unimaginably vast it dwarfs you into irrelevance…a space so infinite, that it becomes an intimidating, imposing nothing… it’s the elegant mechanism of stars… where time slips by, drop by drop and a fury of ages dances a dance of creation and destruction, within an endless cycle
…The heavens open, and the trickle of rain becomes a downpour that comes crashing down… Drink It in greedily…hungry for more of the Unknown, Fill yourself… be Reborn, sated…The Tide rises…you cannot control it, rising as the water pulls you, wrenching you away from the shore, from everything you know… forming into a cosmic tidal-wave towering above you, casting a menacing shadow over you, blocking the sun…threatening to consume…as everything you know comes crashing around you in a torrential land-slide.
You cannot escape its omnipotence, your fear of its immensity will never subside, The Unknown will always be a lurking shapeless figure… It is an unearthly hunter, and you its finite prey…You are merely a momentary tool of Its devices…for such is befitting you. The Unknown knows no alliegance.
Until it decides to toy with you again…like a rat scurrying frantically, gripped with terror through a maze that it could never hope to comprehend.
It will break, just to build. It will re-mould you in its limitless, indescribable, indecipherable, shapeless shape.
But just for now…it allows you a glimpse, a parting gift.
It is creativity, it is genius in the womb…you will conceive it. It will be your tulpa, your thoughtform and you will be its genitor.
(See the ‘Aspects of Chimera’: chapters-for a continuation of this lesson.)
TheChimera
Monday, 16 July 2012
Literary musing on Dante’ Alighieri’s infernal dream and the hint of evil that inspired it.
(Read at your own discretion)
Let the cymbals sing, sing above the cacophony, let it reach out above the clouds in its defiance, let it roar out above the cry of the tormented, sing the song of ancient truths, once so familiar in its tune, a melody recalled off by heart, let its echo rattle the stars from their spheres and come crashing down in a rain of fire and hail. Shaking the oh-so sturdy foundations of your security, an illusion you create ... Let it bring about your inherent understanding of some unknown incomprehensible force that once you knew so well, a childish fear that you now scoff at, a truth unblemished by your ‘adult’ reasoning, the fear of the thing going bump in the night…, a terror that knew no limit, boundless in its authority.
Hell
And those that dwell within
The legion that is many
Those that are known by no name other than their own forsaking
Let the curtains rise
The applause ring out for…
Canto Finale’
(First encounter of the thirteenth kind)
(Forgive me if I get off track, my mind has a mind of its own and that one a mind of its own, like the opposing reflections of two mirrors coinciding with each other and reflecting back on one another. Two parallel spaces , and they tend to argue a lot.)
And ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you mad. ~Aldous Huxley
The space around you darkens; the air thickening with an intangible corruption… a sickness hangs there, like a veil that announces the presence of something other
The very antithesis of humanity
The unknown circling like a flock of vultures feasting on turgid flesh in varying stages of putrefaction…a presence rank with revulsion, piling the disembowelled corpses…fed on the sin of man.
A dark decadence…
Modern man has foolishly tried to understand the incomprehensible…to put into human, mundane terms ‘that which is’ beyond description.
The result is a half-cocked fetish-isation of darkness, evil, of death and unimaginable horror that should scare the crap out of you…, grasping nothing but frail straws to comfort yourself, crafting a vision of beauty bestialized and beast beatified. You’re a fool to think they care.
Hell is not to be fucked with. That’s why you follow your primal almost animalistic impulse to flee to the safety of your bedcovers whenever faced with true terror.
Take but a glimpse and your lost…without even getting your foot in the door. Your own humanity grants you no access to their realm, the kingdom of forsaken creation.
Forsaken a little lower than those angels. Suspended in limbo. Forever in shame, without reprieve. The absence of all hope and all your foolish security that held together the scraps of mortality in life. Evil smears it in the excrement of mockery. Denying you clarity with every step it takes towards its ever –present domineering.
A place where your body is broken beyond all possibility, in an infinite cycle , the torment of knives , and cold steel biting the flesh to spill all that you where before, amidst stinking sulphur. In the dust.
There is no solace here. And you will find none.
Evil is not a mindless thing. It is cunning and intelligent. It is beyond you, and well aware of this fact.
The only weapon you have is the free-will not to choose it. But even that can be sub-diverted by masquerading as light…but when all those illusions are stripped away, it’s found as a terrible truth concealed as a beautiful lie. Time to face the infernal music.
It seeks to dominate mind and will. Hell is alive with this , the very embodiment of damnation.
To be continued…
Friendship
Kindly requested by a friend , you know who you are :P
The question is, Why?
Why seek out the companionship of others when, at times solitude is much more convenient, and less demanding of our time?
Yet some choose the path of the recluse and others seem to mingle, unbridled by inhibition, as a pack animal would. Instinct drives us, to seek out the acknowledgement of others of our kind.
Friendship, true friendship,( and the seeking thereof) is fundamentally an issue of individual moral fibre.
This brings me to my next point.
The maintenance of friendships, hell, ANY relationship is no doubt an exhaustive and draining process, that continues to wear on your nerves for the duration of the relationship.( and if this doesn’t sound like any of your friendships, then your one lucky duck.) No relationship is ideal, and if it is, you’re either fooling yourself or it’s simply not real. But it all comes down to the worth we place on ourselves and each other, the VALUE that the individual presents to you.
Some disregard friendship as nothing but an aesthetic accessory, a trophy that reflects their own selfish personal image. Kind of like saying “hey!...look what I can get”. These treat others merely as an extension of themselves, having no meaning outside of this function of being their friend. But this is an extreme case.
On the other end of the spectrum of extremes, there are those who endeavour to empathise with others to an extent where it becomes their all-consuming passion, these are the loyal dogs. They seem to be able to read your mind, because they relate to you in every possible aspect.
We have the in-betweeners of course, they tend to lean more to complacence rather than out rightly defying either extreme, they are the epitome of indifference. In simpler terms: they just don’t give a damn.
Indifference is a pestilence; it is the rival of all that is action and ambition. It is a lack of choosing anything definite. Here is where the danger lies within relationships (friendship in this case) it is not familiarity, but indifference that breeds contempt, a trait often seen among those with a dependant/co-dependant personality type. Familiarity, along with patience (A LOT of it) breeds understanding.
It is up to the individual to decide whether or not companionship is worth the effort of going the mile.
Keep in mind that the reaction of others depends partly on the action you take toward them. The pattern of anyone’s fate is only partly contrived by the individual. But within that small slither of possibility, it is up to you to decide what to make of it in the end. Are you going to dismiss others coldly as nothing but passing scenery?...Are you going to frustrate the efforts of others by falling into indifference …Could you see reality through their eyes in an effort to understand your fellow man?… Could some small part of you be devoted to something other than yourself?
With all my love
TheChimera
Monday, 11 June 2012
Aspects of Chimera- the many-shaped
Awaken your individual aspects so that you may reach a higher function of each.
Like a many-faceted jewel cut by the skilful hand of The Creator. You are the exquisite product of His design, and you contain many aspects.
Disclaimer: I will not overstep my boundaries by trying to convert you to MY beliefs; I will not impose my will on you. Your search for the truth is your own. My goal is merely to encourage it, to give you a gentle nudge out the door. My purpose is to bring you out of your comfort zone.
Aspect of Fire
(my letter to you)
‘I want my trials, because the pain, the fight, the silence leading up to the storm, where I beat against gale-force winds and an impossible tide, makes me feel alive. Pain is the oil that fuels the fire of my drive for life.’
Fire purifies like no other element can. It changes ore into gold, like an alchemical miracle. You may pass through fire and wild depths until you reach a place of quiet in your soul, a place of solace and peace in your mind…but not before that friction consumes you, the undeniable truth that you were not as strong as you thought you were…as hard as it may be to swallow at the time.
But this…these trials will become the source of your new strength. The sharpness of steel can only truly be tested in the heat of the forge.
‘Have you ever stood very close to a fire? So close that you can feel its heat scorching away the moisture on the surface of your skin, until you are forced to back away from the beating heat. The moment you pull away from the fire, you are cold…and seek its trials once more.’
This will be a true strength, a kinetic force, a drive for things, a force that that pushes every conceivable weakness aside with its devastating but comforting heat.
‘Paradoxical though it may be, only that man is at rest who attains it through conflict. This peace, born of conflict, is not like the deadly hush preceding the tempest, but the serene and pure-aired quiet that follows it.’-anon.
‘Shall I refuse to drink the cup of sorrow which my father has given me to drink?’- jhn18:11
Because it is only after your trials and tests, do you understand, only then can you truly grasp the worth of peace. Fire fills you with a drive for life, to exist fully… To consume every second of your time on this earth with an almost desperate hunger- A fire that knows that it is mortal.
With sincerity
Me :)
Saturday, 26 May 2012
the month is coming to a close...it sure was fun but we are gonna have choose a new topic for the upcoming month...no more MI related topics...(unless by reqeust ofcourse...and the ocaisional rant...maybe)...but come now guys..this blog isnt all about me...Let me know what topics YOU would like for the next months...and i'll brew something up
Friday, 25 May 2012
My favourite quotes on madness
(if it makes sense to you too then were two peas in a pod..fresh green ..crunchy peas)
No excellent soul is exempt from a mixture of madness. ~ Aristotle
The great proof of madness is the disproportion of one's designs to one's means. ~ Napoleon Bonaparte
Show me a sane man, and I will cure him for you. ~Carl Jung
Though this be madness, yet there is method in't. ~Polonius, Shakespeare's Hamlet
For a while the reveries provided an outlet for his imagination; they were a satisfactory hint of the unreality of reality, a promise that the rock of the world was founded securly on a fairy's wing. ~The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitxgerald
And ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you mad. ~Aldous Huxley
Isn't sanity just a one-trick pony anyway? I mean, all you get is that one trick--rational thinking--but when you're good and crazy, well, the sky's the limit! ~The Tick
The toughest time...in anyone's life...is when you have to kill a loved one just because they're the devil. ~Emo Phillips
We are all agreed that your theory is crazy. The question which divides us is whether it is crazy enough to have a chance of being correct. My own feeling is that it is not crazy enough. ~Niels Bohr
You say 'Sit down, you're rocking the boat!'; I say 'Are you afraid of getting wet?' ~niebert
Another quote on Insanity by-Pirsig 1991
"Insanity on the other hand is an intellectual pattern. It may have biological causes but it has no physical or biological reality. No scientific instrument can be produced in court to show who is insane and who is sane. There's nothing about insanity that conforms to any scientific law of the universe. The scientific laws of the universe are invented by sanity. There's no way by which sanity, using the instruments of its own creation, can measure that which is outside of itself and its creations. Insanity isn't an "object" of observation. It's an alteration of observation itself. There is no such thing as a "disease" of patterns of intellect. There's only heresy. And that's what insanity really is."
Thursday, 24 May 2012
Silent rage
by TheChimera- thats me :)
Disenchanted with this life
stale
stagnant
Blank slate
complacent frustration like the wrathful of Styx
bubbling beneath the surface
insatiable hunger to rage
met halfway with your indifference
your selfish indifference
prodding at my paper-thin patience
my cries for action are met by a disregarding shrug from your shoulders
a mockery of my efforts to breathe beneath the weight of this
my stuttering breath
struggling to contain this
clenching fists
exhale
...I’ve left this off for far too long
Rage against you, with every step
My inconceivable silent rage against you
It is only whispered on the corners of my lips,
a grimace
but
In my heart it is a Terrible maelstrom
rage against you, silent rage against you.
mirrored only in the flash in my eyes
Aspects of Chimera- the many-shaped
Awaken your individual aspects so that you may reach a higher function of each.
Like a many-faceted jewel cut by the skillfull hand of The Creator. You are the exquisite product of His design, and you contain many aspects.
Disclaimer: I will not overstep my boundaries by trying to convert you to MY beliefs; I will not impose my will on you. Your search for the truth is your own. My goal is merely to encourage it, to give you a gentle nudge out the door. My purpose is to bring you out of your comfort zone.
Aspect of Balance
You see it every day, wherever you go; People accentuate the parts of themselves that they perceive to be more acceptable to the outside
Blowing it out of proportion, to mask the parts they don’t like or find unpalatable…Living a lie will eventually cause you to believe it yourself, accepting a facade in certainty will cause you to become a perfection-obsessed insincere shell of a person that will cease to grow in character.
Obsessing over your qualities and hiding your faults however, will not save you from the truth. Not to mention you will be nurturing imbalance in character in the process.
I don’t deny that aesthetics are a necessary part of a healthy everyday life, Art for example is beautiful to the eye, but meant to awaken depth and provoke thought on a less superficial level
Such a shame that our world has taken this overboard to where beauty is taken to ludicrous extremes and losing its inherent message in the process. Beauty is no longer treated subjectively as it should be.
The global mind-set has become phony. It’s all about whose seen where and wearing what, talking this or that egotistical crap about themselves. They become empty and over time, perfect the art of saying nothing in a thousand words, your words reflect who you are, sometimes we speak the wrong words when we are influenced by the wrong things, and always regret projecting the wrong impression. We are all victims at our own hands, subject to our folly. Break free, and the only way to do this is to face the music, so to speak.
Stop trying to accommodate the world and its narcissistic views by becoming like it. Let the world see your flaws in all honesty, let them form their own opinions based on the truth, and you will find yourself gradually surrounded by less and less lies.
Find balance within your life by prioritising the things that do matter , and break contact with the things and people that don’t. to be balanced you cannot be fragmented into pieces of what you are and things you think you should be, Face yourself as a whole without making unnecessary impressions that you will have to take back later; because they turned out to be untruthful. After all if you always lie to yourself about who you are, how could you ever expect to be honest to others?
Build a foundation of truth on where to lay your identity.
As dealt with in the previous chapter ‘Illusions’, I will have supplied you with some of the necessary tools to accomplish this with. Get rid of unnecessary clutter from your life, it’s simple but effective.
Identity is to some, a mind-set, and it is this mind-set you project to the outside, when you project falsely… you become a magnet for the wrong things and people. If you find yourself caught in a bad habit, you CAN change… But growth is stunted by our own stubbornness and the rigidity of our ways.
Be become our thoughts. Our thoughts direct our every action. Take control of the wheel. With BOTH hands.
I leave you with this to think about…
The only ‘spinning out of control’ that you should be doing… is in the flight of freedom.
( see ‘aspects of Chimera ‘)-for the continuation of this lesson
Next chapter
Aspect of Fire
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