Red Wine Soliloquy

It is your choice.

So an idea comes to me, it can come from any place, something I see, or hear or anything. They come from all over. Then I have the idea and I start to think about it, expand it out modify it based on what I have been thinking about lately, or any other number of internal or external influences. The idea grows and changes, and very often leaves behind whatever source may have sparked the idea. So by the time I am thinking about this for long enough to convince myself it is funny, and laugh loudly to myself it has most likely gone through several stages of development, so asking me what I am laughing at often times leaves me in a situation where I am forced to make something else up, as an explanation would surely tear a hole in space time. Or something.

So that is why I laugh to myself.

Or sometimes mumble half a sentence.

Because I have gone insane, the words change but the meaning is still the same. The reputation of repetition echoing endlessly back on it self though corridors and halls. The walls and ceilings creaking cracking lacking the insight brought by visions of the possible probable paradox of passings. Of what thought, of what unthinkable paradigms could come such clutter clamouring, chanting calling, down, down, down and away.

So I have started playing halo again.

Before I went tree planting last summer I switched my controller configuration from the standard keyboard mouse configuration to the classic Legacy configuration. The bonus to this control style is that it splits the movement and look controls between the two joysticks to allow for a more fluid sweeping movement and ultimately more accurate sniping. Now when you have been a computer gamer for as long as Sean, and when a substantial number of games are only available with the mouse and keyboard configuration, it is understandable that switching mid career to a wholly new control style is a bit of a hurtle.

It is however not insurmountable. I spelt insurmountable correctly on my first try! You see back in the day there was this crazy system that introduced this crazy thing call the thumb stick. Then they came out with the crazy game for it called 007 Golden Eye. The thumb stick allowed first person shooters to be taken to the next level so to speak. There was however only one thumb stick, which ultimately resulted in the strafe and vertical axis control to be pushed over onto the buttons leaving the thumb stick to control momentum and the horizontal axis. It was a control configuration designed out of necessity, and lives on today as Legacy. Snipers Choice.

What is the point of all this? Memory of course! When you are in a stressful situation you regress with the stress ultimately meaning that when bullets and rockets are flying all over the place and instinct takes over, instinct still thinks I am playing with a mouse. Instinct twists me around the wrong way slams me into a wall and gets me shot. It does not make sense to split the control of the axis when you have two thumb sticks! Why can you not just get a mouse for your xbox! So I have to force myself to stop, relax and think. I think back to playing bond, I think about what it feels like to walk around corners, to run circles around some one you were attempting to put holes into. I think, I relax and and it comes to me. I regain control and hopefully not into a bullet this time.

I have memories I cannot remember. Some of these things I say are nothing but something some one else said to me before. I cannot remember being told, or who told me these things, but at the right moment, at the right instant the memory will surface just enough for me to quote it, and I will call it my own.

You are the only person I have even come close to being honest with.

I have never really been of the persuasion that suicide is always the worst outcome. I am sure that there are people who have gone on living to do great evils and unforgivable wrongs after they stepped down off the stool. I am also a big proponent of choice. If you think your situation is so unbearable you are probably right. My solution to the mood swinging Sunday night slitter is that if you wanted to end your life so badly you should be willing to starve your self to death. Eating disorder any one?

I am the terror that flaps in the night,
That Kentucky Fried Chicken that wasn't quiet right,
I am Dark Wing Duck.

Uehen gonna eat that

I am the kind of person who would feel ethically obligated to reject any woman who had received breast enlargement surgery.