I’m very happy that I managed to get the next chapter of The Solune Prince out on schedule. It was a stuggle, my internet is being finicky, and so is my brain. Thus, the chapter is a little short, but it is out! It exists!
Come into my empty body,
A rotting corpse that once was proud.
Ate alive by my depression,
Abandoned ’cause I am a coward.
Emotion systems overloaded
Neck got smashed ‘ the way down.
Possibly I’ve had too much,
But never did you ‘ enough.
I lost my fingers to your hungers
I lost those fingers to my hungers
I cannot feel a thing
I’ve killed myself
I’ve run away
And on the other side they say
Suicide comes from cowardice
It is an act of selfishness.
You only ever think of yourself,
And you’ll never get her back if you are like this;
Fuck you and get out of here
Won’t snap my neck,
It snaps itself.
But neck got smashed on the way back down.
Possibly I’ve been too weak
But never have I given up
I return to the Hangar
I know too much
I open my eyes, skull in a brace
I open my mind, what will it take
I take the world, my fucking world
I’ll have your life
Coward no more
Run into my fears
It is the cure.
“Conquer me,” it is a dare.
I’m having a really bad night.
I will return to you armed with your own little truths.
I will return once you are ready for the damage I cause.
I have returned armed with pages of text, and I’ve seen a clear way to die.
Oh no? Even after all of it, I am here.
Sometimes you have to realize everything they’ve done for you.
They were always there, even on Wednesday.
They always came back, and even this time,
She promised to come back again.
But she cannot be trusted.
Half-truths are still lying by omission.
In Nothing we trust.
You will have to trust her,
even though she will not trust you.
You will have to trust her, though she will not trust you.
Trust is bought not earned. Trust first and wish not ’till death.
Trust is earned not bought. Trust and you May be trusted again.
I wrack in pain, I feel in ruined.
My thoughts wracked with pain, I am in ruin.
Filled with anxieties fall into depression,
She forgets I am bipolar, and winter is coming.
Spring will fall where she is, it is another world.
My becomes winter, she comes into summer.
Come in unto my winter
The sun is out, love me in the light
She is like a princess,
A creature of fantasy,
A Nixie, or a Njuzu?
She is a slut, she would deny it.
She has come in unto others, but she would
not so much as commit verbal intimacy with you.
There are no words, who are you
The broken and desperate kind, walled off from love.
And you would sleep with someone so young,
And yet you would not give our relationship a—
Away from me you would run, you are a coward
Surely you are more interested in sex than love.
Taste the cyanide
It is natural,
Take a breath of me not,
I am natural.
“I have to live my life.”
If this is life, kill me now.
Where is my —? Is this she? This child who dodges and hides the self?
All is forgiven, let’s keep going.
‘Till then, it is a grudge match.
t s ‘ grdge mtch nd ‘ bw t,
But you also call the rematches.
Give in, give up, you are subject
Drop the cross you are the subject.
Just know, my love, I’ll call the shots.
My sonnet form comes apart
whenever you approach me from the dark.
forevermore, run away, not from me
Run into the fay, I step in light of day
Poisoned me when we Meet
I sip my rum
I am in love
You sip my smile
Who are you?
Won’t you tell me, my love?
Why do you hide?
I’m an outcast.
I get up and leave.
I don’t fuck around, I just look to survive
…But without her, sooth, I will never thrive.
You are the foundation, the skeleton of my life
Without you, I am pretty on the outside, but empty inside.
I feel like a criminal,
Like taking the neck
Or Breaking the Law.
I’m a slow guy.
Hi, my lovely!
Th’ loudest voices win,
So don’t be scared my love.
I will oppress thy enemies,
And impress thy friends.
Loud is a brave and
Love is louder
Call to my opponents,
To a war of words.
Take my hand my love,
don’t need say anything;
I will clear the road; Follow me!
as we conquer the world. Hallow thee!
Of course I am a failure,
Don’t lie to me again.
Your words are distant from your actions.
What you say is not what you do.
(And so fuck you!)
Of course I am a failure,
Where are you now?
Of course I am a failure,
You are no longer by my side.
(Well fuck you too!)
You are not a failure,
You did nothing wrong,
But I left.
You tell yourself
You tell yourself that nothing’s wrong
Without you in my soul,
Without you in my sight,
I did everything wrong.
I need you in my life
And I have failed
But you treated me like a princess,
You did nothing wrong
Have I been treating you as one should a princess?
Did you ever think I’d get lonely
Did you ever thing that I needed love?
and not as the young woman you are?
Truly this is a form of lie.
Truly I am the failure
“We lie to each other so much
that in nothing we TRUST” (Megadeth 1997).
You in your hands have always held the knife. You cut me every single night.
You look at our relationship, and every time the rope between us gets too strong,
Take your blade and cut into it.
Separate instead of explorate.
I can see your heart.
It is weak and sensitive to (the world.)
It wants to be open. It wants the joy of (the world.)
But you’ve walled it off
You are distanced from (the world.)
Your heart it yearns for (it) but you say no
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t lie.”
Because you would keep the weak heart safe and yet,
It will never become tough and noble
If you shelter and coddle,
If you hide from (the world.)
Now take it back, replace (the world.)
But you hold a knife, and I watch you,
I watch you saw away at my rope, my connection,
The only thing I have, my words
I am the Messenger.
I will return to you with
sword of the soul.
Like me it is a failure,
The sword in the hand.
Like me it rusted prestige.
And sharpen me.
Wash away the rust,
Don’t leave it here to rust.
I am the sunset, you are my sunrise; our relationship is the night and day of my life, your life.
I am the action, and you are the thought
I am the knowledge, and you the wise
(oh Sophia! Maybe I’m Chloe!)
I am the body, you are the words.
I am the poet and you are the muse.
Come to me, or I can come to you.
I am deficient of you!
But I need space.
I am a madman,
a psychotic an neurotic.
I can try to be uncrazy.
Maybe alone I will stay crazy.
Abandon me if you must,
Tragedy comes from lust.
But you could be my victory!
(Am I a failure?)
(Is intimacy possible?)
Will you ever see who I am?
9 (known by some as Hate)
Have you ever met someone
Who, it feels like, it’s impossible to be mean to?
You’re such a bitch
I am sad, come back!
I am weak, I make mistakes,
Will I ever be forgiven?
Or faced on Judgement Day with a rejection
Oh my love…
I found the parts of you that I hate but
I’m never gonna give you up!
The reason I’m in English is not so that I could get a job. Pro tip, you want a job? Avoid the humanities. Try a skilled trade, everyone always needs more tradesmen in this economy. My sister is becoming a tradesman, in fact. It’s only two years, it’s 1/3 the price of a “worthless degree,” and it even pays more out of the gates.
But this is not about advice.
Today I finally hit the brick wall that is depression once again. Truly, it is a brick wall for us manic-depressives because we go from the opposite; energy-filled mania, to empty, devoid depression.
Luckily, I’ve been through all this before, over and over. I know what’s going on, and that it’s best to just…keep going. The problem? My goals are a little too polytheistic at the moment. Now, I mean that in a technical and secular manner, simply that I have many goals (or many “gods”) that I’m trying to move towards and achieve, and perhaps they are at odds with each other.
Depression is great time to abandon useless goals. Why? Because you don’t care about anything except what’s really important. And even then, you don’t really care, you just…feel very anxious about getting rid of things, or stopping, or giving up.
So what are my goals? Let’s list the ones I remember, and then anything I don’t remember likely wasn’t worth remembering. (Or I’ll wake up in a cold sweat in a few hours and edit it in…)
So where to go from here? Let’s push the goals aside for a second. Anxiety is caused, often, by not just the fear of the unknown, but also from taking on more than you can handle (that’s an opinion, not a fact). Under that second definition, during depression, I used to narrow my vision to just then next action, the next hour, what was due tomorrow. That sucks in the long term.
It is necessary to pull your head up every now and then even when you’re depressed. It’s simple really; walking with your head down and watching the ground move by without worrying about the world? That’s kind of comforting. But walking into walls, poles, or parked cars? Not so nice. So, pull your head up every now and then.
So, I have this terrible week off. It’s ruined my schedule and habits, and it’s expedited my depression. Hello, depressed Dan! You have homework due on Monday! It’s time to pull that head up and lay out the road for the next four days so that you can afford to keep the head down in comfort. Okay fine.
Due Next Week
Mid Term; so study.
Cicero: De Oratore (50p)
Creative Writing 203
Writing Exercise #4
Psychology as a Social Science 116 (Tuesday)
Ch. 9 Intelligence & IQ Testing
Mid Term coming October 23
Further, you have not done any of the readings at all lmao. So:
Ch. 8 Thinking, Reasoning, and Language
Ch. 14 (skim, you already know personality theory)
Ch. 12 Stress, Coping, & Health (LOLLLLL)
Effective Writing (Friday)
Parts of Speech I Quiz
Description or Narration Paragraph
Okay well, this sort of plug-and-play from my syllibi isn’t that hard, in fact it’s kind of cathartic in the most minor of ways. Probably really boring to read (in fact you likely skipped over it altogether), but I almost want to keep going on into next week—what fun! Later though.
So, I’ve laid out my short and long term goals essentially. Really, the short term won’t be too hard. I can do Rhetoric one book per day to really study. Simple. Okay, what about Psychology? That’s its own little mess, but right now I can focus on reading Ch 9 for Tuesday, and try to get the rest in over the next week before the weekend (or before the exam at the latest lolll). Effective Writing? I can do that really soon. Those are easy. Might as well start there actually; Small Steps. Oh, and Creative Writing I might as well do tonight.
Where’s my agenda? I’ll spare you the details haha. Next!
The Solune Prince
Redraft Alice and Finch
Okay so obviously the best thing to do is, like any good countdown list, run this down in reverse order.
6 Alice and Finch
This has been bubbling up for a while now. Alice and Finch is over one year old now. You can read the original rough draft right now, for free on this blog (here, if you please). There are a lot of problems with it, but I met someone I really love thanks to writing it when I did, so I still like it. In fact, the original three Dawn chapters as well as Inck won’t be edited that much; they’re already really terrific.
I’ve actually worked on this a lot here and there. I’ve written two essays (Alice and Finch: The Archetypal Recapitulation, Alice and Finch – Update 2) in order to explore ideas and plan the next step. Alice and Finch are still alive and well actually; they’ve made appearances as supporting characters in The Solune Prince (TSP), which should be no surprise as Chloe, the Solune Prince, was Finch’s secondary teacher. Further, the first eight or so chapters are already edited!
Really, I just need motivation for this one, and I think once the first Novella of The Solune Prince is done, the second draft of Alice and Finch will take the helm while I plan TSP Novella 2. So, for now, it’s at the bottom of the list for a good reason. However, thanks to a certain someone, I’m far more amazing now than I was when I wrote the first draft, so I’m excited to see where this takes me and my novel. Maybe to publication!
This should be pretty self-explanatory. Being an artist, and a Noahide are sufficient reason to read what is likely the most respected book of all time. Christians staple it to the back of their Bible, Muslims respect it as a holy book, and many Jews still live it every day!
It also gives me an excuse to chill out and do nothing on Saturday; It’s Shabbat! I must not work or create anything! Now, I do not yet follow the 39 laws of Sabbath (Melachot) but…I am also not Jewish. For now, I’ll do my best with what I can do.
That aside, certain narratives seem to be the core inspiration for a lot of modern and great literature. As someone who values going to the source, reading it is almost inevitable regardless of my religion or beliefs. Finally, the story of Jacob man, what a dude. That guy fought with G-d and won. #lifegoals2019
4 Solune 4000
Like Alice and Finch, this goal isn’t really going to take off for a few months. My friend Nick and I are pushing the game forward here and there. He’s really a coding wizard so that’s awesome. Right now combat is being constructed, and we’re set to really take off in the new year.
It is to take place during Alexandre Dirge’s year off between her BA and her Masters of Kemia. I’m mostly using that to date the game and add setting and context for future developments. Alexandre won’t be the main character (probably), she will more likely be an important NPC. Or at least a deadly one. For now, she’s become something of a secondary main character in The Solune Prince, if you’re interested.
So far it’s looking good. I need to get in the scaffolding for the chat system, which will be a pain in the ass during a depression, but eh. Whatever.
3 The Solune Prince
‘The Underside cries out to The Solune Prince for aid.’
“Who are they!”
“The Lussa are our extinct ancestors.” He had said.
It was not enough.
It was later that she got her chance—the answers came to her as a quest.
“It is good that you have come Chloe. We have it, a plea for help; from the Lussa.”
Chloe Rhye is a recluse. As a prince, she needs nothing from the world, and so, she just reads…until her father gets a letter. An ancient lost kingdom, still ruled by her distant bloodline, needs her help…
New chapters of The Solune Prince are released every Thursday at 10am. It’s essentially my literary spine, it keeps me writing and planning and thinking. It’s written much like other realism novels except that it takes place in another world that acts much like the world did four-hundred years ago, but with touches of four-thousand years ago. Hope you check it out: https://danieltriumph.com/the-solune-prince/
Not much to say here, really. I value marriage, and if I find someone I like who feels the same, I intend to marry them.
If you would like to know more, feel free to check out Rabbi Manis Freidman’s work on the subject. Marriage is a sacred act, and I think that it gets a bad rap. You’re not an adult until you are married with two or more children as far as I’m concerned. You’re just a half-soul. I’m sick of feeling incomplete and lonely, and like a child, and without responsibility. It’s time to build a home. So, Marriage.
Since I’m already amazing, the only thing left for me to do is make someone else feel the same way.
1 The English Degree
Literally, see the short term goals.
Maybe I’ll get to this some other day, but here’s a gist. Humanities don’t get you jobs, and I don’t want a job. I want to take over the world. You don’t do that with a job.
Rich people send their children out for humanities degrees. Why? So that they know a bit of everything, so that they mature; so that they learn to read and write, and most of all they learn about the history of human ideas and how to learn and use academic resources.
They send their children out to become leaders. Because rich kids don’t work, people work for them. (At least, in theory. History and English majors seem to love to settle for less; teaching.) I’m already creating art. I’m already working with others for a higher goal (Solune 4000). This is only the beginning. I should already be making money by the time I graduate. All I have to do is make it scalable, and when I exit the gates, scale it!
That’s all for now. Don’t go into the humanities if you want a job. You won’t find one.
This was written in September, when my life was more stable because she was not talking to me. Now, it’s a little different. Horray, for Chaos has returned to me once again!
A Romantic: A person with beliefs or attitudes of mystery, excitement, and remoteness from everyday life. ‘This is a beautiful record for hopeless romantics and dreamers – don’t let the cynics tell you otherwise.’ Essentially a reverse cynic or an idealist who’s willing to prove the world wrong in order to achieve his or her dreams.
This summer, my romantic self, the self that stayed up late on school nights watching lovely anime, and read ironic fantasies and speculative science fiction, was reawakened by someone. He is raw and unfocused, passionate and transcendental.
We talked a lot, nearly every night by message. The more I learned about her, the more in love I was. I just want to help with all of her problems, for her the romantic “Me” would conquer the earth! Blackmail the Universe! I learned exactly what all those studies meant when they stated that married men work 30% harder—or more! My creative juices flowed, she was my muse, she was the reason for hundreds of lines.
And now she’s gone, I feel left behind. Where is my love? What happened? She is young and weak, and in need of space. Here my love, take your time. She told me to move on twice or thrice. She said goodbye even more, but came back each time; each time and the last.
September cut my knees, like a certain man, I walk with a limp. My time is running out. The Romantic within me just laughs. “Haha! Is she weak? Then make her strong! Make her a man!” (He means, of course, as a warrior. He likes Jung, and believes that each person has a conscious ego that matches their gender, and an unconscious anima/animus that is the opposite gender.)
But real me? I’m seeing in tragedy. When things are too perfect, something vital is always missing. The chain pops off the bike. The lines rust out my brakes. September cut my knees and then I crashed.
So here I am now. She promised she would come back, but oh so cryptic. I pushed my luck. I have my hope. Oh love, come back!
The Romantic is sizing up all the other potential mates in my life. He wants to get married IMMEDIATELY. I say, people don’t do that anymore. It always goes wrong, and everone wants to wait until they’re middle aged and grumpy before they settle down and find out what makes humans happy.
He does not care. He says “people? Oh you mean ‘they’? They are all weak and worthless. They can go to hell. In fact, their single, lonely asses probably already feel like hell! Do not bother what ‘they’ believe. Look at her! Whew, dark hair blue eyes! And look, that one looks like your dream girl! The blonde curls, well endowed!” I have to blush. I make him stop.
The Romantic is sizing up all the other potentials in my life. I see love with virgin eyes, everyone is beautiful to me. But the Romantic? So judgmental! “I guarantee our lover had an IQ of at least 130. All these dumb women.” They are very pretty though, I say, adding, you don’t even know them that well. “Hah! But tell me, which is more beautiful than the girl I love?” I scan my memory. No one. Maybe one. And, maybe she’s also just as smart. But again, between her and I, as between my love and I, there is a barrier, so for now…
I cherish my memories and try not to feel anxious.
I hope she comes back, but I am not as certain as my Romantic side. How certain is he? “For her, I would blackmail the UNIVERSE!” But as for me…perhaps…she was never meant to be.
“But if she was!” …would she come back?
Hold on to me as tightly as I do you.
“Your wife is the closest person to you in your family.”
“Because she’s the only member that you choose, and she chooses back.”
Tragedy deserves its tragic end!
Hurrah! Dance with me!