Shadowlight's Lighthouse

1 And when the Bible-thumping internet troll found himself standing on the shore of a Lake of Fire, he cried upwards to God, saying, 2 "why, Lord?? Have I not spread Your pamphlets? Have I not made Your Chosen ones wealthy? I believed in Your Name! Why was I not saved??" 3 And the Lord answered him, in a voice that was loud yet far away, and said, 4 "You only believed in My name, not in My virtues, not in My teachings; 5 and every time you hated someone for their differences, because the flaws of 1st century Judea were mentioned in context in the graven idol you have made of My Holy Scriptures; 6 every time you have told those in mourning that their loved ones burn in Hell; 7 every time you presumed to speak My will, you instead dragged My name through the mud. 8 You have cost Me a thousand hearts that could have turned to Me, had they truly known Me; 9 And what servants you have found, have each done likewise. 10 You wanted a master that tortures and burns, so I have sent you to one. 11 May you serve him as poorly as you have served Me. 12 You reveled in the flames and the smell of brimstone. Now see it for yourself. 13 You hated your neighbors. You will not find them there. 14 This is your earned reward." and the voice was silent 15 and the waves sizzled as they lapped at the shore, and chains rattled in the sulfurous breeze.
(I'm not actually wishing or intending for anybody to be dammed to Hell. I take that too seriously to risk the misunderstanding. I have no intention of ceding any authority to what dark powers might exist. I'm only trying to make a point in language that will be understood by those who need to hear it.)

Make no mistake, people: the school that insists upon making eagles run and fish climb trees is intended to create workers for the company that hires a fish to be a swimmer, for swimmers' wages, but expects the fish to climb and run whenever they demand it.. sometimes because they failed to hire any runners, sometimes just to make sure this fish is earning his pay. If the fish feels bad that he can't climb the tree that he has to climb every friday, all the better as the Managers see it. They want the fish to 'know his place' and not try for anything better or ask for anything more. If the budget doesn't allow for enough flyers, they can always try picking up the fish and throwing it, telling it how grateful they are that it's a team player. (Their gratitude has no monetary value, but they use it sparingly anyway, just in case.)
I work for a company that would rather everyone do any given procedure the same way, even if the method was chosen arbitrarily and without any real-world testing and doesn't actually work, rather than letting people do things their own way and possibly thereby figure out a better way. (I'm amazed we haven't been displaced yet by a up-from-the-roots crowdsourcing does-everything-the-opposite competitor, but efficiency and actually treating people right doesn't have a level playing field against already-successful-and-pushy. not on this playing field, anyway.)
I work as hard as I can at my job, and it is only-to-be-expected. When I find a way to work a little faster, push a littler harder, they just ask for more, and more after that. I always meet expectations but I never exceed expectations, because they don't really have expectations, they just want every drop of blood and sweat they can get from me.

(no subject)
August 30th, 2010
I haven't posted much to this emo blog lately, because I've been trying so hard to see the good side, count my blessings... but my workplace becomes more and more abusive. The mass skullf# that was Inventory slid almost seamlessly into the mass skull# that is Remodel, and then it'll be time for our endless Xmas shopping season, hard as it is to believe as I sweat like a pig in the equatorial heat that somehow does so little to prove Global Warming, the way a cold day in f#ing January so easily disproves it in the common mind. I feel like work (and/or the unseen bugs in my bed; and/or the heat and/or unknown factors) are sucking the vitality from me, leaving little gumption with which to deal with the rest of my life, which consequently, is falling apart at the edges. I've been sleeping on a sleeping bag on the floor because my mattress makes me itch... except now, even the floor is making me itch, so soon I'll need a Plan C. My apartment is a mess. I still haven't put away most of the precious junk I grabbed from camp several months back. My car needs work done to pass inspection, my dental crown on my back leftmost tooth is falling apart, piece by piece. I'm preparing my games for Con, the final Con of its type, and already Frifts is so complicated I doubt any of my regular players will play it... and I might not even get those days off from work, at this rate. My church will be bankrupt in two years unless they double their attendance. The girl I love says we should just be friends. ...and I say, sure, baby, I'm good at that. I'm the ultimate Friend Man. What else can I say?

Today was a cascade of saving throws.
March 5th, 2010
Current Mood:frustrated frustrated
Forgot to set alarm. Late for work. Crowded place. managed to finish last week's paperwork in time to copy off next week's paperwork. fairly few spills but one of them was in the middle of trying to clean the front end ladies' room, and the 'spill' (in Toys) ...smelled like exactly what it was, to a much stronger degree than usual. (thought to myself: perhaps I really should look for a less disgusting line of work) quite hungry and tired by the time I managed my lunch break. broke the breakroom coffee pot accidentally, just as 10 cups of fresh hot coffee began pouring out of the machine. fortunately, there were other people who helped me contain the flow. 15 minutes late going back to work because the breakroom clock does not reflect the actual time, perhaps due to last week's repeated brownouts. On my way out for the evening, I checked my schedule to discover I'm either off tomorrow, or I'm due in at 8am to cover for a coworker, as per vague oral discussions conducted separately amongst me & him, and each of us and our supervisor, who did not reflect this change on the official Schedule Master Printout. so...yeah. (Hey, Deadcat, if they tell me to go home, should I grab my dice and head up your way, or is this overly short notice?)

Archival Note: As I recall, I showed up the next day early to cover for my co-worker and the manager who had to fix things on the computer to let me in (when they didn't expect me there at all)said, "you both did this the exact wrong way." but they changed things to let me work since I was there and the co-worker was not.

not every post has a title
December 5th, 2009
Current Music:Be Not Afraid (Catholic hymn)
silver linings? the Circle of Life? a rededication to my vow to fight crime? *shakes head* My life is the same as it was three weeks ago, except my father's dead. My sister seems to be taking it a bit worse than I am. Most days, I need to rip open the scabs to feel something. I do it anyway, of course. I come here and I hurt myself because that's the only way I can think of to honor my father. doesn't make any sense, I know. Sometimes, the things that make life make sense are hidden from us. everything just happens, and you don't know how it all fits together.

Anger: Frontier Justice in the Modern Age
December 4th, 2009
Current Location:Cheyenne, Wyoming
I get my temper from my Dad. That sounds like a paradox. He almost never got mad, but when he did... yikes. The sheer rarity of it was a shock, but it wasn't at all halfway or pansy. It was full strength. There is a tendency to assume that those you admire are somehow more perfect than you, less subject to the murky undercurrents of human nature. Living the life I have these last five years, holding down a job in the real world, dealing with the public, I frequently feel these flares of anger at people who just don't seem to get it... the shoplifting, vandalizing punks who think they're smarter than the rest of us because they don't care about anyone else; the ones who spray invisible lubricant on the floor in the middle of the store, apparently just for fun; the ones who think they shouldn't have to follow the rules; the people who want to shame me into not doing what I don't have any choice but to do because the rules I need to follow don't make any sense and don't really work. I get angry. often. more than I have since I was a teenager. After a few minutes, I get a grip on myself and don't really do any of the things I thought about doing. Did Dad feel flares like these, and simply didn't express them? I don't know. It wasn't something I was comfortable talking to him about. After all he did, how hard he tried, to keep his children safe from corrupting influences... how could I ever let him see what a monster I really was? Maybe he got angry. maybe. Either way, the sentiment behind my fantasies of beating up shoplifters is very much what he taught me, his John Wayne sense of morality, that some are innocents that need to be protected, but some people are scum, that need to be punished, or they'll never stop exploiting everyone else. Rationally, abstractly, I'm more liberal and forgiving than that. Maybe vigilante fantasies come naturally to those who are relatively powerless in a given circumstance, a natural psychological imperative. Maybe there's just something about getting your hands dirty that makes you want to curl them into fists.

Anger: Sins of Omission
November 23rd, 2009
Current Mood:screaming at luggage
Brother P didn't want the unabridged version of Why I Left the Catholic Church, so I didn't bother to explain it further, but... dangit, it isn't just that Bishop M said something I disagreed with. It's that, when the Church needs money for feeding poor people, comforting cancer victims, helping beaten wives and unwed mothers, and (wedged in on the same bill) buying the nuns new rulers to hit kids with...in that case, they pass the hat. An ornate, large hat, but still a pledge drive. Kidding aside, I don't have a problem with funding Catholic schools, so I wrote them a check back in May, for a goodly amount, lump sum, up front, no waiting months to get it in small chunks. ... but when a Hot Button Political Issue rolls into town, suddenly Bishop M has Big National Funders and Money is No Object. (Was this whole Marriage Equality law just a scam by the Legislature to get people to pour money into the state from richer regions and deeper pockets?)
I'm supposed to be packing. Brother P just called to tell me what to pack. It includes shaving cream. First time in years I'll be somewhere where I need to shave, but can't just use...well, some of Dad's shaving cream. Why doesn't P have shaving cream? (I don't want him to feel bad, so I don't ask.) I just want to hit myself in the face with a rock. I read somewhere that the time we spend is pieces of our lives. We fritter it all away on worthless nonsense because we can't tell what's important, what we're going to need later on. I don't know what to put in Dad's casket. I don't even remember what I put in Mom's. Cram everything into a suitcase and run, and hope that it turns out in the end.

A Very Special Word from Mal ... on being crazy (in lieu of Blood & Popcorn, Part Five)
November 22nd, 2009
Current Location:Bangor
Current Mood:eerily serious
Current Music:the Highwaymen, "Committed to Parkview"
Splash panel. Mal is seated on the floor in a bare room with white walls. Above him, written on the wall in dripping red fluid, are the words, "Crazy We Are, Lest Mentally Ill We Become." His expression is grim and intense.

Mal: "While I have a lucid moment, I'd like to use it to explain something important. Most of you know full well that words like "zany" or "neurotic", applied to me, are merely euphemisms for 'crazy'. Before you get the wrong idea, you need to understand that I don't do the things I do to belittle or mock those who suffer from mental illness. If there is a message to my madness, it is that it's ok to think differently from others, and let others think differently from you. I do what I do to make the voices in the dark a little less scary, a little less powerful. I do what I do because there are problems you can't solve by driving a stake through them, and sometimes, the worst thing you can do to your personal demons is hollow them out from the inside, drag them into the light, and make them dance for you. ... and, like so many other people, I do what I do because I don't really have a choice. This is the mind I was given. This is the life I was given. All we can do is do the best with what we have. "

"That being said, if you feel you are being compelled or tricked into hurting yourself or others; if you feel like you need to eat your wife's fingers or drink bleach-- get help. Please. There's no shame is asking for help when you need it. It is no different from blindness, deafness or epilepsy. It is not your fault, and you are not alone. "

"...On the other hand, as a wise man once said, 'If you're hearing voices, but they're not telling you to do anything bad, for Heaven's sake, don't tell anyone!' Not every neurological quirk is worth what they'll put you through trying to fix it. Just being strange is not an illness, and there are people who live with their illness and stay functional and sane. ...and if you do get caught being different-minded and they try to fix you, insist on a doctor of the opposite sex ...because psychiatrists are so delicious. They're like vodka and fruit juice... and there's always the slight chance you can turn them into your sexy clown-suited uber-groupie. "

"Lucid's over. We now return you to your regularly-scheduled comic strip, already in progress."

Luck of the Irate
November 2nd, 2009
Current Location:Dublin, Ireland
Current Mood:annoyed annoyed
I was having a fairly good day at work tonight (despite having been cut three and half hours today) until some punk kid co-worker (whom I know only by face, not name) comes up to me and asks when I'm out, how many hours I'm working today. I assume this is small talk (read: empty social ritual the normals feel better if you engage in. It's like Facebook, but in person.) Then he hits me with "I've got you beat. I'm here until seven. You're lucky, you get to go home in three hours, while I'll be slaving away all night."
Outwardly, I let it slide. Inwardly, though, I'm very pissed off by this passive-aggressive social sucker punch. The "You're Lucky" line is a pet peeve with me, probably because I'm both lawful enough to care and smart enough to know how stupid the statement is. The Whinier-than-thou is generally protesting the unfairness of a world where their cupcake is gone (because they ate it) while my cupcake is still there (because I haven't had time to eat it). "I'm lucky" (and therefore somehow culpable or supposed to feel bad) because I'm working less hours or because I usually don't get my hours cut or because I'm going home sooner because I came in earlier (different whiners, different days).
I saw the punk kid in the breakroom twentysomething minutes later. He didn't clock in until at least ten, which meant his oh-so-long day was a regular 8-hour shift like I've done 5 days a week for years... and one of the few times I'm not working a full shift, this moron pops up out of Central Casting to call me lazy. I debated an attempt at enlightening the benighted sod, but ultimately decided he'd just see wisdom as an attack. The problem is, most people nowadays are stupid because they want to be. It's so hard to tell which ones would catch a clue if you tossed them one.
When I was a full-time caregiver for my Dad, some of the other patients at the Dialysis Ward would tell Dad he was "lucky" because he only had to have dialysis twice a week (He still had 10% kidney function.) I would always look at them like they'd just declared Gerald Ford as their Personal Lord and Savior, but I never said out loud what I thought about that: 1. Dad was also younger than two-thirds of the patients in there. 2. Dad had other problems in his life which were certainly not symptoms of 'good luck'. and, primarily, 3. If he was 'lucky', he wouldn't need dialysis at all.

Webcomics Nonillustrated, Part Eight: Love Hurts
July 24th, 2009
Current Music:"Hey There, Delilah", the Plain White T's
Panel 1: Judy Dear is slumped against Sally's chair, the crossbow bolts still sticking out of her back. Sally has a shocked expression on her face, looking down at Dear.
Sally: You killed her!! You bastards! oh, wait. werecat. right. ...but even so.*
Dear (tiny cursive) I'm all right. It's fine....If you'll excuse me, I think I need to powder my nose...
Sally: uh, yeah, me too

Caption: *Author's Note: Sally's finely honed werewolf senses can distinguish types of werecreatures by the distinctive smell of their blood.


Panel 2: Sally follows Judy as she staggers down the hall (leaning against the wall for support but also leaning forward slightly to suggest continual momentum) ...

Panel 3: ...and is right behind her when she opens the door to the bathroom, which contains a Bulk-size jug of antiseptic and an assortment of surgical tools, including the type of pliers used to pull out bullets.

Dear: (tiny crisp print) Sally, if you'll be so kind to help? These feel like they'll come out better from the back.

Sally: Sure. So...crossbow bolts?

Dear: (tiny crisp) not as fun as bullets.


Panel 4: Dear is leaned forward onto the sink basin, facing the mirror, while Sally uses the pliers to carefully pry the first of the quarrels out.

Sally: Look, Judy, I know I've only known you for two hours, so if you tell me to keep my snout out of this, I'll respect that, but while we're alone, I have to ask--

Sally: Why do you put up with this?


Panel 5: view from mirror, looking straight at Judy's face, (which wears a slight smile, with arched eyebrows, despite the blood trickling from her mouth) Sally behind her, glancing up with her hands still on the pliers.

Dear: (tiny, crisp) Sally, you're a Changer, so I know you can keep a secret. Can I tell you something in the strictest confidence, just between us girls?

Sally: sure.

Dear: (tiny crisp) When Marvin first got his curse, he was terrified of what he was becoming, of his animal nature coming out, of hurting me. So, I showed him that he _couldn't_ hurt me. You see, changers of my generation didn't change in public. It just wasn't done. If I'd turned into a big jungle cat right in front of people, well... they would've run in panic, or called a zookeeper! but, this? It might shock people, but it's not a threat to anyone. It's a quiet way of showing I'm more than what I look like. Ever since, this has been our little game, the way we show we're not afraid (of each other, or ourselves), that we love each other the way we truly are. ...and I have to admit, it's kind of exciting, not knowing when it's going to happen or what form it will take.


Panel 6: Living room. Panda is now sitting on the couch that Marvin and Mal are still standing next to. They all look at a loss for words.

Caption: Living Room...

Panel 7: As in Panel 6

Marvin: ...so, Pluto's not a planet anymore?

Mal: I was surprised, too.

Panda: It turns out there's a whole swarm of them out there. Let Pluto back in, and you'd need to let in all the kuiper objects, and whatever's out in the Oort Cloud.

Marvin: hm. That'd be hard to write a song about. Nothing rhymes with "Oort".

Panda: ...yeah.


Panel 8: Back in the bathroom, Sally is pulling free the last of the quarrels.

Sally: So, this is some big, kinky trust exercise? It's not really abusive at all?

Dear: (tiny, crisp) Oh, sometimes we'll get mad and use it to get out our frustrations. Most couples fight. We mostly just dismember each other... but if Marvin thought for a minute he'd really hurt me, he'd stop on a dime.

Sally: huh. ...do you have tweezers? I think some of this one broke off inside.


Panel 9: a few seconds later, Dear (still bent over) is handing Sally the tweezers.

Dear: (tiny crisp) So, you and Mal don't have any understandings like that?

Sally: Me and Mal?? Hell, no. I'm not dating him. He's a vampire, for Christ's sake!

Dear: (tiny crisp) I've seen mixed marriages work.


Panel 10: Close-up of Sally staring intently into Judy Dear's wounds, as she picks around inside with the tweezers.

Sally: *sigh* This might take a little while.

Dear: (tiny crisp, off-panel in direction of her head) Some things do...

Sally: Forget it, Judy.


Panel 11: Living room. Panda is looking up attentively at Marvin, who is bent at the waist towards Panda, holding one hand out towards him, fingers outstretched, palm down; and grinning widely as he talks. Mal, behind them, has his head back and eyes clenched shut, roaring with laughter.

Caption: ...a little while later.

Marvin: so then the cabbie looks at Sammy DelRubio, then he looks at Mal, then he looks back at me and says, 'I don't know what you guys've got, but I'm hosing this whole cab down with bactine as soon as I get back to the garage!'

Mal: HAH-ha-ha-HA!!
[note to letterer: The transliteration of laughs into print is, as you know, a treacherous science. One might say it's simpler to put in a cloud of "HA"s in various sizes and call it good. Then again, I don't have a letterer, so I had to put something.]


Panel 12: Marvin's attention is snagged by Dear, fully recovered, stepping into the frame. (Mal has stopped to catch his breath and dry his eyes.)

Panel 13: Close-up of Marvin's ear. Dear's lips are near it, parted slightly.

Dear: (tiny, crisp) Marvin, darling, no more crossbows. They give me splinters. Sally was forever getting them all out.

Marvin: (tiny, crisp) oh! Yes, dear.


Panel 14: Dear, smiling serenely, stands next to Marvin, who looks over at Mal, who looks pleasantly surprised.

Marvin: Hey, Mal-- you want to buy a crossbow? It's slightly used, but I could let it go for cheap.

Mal: wow! Seriously??


Panel 15: Marvin is now reaching for the crossbow, abandoned just beyond the panel in the direction of the wall and mantlepiece. Dear has rolled her eyes in a bemused expression. Sally pokes her head into the panel from the direction of the rest of the living room and looks at Mal with annoyance, as he does to her. Panda ducks his head down to stay out of this.

Sally: Mal, so help me, if I so much as feel the wind of one of those bolts flying past, I will nail you into your coffin with no cellphone for a week.

Mal: Yeah, I hear you, Sally.

Sally: Listen and remember, bloodsucker.


Panel 16: Sally is gone again. Marvin has resumed his previous position (from Panel 14), except now he's holding the empty crossbow. Mal looks at him ambivalently.

Mal: I..i'll think about it.


Next time: the Epilogue. probably.