FAIL

I am very tired. I've been fighting against my nature for years. I am a coward. I am weak. I try to go against my fate, but I always return to the same state of purposelessness. All I do are hobbies to keep myself and my friends entertained, and it's a decent temporary anesthetic, but I can't keep it up forever. I don't want to be a useless freak anymore. I need purpose. I need a future worth fighting for. No matter how hard I try I will always fail because I have trained myself with the most vigorous regimen imaginable for failure.

Theatre class was supposed to be a clearly defined stepping stone on a road paved with dreams. I would learn how to tap my abilities to their fullest, and have some sense of direction as to where to go next as I head towards success. One thing at a time. Not worrying about the big picture, just holding a vision of an optimistic outcome and expecting it to come true. I cowered before the threat of adversity. I thoroughly despise applying for grants due to my great discomfort around paperwork I don't understand, or things I don't understand in general. I registered on my own. I fled the atrium when I realised I had no idea what I was doing, but after a brief respite I went back in on reconnaissance and succeeded. This is all well and good so far.

Then I went in to class today and saw someone I have an unfortunately tumultuous history with. Rather than simply suck it up and continue fighting, I fled, and am here now blogging of my cowardice on a blog intended to impress potential henchmen with tales of my triumph. I walked right out of the room. I didn't go back. There was even screaming involved. Screaming in public is a reoccurring habit I've been able to reduce over the years, much to the delight of pedestrians, but have yet to fully abolish.

I do not try hard enough. It was fully within my ability to fight. Everything I have lost I have lost because I am a weakling. I've shunned friends, dropped out of college, lost a radio show, all because I was not strong enough to continue. It all comes down to a choice and I deliberately choose to flee. There is a limit to how much a man can take. I am well aware of this. There are limits that when reached must be recognised, accepted, and let be while you recover by playing Mariokart and blaring your headphones. I know I could have gone back, and I chose not to. Yes, I was crying. Yes, I was screaming. I have the ability to put that aside. When technology failed me during the first attempt at airing episode 2 of The Astonishing Dude I panicked about as much as my body is capable of panicking, but I persevered. This was nothing by comparison, and I choked.

This blog entry will self-destruct. Failure of this magnitude will not be tolerated. I merely needed a place to vent my frustrations towards the fact that I am trapped in this fragile psyche.

Lord Veltha Versus The Power of FRIENDSHIIIIIP!

The key to being an effective overlord is learning how to properly utilize and trust your henchmen. After all, without minions you're just another man in a cape trying to conquer the world. A villain, sure, but not an overlord.

This is where I have my largest difficulties on my path towards conquest. Given my nature as a flamboyantly dressed, egomaniacal, "if you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself" type of person, I am actually suppressing my potential for global domination by limiting my reliance on vassals.

I compare my work to that of professionals in all that I do, and I look on my works ye mighty and despair, for I am merely "good." It also seems that about 75% of everything I do consists of busy work. I things that allow me to utilize my imagination, to socialize with like-minded individuals, and allow me to use my natural ability to mimic the voice of Patrick Warburton, like writing, directing, and prank calling Neil Patrick Harris. I enjoy things like animation (which takes for effing EVER), doodling (I don't particularly consider what I do to be "drawing" so much as giving circles legs), and editing audio (we'll get to that.) That is, I enjoy these things to a certain extent. For the first few hours I am enchanted by the creative process, but soon after my first pumpkin pie break it becomes tedious busy work that never seems to end. I love watching this come to fruition, and giggle with mad glee at well-timed audio cues, or simple chunks of narration magically transformed into an intense monster truck show of layered effects, but these things require patience. Regardless, these are things I must have control over so I do them myself. I know what I am capable of, but the abilities of others are a mystery to me. Certainty is a necessity that is more commonly a luxury.

Accepting of course that I am infallible, that everything I do is right, and what my mother said about how I can do anything I put my mind to is true; even if I am capable of doing everything perfectly, everything is a hell of a lot to do. I must learn to delegate tasks, but this goes against more than a decade and a half of bad programing. Back in the good old days of basic education it was standard practice for me to do group projects on my own. As such I never learned essential social skills pertaining to dictatorship, such as divvying workloads, organisation of meetings outside of class, and Japanese water torture.

Slowly but surely I am acquiring theme skills in my work on The Astonishing Dude. Organizing rehearsals and recording session is a challenge best compared to forcefully aligning the planets, where every individual and every resource required is a planet in orbit around my metaphor. This troop rallying is a task I must not give to another because that would encourage my anti-social behavior.

Once the project is recorded I will continue to edit it myself as I have been. However, uploading the project to the new venue, YouTube, is a responsibility I may have to force on others. You see, it's not enough just to upload the show. It was intended for radio. I fear the attention deficit masses will not show interest in my program when there are things out there like YouTube Street Fighter. Animation in some form is required. Kinetic Typography is the approach I'm taking now. Though my program isn't up to the complexities of more impressive works, it's enough, or would be if I had the patience for it. As is, I've worked on it for approximately eight hours and am only an eighth of the way through my thirty minute show. The other more tantalizing option is to include illustrations, but again, if we're gonna do it we're gonna do it right. My editing program doesn't allow for delicate camera movements with still images. The artwork would certainly be enough to carry the piece though. I know I should not be picky, but it is my nature.

I believe film or theater would be an acceptable compromise, or present compromises that would be acceptable, or possibly compromise my acceptance if I go about it all wrong. The point is that in these two live action media lies the potential for artistic communion in my budding criminal empire. I wouldn't be able to do any acting. My body is stiff and awkward. Plus, if I wrote the script, which would be the plan, I wouldn't be able to memorize it. Ask anyone I've ever written an email to, and they will tell you that these blogs are like children's books in comparison. My dialog tends to be on the wordy side. Plus I have the memory of a brain damaged goldfish. Even other fish would say, "Seriously, man? We passed that pebble like, .0008 seconds ago. What's your problem? Stay with it, bitch!" I would have a better chance of memorizing something I wrote, just as I have an easier time acting out my own writing than scripts from the East Coast folks I tend to do business with online, but it would all be to no avail. Writing and directing would have to go hand in hand. As I understand it, it's uncommon for screenwriters to be involved in a professional production beyond typing the words "The End." Thankfully, I am not yet a professional, so in theory I should have time to build a reputation that demands involvement in as much of the film as possible due to my sheer unrelenting brilliance. I wouldn't have to do all of it myself, which brings me back to the point of this entry.

I feel as though it would be easier for me to relinquish editing duties of a film project to someone qualified for the position than it would be for the radio program. Radio involves a lot of micromanaging and sound design to create a world exclusively through audio. With film most of what the audience perceives is captured by the camera. Foley and music can be added later, but most of the essential elements are there from the start. Editing is done in swift smooth strokes as opposed to subtle jabs. Not that it isn't difficult, especially with multiple takes and angles to choose from. I don't wish to insult any filmmakers, I'm simply making observations from my experience. The process is different, and I feel it would be easier for me to leave the post-production, pre-production, and present-tense-production to the professionals and I would have less need to be in complete control (though I would still like to supervise.)

Projects on the table:

1. The Astonishing Dude Episode 3 (Still need casting, rehearsals, and to actually record the damn thing.)
2. Lawrence The Majestic (Originally intended to adapt my short story into a short film. That didn't work out. It's going to be much longer. Still need to finish the script. We'll wing it from there.)
3. Unnamed Project (Read part of a script I started to my allies. It seemed to illicit a positive response, and a potential internet meme. It sounds promising enough I may need to focus more attention on it. Will possibly become a YouTube series... if I actually manage to complete a script and build the drive and courage to actually do something with it. That's a big problem with a lot of my work. There's so much I want to accomplish, but I lack the ambition to get off my ass.)
4. Everything F-ing else (As usual, my attempts at novel writing are set to the back burner. As much as I like writing, most of it involves keeping to myself for prolonged periods of time. I would much prefer to mix work and play-time by doing projects I can work on with friends. Plus I'm not good at things like "plot" or "world creation." Dialog is my thing. It's what I do.)

This reminds me; I ran into one of my former writing teachers. She commented on how I do a lot of little projects that don't seem to go anywhere. That wasn't precisely the way she worded it, but that was the point, and it's something that has been on my mind. It seems no matter what I do very little in my life changes. When something does go off in a new direction, eventually the road runs out and I'm back where I started. It's like my fate is a giant rubber-band. The more I accomplish and the further away I get from my default position of uselessness and unproductivity the more it hurts when it finally snaps back, and it always snaps back. I tried school. I tried animation. I tried writing class. I tried radio. It seems as though I am only able to do things for a certain amount of time and I'm back with nothing. It takes so much effort to get as far as I do, but eventually circumstances send me back. I must find a way to escape this eternal return.

I just hope my path lies in the direction of art, and not in the direction of incurable disease, violent crimes, or horrible mind fracturing accidents that unlock the deepest recesses of my mind and release all of my various suppressed fears and paranoia causing them to manifest in a complete alteration of the way I perceive the world around me so that I am never able to will myself into becoming a productive member of society due to the fact that I am never able to follow the infrastructure of the fabricated reality mankind has built for itself after centuries of deluding itself into believing that the path to enlightenment lies in a convoluted system of populous control built around abstract concepts such as law and order that has been perverted and exploited by corrupt bureaucrats who value bartering units over human life.

That would be a bummer.

Pathos and goodwill,

Lord Veltha

Lord Veltha VS Stand-up Comedy

Yes, that is correct. I, the Infamous Lord Veltha, Prince of Paradox, Dastardly Deviant of Dis-Illusion, and maker of dangerous cheeses, have joined the likes of great stand-up comedians such as my idol Dr. Victor Von Doom (Orbital death rays don't always work their way into the economy of an Eastern European nation stuck in the middle ages, so you gotta do a little somethin' somethin' on the side. A good dictator understands this.)

This weekend was a great success in an already astounding line up of achievements by yours truly, and was kicked off by a victory over my eternal nemesis, Portland Oregon. This wasn't exactly THE victory over the city that frequently thwarts my desires for a fulfilling life, but I was able to claim high scores for Vampire Savior, Asteroids, and Bust-A-Move at Ground Kontrol if only because the scores are reset daily and nobody plays them. This was quickly followed up by a bacon maple bar at Voodoo Doughnut II and a trip back home to the local soda shop for some entertainment.

For roughly eight months (judging from the hastily browsed "Past Events" section on Facebook. I have no idea or care whether this is an accurate count. I have more important matters to attend to, like embedding stupid videos.) the Hilarious Six have been regaling audiences at Pop Culture every second Saturday of the month with their witticisms and songs. I have only had the pleasure of seeing them once before, and have since been thwarted by Fate in my attempts to not be too busy to come.

The evening contained commentary on viral videos, songs by Steven Lynch, re-dubs of "A Charlie Brown Christmas," and facts about horses I didn't even know could be compared to myself (I too can be measured with a hand, where each hand equals four inches.) Before the commencement of the festivities, I was asked by ally and TAD henchman, Kameron Foster, if I would like to participate on stage. I was also assured by Jason Nguyen that I could not possibly bomb as hard as he had in the past, which was perhaps the best possible ego pandering an overlord could have asked for given Jason's comedic aptitude.

I have since learned that KKK jokes do not go over as well for Vancouver audiences as jokes about masturbation. My leading sociologists are currently reviewing statistics now in order to conclude why exactly this is, but my tentative hypothesis is this: Vancouvians are perverts. The rest of my set involved various social shortcomings I face, including a story of bitter-sweet success from a previous blog posting.

I eventually had to be played off with music like an Oscar winner that simply won't shut up, and they couldn't have done it a moment too soon as I had managed to cover my entire life experience in the span of five minutes. I was rewarded with hugs from the other comedians and a strong burning sensation in my stomach similar to my gastric reaction to karaoke.

Stand-up comedy is the most productive form of self-deprecation, and when it burns it burns good. Time will tell if the infection can be cured.

Sewing the Seeds of Fate

The whole point of school, as I understand it, is to learn what you need to learn in order to lead a successful and/or fulfilling life. The system doesn't seem to hold to that ideal (though I've heard great things about Evergreen State, and considering half the people I know go there there must be a reason for it.) Do what you've gotta do to do what you want to do. A well-rounded education certainly isn't gonna hurt. If you're familiar with history, psychology, literature, what-have-you, you can draw from it for inspiration and craft better stories. It's not so much what you know as it is what you can do, and most importantly who knows what you can do. If college can help you get the connections you need in order to get into your desired field then that's definitely the way to go. That was one of the big draws the Art Institute had. Not only could they teach you how to make video games, they had actual connections to developers! Hell, if it weren't for the poor learning environment, bad hours, the soul crushing debt I had taken on in student loans, my own emotional baggage, and the fact I only had one class that actually pertained to my goals and I felt really passionate about while all the others were about covering bridges in fabric and teaching students how to use a keyboard, then by golly I would've stayed. As it stands, I physically had to hold myself back to keep from hurling myself into traffic. I did get a great bag from that school though. It's been with me for years. I've never had a backpack last this long.

I have done my fair share of research, and the general consensus, even among comic artists, is that comics are a waste of time and money (I would love to link to a specific article where the first words of advice are "Cancel all social engagements for the next seven years," but I can't seem to find it again.) Unless fortune smiles on you and you become an instant success you're gonna want a regular job to keep a roof over your head and instant ramen in your stomach, and that's where the college education helps because it looks good when you are applying for a managerial position at Blockbuster. Me? I'm dumber than a lobotomized sheep and have the social skills of a land-mine with palsy. The creative arts are my only shot at a life.

Resources are important. A battle plan must be forged before drastic measures are taken. Unless you have a game plan, you could end up a chronically unemployed, socially-disengaged, eternally recurring pursuer of knowledge doomed to fail, overlord like myself whether you continue with school or not. Don't ditch school unless you have a firm grasp of what you need to do to succeed. Failure is still a possibility, and I understand how terrifying risk can be, but some times you just gotta blind-fire around the corner and hope for the best too. You need tools in order to carve your dreams into the bathroom stall of life. Sadly, I'm just now starting to learn for myself how to get the ball rolling and how to request assistance when the proverbial sphere starts rolling back down the hill of adversity because I'm arrogant enough to assume I can do everything on my own, and ignorant enough to assume I should.

The Astonishing Dude was one of the greatest things that has ever happened to me. It was a way to utilize my writing abilities, learn new skills, bring my allies together, and finally create something after years of struggling with projects I start but never finish and certainly never put before an audience. It was all thanks to a chain of events that began with a simple newspaper. This was one of the few times I was able to fully take matters into my own hands and place myself well outside of my comfort zone, risking complete failure and embarrassment, yet reigning triumphant (for a couple months...)

I wish to do this again. I am keeping my eye out for opportunities again. I am in the midst of tentatively adapting a short story into a screenplay that I will possibly place in the hands o cinematographic mercenaries as a means of testing those waters for a possible future. I need time to prepare and organize a strike-force to re-initiate The Astonishing Dude (I must also seek a new online host for the show. An official Astonishing Dude website would be best, but I will settle for MySpace if I can find someone to design the page for me.) I am also seeking financial aid and enrollment assistance so that I may audit a theater class. I have no intention of enrolling full-time or attempting to get a degree. My only wish is to exploit the school for services I am interested in, learning that which I am eager to learn, and using those tools of the trade to construct a dreadnought of acting ability that I may use to rule the world! Even the Vancouver Voice, the gateway that allowed me to accomplish my finest achievement, had a posting that they were for want of a Neighborhood Beats writer, for which I have inquired about but have not received a reply, and really have no delusions that I will. I am experimenting. I am watching. I am in wait for the next time Fate shows a weakness, that I might perchance to savagely forge for myself a brighter future in her blood.

(Disclaimer: I am an unemployed overlord with delusions of hope. I am in no way encouraging anyone to terminate their education. I am merely trying assist people in realizing personal empowerment so that they may get a hold of their lives in a way they feel is right for themselves. This commentary does not reflect the opinions of anyone other than a depraved and beaten man who lives at home with his mother. Only you can prevent forest fires. Winners don't use drugs. The more you know...)

Lord Veltha Versus The Val Ogden Center

In my quest for hope, belonging, and independence, I was introduced to a facility that literally has these things written on their sign. It couldn't get any more obvious that that's exactly where I need to be.

The Val Ogden Center is a referral only facility for the mentally handicapped run by the recently empowered and mentally handi-capable. Naturally I assumed it would be like Arkham Asylum with the lunatics having taken over, and in this way I was slightly disappointed. However, this Clubhouse provides a very important service to the community that can not be ignored.

Think of the Clubhouse as a social water refinement center. It takes water that, while sullied with all manner of fecal matter and emotional baggage, has the potential to benefit society by providing them with a clean natural resource. The Clubhouse is run by its members, which means all duties pertaining to the maintenance of the Clubhouse is up to them. Essential duties are delegated to volunteers after the morning meeting at 9:00am, and the day is over at 4:30pm. The work is divided into clerical (typing, filing, manning the reception turret), culinary (cooking lunch and washing dishes), and working at the thrift store (imagine if there was a Goodwill in your house, but no one knew it existed and no one shopped there.) The work here provides purpose and guidance to those who would normally be without, and people to playfully distract you while you are trying to accomplish menial tasks. On top of that, the staff is there to assist with career and education goals outside of the Clubhouse as well. Various workshops and meetings are scheduled throughout the week in order to help members achieve their dreams, whatever they may be.

My luxurious sanctum of evil can at times feel like a prison. I live in seclusion from my peers and am frequently left to meditate on important matters of consequence as my only recreation. I have a difficult time reaching out to those lesser beings who populate the world. Simply being in a work environment again has done wonders for me. I have focus, determinations, and a staff of faithful servants willing to facilitate my every need (including freshly baked cookies. I can already sense your jealousy prior to publishing this blog post. It transcends time and space.)

Currently I am attempting to establish a means to attend theatre classes at the local community college so that I may accentuate my already tremendous acting talent with technique training and actual skill. This will also allow me to forge connections in the acting community, stronger bonds with the people I care about as I will be generally closer in proximity to them, and in time I may at last achieve my goals of GLOBAL DOMINATION! (Gwahaha. Mine is an evil laugh.)

Pathos and good will,
Lord Veltha

Lord Veltha Versus Happiness

It has come to my attention that in principal such things as wealth, power, and fame are not goals people strive for, but the means to their goal. That goal of course is happiness.

Happiness is by definition, "a state of well-being and contentment." The dictionary as always is particularly vague when it comes to subjects of importance such as this, and it is best that people are left to define their own happiness. (The dictionary does however contain the long sought after meaning of "life." Why it has never occurred to people to look it up in the dictionary is beyond me.)

I do not feel as though my problem lies in un-happiness. I am by nature a happy person, but I am away from my natural habitat where I can be myself to the best of my ability. I am away from my natural habitat due to avoidant behavior. I avoid things due to the fear that somehow I will make things worse than they are. It is much safer for me to hide within the confines of my impregnable fortress.

Psychologically, even chronically miserable people have in some depraved way found happiness. Try to snap them out of it and watch how their mood goes from bad to worse. Humans are comforted by that which is familiar to them. Take away that comfort and latent survival instincts kick in. Fending for emotional survival isn't often considered a state of well-being. (This link is not even the least bit relevant.)

If happiness is the goal, then I fear I am going about it all wrong. No amount of therapy can MAKE me happy. Discussing pertinent issues such as relationships and economic ways to destroy the world is helpful without a doubt, but the whole point is to allow me to integrate myself into the world and become a productive member of society. That is the key. I'm learning how to cope with reality, not how to participate in it. I am about as well adjusted as I'm going to get, frightening though it may sound. Therapy will not bring me happiness, and I'm afraid more therapy will only not bring me happiness to a greater extent. It's time I learned how to do things on my own. Only then will I be fit to rule this world with an iron fist.

As such, there are only two things that will bring me happiness.

1) A positive social life

2) Purpose

Group gatherings occur when I am invited to or send invitations to planned events, yet my not-the-least-bit-creepy-or-stalkerish research suggests many shared activities are spontaneous. I'm simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Comrades frequently in close proximity to each other are more likely to ensue in mischief.

Plausible Solution: Discover a method for maintaining consistent social contact with friends in person, whether it be to arrange a meeting place or get over my anti-social pansy-assedness and call people once in a while. Phones aren't that scary.

Alternative Solution: Kidnapping. It seems to work for most evil overlords. Besides, when does brain-washing go wrong?

Purpose is a little trickier. I can not simply slap a sticker on an activity or job and call it purpose. The key as always is to FEEL like it's my purpose. As it so happens there are two activities I feel a strong connection to, however I think I have described the pros and cons before. Writing is problematic as I'm inconsistent in my writing habits and abilities, and in order to move forward in my life I would need to complete a project. My voice box however is armed and cocked (...*cough*...), I just don't know where to take it.

Plausible Solution: Ask for help. I have resources I could exploit. I know people who know things about knowing things. I could ask for assistance from people connected to the field, and people may even give it to me without having to resort to mind-control.

Alternative Solution: Mind control

I must take charge of my life to ensure that I have a future. Perhaps I will get started on that tomorrow.

Pathos and goodwill

They called me "mad." I demand a second opinion.

Once again it has been some time since I last updated my conquest blog. This absence of activity can logically be attributed to a lack of recent accomplishments. One of my most valuable servants has recently sustained heavy injury at the hands of zombified bears, and I have been forced to focus my attention on the lair’s upkeep and insuring that my vassal recovers in a timely fashion so as not to further inconvenience me. (Yes, you may say it. I am a truly benevolent overlord.)

The undead ursine outbreak couldn’t have happened at a worse time as I have recently been, shall I say, “volunteering” at a local mental health clinic. I was mislead to believe that the facility would provide me with a fresh diagnosis for my particular genius. They were however unqualified to issue a professional diagnosis, but the word “psychotic” had escaped the lips of one of the employees (and was quickly followed by, “My god! No! Please stop! Please! I take it back! Please! No! NO! I beg you! AHHHHH!” which may or may not have been a psychological term describing Thanatophobia.)

While they were unhelpful in regards to defining for me what it is that makes me so great (I will settle for “rugged good-looks” if I can’t find a second opinion) they were able to provide me with some small matters of insight pertaining to the few barriers I still face on my way to global domination.

While I am in no way denying that my intellect stretches far beyond the veil of cognitive conscious… -itude… there was a time, believe it or not, when I was in many ways smarter than I am today (by a standardized academic definition at any rate.) My ability to learn and retain information has dwindled over the years. Memory, concentration, memory; have all suffered at the hands of some unquantifiable foe. I now believe I understand the culprit behind my not-smart-no-more-ness.

BRAIN POISONING!

Yes, my faithful followers. My brain has been poisoned… by MYSELF!

This isn’t any old metaphorical “brain poisoning” as suggested by advocates against video games, comic books, and Chevy Chase. Oh no, this poisoning is real.

As it turns out, hyperventilating in the case of extreme stress and anxiety causes a deregulation in oxygen or something something whatever. Carbon dioxide gets stored up in the brain along with the FDA approved oxygen it requires, and brain cells begin to suffocate and die horrible agonizing deaths. Brain cells that are lost are unable to grow back. While it isn’t exactly comforting to know that every time I become emotionally distraught my brain withers like an old piece of fruit, it is added incentive to bottle up my surplus of negative emotions (this way instead of a slow painful death while I watch everything I hold dear slip away from me and become obscured by dementia, I will continue along my present path unabated until the day I spontaneously combust in one big glorious ball of inner turmoil that could level a small country given twenty years of suppression. I am my own doomsday device.)

It seems like there was something else I learned, but I don’t remember it. Something about people and how I don’t have anyone other than my therapist to really confide in, which is unfortunate as it’s nearly impossible to reach her in a time of emotional crisis. They were probably just trying to get me to trust them so they could discover my weakness and exploit it. People can't be trusted. I’m much better off learning how to deal with my feelings without assistance. I’ve been doing a great job so far. (*cough*)

I am trying to re-formulate my strategy for success. Impatience has been known to foil 99.99% of evil overlords, but I need an empire and I need it yesterday! (Yes, I’m getting desperate enough that time-travel is being taken into consideration, and I HATE time-travel.) My literary works aren’t going to be completed within a reasonable period of time, and there are too many downsides to sitting around locked in my chamber alone to risk focusing my efforts on them. Voice acting seems to be the most viable use of my talents. Unfortunately I know nothing of “the business.” There is one thing I’ve been noticing by following the exploits of my heroes (most recently M. Bison of Shadowloo): they all have a complex network of connections, but it’s never established how they were… established. I am at a severe disadvantage as I am unable to sustain my polite, energetic, intelligent behavior. There are any number of circumstances that cause me to cease functioning in an ideal manner. If I am able to be myself in the presence of someone who could potentially influence my chosen profession then I can almost guarantee that they will at the least like me enough to thrown in a good word to a guy who knows a guy. Many people do not get the opportunity to be graced by my true glorious self however, and instead see a quiet simpering fool struggling to hold back his screams of fear and hopelessness. This is what must be remedied, but the best remedy is a purposeful life of accomplishment. I fear I cannot achieve my goals until I have become the master of my mind and body, and in order to do that I must my goals. The endless cycle known as “Catch-22” rolls on as I am left behind wondering, as the kids say (out loud), “WTF?”

Some day my dreams will come true. In the meantime I have a cat box to clean.

Pathos and goodwill,
Lord Veltha

PS: Press a links for the great prize!