A forgotten corner of a lonely Inn

It is timeless.
The seasons do not pass,
The leaves do not fall,
The snow covers the ground,
And the prints do you make will always be there, so tread lightly.

Reality flickers.
A hostile presence enters;
The Mistress of the Woods,
The Lady Wanderess, come to reign.

The trees change.
The cornerstone cracks.
One by one, the stories disappear.
The ground is poisoned.

A virus enters,
Corrupts the lore.
The residents fight,
But it is not enough without the Mistress.

Time flows on.
Inconsistencies between the worlds.
The Forest must give way.
It begins to crumble.

Save the forest.
Save the trees.
I must protect them from her.
Save, salvage everything.
Return it all.

It is mine.


  • On the ice. Rinks are to skating as cages are to flight.
  • In the city. No duty, no destination, only fleeting impulses to run and lose myself amidst the crowds and labyrinth of buildings.
  • In the dojo. There exists the secret presence of the warrior spirit when I can become part of something ubiquitous and spiritual.
  • In the yoga hall. I have never felt so centered, peaceful and pure as I did during that yoga class with Yi Qian.
  • In Hyrule. A whole world at my fingertips.
  • Island resorts. Dazzling water and a kind of natural isolation. No people, no pollution, no problem.
  • Where the wind blows, buildings, balconies, bars as my playground.


When I started Taekwondo on the 23rd of January, 2007, I was one of two white belts in a class composed entirely of black belts. I trained with diligence and dedication, and I can say now that my technique was better than most of the coloured belts and some of the black belts. I was a star, and I strived to improve, always pushing myself, always eager to leap ahead.

As I am now, I am less flexible than the day I joined. The tendons in my legs are scarily tight, and they seriously limit the height of my kicks. It went from above my head to just above my shoulders. And every day I train, it gets a little bit worse.

The black belt grading is in nine days. The 25th of May. I feel it quite cruel that the longer I am made to train, the less chance I have of going for it. Master Ross has made no sign that he’ll let me sit it, and if I am denied, I will have to train another four to six months for the next grading. I’m worried that, by then, I won’t be able to kick at all.

But I’m not giving up. I’m going to keep training, and I’m going to get my black belt. It has been my dream for so many years, and I believe that it’s probably worth being crippled for life by a build-up of scar tissue. Kinda sucks though.

Wish me luck for getting in. Rar.

Two cents

Two thoughts I’d just like to throw out there.
1. Sexual frustration in people causes them to act in desperation. Sometimes this is immoral, self-motivated or downright idiotic. If everyone was in a happy, healthy sexual relationship, the world would be a very different place.
2. Australia Day is not about Australia. The flags people don, the tattoos and body paint, the green and gold… It’s like the uniform for the day that everyone’s allowed to go down to the foreshore, get wildly drunk, and have an outrageously good time. This may or may not be true, but from what I saw this year, the anthem is just part of the celebration of having a good time, sort of like the Happy Birthday song. It’s not about celebrating that person’s anniversary of birth, it’s about the party and festivity. When one really thinks about it, perhaps we shouldn’t celebrate the day the Brittish invaded Australia and attempted to exterminate its inhabitants.


I seem to write a lot of these.

It’s nigh on midnight, the night before the psych assignment is due.

After working on it for… around twelve hours, including research, within the past day and a half, I’ve reached that stage where it could have "the elephant began to walk up walls. ‘Hail Trenton, god of goat cheese!’ it bellowed" written on it and I would seriously hand it in.

There’s not caring, and then there’s me at this present moment.

Sometimes you just feel stupid enough to read bash.org. You know what I mean?

Heck, it’s not even that late. What am I complaining about? Ah well.