Falling

by TFox on June 20, 2011 at 11:32 am
Posted In: Travel

I fell out of a plane yesterday. On purpose. Strange to speak those words, and stranger still to know their full meaning. I have intended to do this for some time now, but seemingly not with a sense of priority. Circumstance is apparently the best catalyst for setting one’s bucket list in motion.

I’ve long feared the experience, though never with enough conviction to prevent its realization (at least in my mind). The thought of looking upon the earth from such a height with no sturdy barrier between us stirs a powerful sense of vertigo in merely imagined terms, so the potential for the actual experience to be far worse is the only logical stopping point for this train of thought.

It was a great comfort to have the security of a trained professional provided for me. Thinking back, I’m not certain that I possess the courage required to step away from the imagined safety of an aircraft into the imagined safety of a parachute, relying solely on my own conviction to do so. I’m more certain that I would cower at the door, the battle between logic, intent, and rationale raging within my mind until my mind became numb. Comfort here is manifest through being firmly attached to a decision making force not myself; not unlike what I imagine kittens experience when lifted by the scruff of the neck in vicious jaws of flesh-eating death. It’s just nice to know that if you’re going to meet a gruesome fate, at least there’s nothing you could do about it, for better or worse.

And so, I tumbled. The view was spectacular, and the ride exhilarating. The vertigo mentioned was brief, if noticeable at all. Truly, the experience was about as heart stopping as a roller coaster ride. That phrase “You’ll feel a little pinch” comes to mind. I fell from the sky, I lived, and I would do it again.

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Betrayal of a hero (Rant)

by TFox on May 19, 2011 at 9:04 pm
Posted In: Rant

Recently, 2 popular webcomic artists endeavored to produce a TV series in the wake of their peers. To fund this project, they appealed to their audience, requesting donations in the modest sum of $50,000. So far so good.

The fund drive was to last 30 days. However, within 24 hours over half the funds had been accounted for, and within 4 days the goal of $50,000 was reached, much to the surprise and awe of all parties involved. Shortly following a brief expression of gratitude, a discussion began concerning what to do with the remaining days in the fund drive. Here are some ideas that did not make it into public discussion:

- Closing the site/capping donations
- Retargeting additional funds to a second season of the series
- Making any kind of charitable donation
- Investing in any related future projects
- In short, anything related to the original purpose of the fund drive, or anything directly or indirectly benefiting or even made visible to the donors. I could be wrong, maybe they intend to film themselves tucking our bills into strippers’ g-strings a fistful at a time. Who knows.

Some of the ideas that *did* make the cut I’ve heard so far:

- Cashing out the extra money in $5s and rolling in it
- Packing it into bags and taking turns robbing each other
- um, etcetera.

We, your audience, offered our support in your dream to create a TV series. In return, we expect that you put that money to good use, in good faith, and do as you intended. This is not money for you to wipe you ass with, you ungrateful douchebags.

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Damage

by TFox on April 11, 2011 at 1:03 am
Posted In: Scrib

It’s bent, not broken, but it was perfect once. Some machine had poured raw material into a mold, endlessly, methodically creating a limitless supply of these things. Later, this one came into my possession, and some time following, a melange of events led to this incident. And now it is bent. But not broken.

The most troubling matter is that it cannot be unbent. No amount of fiddling or fudging or twisting or prying, no matter the tools at my disposal, will return it to its original, manufactured perfection. Through the slightest unfavorable nudge of fate, its tiny world of purpose has been shattered.

It may be that I can one day restore its functionality. It would always look funny, but reinstating it to active service could be enough. It would live on in its imperfection, fulfilling the duties of its role in subtle disgrace. It doesn’t have a consciousness with which to feel embarrassment or shame, though it concerns me that I would feel these things on its behalf. Would its disfigurement reflect poorly on me? Perhaps by allowing this marred thing to live on, the condition of it becomes irrelevant, exposing my own flaws instead…

By allowing this fault to endure, through inaction, do I claim it as my own?

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Of light and darkness

by TFox on March 31, 2011 at 6:29 pm
Posted In: Scrib

There’s a rainbow, over there. A blurred abundance of color, arcing across the sky. Above is a black cloud and furious rain, descending to barrage the earth below. Opposite the storm is a perfectly calm, bright sunny day. And between the two is me. I walk the invisible line that separates the dueling forces that produce this strange, intangible mirage. Half of me swims in the torrent of the downpour, and half bakes in the heat and comfort of the nearby star. This is mediocrity. This is the place where – while I do not know unrelenting apocalyptic failure, neither do I know success.

Both are around me, in abundance. I see the empty shells of former lifeforms, helplessly, tirelessly chasing the whims of their new merciless, unforgiving master. They willfully surrendered their humanity for the illusion of greatness, and their lives will never be the same. The inevitable result of only a handful of lousy choices. I fear this fate like no other. As prevalent are the champions. Masters of all they encounter, brute force and determination has gifted their touch with the spark of rapidly proliferating gold and holy light. The very presence of these inhuman beings fills the world simultaneously with hope and despair. Though we know it is possible, we also know this fate will never be our own.

I stand between, in this place of comfort. And not alone, the masses of the world stand with me in this ‘bubble’, as some would call it. The safety of insignificance. The assurance that if I don’t raise my voice, or take a chance of any kind, or dedicate myself to the creation of something, then I will not be brought down by the hand of greater forces or failure. I cannot be harmed in this warm little corner of the earth, yet the rain still passes through, reminding me of what I stand to lose should I ever try to break free.

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Challenge and adversity

by TFox on March 25, 2011 at 2:08 pm
Posted In: Scrib

I’m flying. I’m alone, in the pilot’s seat, passing through the skies. Moments ago it was a bright, sunny day, but it’s dark now, and it’s beginning to rain. The clouds are thickening. The moisture begins to bead and streak across the body of the tiny plane, coming down in larger and more frequent drops all the time. In the distance, lightning strikes. The flash momentarily illuminates the tiny world below, and the image lingers in my mind like a photograph. I’m suddenly aware of how far down it is. Minutes later another flash appears, and I catch it in my eye. The splintered figure of the lightning bolt, temporarily burned into my retina, confuses my vision. Everything I see has the ominous shape of a leafless, many branched tree etched into it.

I can feel the fear beginning. Too many things can go wrong. I should turn back, but I won’t; I’m too near to my goal now. If I can just limp across the finish line, I’ll be okay. The foreboding reality of my situation is obscured by the paradise that lies beyond. Victory is near. As I contemplate the reward awaiting me in the distance, it is suddenly clear to me how much I’ve left behind to pursue it. Is it worth it? Is this the achievement that will open the doors to the places I want to go? I dismiss the thought, thinking – at the least, it’s a stepping stone. It brings me closer. The sacrifice is worth it. I can see the runway now, and I allow myself a moment of joy. And then, the engine stops.

I could still make it. It’s not that far away. I struggle with the controls as the nose of the plane fights it’s way downward, little by little. The engine coughs as I try to restart it, black smoke pouring out with every turn. A gust picks me up for a moment, pushing me off course but also higher, giving me more time. I gently guide the small craft back toward the airstrip, and relentlessly coax the engine to start. I don’t know what’s wrong, and I probably couldn’t fix it from here anyway, but all I need is a little more power to get me there. Instead, the engine produces a massive wall of smoke, and moments later catches fire. I’m afraid now. The fear is inside me, in every part of me, but still I press on. It’s not death that scares me, or injury, but failure. The thought that I’ve come this far, I’ve tried this hard, and I might not make it.

The plane is nearing the ground now, accelerating. I’m so close. I’m so damn close. I can feel it, the taste of it, the smell and the sound. It’s right there, but I just can’t make it. There’s nothing I can do. All that’s left now is to ride out my failure with as much grace as possible. I’ve lost.

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