On to lighter and fancier things – the first and most urgent of things that need be spoken about is the series finale of Battlestar Galactica – “Daybreak”.  I shall write most urgently of this, for it is necessary and on the tip of my mind, freshest in my recollection.

It is difficult to sum up my feelings of this episode, for those of you seeking the “Spoiler Free” version.  Suffice to say it was a fitting end to the series, it as very amusing, had me smiling from ear to ear at the end, and I actually feel that the story has been completely told.

And so the spoilery version, after the cut. (more…)

As midnight passes overhead let us leave aside all notion of poetry and seek the comfort of the darkness.  Silence and void fill the air now as I sit to write these words, these long overwrought words, birthed from thoughts which have tumbled in my mind for hours now.  Long awakened with dreams of a soft touch, I ready now my electronic quill and flash my fingers across the keys, producing the sweet nepenthe which shall these demons dispel and grant me a night’s slumber.

Too long have I sat in contended slumber, the ways of yesterday forgotten and replaced by the needs of the day – think fast, move slow, buy time.  How atrophied my muscles now, how hoarse the voice that echoes from my throat.  It is so unlike the voice that I recall, so different and yet ultimately filled with the same passion, the same desires.  But tired… all too tired and weary, too quick to run out of steam and energy.

Every time I close my eyes the vision stays with me.  Shadows, glimpses, that is all I had, all the dream provided, and yet the memory is there all the same.  There to be picked up in darkness, to be felt and smelled and tasted, picked up viscerally with the coming of the dark.  It starts with an erred hand, a brush of fingertips, desire bringing the bodies closer like positive to negative, atoms colliding in the ether.  The tickling brush of fingertips, the spark of nervousness, an accidental slip.  Then fingers grasping, closing, seeking, wanting.  There is a name and a face and then darkness – or light, as intruding sun through windows did cause me to awaken, robbing me of the rapture, bringing me back to this world.

In this world I fight and I am weary but I have grown soft.  Soft and powerless against the tempting fates, I have allowed them to roll over me and though me and they have made of me their slave.  Corrupt and futile, I struggle vainly to gain my footing, but I am a tortoise in the desert on his shell, waiting for the noonday sun to bake my belly and stop the beating of my fragile heart.  There is a darkness within me but there is no hate, no divine anger that should spurn me to action.  The righteous fire has gone from me, burned out by compromise and acceptance.

I find contentment in this peace, a peace which, while occasionally interrupted, has lasted four long years.  But this is no good peace, not a happy contentment.  It is the contentment of the weary, the peace of the deceased.  In this place there lie the corpses of a thousand just men, those who did not die in battle but fell instead dishonorably outside of the field, undeserving of the praise of men, waiting to be called again.  Those who die in waiting find that they have never truly lived.  I wish for myself that fire again, that holy anger which spurs man to do great things, things beyond himself.

But all I find are cinders.

Dreams plague me once more, so my head is filled with words that need laying down upon the electronic parchment, realms of unreality needed to be explored. Life has been moving quickly, perhaps too quickly, and I’ve not taken the time to slow things down and simply examine where I am compared to where I’ve been, and therefore see where I am going.

Much is left to be said, so much is left to be written.

The plaguing dreams concern me. Let us dispel these demons.

I’m pretty brave, all around, in life. For some reason I don’t understand. This wasn’t always so – I was pretty cautious as a child. But these days there’s very little that’ll give me pause, especially when I’ve got some support.

But in this, I fear, I am a coward.