Momentous

I'm probably overthinking this - because I tend to overthink everything. That's kinda what I do... so, I figure, I might as well just bite the bullet and write this damn thing. After all, today is the 27th of May, and I have an irrational preference for the number twenty-seven.
Speaking of numbers, I'm not really sure what's so special about the number 300. I mean, sure, it's the highest score you can get, playing a perfect game of bowling (twelve strikes). It's also the name of a Zach Snyder movie about Spartans (based on a Frank Miller comic about Spartans). Of course, that movie was inspired by the Spartan legend of the 300 Spartans who fought in the Battle of Thermopylae. But they're not alone in legendary militia - in religious narratives, the "300 soldiers" appears to be a common motif. 300 Israeli soldiers fight the Midianites; in Islamic Tradition there remained 300 Israeli survivors of the conflict with Goliath & there were 300 followers of Muhammad that survived the Battle of Badr.

But, at the end of the day, this remains yet another milestone - an integer chosen arbitrarily due to being the square of 10 (the basis of our decimal numbering system). I don't think that the number, or even this post, is in and of itself special. What makes it special, and meaningful to me, is that it shows the distances that I have come and (if you are a loyal reader) which you have come along with me.
But what about this moment is special? What should I talk about right now. It feels significant, but I'm not certain as to why or how.
Well... something that I have been considering lately is the significance that can be found in all moments, regardless of the broad sweeping inevitability of time, or the general outlook of the era at large. Lately, I have felt like I keep losing track of "now", and the present moment occasionally seems to slip through my fingers.

For you see, I sometimes suffer from chronic anxiety - I always have it, but usually I manage it. It is a mental illness, whereby your brain overreacts to stress and fear, and/or results in having that response triggered by mildly or completely harmless stimuli (in many cases, the stimulus itself doesn't exist). I have talked about this many times before, so I hope this information isn't new to you. But what may be novel to hear is that this isn't simply "a sense of dread".
Anxiety may manifest in different ways for different people, but one of the ways - and indeed the way this affects me - is that I can often find myself disconnected from the current moment.
Sometimes, I worry about the things that I've done, or the things that have happened to me which I may have avoided if I'd acted differently in the past; or even I worry that things which have happened which I don't fully understand may happen again.
Or, I may stress about the future, and not only the consequences it may hold for me, but also the opportunities which I am denying myself based on the actions I am not taking & the ways that the future may be both predictable and unpredictable in any given moment.

This is not the only symptom of my anxiety (far from it), but when I am stressed, I am often thinking about something that has happened to me, or something that I fear may happen to me - and it can mean that I am failing to pay close attention to those things that are currently happening to me.
And so, the word of the Day is: 'MOMENT'

Moment /mōmənt/ n. 1. An indefinitely short period of time; An instant. 2. The present, or any other particular time 3. A definite period or stage, as in a course of events; juncture: At this moment in history. 4. Importance or consequence: A decision of great moment. 5. Statistics The mean or average of a given power of the values of a set of variates. 6. Philosophy An aspect of a thing. 7. Physics A measure of the tendency to cause rotation around a point or axis, equal to the product of the force and its perpendicular distance from the point of the axis.

I struggle, at times, to fully embrace the moment, because I am so often concerning myself with the past and the future. And although I know these thoughts are irrational, that doesn't stop my mind from thinking them. See, in a sense, there is a mild sensation of stress and fear that is constantly bubbling just under the surface of my mind. It's usually very mild, and if I am in the right mindset (and  not forgotten to take my medication) the heat barely bothers me. Like resting by a fireplace, the heat is felt, but not feared.
However, since it is already so close to boiling point, a single disturbance can start it spilling over into my mind, and although it can't actually hurt, it can feel as though my mind is on fire. Now, if I recognize that the temperature is rising - that I am becoming stressed - then I can try to calm it with a proverbial cool breeze or soft, cold rain, to slowly calm the waters. On good days, the waters can even be practically still. But, because it is so energetic and frenetic most of the time, it is as though it is always on the verge of spilling over.

Please, keep in mind, this is all just a metaphor to illustrate my point, anxiety isn't literally "hot" (if anything, it can manifest as a cold chill down the spine). But, this is to demonstrate how my mind works in regards to my anxiety, because for the average person without anxiety, the waters beneath their mind are cool and calm as a serene lake, and they only boil over when something dangerous, cruel or tragic happens.
In a very poetic, illogical, metaphorical sense, you could say my mind is more tropical than most...

That's the reason this word resonates so much with me, to the point that I want to use it Today for my 300th Blog Post. It is because as I have managed more and more to take better care of myself and to enjoy the present moment moreso than fearing the past or future, I've become more aware of my life.
And perhaps more importantly, the reason I feel the need to tell all of you about it is because I feel like, although I am so often removed from the current moment on account of my anxiety, I also feel as though there are probably many people who despite lacking this particular mental illness, nonetheless don't seem to truly take part in the present time of their lives.

I mean, think about it - what are you doing right now? You're reading "this". And by this, I don't mean my blog post, but I meant that word. It's done now, you've read it and now you're reading this sentence. Of course, that's over now, and now you're reading this one. In a matter of seconds, you've read five sentences, have you taken a moment to think about you, in this moment, who you are and what you're doing?
Don't get me wrong, I'm wonderfully flattered that you've taken this moment out of your day, whatever time of day that may be, to read my words. And I also feel as though this is a good use of this moment in time - assuming of course that you're not procrastinating or ignoring some other pressing matter... in which case, you should probably do that first. But, have you taken the time to think about what's happening?

Now, don't worry, some people think of crap like this as profound. It's isn't - fuck that. I'm not here to tell you about how every moment is precious or that life isn't about the breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away... blah blah blah, no. I'm not here to be a motivational poster. I don't want to draw your attention to the current moment due to its supposed "profundity", but due to it's simplicity and immediacy.

Yes, immediacy - perhaps that's the best way to think about it. It comes from the greek word "media", the plural for medium. When something is medium it's in the middle - often between two extremes: small, medium, large; soft, medium, hard; short, medium, tall - so, im-mediacy is about being IN the middle, between the past and the future. You're here in the middle of then and soon, in the present moment of NOW.

Again, I must reiterate, I am not saying that you need to "live life to the fullest", not only is that really lame and cringeworthy to me, but this idea that you need to live your life so that "no moment is wasted" is the kind of thing that can make you feel incredibly anxious in the first place.
Worrying about whether I was wasting my life was part of what made me curl up into a little ball and do nothing for a week - ironically, wasting my life even more.

See, one of the ways that my therapist taught me to deal with anxiety is called a grounding exercise - if you notice that you're starting to stress about something, what you are meant to do is set your worry aside by consciously identifying several things in your immediate environment which you are currently experiencing. There are several methods of doing so, but the one I use is based on a countdown of your senses. So, you have to simply identify:
5 things you can FEEL; 4 things you can SEE; 3 things you can HEAR; 2 things you can SMELL & 1 thing you can TASTE.
So let me run you through an example now. Right now,
Five things I can feel:
 • The pressure of the chair beneath my backside.
 • The keys of the keyboard beneath my fingers.
 • The tightness of my shoes on my feet.
 • The dulled edge of the desk on my forearm.
 • The warmth of the shirt on my back.
Four things I can see:
 • The colourful images of the YouTube video player on my screen
 • The coffee cup beside my monitor.
 • The messy three-tier tray of papers beside me.
 • A single five-cent piece that fell from my wallet onto the desk.
Three things I can hear:
 • The dull whirring of my computer's cooling fan.
 • The dull, plasticky clacking of my keyboard as I type this sentence.
 • The muffled sound of a newsreader from the television in the livingroom.
Two things I can smell:
 • The mild smell of sweat from my shirt (I went for a walk today).
 • A very light smell of dust from my desk.
One thing I can taste:
 • At the moment, simply my tongue, salivating since I am a little thirsty.

That's me at the present moment. Or, at least, it was a moment ago when I typed that, I'm going to go get that glass of water now - but the point is, once you identify these things, you recognize that these are all a part of the world around you which you're a part of - or, you could use another method to place yourself in the current moment. I use this because it's easy to remember, but there are several grounding and anchoring exercises. No matter which you use, the purpose of these exercises is to bring yourself out of this drifting, unsecured worry about what was, what may be or what could be, and ground yourself in the present, solid reality. In a sense, it's like snapping you awake out of a daydream.

Now, I'm not asking you to examine your own life on a second-by-second basis. This exercise is about ripping you out of your worry and bringing you back to the present moment, you don't need a grounding exercise unless you're worrying or lost in your thoughts. Rather, I am just hoping to draw your attention to the fact that your life is happening right now, and you should probably try to experience it whilst it's happening. Even the little moments...
See, I decided to write about this because of three moments. They were rather minor, but I feel they're worth mentioning:

1. Firstly, about three weeks ago, I was going for a walk. I had been stressing and worrying, trying to figure out what I should do for this blog. I was wondering if I should do something simple, so I could draw it, or maybe I could do another vlogpost. But, I had no idea, so instead, I put it out of my mind, and instead considered stories that I was writing. When I walk and work on stories, it either consists of me talking to myself (either to brainstorm aloud, or speaking in character to develop dialogue), or I consider concepts again in the hopes that a literal new perspective could inspire something.
   As I walked I remember noticing that there was a large patch of dirt where the grass hadn't grown, through a combination of foot traffic and the occasional car parking by the fence. I noticed that some of the rocks in the dirt were green, or even clear and shiny. It was obvious that they were the result of broken bottles, but they weren't sharp, they'd been smoothed down to pebbles. It occured to me then, that even something as simple as the ground, can seem beautiful. Not only was there an interesting palette of colour, but I knew (although, I only recognized this subconsciously) that some had been collected, melted, shaped and coloured, before being filled with liquid, drunk and discarded, only to be moulded into a round pebble, whereas others may simply have washed down the road in the rain, or been kicked up by car tires or shoes. And all because I had taken a moment to pay attention... to the ground. That's when I first considered "moment" as a word.
2. Secondly, although this happened nineteen years ago now, this may be the moment that resonates with most of you, rather than a moment staring at the ground - since it has the greatest impact. See, in the year 2000, the new millenium and a year full of promise and anticipation for many, Australia hosted the Olympics Games in Sydney. In a sense, it ruined the Olympics for me, not because it was bad, but because it was too good. Not only was I a nine-year-old kid, but I was seeing my whole country get excited - there were promotional tie-ins; the torch relay was all over the news and I even remember some school activities which made reference to the sporting events.
   But, that's not the one moment. The actual moment was during the Opening Ceremony. I watched it on television, at about 7pm, and I was mesmerized. The music, the dancing, the amazing puppetry & the jaw-dropping choreography. It is an amazing performance, and you should look it up if you've never seen it. But, what struck me was that, because of the camerawork, whilst it often showed the performance as a whole, it would occasionally cut to a close-up on just one moving sculpture, or one performer; one puppeteer, one horserider or one firebreather. In particular, there was a moment during the "Nature" segment of the ceremony, when several thousand people moved in a way that represented a bushfire followed by blossoming flowers - and in that moment I realized that every single individual involved had dedicated a fraction of their life (perhaps months of practice and rehearsal) to come together in one moment, to perform once live for two hours, then return home. According to Wikipedia, the ceremony had a cast of 12,687 people. I didn't know that at the time, but I saw in that moment how several thousand people can work together, to create something great in a single moment.
3. Thirdly, I went to Currumbin Wildlife Sanctuary with my family. Some of our Japanese extended family were visiting Australia, so we decided to take them to see some Aussie animals. I took a lot of photos, because I could get some amazing photos of the animals - I even managed to cuddle a snake called Isis (although, the handler insisted that they mostly called her Izzy). They also had a miniature railway, which could take you from one side of the park to the other, and because I absolutely adore trains, I insisted that we ride it. But, on the train, as we travelled I took three photos, then quickly realized that the train moved too quickly for my digital camera, making every photo an ugly blur. So, I put my phone in my pocket, and just enjoyed the ride. And, even though I didn't really "do" anything, it was a great experience - I just watched as we travelled through a park, saw a peacock, went in the tunnel, past the lake, then came to a stop by the reptile show and the live-flight display.
   Now, I probably would have enjoyed it just as much if I had taken photos - I took photos all day, and I loved it - but with empty hands, I realized that I was having an amazing time. Like I said, I love trains, we were chugging along at a good pace and it was also a beautiful day and we were headed to see a birdflight show. It felt great to be alive that day.

Of course, these aren't the only moments which matter - my point is meant to be that most of them matter - but I believe that these moments are emblematic of what I talk about when I say that I find meaning in being aware of your present moment. The reason why I shared them with you is because those are moments in my life which I will remember because of how they made me feel grounded in the present moment, and realize where and when I was. I am glad I experienced all of them, even though some were more grandiose than others - because yes, it's important to be fully aware during those momentous occasions, but that doesn't mean we should ignore the occasional moment.

Now, maybe I'm just overthinking it again. Perhaps these simple moments feel more potent to me because, when I was stressed or feeling depressed, these minor moments were emotionally stained with negativity. I am finding more enjoyment in the present because it's not as depressing as it once was.
But, if this blog meant something to you, and you feel like your life is passing you by, or like you're simply a passenger on a world that's spinning faster than you can comprehend. Maybe you occasionally feel stressed, and find yourself lost in worry. For whatever the reason.  I want you to take a moment to ground yourself. Whether you need an exercise to realize the world around you, or if you simply need to reconsider how you look at things... perhaps you should take a moment to experience the present time of your life.

If not, well, thank you in the least for sharing this moment with me - since it is the 300th moment of 299 moments which I've shared on this blog. Even if it doesn't seem that meaningful, especially surrounded by some which are better or even worse, and it's a number without any grand significance, it's the fact that it's the moment happening now which makes it meaningful. Not special, not better, not profound... but it nonetheless matters, and hopefully it will be just another moment in the path ahead.

I'm the Absurd Word Nerd, and until next time, I'm gonna take a moment to myself to figure out what I'm going to do tomorrow.

My 10,000th Day of Life

Today, I am exactly 27 years, 4 months & 19 days old. That might seem like a strange feat to record:

5/3/19 - the day when I was 27.38 years old.

However, if my mathematics is right, today I am exactly 10,000 days old. As I stand here before you (well, sit, I sit at my desk to type), the sun has passed over me exactly 10,000 times.
That is, if my maths is right, anyway... the Word of the Day is: 'THOUSAND'

Thousand /thowzənd/ n. 1. A cardinal number, ten times one hundred. (10 × 100). 2. A symbol for this number, as 1000 or M. 3. A great number or amount: A thousand pardons. 4. One in a Thousand, Very good; outstanding. ♦det. 5. Amounting to one thousand in number. ♦pron. 6. A thousand people or things: A thousand came to the match.

I was born on October 18, 1991. On October 19th,  1991, I was one day old, but on October 18th 1992, I was 365 days old - well, actually, I was 366 days old, since it was a leap year, but I'll deal with that later.
So on that basis, we do our mathematics.
10,000 ÷ 365 is 27.397..., so I knew it was after my 27th Birthday.
So, I just did 27 × 365, and since it was a leap year in 1992, 1996, 2000, 2004, 2008, 2012 & 2016, I added seven (+7) to the result, and we get = 9,862.
Now, we just need those last 138 days. So, I counted forward from there.
There were thirteen more days in October, so 9,862 + 13 = 9,875
Thirty days in November 2019, so 9,875 + 30 = 9,905
Thirty-one days in December 2019, so 9,905 + 31 = 9,936
Thirty-one days in January 2019, so 9,936 + 31 = 9,967
Twenty-eight days in February 2019, so 9,967 + 28 = 9,995
Now, we're so close, less than 30, so I just add the last five days
Five more days into March 2019, so 9,995 + 5 = 10,000 Days

So, my 10,000th day is today, Tuesday 5th of March, 2019.

Now, at first glance, this might seem completely arbitrary. It's just ten-thousand days, big whoop, who cares? But, if you ask me, it's an eye-opening look at both how long and how short our lives are. See, the reason why I'm focusing on this day is because it is the only milestone measured in days, in order of magnitude, that we can truly appreciate. If you're not sure what I mean, allow me to explain.
1st Day? Well, you're one day old, barely even sapient at that point.
10th Day? Nine more days of experience isn't much better than that.
100th Day? That's just three or four months, we can't even speak.
1,000th Day? Things speed up now, almost 3 years old, you can speak, but you're still too young to even understand the concept of milestones - although you're out of nappies (probably), but very few children at this age can count well enough to know how old they are.

And, you can't go past 10,000 days...

100,000th Day? This would make you over 270 years old. Our understanding of aging is that the reason why we all get old is because the parts we are built from inevitably break down. We have the ability to heal, and regenerate cells, but this regeneration and rejuvenation is imperfect. The reason why we eventually "get old" is because what manages this regeneration is our DNA, but the deterioration of telomeres at the ends of our DNA strands means that our bodies gradually get worse and worse at repairing themselves. It's a basic law of entropy, everything eventually wears out, breaks down, and disintegrates. And, according to the most recent findings, the average shelflife of your telomeres is about 120 years, meaning that after that, you lose the ability to heal and your cells inevitably break down.
So, for a human being to live for 100,000 days would be nothing short of a miracle.

And knowing this, it brings this day into perspective. I am 10,000 days old. I will only be this old for exactly 24 hours, and then it will pass. Tomorrow, I will be 10,0001 days old, today will fall behind me, and I will move on with my life.
What's odd is, even though this day is only significant to me is because I will die (before I reach 100,000 days, at least) and so it is a fleeting moment to consider, I'm not sad or even melancholy. Perhaps I'm too young for that, and need a midlife crisis before I start despairing.
But, today, I just feel good that I've gotten this far. Today, I spent the day writing, watching Fact Fiend on YouTube and reading summaries for old children's horror stories.

So, if you're younger than 27 - or have turned 27 quite recently - why not figure out when your 10,000th Day is?
Or, if you're older, are there any other unusual milestones that we tend to miss? Maybe your millionth second? Basic maths tells me that you'd be about 31 years old at the time, although you wouldn't have long to celebrate... But, maybe there are others which I haven't considered.
Speaking of milestones, this post is actually my 299th, so the next milestone that I'm going to pass is my 300th post. I'm not sure what I'm going to do for it, if anything at all... but, I have more milestones fast-approaching.
I considered writing a post so that my 300th post and 10,000th day would coincide, but this day snuck up on me way to fast for me to do that.

I'm the Absurd Word Nerd, and until next time... well, yeah, I'm gonna be working on the 300th post. In the meantime, I hope you're having a great day. And, if you like, feel free to talk about your own specific or unusual milestones in the comments below.

Life on Hard Mode: How do we treat Independent Game Developers?

I have always liked Let's Plays. I find it entertaining, and often relaxing, to watch someone else play a game, and because I can't afford a lot of games it means that I get to experience them vicariously through a YouTuber that I find interesting. If you're looking for some good ones, I highly recommend Cupquake's What Remains of Edith Finch series, or Yahtzee Croshaw's Ego Review series. I really like the idea of doing my own, but I am not sure what I would talk about, so although I occasionally record myself playing games on my phone I've never committed to doing any Let's Plays (at this point in time, anyway). But because I really like the idea of doing my own one day, this means that I occasionally download games which I think would be interesting to watch in a Let’s Play. Recently, this lead me to look for games with Lovecraftian Horror, since I’ve been getting into a real horror kick lately, and I was curious how mobile gaming achieves cosmic terror. In my search, I actually found two different Cthulhu games that were labelled “Early Access”. I haven’t really played around with those kinds of games before, so I thought I’d give it a shot, and I really enjoyed the experience, even though one game was really incomplete.
Cthulhu Chronicles is an electronic gamebook engine and library which is most of the way through its development and has some cool mechanics in a simple 2D display. It did have some minor issues with animations and graphics - and at one time, a narrative mistake - but for the most part I was really drawn in. I don’t know when it will be completed, but I recommend that you check out the early access if you like the idea of cosmic horror, since I really enjoyed it and I think you will too.
Cthulhu: time for death is very early in its development, but it appears to be a heavily story-based 3D, first-person adventure game. The gameplay and mechanics are both a work in progress, and it’s quite buggy with a low framerate, probably since it is much earlier in a longer development. Whilst the current build is very buggy, the attention to detail is highly encouraging and the story idea of being a detective searching for a missing elder god is a really exciting premise for a game story.

After leaving feedback for the developers, I was excited to see what the new builds were for each - perhaps Chronicles would be released, and maybe Time for Death would get an update which would fix the bugs and allow me to do more in the small environment they’ve built. However, it’s been over two weeks so far, and there’s been no observable progress on either game.
Of course, I realize that game development takes time (and money). I know this because I had followed the development of Yandere Simulator for a long time, and seen what can go into creating a game, be it a 3D simulator game, or even a simple 2D engine (I didn’t follow it myself, but my oldest brother followed the development of Prison Architect, and despite being a game of 2D sprites, it was in development for over 4 years). Since we're talking about independent game development, the Word of the Day is: 'INDIE'

Indie /'indee/ n. 1. An independently or privately owned business, especially a film or music company that is not affiliated with a larger and more commercial company: To work for an indie. 2. A movie or other work produced by such a company. 3. A genre of music, especially pop or rock, that is independently produced. 4. A person who works for an independently owned business or is self-employed. ♦adj. 5. Noting or relating to an indie: An indie film producer; an indie video game. 6. Noting or relating to independently produced music: Indie rock; an indie pop group.

Since playing these games had reminded me of it, and I wasn’t seeing progress in the games I’d played early builds for, I decided to dive back into the YouTube Channel for YandereDev, the developer of that game I’d been following, and see how far it had come. See, the game which he is developing - which will most likely be released under the title Lovesick: Yandere Simulator - is a game wherein you play a somewhat sociopathic, young Japanese highschooler who is seeking the affection of a senior boy at her school, and uses any and every means necessary to stop other girls from romancing him or trying to declare their love for him, due to her somewhat unhealthy obsession.

As far as I’m concerned, it’s a fantastic idea for a game and so I was following along with the development via YandereDev’s YouTube channel. But a long while ago I had realized that it was taking years to complete, and months at a time just to get an update video. So, I decided to let it sit for a while, and come back to it. These games gave me an excuse to, but when I did . . . oh dear. I enjoyed it at first, and I sat and binge-watched every video, old and new. Whilst I was impressed with all the new features, it seems that very recently there’s been some kind of backlash against the creator, for various reasons which I don’t care to go into because I don’t think they truly matter. Only a few weeks after I had rediscovered the game developer’s blog, he uploaded a new video called Hate and Shame, all about the kinds of things he had been dealing with, behind the scenes. So, it appears as though this lengthy project has developed a counter-culture to the fandom, sometimes known online as a hatedom. Not only is this bad for the sake of those with empathy, since I don’t like it when others suffer needlessly, but it’s also bad for the game development since unhappy artists are crappy artists and it has taken a toll on the progress of the development of Yandere Simulator. This sucks because I want to buy this game. It sounds really cool, and from what I’ve seen so far it should be fun to play. But, forces beyond the developer’s control have lead to a great many issues, and slowed down an already lengthy process.

On that note, there’s actually another game whose development I was following around the same time, and after seeing the strife that YandereDev had come across, I decided to return to Rides With Strangers, a game by Reflect Studios which is a company which basically consists of one programmer. He is responsible for the Welcome to the Game franchise. Personally, I don’t find that game very interesting, the Deep, Dark Web is kind of overplayed as horrifying already, but the idea behind Rides With Strangers is truly compelling to me. The story is that you are a woman who is travelling to visit a family member in hospital who has very little time left. After your car breaks down, you are left with no choice but to hitchhike down a lonely highway in the middle of the woods, at night, and attempt to get to your destination before time runs out. Unfortunately, most of the people you can seek to get a lift from are . . . not as kind as they would have you believe.
This is a fantastically creepy concept to me, and I was looking forward to seeing how far the development has come along. However, it doesn’t seem to have come that far either. Admittedly, this seems to be because the developer hasn’t updated YouTube, but rather is documenting his progress via Twitter, and occasional livestreams. But, in one of his tweets, he revealed that he was being called a scammer because people weren't seeing development on his flagship game, and he explained that he was waiting for more money from other games to come in, so that he can use that money to pay freelance animators and artists, so in the mean time he has been working on updating his other games. He had even begun working on a smaller title so that he can provide his audience with something in the meantime.

So, if I had to pick the predominant subject for the month gone by, it would have to be “the struggles of independent game development”. Sometimes, a subject that I want to talk about can be too broad or vague to really make a definitive statement about it, but it doesn’t really get more specific than that. But, why am I talking about it? Well, besides introducing you to four cool games you might want in the future, and four interesting indie game developers that you might consider checking out, I wanted to discuss a major element of independent game development that came to a head in my mind, after looking at all four of these games-in-progress.

A lot of people seem to forget that game developers are human. I mean, perhaps this is just part of the Greater Internet Fuckwad Theory, that some people tend to treat everyone online like crap. But, it seems like a lot more people treat independent game developers like crap. I’m not certain why this is, perhaps it just seems worse to me because I appreciate game developers, and so harassing them seems rude. But, moving forward under the belief that this isn’t the case, I have a theory that the reason for this is because independent game developers find themselves at a crossroads of mistreatment. They are providing a product with expectations involved; they are artists, and so people can disagree with them for subjective, aesthetic reasons; they are often also playing the role of a small business; as well game development requires a lot of money and takes a lot of time, both of which tend to get people into a tizzy & add on top of this the fact that a sadly high percentile of modern gamers are entitled, hateful, whiny little shits when you get right down to it - and I think this leaves these indie game devs at a much increased risk of being mistreated and harassed by people who follow them online.

Some people look at these artists and creators as though they are little more than a widget to be provided; an art to be critiqued; a need to be fulfilled. Yes, when first I realized that these two games which I very much enjoy (conceptually) probably wouldn’t be available for years, not months, not one year, but several years, I can’t deny that I was disappointed. I still am disappointed, because this is something that I wish I had, and I don’t currently have it.
But, I am an adult, and I am capable of understanding that the desire to have something, or the disappointment that I don’t have something, is completely worthless so long as I am not taking the responsibility to provide it. The reason I stopped following YandereDev & Reflect Studios for almost a year is because I didn’t like having to wait, and so I elected to stop waiting, there are more things in my life to concern myself with.
For the record, I want to say that it’s not everyone that is doing this harassment, in fact from what I can see in the comments for these videos, or the responses on Twitter, the grand majority of people who follow indie game devs are just like me - patient, and exciteable, but ultimately hopeful for the eventual release - many of them are actively encouraging.
But, as is often the case, a vocal minority can ruin it for the rest of us.

But, let’s end this on a much more positive note. To begin with, YandereDev recieved overwhelming support saying that the things he is “ashamed” about are of no concern to them, and although he provided a response to his hatedom, he seems to have returned to the game development with much needed encouragement, if perhaps a little soured.
Also, I scoured the Reflect Studios twitter to find this Tweet from Reflect Studio’s developer, which claims that he is aiming to launch the game in the third or fourth quarter of 2019, at time of writing, that's about 9 months away! I'm pretty excited for it.

And, in doing research for this blog, I've discovered that there are actually quite a lot more indie game devs out there with games I want to play than I initially believed, and so I have come to the conclusion that the best way to stave off impatience whilst waiting for one game dev, is to follow several. If you don't like the four that I've mentioned in this post, why not check out Route 59, they've almost finished development on their latest game Necrobarista - a visual novel about a café which uses necromancy to both wake the dead, and to make a great cup of coffee; or, what about Matthew Palaje, who is developing a Zara the Flame (working title), a game that combines third-person platforming and VR to create a game where you act as a sort of powerful guardian, helping your avatar to travel the world; or, even Ryan Fleury, a developer working on The Melodist, a retro 2D platformer in which music is used to change the world, literally, by manipulating the game landscape to solve puzzles and open up new paths.

I'm the Absurd Word Nerd, and until next time, if you don't like any of those games, well . . . maybe following indie game development isn't for you. But, as someone who enjoys games, and wouldn't mind one day being a part of a small game's development, I love watching these games come together, piece by piece, to be a work of art that brings someone, not hate or shame, but pride and joy.

The Absurd Word Nerd's 2018 Retrospective

I keep paralyzing myself with thoughts of what I could write on here. I have struggled to write this, to write anything, for a long time now. I am probably overthinking it, but that's what I do with most things, so it's to be expected.
I don't know if I should be bitter or happy or angry or upset. When it comes to summarizing the year, it seems as though I should feel something. Unfortunately, life isn't that simple.

One of the benefits of narrative is that every story can have a point. There is, in fact, a grand designer and creator behind everything, and you can see the meaning of their world hidden beneath the surface. But, life doesn't have meaning or purpose, unless we give it some kind of meaning and purpose. I covered this in my post The Meaning of Life, an Analysis - life has no inherent meaning, but it can inherit meaning.
But, that's life in the broad-strokes, one lifetime. What about smaller portions of a lifetime, a literal slice of life? Is there meaning in a year of one's life? What about a month? A week? A day? An hour?
How small do we have to dissect our lives before we reach a moment that is truly meaningless?
Can we ever reach such an indivisible moment, or is every moment pregnant with the potential that a life can have?

I am not being poetic, I don't actually know the answer to these questions. It probably depends on the person, and the moment. However, in this moment, where I am summarizing this year from my perspective, this year doesn't seem to have any meaning. I'm not saying there weren't highs and lows - on the contrary, this year saw me finding work, and balancing my mental health as well as losing my last and dearest grandparent, Iris Jarrett, my maternal grandmother.
I never mentioned it on here because I didn't want to turn my grandmother's death into a blog post. Not only did I not feel like I could represent what she meant to me in a single post, but I was also grieving quite a lot - a lot more than I expected to.

But, this also saw some greater independence on my part. My parents had bought a caravan, and had begun traveling with it. This meant more time to myself, time which I often used for relaxation, but occasionally used for writing.
Of course, I now find myself looking at the first post of this year, Closing the Book on 2017. As is tradition here, I had three pseudo-resolutions for this year:

1. I wanted to complete my GameBlog
2. I wanted to conclude Duke Forever
3. I wanted more of my writing Published

Since two of those were related to this blog, it's pretty obvious how far they've come, but allow me to reassure you, I haven't had any more of my writing published either. That's right, I'm zero for three.
I could spend time explaining why, but honestly, I doubt you care. I barely care, and I'm the one ashamed that I've once again failed to fulfill my own yearly wishes.
This hasn't happened to me since 2014's failed fulfillment followup.

This being the case, I have no option really but to do what I did then, and repeat my resolutions. My promises aren't broken if I just postpone them.
Y'know what, looking back on this year, I've decided what it was to me and this blog:
2018 - The Year the Writing didn't Flow.

I started the year wanting to write my Duke stuff, and didn't. I tried to work on my GameBlog, and didn't. I finally came back swinging with my Halloween Countdown, but due to a mistake at the eleventh hour, I had to scrape something new together, barely posted it all on time, and felt exhausted afterwards, unable to write anything since.

Part of that is because it's summer, and I can't write in summer - too hot - I'm sitting in my father's study with the air conditioner blasting, just so I can write this. But, for the most part it's because I went from a blogging walking pace to a literary sprint with little-to-no preparation. It left me feeling well and truly drained, and despite having several plans for stuff I wanted to write in the immediate aftermath, I was left stumbling for quite a while afterwards.
This blog post is literally the first thing I've managed to write in two-and-a-half months.

Anyway, another problem that stories have over life in general is that stories tend to have a final page and a definitive conclusion, but I don't know the conclusion for this year.
Yes, today is the last day of the year, but so what? I don't know. Perhaps that's the feeling I'll have the enter into the coming year with. A general malaise, due to not feeling like I've accomplished anything this year. I hope your 2018 was better than mine, and let's all vow to try better next year.

Uh . . . bye for now, I guess. See you next year.

Bag of Tricks

Darren Reynolds. I can say it over in my mind as many times as I like, but it still doesn’t sound right. It is my name, but it just doesn’t feel like me. After all, everyone calls me Sticky.
Yeah, Sticky, because my hands are so sticky. No, I don’t mean they are like tree branches or covered in glue. It’s just . . . when I see something that I really want, I can’t help it, I have to take it, things are always getting picked up with my sticky hands. Now, yeah, I know stealing is wrong. Mum, Dad and teachers have lectured to me about it for hours, but, hey, if people didn’t want stuff stolen, they would take better care of it. I look at the guy beside me.
Yeah, perfect example, I can see the wallet in his pocket, it’s sticking out so far, it’s pretty much going to fall out on its own. I easily, but carefully, slip my hand over and slide the wallet out.
See? He just wasn’t paying attention. I open the wallet and search around. That $50 note looks alright. I slip it into my own pocket and then put the guy’s wallet on the floor.
And here’s the most fun part. I tap him on the shoulder “Hey, man, you’ve dropped your wallet.”
The guy looks surprised and picks his wallet up off the floor,
  “Oh, thanks,” he says.
  “No worries.”
As he turns around, I can’t hide the smile on my face. Not only does he not know, but now I’m the nice, young fellow who found his wallet for him, he never suspected a thing. Fantastic. The bus stops and I look out to see the tall buildings of the City. Yep, my stop, I wonder where the guys are?
I stand up and follow the shuffling crowd off the bus. As people start spreading out to head off, I spot Charlie through the crowd.
  “Hey! What’r’ya doin’?” I call over.
  “Waitin’ for you, come on.” He says, obviously not wanting to waste any time. He almost drags me through the people to the centre of the Mall. “Phil said he’d be here.” He murmurs, looking over the crowds, “Why does EVERYONE have to meet at Hungry Jacks?”
  “Hey! You lot!” Phil suddenly calls over, from down the street, “You gotta check this out!”
When he gets close Charlie moves behind Phil and slaps him in the back of the head “Hey! Wha’s that for?” Phil grumbles. As Phil groans in pain, I can’t help but laugh, he got hit right in the back of the head.
  “We’re s’pose to be meeting here dingus, if you’d not come runnin’ up, we’d’ve been waiting here for hours.” Okay, even I know that’s a stupid reason, but what can I say? Charlie likes to hit people.
  “Whatever, I was just sayin’ that you should come check this guy out down here.” Before we learn anymore, Phil turns around and starts going back down the street.
  “Come on Sticky, either we follow him or we’ll lose him forever. We never can settle Phil down.”
I start jogging after Charlie down the street and soon enough I see a large crowd of people standing on the side of the street. Phil’s waiting just beside it.
  “Guys, look, it’s a magician!” Phil leads us around to the side of the crowd and we can just see through the people. The magician is around his forties, and he is wearing dark black pants, held up with red braces over a chequered shirt, and he has a black, short-brimmed hat on his head, and he’s standing on top of an upturned milk-crate so that all the people around him can see him. The magician reaches down into a large, brown leather bag by the foot of the milk-crate and pulls out a pack of cards.
  “Pick a card, any card.” He says, fanning out the deck toward the volunteer in front of him.
  “I think I know how to do that trick,” Charlie says behind me, suddenly chuckling.
  “This old coot has just bought a magic book, and now he’s trying to get money from it. It’s ridiculous.”
I had thought the magician was pretty cool, but now that he mentions it, these tricks are pretty ordinary, Charlie’s right.
  “Yeah,” I pipe up “I think I could do some better tricks than that.” I say
I turn back to Charlie to see him smiling,
  “Hey, that’s a good idea. Sticky, you’re pretty good at making things disappear, why don’t you show him how to really do magic.” The idea sounds pretty good to me, performing to such a big crowd.
  “Alright then, I will.” I turn back to the magician just as the crowd is applauding. Before he can start his next trick, I push through the crowd to where the magician is and stand right next to him. I notice some disapproving looks from the crowd, and the magician even looks down at me from on top of his crate.
  “Excuse me, do you wish to volunteer?” he asks
  “No,” I say, suddenly noticing the edge of a bright, yellow scarf sticking out from his pocket, “I’m here to do magic!” I waggle my empty fingers to the silent, stone-faced crowd and then walk behind the magician. As I pass, I easily slip the scarf from his pocket and scrunch it up into my fist.
  “Ta da!” I call as I throw the scarf up into the air with flourish and catch it as it floats back down.
Some of the people clap, but most keep staring coldly, I think I hear one person murmuring loudly ‘Attention-seeking fool . . .’. The magician clears his throat
  “Isn’t that my scarf?” he says , stepping off of the crate, looking slightly cranky. I hold it out for him to take back.
  “I guess so,” I say as he snatches it back and puts it into his pocket.
  “Then, you are merely a thief?!” he cries out. I can barely keep a straight face as he gets more mad.
But, suddenly, his face turns friendly and smiley again as he turns back to the audience.
  “You are a thief, but I am a better one!”
I stare at him, confused. Did I just become part of his act?
He turns me to face the crowd
  “Ready yourself,” he says. Then, as I am facing forward, he walks behind me. I don’t feel a thing, I know he hasn’t stolen anything. I turn to my other side to see him announce to the crowd
  “Okay, I have now stolen something from you!”
I really don’t get it, I know he hasn’t stolen anything.
  “What? Don’t think I’ve taken anything? Are you sure?”
I start to check my pockets, just in case, my wallet, the $50 note, my detention slip . . .
Suddenly, I hear the crowd burst out in laughter and I look up to the magician. He’s holding up a pair of underwear.
No . . . he couldn’t have . . .
I put my hand down and check, just to be sure. Yeah, they’re there, but . . .
The crowd is laughing, Charlie and Phil are laughing, even the magician is chuckling to himself. It was all just a trick, but these people would never believe me. I’ve been made a fool of.
I turn to walk away, but the magician stops me.
  “Oh, don’t forget to take these.” He says, stuffing the underwear in my hand. I just take them and saunter through the crowd. I step up to the laughing Charlie and Phil,
  “Now THAT’S a magic trick!” Phil screams, and it sends the two almost rolling on the floor in laughter.
  “I’m going home.” I say, turning away from Charlie and Phil,
  “Oh, come on! Just ‘cause you got outdone by a 50-year-old? Come on Phil, let’s leave him to sook.”
They wander off, still laughing to themselves as they go. I continue on down the street, headed for the train station.
Damn it! All those people laughing at me, it’s all that Magician’s fault, how dare he laugh at me.
I look down at the pair of knickers in my hand.
  “What kind of sick paedophile carries around a pair of undies anyway?” I say, throwing the underwear into a nearby bin. That sick, old man, I should get him back. He should still be performing, I could just . . .
I turn back to look up the street, but I see the crowd has spread out, the act is over. Just my luck. I continue back down the Mall, cross the street to the train station, and start making my way to the platforms. How am I gonna get him back? Maybe tomorrow I’ll show up and ruin all his tricks, tell everyone how they’re done . . . No, I’ll just seem like a crazy heckler . . .
Maybe I could start my own magic act and . . . No, that’s just stupid.
I pass through the station and see my train’s on the platform. People are already on the train, I’m gonna miss it if I’m not fast. I jump down the tiled steps and leap through the doors onto the train. Phew!
The doors slam shut behind me and the train begins to crawl it’s way along, slowly speeding up.
Damn, I lost my train of thought. Where was I? Damn it! I dunno how to get him back. Suddenly, my eye catches something just in front of me. A forty-year-old man wearing dark pants held up with red braces over a chequered shirt and a short-brimmed hat on his head. Just my luck . . .
It’s the Magician. The Magician is on my train. How did he get here before me? Oh, who cares, this is just too perfect. My mind is racing a mile a minute, the old man can’t even see me, because he’s facing towards the other side of the passenger car. This is the perfect chance, I can’t think of anything, there’s so much I could do, but what can I get away with?
I suddenly notice a bag at his feet. It’s large, bulky and made of weathered, brown leather. It’s his bag, the bag full of his magic tricks. I can’t help but smile. This guy does magic tricks for a living, he couldn’t do that very well if he didn’t have his magic trick bag, could he?
I look around. Nobody’s looking, it’s now or never. As naturally as possible, I lean over, hook my hand through the handle and stand back up straight. I nearly fall over from the weight of the bag, but nobody seems to notice me. No reaction from the Magician, this is the easiest steal of my life. Now to slowly walk away . . .
I slowly turn and start walking to the back door, tilting slightly from the weight of the bag. I check behind me, but the Magician doesn’t even notice, the deaf, old fool. I pass through to another carriage and shut the door behind me. I try not to smile too much, but I can’t help it. I can just imagine the look on the old guy’s face when he sees his bag is gone, possibly forever. The weight of the bag is nearly dislocating my arm, so I slowly place it on the floor. Damn, what’s in this thing? Bricks? I lean against the wall to stay standing as the train begins slowing down.
Oh, damn! This is my stop. I really should pay more attention when it comes to public transport.
I lean down and grab the bag again. Wow! It feels heavier than before, I nearly rip my arms off as I try to pick the bag up, how does that old guy do it? I walk quickly off the train, not so much so that I can be home quicker but rather so that my arms don’t fall off before I get there.
As I’m, quickly making my way home, I get a thought in my head. Wouldn’t it be interesting to see some of the tricks in here? I mean, that crowd in the City was pretty big, just imagine if I could get attention like that, it’d be awesome. I drop the bag by the front door as I grab my keys from my front pocket. I’m suddenly really anxious to see what’s in the bag. It’s so heavy, it probably holds hundreds of tricks. I throw the door open and drag the bag through to the living room.
Mum shouldn’t be home yet, I should have heaps of time to check this thing out. The living room is pretty much two sofas, a coffee table and a TV. I grunt with effort as I drop the bag onto the coffee table, I can swear I hear it almost crack from the weight. Wow, I slowly lean forward and look at the bag, I wonder what’s inside. I take the two handles and slowly start prying them apart . . .
BANG! I quickly spin around. It was just the front door closing. I almost chuckle at my foolishness. The door, what am I so afraid of? It’s just a bag right?
I turn back to the bag and continue prying it open. Inside, the first thing that catches my eye is a large book, it’s decorated with red and gold colouring. It must have all his magic tricks in it. I pick it out and read the cover:
Les Livre de Magique
& pour le Magicien entraîné ou le expérimenté prestidigitateur
I stare open-mouthed at the cover of the book,
  “French?!” I throw the heavy book onto the coffee table with a bang. “How the hell am I supposed to read a French Magic Book?!” I think for a moment. Perhaps it’s just a ruse, to stop people reading it. I flip through a few pages
disparaître sort . . . Sort de mille oiseau . . .
  “Damn it! Just my luck he’s an immigrant . . . French . . .” I slide the book from the table onto the floor in anger. But then a thought occurs “I don’t need a magic trick book to tell me how to work magic props, I’ll work it out myself . . .”
I look into the bag again. There’s a small, wooden rack full of glass jars, a few bundled up silk bags, all sorts of strange things all around it. I reach in and start to move stuff around, and I see an old-fashioned top-hat. It’s interesting because it isn’t crumpled even from being carried around in the bag, it must be a trick hat. I take it out and inspect it.
It weighs the same as an ordinary top-hat, at least I guess so because I’ve never seen one before.
I look at it all over, but I can’t see any secret compartments or hidden sleeves. It seems normal, but why isn’t it crumpled up? What’s it made of?
I hold it by the brim and tap it on the table. It knocks on the wood the same as a rock would.
  “What’s so good about a rock-hard top-hat?” Suddenly something white jumps out of the hat into my face. I jump back and start swiping at it with the hat.
  “HEY! Get off!” It flutters around the room madly then comes to a rest on the table, cooing softly. The perfectly white dove starts pecking at the coffee table.
  “Whoa, a dove out of a hat.” I look at the hat again. “Where the hell did it come out of?” no secret compartments, it’s too thin for a dove to have hidden inside of, and how did it come out anyway.
Cautiously, I lean over again and tap the table again with the hat, then point the opening away from me. Another dove flies out and circles the room before coming to rest beside the other dove.
  “Wow, now that’s magic.” As soon as I say it, I realise it sounds stupid, but it’s the only explanation.
  “Damn! That Magician is cheating! He’s using real magic.”
I drop the hat on the table and start searching through the bag again.
  “What else could be in here?”
My fingers grasp around something metal, like a wire-mesh. I pull it out and hold up a small, metal cage, which is just a bit bigger than a tissue box. It’s like what people use to hold guinea pigs or small pets in, but why does this guy have one?
I start fiddling with the cage. It’s pretty normal, the only thing that moves is the little hatch which opens so you can put the animal inside, I also see a little sign on the side of the cage which says:
Nibbles
  “I don’t get it.” I move to put the cage down on the table, but just before I put it down, suddenly it feels like it’s being pulled out of my hands.
It hits the table with a clang and starts . . .squealing?
I look down at the cage again, there’s a small, brown rabbit inside, and it seems a little upset about being dropped. “How the hell did you get in there?” I lean down and look at the rabbit. It’s definitely real. I look into its black, beady eyes. Suddenly there is a faint pop!
The cage is empty. I stand back up and look at the empty cage
  “Oh my god, a disappearing bunny.” With another pop! Nibbles the Bunny reappears in the cage.
  “For the Rabbit in the Hat trick, I get it.” I pick the cage up, I can now feel the weight of the rabbit in the cage. “This is too cool, what else is there?”
I move to put the rabbit back on the table, but realise that there isn’t any room. The table is covered with a dozen cooing doves.
  “What in the world?” I see a thirteenth dove suddenly jump out of the hat and join the rest.
  “Hey, Get off!” I shoo them off and send the doves flying all around the room, spreading feathers and such. I put the now empty cage back on the table, then grab the hat and flip it over so that the opening is face down. “There, that should do it.” I turn back to the bag. I reach in and grab one of the little, silk bags.
  “What’s in these?” I undo the little draw-string and reach into the bag. Inside are just three rubber balls. “These must just be ordinary props.” I pack the bag back up, put it back and grab another bag. It has a pack of cards, another holds a small coil of rope.
  “Boring.” I move to get more stuff but I’m distracted by a shrill squealing from the small rabbit cage.
Nibbles is fidgeting back and forth in the small cage. “How could that cruel old coot keep you locked up in a cage so small?” I say, surprised myself how caring I sound for a freak-of-nature vanishing bunny. I open the cage and take the little bunny out, holding it carefully in my hands, it feels so soft.
Suddenly, it disappears with a pop!
Hmmm, that’s a weird feeling. I decide to let Nibbles roam free, and so I turn back to the bag.
Stuff the props, where’s another magic spell. I move the stuff around, looking for another good trick. Then I see it. A small, black stick hidden within the little bags. Along the stick in small silver letters it says:
Léviterbaton
  “What the hell does that mean? Is this a magic wand?” I take out the stick and try waving it around.
Nothing seems to happen.
I try to bend the stick, but it seems to be just as strong as the hat.
Then I think . . . that hat worked when I tapped it on the table . . .
I lower the stick and give it a sharp tap! on the table.
I stand up straight and wait to see what happens. The table seems to be moving, I lean closer. It seems to move more . . .
Suddenly the bag starts to slide off the table. I jump forward to catch it, but as I grab it, birds start flying in all directions from the table. I stand perfectly still and wait for the birds to settle down. What startled them?
Then I see the table, it’s standing on two legs, now with the top-hat and Nibble’s cage on the floor. What the heck? What did that wand do. I put the bag back on the ground and bring the wand up to my face.
CRASH! the table flies up and slams into the ceiling, cracking the plaster and smashing the light.
  “ . . .Whoa . . .” I look at the wand again. I moved the wand up, and the table went up . . .
  “The wand moves stuff! Cool!” I slowly lower the wand and make the table float back to the ground, to reveal the large crack in the ceiling and the broken light.
  “Damn! I’ll have to deal with that later . . .” I jiggle the wand and watch the table shiver.
  “Really cool . . .” But how do I stop it? I point the wand down and walk closer. As I get close enough, I let the wand go. The wand drops on the table, it seems to have stopped.
  “What else is in there?”
I turn to move back to the bag, only to realise my path is blocked by a flock of cooing doves.
I wave my arms to move them out of my way and slowly make my way back to the bag.
As I finally get to the bag and start to move things around, Nibbles appears inside the bag with a pop!
  “Come here you,” I say picking it up “You stay out of there, maybe I should put you back in your cage?” at that, Nibbles wiggles his nose and disappears, pop!
Then I start thinking again, I don’t usually think so much in the afternoons.
  “This is full of magic tricks . . . so that French Magic Book . . .”
The book is sitting on the floor besides the now slightly cracked coffee table, that could be filled with some crazy cool magic tricks, maybe even something that can fix the roof and the coffee table.
I shuffle through the doves toward the book and pick it up.
  “I can only hope I can understand some of this French . . .”
I start flipping through the book, all the pages are slightly crinkled around the edges, but all the words are there, all the freakishly twisted French words. I look at one page that catches my eye because it is so short and I understand most of the words:

Sort du Vivre

Appliquer Transition Potion sur la animal apprivoisé. Ensuite agiter Léviterbaton au-dessus de désir objet (par exemple – table) à l’époque réciter:

Unir le vie tu le n’est pas vie

“Okay ‘Transition Potion’; ‘Animal’; ‘Leviter baton’; ‘Table’ and ‘Recite’. That sounds simple enough, I just got so see if he’s got this ‘Transition Potion’ and we’re in business.”

I close the book as I turn around, wander through the thickening flock of doves and look in the bag again. The small wooden rack catches my eye, and so I grab it and pull it out. It’s like a wooden toolbox, but it seems to be full of small, glass jars and bottles. On the side it reads:
Magique Potion Étagère: N’est pas pour public utilisation
  “Magic Potion ‘Etager’, this sounds like what I need.” I say, opening it up.
Each little bottle is about as tall as my thumb, with many variations on shape and width
& . . . séparer breuvage . . . Vingt-Minute Poison . . .
  “Ah, here it is, ‘Transition Potion’” the bottle is like a tiny, little wine bottle, it’s even got green-tinted glass like they have, except it has a small bottle cap instead of a cork. I close up the case, put it back in the bag and close it tight, just to be safe. Then I open the book and look at it again
  “ ‘Appliquer’? I guess that means apply . . . to an animal, what animal? Where’s that rabbit?”
I start to look around, but think to ignore it, because there is a flock of doves at my feet, and it would be too hard to catch Nibbles, he moves too fast.
  “Well, I hope this gets one of you . . .” I say, flicking the bottle around. The small amount of bright, green liquid spills out over the doves, and when it hits them, the birds start fluttering around again, flying in all directions, spreading out.
“Whoa, that definitely got some . . .” I say, turning back to the book “ ‘Leviter baton’ . . . where’d I leave it?” I slowly push my way through the birds, it’s now getting harder to move through the flock without stepping on them, I have to be careful. Eventually I get to the coffee table with the ‘Leviter baton’ and pick it up.
  “ ‘Leviter baton’; ‘Table’ and ‘Reciter’ . . . Okay, I’ll just.”
I start waving the wand over the table, making it shiver slightly, and start reading out the words in the book as best as I can
  “ You-near, lee vie too lay nest pass vie!” I say. Suddenly, there is a loud BANG! like a balloon popping, and the room starts raining white feathers. “Oh no! I think I killed all the birds!” I drop the magic book on the floor and start making my way through the feathers, which are slowly settling onto the ground. I can’t find the birds, it just seems to be their feathers . . .
Suddenly, all the feathers settle like a blanket over the living room “I made all the birds disappear . . . huh?”
I walk through the carpet of feathers, when I hear something like shuffling behind me. I quickly turn around . . . Nothing there but the couch. Was it always that close to the coffee table?
Then I hear shuffling from the front of the room.
I turn just as the noise stops to see the television . . . did it just move?
I move slowly closer to it to touch it . . .
I lightly place my hand on the television . . .
Suddenly, the television runs sideways out of my grasp and around the room to group up with the couch, which starts shuffling along to make room for it.
  “Holy mother of . . . the furniture is alive.” The coffee table starts edging its way towards the bag and magic book, which are now in the centre of the room.
  “Hey NO!” I shout running forward.
As I approach, the table recoils to group up with the TV and the two couches.
  “Now Stay Back!” They seem harmless so far, but I’m guessing that being run down by a couch is equivalent to being run down by a small rhinoceros.
I lean over to the bag, when I hear a faint pop! and look up in time to see Nibbles the Bunny appear on top of the table.
The coffee table starts shivering in fear . . .
  “Oh No!” I scream, grabbing the bag, just as the table runs straight at the wall, in effort to get the bunny off. Nibbles safely disappears in time to avoid the collision . . . BANG!
The loud noise sets all the furniture off in blind panic, and they start running around the room.
I run as fast as I can out of there, in time to hear the sudden cacophony of collisions
BANG! CRASH! BOOM!
I turn around and look at the living room, the furniture is destroying itself and its shredding up the walls by ramming them in the manic furniture stampede.
  “They’re going to take the house down if I’m not careful . . . How do I stop it?” I start to recall.
When I did that spell, the doves disappeared, then the furniture started moving . . . the doves must have somehow become part of the furniture . . . I’ve got to separate the furniture from the doves . . . yeah, separate . . . didn’t I see something like that?
I drop the bag, rip it open and take the potions ‘etager’ back out. I open it up and start scanning the little shelves
& . . . arc-en-ciel peau lotion . . . changer le face . . . séparer breuvage.
  “AH! Here it is! ‘Seperar Brewvidge’ sounds like ‘separating potion’ to me.”
The thin, vial-like bottle seemed to be filled with bright-red paint, and was corked with a little, rubber stopper.
  “I’ll just put this stuff on the furniture, and the birds should come out . . . I hope.”
I try to take the little stopper off . . . but it’s hard to get a grip on the little bottle.
I hold it tight in one hand . . . crunch!
The red liquid squirts out as the vial crushes in my hand and squirts out over me, even some of the glass cuts into my palm
  “AH! Damn, that hurts, and this stuff tastes like turpentine . . .”
I rush into the kitchen and put my hand into the sink and start the water running. The stuff seems to wash off easily, taking the glass shards with it into the sink. As the water’s running, I look over at the living room door, which leads from the kitchen into the side of the living room. I can see some of the feathers fluttering out through the door, obviously stirred up by the furniture running around.
Suddenly, something cold, wet and metallic slaps into the back of my hand. I look down at my hand to see what it is . . and I nearly scream
  “Oh my god! Where’s my hand!” at the end of my wrist, where my hand usually is, there is slightly rounded stump. I look into the sink, and see my hand is lying under the running water at the bottom of the sink.
  “Oh No!” I try wiggling my fingers, and the hand in the sink obeys. “Oh, gross!” I grab my hand out of the sink. It’s so strange, I feel like I’m holding my hands together, but it’s not connected.
  “Damn, it’s the separating potion!” I quickly wipe my hand off with a towel, which is hard without two hands, and start searching through the kitchen drawers for something to keep it together.
I find some masking tape and put it on the kitchen bench.
  “PERFECT!” I say, as I pick it up, suddenly the world start to topple over . . . oh no!
I grab tight on both sides of my head with my hand and my . . . stump.
  “Not my head! No!”
I hold my head straight with my handless arm and start wrapping the masking tape around my head.
I go around about five times and let my head go.
It feels a little crooked . . . oh god!
I take the tape and start taping my hand back on, when I feel something cold and hard slap against my thigh, and I lose my balance. I fall onto my backside and see my right leg, from the knee down has disconnected and is sitting on its side.
  “I’m falling apart faster than I can fix myself!”&  I scream, scrambling over to my leg and setting it back in place with the sticky tape. I wrap it around and around, when my left arm, at the elbow, hits the floor right on my funny bone.
  “AAGH! This is hell!” I scream. I try to peel the tape off one handed by using my teeth, but that nearly dislocates my head again, so I try using my fingers to slowly pry it out. I finally re-attach my arm when my left foot falls off and slaps into the tiles.
I try to get more tape, but the roll is empty.
  “No, no no no no no . . .” I grab my foot in one hand and start walking, with one leg shorter than the other, and the other held straight by masking tape, hobbling back to the front entry for the magic bag. I lie down next to the potion rack thing and start scanning through it.
  “Come on, there has to be a fixing potion!” I look through the rack and quickly pick up a little, white bottle which looks like a small jar which says: Solution Potion
I quickly pop the cap and swallow it. It tastes like olive oil. I swallow it, but it feels really strange, and seems to get stuck in my throat.
I try to swallow, but it feels like it’s choking me. I lean forward and cough it up, spilling it onto the tiles. No! It won’t work! My head isn’t connected to my body! I can’t swallow it!
Suddenly, behind me, I see the coffee table charging into the hallway.
  “No!” I scream.
If that thing runs into me, It’ll snap the masking tape apart and I’ll never fix myself!
I can’t try running around the house, I’ve got to get out of here!
I quickly jump up (as best as I can at the moment) and quickly hop out the front door and slam it shut behind me in time to hear something CRASH! into it.
I look down the driveway, and see something I wasn’t expecting.
A forty-year-old man wearing dark pants held up with red braces over a chequered shirt and a short-brimmed hat on his head. The Magician.
  “Hey! It’s YOU!” I shout, I try to point, but the masking tape is too loose, and my hand dangles lamely toward the ground.
The Magician chuckles to himself.
  “I see you’ve found my magic bag.” He says, smiling “You’re really quite amusing, I especially enjoyed the part when you tried to read French, very amusing.”.
  “You!” I scream “You have to fix this!”
  “Have to fix this? You made this mess all on your own, why should I fix this?” I know he’s right, but I don’t dare say that.
  “Please then, you can’t leave me like this!” I says, my head becoming more crooked by the second, and I even feel my right shoulder starting to loosen.
  “Alright then, I guess I’ll fix it . . .” The Magician claps his hands together, and there’s a blinding white light. I hear a loud scraping like a million chairs being scraped across the floor as the house rearranges itself and banging and clanging as the walls fix themselves. Suddenly, I feel my whole body tingle and start to straighten out. My bones start cracking as they connect back together. And finally, I’m whole again. The light dissipates and I look over at the magician.
  “There, both you and your house are fixed again. However, you stole my magic bag.” He says, suddenly frowning, “I’m afraid that’s very bad.”
I feel my whole stomach start to turn, this must be that ‘guilt’ thing
  “Uh . . . I’m really sorry Mr . . . Magician, I won’t do it again.”
The Magician waves his hand, and the front door opens and the magic trick bag starts floating out
  “Oh, I know you won’t. See, you stole my magic bag, you know my secret . . . and I can’t have that, if people knew that I was a real magician, things would get very . . . difficult.” He takes hold of the bag, and with a faint pop! Nibbles the Bunny appears on his shoulder, twitching his nose.
  “I said I was sorry.” I say, trying to sound as apologetic as possible
  “Sorry isn’t good enough my boy.” He says, walking up to me so that he is just a metre away.
  “You’ve been stealing for quite a long time, but today, you stole from the wrong person. I’m afraid that, now that you know my secret, I can’t let you stay. You’re going to have to disappear.”
Oh no, by his face I can tell he is serious
  “But, I’m sorry.” I mumble weakly
  “No, dear boy. I’m sorry.” The magician raises his hand, and clicks his fingers. And with that, in that second, in that very instant, the boy known as Darren Reynolds . . . disappeared.
The Magician sighs deeply “Oh, Nibbles, children these days, how will they ever learn . . .” He turns down the driveway and begins walking toward the road, as he walks, he begins to fade into nothingness, until finally, the Magician, Nibbles and the Bag of Tricks . . . were gone.

THE END

The Pain Game

We find ourselves two nights before Halloween, and with just two more posts before we find ourselves at All Hallow's door. Well, one post after you've finished reading this one . . .
I originally planned to write a post all about how certain traumatic incidences can result in specific psychological trauma. However, after doing some research, I came to realize that my conclusion: "do this, and it will result in that" was wrong.
I will explore this in the future, do more research and see if I can write it properly. However, it's currently Monday the 29th of October, and I have a blog post to write. So, realizing that it was just two days from Halloween, I was reminded of a post I wrote a long time ago about my personal experience with the theme of the Countdown. That year, the theme was "bloody" and confronting one's own mortality, so I wrote The AWN'S Top 5 Personal Near-Death Experiences, and told you about five times that I nearly died.

Since this year is about pain, suffering and Torture, this year, I've done some personal reflection, and I have come up with the five most painful injuries that I've ever sustained. Now, after creating this list, I realized that I live a rather privileged life. In fact, I said at the very beginning of this year's Countdown:

"And as someone who has lived a very privileged life - privileged enough to have earned 27 years of it so far - pain isn't something that I encounter in my life. At least, not pain inflicted upon me, anyway."

- The Absurd Word Nerd, The Torment of Tartarus, 2018

The thing is, this is very true. Sure, I've chipped a tooth, I've been electrocuted, I've had a root canal (in that same tooth), I've been in a fight before & I think I may have had a concussion, although I don't remember it very well . . .
But, not only are all of these not on this list because they didn't actually hurt that much at the time, but I spoke with my parents just to be sure I wasn't forgetting anything and I have confirmed with them: I have never been bitten by an animal larger than an insect, I have never broken a bone in my body, I have never been hospitalized & even with my mental illnesses, I've never self-harmed.
Genuinely, before I sat down, and managed to jog my memory, "gas pains" and "sunburn" were on this list. I left off gas pains because that's not really an injury, but Sunburn was on a list of the worst pain I've ever experienced. And yeah, it was nasty-looking sunburn, but the point that I'm making is that this is a personal list, it isn't a contest . . . but, the reason I called this is "The Pain Game" (besides the fact that it sounded cool) is because, if you want to, you can make it a contest if you'd like. Feel free to write your own list of the most painful physical injuries that you've experienced in your life, and share your pain with the world. Until then, this is . . .

The Absurd Word Nerd's Top 5 Most Painful Injuries (That I Have Experienced)

5. Carbon Fibre Splinters
Incident: Have you ever been inside of a roof? Not just under the ceiling, but inside the roof of a house? I have, a few times, but one of the worst was definitely in my current home (at time of writing). We decided to put in an attic, for the sake of storage, so we installed a ladder (yes, it turns out you can just buy roof access ladders), and my father put down boards for the floor, and some shelves, and ta-da, we had an attic. Now, we helped of course, by cleaning up a little, and my brother helped to organize our network cables so that they weren't under the boards, and he also helped put in the ladder. After the ladder was installed, I helped the set up the shelves, and clean up the roofspace.
But, whoever had installed our roofing insulation had been incredibly lazy, and just kinda chucked big slabs of fibreglass insulation, also known as "glass wool" around the roof. So, even though I never laid my hands on it directly, the little fibres were everywhere, and that afternoon when I climbed down, I realized that my hands were stinging. We eventually swept and even vacuumed up there, and made sure that the fibres were gone. The only real way to get it out is to use sticky-tape, but it took me two days, and several attempts with the sticky-tape roll, to remove every single fibre from my hand.
The Pain: Fibreglass is what it sounds like, glass that's turned into thin fibrous strands. So, essentially, my hands were being impaled by hair-thin shards of glass. Don't get me wrong, there's a reason why I say I'm privileged, this is not the worst pain in the world, but if you have just one of these fibres in your hand, it hurts a lot, because they're quite rigid, so every time you move your hand, you will feel the fibre move inside your skin, which is a sting that is not entirely unlike the feeling of being bitten by a small ant, so having it all over my palms, and between my fingers, was very painful.

4. 11-Hour Walk
Incident: My friend Sean and I do some silly things sometimes, and one time, out of boredom, we decided to go for a walk. I had some vague notion that I was going to see a friend but we didn't really have a goal. So, even though neither of us had slept, we both decided "fuck it" and so we just left my place and started walking North, with a map in my pocket and nothing else. It was an interesting time, because we actually encountered some obstacles which we had to overcome, and on more than one occasion we got lost, but after eleven hours of walking, we were nearly at our destination, and our feet hurt a little bit, and we were both tired. So, we both sat at a picnic table and fell asleep. I don't know how long we slept for, but when we eventually woke up, we decided to stand up, and when we did, our feet hurt like hell.
The Pain: I don't entirely understand the mechanism, I think that because humans are supposed to walk, when we walk for a long time, our body must numb the pain. I'm sure you've had the experience of sitting down and realizing that you can't stand up again because your feet hurt too much? Well, we did, but we did after walking for eleven hours. After you've walked for eleven hours, every step feels like you're walking barefoot over sharp gravel, and your feet are hot and throbbing the entire time. The worst part is that at the time, we still needed to get home. So, we were actually stuck until Sean decided to walk to the train station. So, we had to walk about half a kilometre to the train station. That was the hardest part of the whole journey.

3. The Stomach Pinch
Incident: My grandmother used to live in a house in Grafton, with a big garden out the back, a huge shed, and beside a caryard. It was a lovely house, but for some reason after living in it for several years, she installed a gate by the stairs leading from the back patio to the backyard. I don't know why she bothered, it was just two or three steps, and nobody had tripped on it before. Maybe it was because my grandfather had dementia and she didn't want him to walk out. Maybe it was to stop the kids from heading outside, maybe it was to keep the dogs out - I honestly don't know, I don't even know if she still had dogs at that point. What I do know is that, it went across the top of steps, and the gap was about a metre and a half across. So, to make sure that the gate folded away neatly, it had a hinge in the middle as well as on the side, which you could unbolt.
Because my brothers, cousins and I were stupid, little kids, we really liked playing on that gate, by standing on the lower bars and opening it. If you unlocked the middle bolt, then opened the gate, it would feel like you were floating, since it would swing open, but you'd turn on the hinge . . . this was before everyone had iPhones, and we had to make our own fun. We would play on it all the a time, but parents would yell at us because "it's not a toy", so of course we had to do it when they weren't looking. One day, I was heading to the shed to join my brothers or something - I think they were doing something with the car, I can't remember. What I do remember is that I stood in the middle of the gate, unlocked it, and swing. But, I heard someone coming, so I quickly pushed off the wall to close it, and straightened the gate whilst I was leaning on it. and some of my skin just under my bellybutton caught in the metal hinge as it closed.
The Pain: It's hard to describe, because it was definitely a pinch - if you've been pinched, you know what that feels like - but it actually tore out a little chunk of my flesh, and I still have the scar today, a little round spot about the size of a fingernail. Because it ripped out so quickly, it actually felt like I'd been punched in the stomach, and I remember stepping back from the gate and doubling over. It throbbed and was sore for the rest of the day, and even once it started to heal and scab over, there was a bruise on my stomach around the wound. It didn't bleed, but it hurt for a week, and when I first picked the scab off, it was gross to see that it literally had ripped my skin out, since there was a little concave hole where skin was, and now wasn't. It grew back, but I know how much it hurt because even though I don't know how old I was, or what else happened that day, I remember that pain.

2. Getting Foot Stitches
Incident: When I was younger, my uncle had a boat and a few times, he invited us to go with him to some publicly-accessible river somewhere, we usually had picnics and went swimming, it was fun. But, one thing we sometimes did is that, beside the river, there was also a big mud puddle, near the mangroves. It was fun playing in it, and slopping around, because you could just walk in the river to wash it all off, then keep playing or doing whatever. I'd played in the mud several times before, but when I headed in to join my cousin, as I stepped into the mud, I felt something happen to my foot. The best way I can describe it is, imagine you're thirsty, so you're about to take a drink of water, but before you gulp, the water suddenly disappears, and you gulp air. That's what it was like, I was going to take a step through the mud, but instead of touching the ground, I felt something, and it felt weird, so I pulled my foot out, and as I moved, my foot hurt. So, I limped into the river to wash the mud away, and saw that the water around my foot was stained red. I'd cut my foot. That, in and of itself, didn't hurt much. I think it throbbed a little, but my aunt told me to elevate my foot, which I did, and Dad organized for me to get to the GP. What hurt wasn't the damage, but what they did to fix it.
The Pain: We went to the nearest doctor, still in my swimming gear. Since I didn't know what I'd stepped on, I got a tetanus shot and some other things, but then they lay me on my stomach, applied some anaesthetic, then started stitching my foot. The thing is, either because my foot was cut open, or because the doctor hadn't put the anaesthetic in right, I felt some of the stitches. Unfortunately, the way it feels is exactly the same way it sounds - it felt like someone was stabbing my foot with a needle. But, it was made worse by the fact that it was in a spot that was already throbbing, and because I wasn't allowed to flinch. I had to bear the pain. I remember that my way of coping with the pain was rapid-fire, bad puns - to get my mind off the pain, I just tried to think of something funny to say. It didn't help much, though, as I still remember how much it hurt to have someone stick a curved needle in my foot, six times.

1. The Forearm Burn
Incident: As part of Work for the Dole, I volunteered at several venues. There was some administration and data entry work, but mostly I worked hospitality because I had a certificate in hospitality, and experience with it. So, one of the gigs I got was as one of the cooks and helping hands at the Salvation Army, Bayside. It was a church, but it also helped to feed people, as there were a few people who struggled to afford food. We would give people tea and coffee, as well as some food, and even made dinners which could be frozen, and given to people. We relied pretty heavily on foods that were donated to us from businesses that either couldn't sell them, or had excess. So, one day, we got two large slabs of meat - I think they were pork and beef, but they were huge, and perfect for roasting. We had an oven, a little gas-fire thing - basically there's just a tube full of holes in the bottom that leak gas, you light them and that cooks the food. This oven was quite small, so we had to take out all but one of the racks just to fit this thing in, and to make sure that it didn't stick to the oven, we put aluminium foil over it. So, we put it in, we cook it, and it cooks beautifully. So, we go to take it out. However, as we take it out, we realize that it's actually changed shape slightly, so the foil is sticking up, and as we pull it, the grill plate is pulling off the foil. So, to make sure it doesn't wreck the roast, I get the tongs and help it slip under the lip. So, we manage to slowly but surely pull it out. However, halfway through, a rogue piece of foil falls off, and lands right on the fire of that gas pipe I described before. In a split second, I realize that it could potentially melt and fill up the holes in the pipe - ruining the oven. So, quick as a flash, I reach in the tongs and snap up the foil, but in the process I touched the grill-plate.
The Pain: A burn is an insidious injury. When I touched the hot metal, it hurt, but when I pulled it back, it didn't feel too bad. I actually felt pretty good, since I'd saved the oven (I did research, and aluminium melts at about 660 °C, and the flame in a gas oven burns at over 1950 °C, so if I hadn't done what I did it easily could have melted and damaged the oven).
Because I know you have to, I ran it under the tap, and told the supervisor who went to get a first-aid kit. I stopped the tap, and it felt fine, so when they offered cream, I said "okay, sure, but it doesn't hurt that bad", but the supervisor told me that the burn looked red and angry. So, they put on the cream and sent me home. I didn't understand all the fuss . . . but then I started driving home. On the drive home, I don't know whether the cream wore off, or if my body just decided that it would stop numbing the area, but the burn on my arm suddenly felt like it was on fire, it was boiling hot, and as I drove it got worse and worse. I rolled up my sleeve to make sure it wouldn't touch it, and I remember as I drove, I kept yelling and swearing at my steering wheel, because for some reason it helped take my mind off the pain. There was no throbbing or stinging, it was just pure heat, I felt like I was being branded - and by some definitions, I think I had been. I am lucky that when we got home my mother had a numbing gel for burns and cuts in the cabinet, because painkiller pills didn't do anything at all. And that's the most painful injury that I've ever experienced.


Anyway, that's my list. Again, I know that I'm lucky I've had to suffer so little throughout my lifetime. Perhaps this is part of the reason why I feel like psychological horror is more powerful to me, because the things I've suffered as a result of mental illness are much worse than my physical pains.
If you asked me whether I would prefer to burn myself again or have a panic attack - and I had to choose one of the other - I would turn on the oven myself. But, I don't know if that would be true if I'd also experienced greater physical suffering.

But, do you know what this makes me think of? My fingernail is purple . . .
I am a Polished Man, still, and I will continue colouring my nail until the end of the month. As well, afterwards I will continue to support the ideals of the campaign, about leading by example and .
But, this list reminds me that this is what I want for children, everywhere. Yeah, a scratch here and a burn there, maybe sore feet . . . but, most of these injuries are just incidental - heck three of them happened because I hurt myself while having fun. Like I said, your personal pain shouldn't be a contest, but in a just world I would win that contest, because in a just world, children wouldn't be victims of rape, assault and murder. Because it shouldn’t hurt to be a child.
Anyway, this list is just for fun, it's not meant to be another part of the Polished Man campaign. I would like you to donate to myself or others, but the main point if this list is because I kept talking about the pains other people have suffered - so, I wanted to reflect on my own.
I'm the Absurd Word Nerd, these are just some of the experiences I've collected throughout my lifetime. I'm sure there will be many more to come in the future, but with any luck they won't make the list . . .

The Hunter's Guide to Monsters - Chapter Eleven

We have seen what horrors have come down to us from the heavens, but what lurks in the dark holes of the world? Tonight, we explore the horror of being frozen in place, as teeth, claws and piercing eyes come slithering ever-closer. Such tortures come to us, courtesy of the 'GORGON':

Gorgon /'gawgən/ n. 1. Greek Legend Any of the three sisters whose heads were coverd with snakes instead of hair, and whose glance turned the beholder to stone. 2. A mean, ugly, or repulsive woman.

11. Gorgons
  by Hunter Jeremiah

I have never Hunted a gorgon, myself. However, this chapter is based on the expertise of experienced Hunters, and I have seen gorgons in captivity and whilst they were being transferred, so I assure you that what you're about to read is based on the knowledge of those who have first-hand experience, even though I myself have very little. The gorgon, or “a medusa” as it is sometimes known, is a dark cohesion of a human and a serpent.
Some believe that this hybrid is the result of a human cursed to gorgonism through some dark magic. Others believe that it is the result of praying to a false god, and being punished. Personally, I believe that gorgons are incredibly dangerous, so it doesn't matter where they are from, all that matters is what we do when they get here. Gorgons are incredibly dangerous. Not only is their vision captivating, but they are quite cunning, their bodies are very strong and they have sharp, venomous fangs.
If you step inside the gorgon's lair, and face the beast with serpent-hair, avert your gaze and do not stare - or you'll never get out alive.

The gorgon is native to Europe and some parts of Asia, as they prefer a warm climate but nest in dry, cool rocky areas, often in caves and mountains with access to warm sunlight and water. In Europe, they are mostly known as "gorgons", "basilisks" "lamia", "pythons" or "typhons", but across Asia they are known as "naga", "nugua" & "nure-onna". They have been seen internationally, but this is due to travelling bestiaries, as well as black market smugglers. They cannot survive outside of their native habitat due to the fact that they are cold-blooded and unable to survive in tropical climates. Also, due to the high danger that they pose, any and all gorgon nests that pop up outside of Europe tend to be destroyed rather quickly by Hunters.
The reason why gorgons are so dangerous comes from their frightening gaze. It is a misconception that gorgons can turn a person to stone with their vision - such alchemy is beyond them - rather, their icy stare is capable of transfixing any victim that looks them in the eye. This is a powerful psychic phenomenon, akin to a form of mind control, but with the sole capacity to make someone become as still as a statue, and only for as long as the gorgon keeps their gaze steady. It is not yet known if the limits of this ability are metaphysiological, or due to the gorgon's limited intelligence, but many suspect that it is the latter.
What is truly dangerous is the bite of the gorgon - they have a very powerful venom which causes paralysis, hypothermia and intense pain, and leads to death anywhere between 15-minutes and 3-hours after being bitten, depending on the location of the bite. There is, as yet, no anti-venom for the bite of a gorgon, and some suspect that there is a supernatural aspect to its potency, but this is still being researched.

A gorgon looks like a very large, very long snake with a human torso in place of the head. I have seen mature gorgons which, from head-to-tail, measure ten metres, but I have been told that some exist which are fifteen metres long, or perhaps more. They are covered with scales, from head to foot, and are most commonly dark green, but they have been yellow, red, orange & black - the specimen which I saw happened to be an albino gorgon (incredibly rare), which had white and cream-coloured scales. From the waist, up, or slightly higher along the spine, the scales are much smaller, smoother and usually a colour akin to human skin tone. Although they are not human, their skin does make them look much like human men and women from the waist up, unless you looked at them up close. At the tips of their fingers, they tend to have small, white, sharp climbing claws, like that of a lizard. As well, they have retractable, venom-injecting fangs in their mouth, where one would expect canines. Their most iconic feature is that their scalp grows "snakes" of varied sizes, usually between shoulder and waist-length, and always with scales the same colour as their tail.
The latest research has found that gorgons not only are gorgons capable of seeing through the multiple eyes of their "serpent hair", or "prehensile vibrissae" as the researchers referred to them, were in fact a complex set of sensory organs which can see, smell and hear in multiple directions at once. Researchers are currently investigating the structure of the gorgon's skull, and how these sensory organs affect their psychic abilities.

One of the most unusual features of the gorgon is that they are capable of vocalization. Some captive gorgons are capable of very basic, influent human language, but most gorgons speak their own language known as "Nagee" (or "Gorgonese", by some Hunters) with two known regional dialects of nagee: Western and Eastern. Eastern Nagee is the most well-understood, as it has been researched in India for a very long time, and Western Nagee is quite similar, but research is limited in this field due to a lack of interest in the community. Their language is composed of harsh, breathy vocalizations, which sounds like clucking, hissing and purring. This is a very limited language, with less than twelve-thousand recorded words in Eastern Nagee, but it developed due to gorgons being a very social species. They are monogamous, often remaining with the same mate until one of the pair dies, and the pair will raise their young until their children can find mates of their own.
Although gorgons do not feed often, as it would take a gorgon a month to digest a "full stomach", but they can be very dangerous when they are hungry. Not only is their gaze petrifying and their venom deadly, but gorgon tails are essentially pure muscle, and incredibly strong. With their long, powerful tails they can move with sudden speed, climb trees and easily crush victims with their tail. In fact, once their prey is dead, they tend to wrap around and constrict it, so that it is easier to swallow.
The only other unusual feature about gorgons is that they are scared of bison, yak and buffalo. I was told that this is because those are big animals with horns and eyes on either side of their head, meaning that they are not as vulnerable to a gorgon's stare, and can attack them - so, presumably, this means that a gorgon would also be scared of other similarly large, horned animals such as bulls, deer and mooses. I'm not certain of this, but it's a reasonable assumption.

Like I said at the start of this post, I haven't faced a gorgon myself, and this is because they are not native to my area. However, even before I began writing this guide, I travelled to Asia to learn about some of their local monsters. Although I haven't faced a gorgon, the insight I gained there has been invaluable, and helped me to face other creatures in my duties as a hunter. So, whether you, yourself, are at risk of facing a gorgon, it is important to know how to handle yourself when confronting these dangerous beasts.

Protection
If you believe that you are encroaching upon a gorgon's nest, or fear that you or your neighbours are at risk from a gorgon that has come to your area, here are some methods to keeping yourself safe:

• Hiss, Purrs & Whispers - When gorgons speak, they have a very distinct-sounding language, very breathy and harsh. If you hear someone speaking in Nagee, turn and walk away.
• Keep Your Eyes To Yourself - Direct eye contact is a death sentence, so only view them indirectly. A mirror, a camera or a cloth across your eyes can protect you from their glare.
• Let There Be Light - Gorgons are not very clever, the light can blind them, and due to their cold-bloodedness, they avoid heat. A torch could save your life.
• Lose Your Patience - A gorgon can last a week without water and a month without food. So, if you think one is near, don't try to hide, just get out of there.
• Salt and Vinegar - Gorgons have a powerful sense of smell, and sensitive skin, so they like to avoid reactive substances like alcohol, salt, vinegar, 
• Sink or Swim − If you know how to swim, swimming far from the water's edge will keep you safe. Gorgons are heavy, can't swim and cold-blooded, they won't swim after you.
• Turn and Run - Although fast, gorgons tire quickly; you can't outrun them, but you can outlast them. So, if you're in range, run away and don't turn back.
• When in Rome - Where gorgons are native, the locals have lived there for thousands of years alongside them. They must be doing something right, so follow the example of the locals.

Hunting
Because they are yet another endangered species, gorgons in their homeland are protected, and if you find one, you're required to catch and release. However, I don't live in their homeland, and everywhere else in the world, no such protections exist. The only reason you would need to capture a gorgon in a country other than their native Europe or Asia is if the person that the creature belongs to is the one hiring you to find it. But, in every other case, they represent a severe danger to local life and liberty, and so it is our responsibility to Hunt them down.

Find
Gorgons are big, heavy snakes. Because of this, if the ground beneath them isn't entirely solid, they leave very large and very distinct, zig-zagging tracks behind them. This is the most common way that gorgons are tracked down. Your victim, if a gorgon has tried to attack someone, will probably be dead and gone (eaten by the monster). Usually, gorgons take their food back to their nest to feed, but if not, there is a chance that there could be some blood from when the gorgon crushes their meal, and this will mean a blood trail, which can point you in the right direction. However, if neither of these work, your best bet is to look for somewhere that is not too far from a natural source of water, and is cool and dry, as this will be your location, the nest. If you can find your nest, then you will find your gorgon.
As for your suspects, unless you are in their native country, meaning that the creature is meant to be there, you have two major suspects: artefact collectors & black market dealers. If your gorgon has come from an artefact collector, then it may simply be a case of them buying an egg, and having it accidentally hatch on them. Gorgon eggs are very rare, and so highly prized, but some smugglers will trade them, even though they're not unfertilized. If this is the case, check your victim, it is likely that they will also be your suspect. But, if not, you can either check the artefact registry with your local authorities, to see if anyone in the vicinity is a collector, or alternatively you can usually douse for such high concentrations of magic, then question them, and see what they know. If they knowingly bought a fertilized egg, then you need to report them to the authorities.
For black market dealers, these too may be your first victim, so check the crime scene as well as their homes and businesses for any Hunting equipment, as some smugglers use tools similar to us. If this is the case, interrogate them for information, then be sure to report them to the authorities.

Kill
Because gorgons are flesh-and-blood creatures, killing them is relatively simple, even if it's not easy.
The most humane way to kill a gorgon is to Decerebrate it with a gun, the most effective method is to shoot it in the head with a shotgun. You can lure the creature close, but still hit your target whilst looking at them through a mirror, which is why I think it's the most effective. Some Hunters like to shoot them from a distance with a ranged weapon like a scoped rifle, but I've never fired a weapon like that personally, and hitting your target requires either luck or patience, neither of which I'm particularly fond of. If this isn't available to you, then the next best thing is to Decapitate them. This would be very difficult, if you're not used to swinging without seeing, but the Hunters I spoke to claimed that they can fight very effectively with a bandanna over their eyes, as they can still see through the cloth when it's close to their face, but it protects them from the gorgon's gaze. I attempted this myself, but I found that it made my vision very blurry, so I don't recommend it. But, if you can see clearly enough, and this allows you to get close and quickly sever the neck, then it's a good option.
If you're low on options, then as cruel as it seems, you can Incinerate the poor beast. Especially if your gorgon is hiding deep in its nest, and won't come out, lighting a fire will easily bring the creature out, and dousing it in fuel should end it rather quickly. Although, I warn that you should still have your weapon of choice handy to finish the job if its death throes are getting too violent.


Final Notes
I think that the lesson we should all take away from this is that, when it comes to wild animals, they belong in their native habitat. Forcefully taking a creature away from its home and dumping it half-way across the world puts everyone in danger, including the creature itself. And that is an awful shame, because these are magnificent creatures. The albino gorgon which I saw was a beautiful, innocent creature with a power that was stunning, both literally and metaphorically. It would be a shame to have them suffer and die, just because someone wanted to treat a wild, intelligent creature like some kind of pet.