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About DuLake

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    Hedge Knight
  • Birthday 08/11/1989

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    Florida. God help me.

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  1. I agree that the beginning was a bit off. Maybe if you looked at it more as a story? Like if you picked scenes that set up a clear beginning, middle, and end. Use the first verse to set up characters? -- in film we'd call it an establishing shot, not really sure on the lingo for AMVs. Overall though it's very good. After the intro (that you mentioned) it flows really well. Good job!
  2. Soft cookie! Would you rather eat Hot Pockets for all eternity, or a real New York slice only once a year for the rest of your life?
  3. Wait, your brothers are named Sarah? 0_o
  4. Mine means "Appointed by God." Which is ironic for many reasons, but mostly it grants me an untold number of opportunities to quote the Blues Brothers. FYI, don't make that joke to the cops at the airport.
  5. Best anime, if only so I don't have to be stuck doing one thing forever. Would you rather shave with a dull razor for the rest of your life or eat a all the pennies out of a wishing well?
  6. DuLake


    Thanks man! There are definitely improvements to be made, but that's any first draft (I feel terrible posting so much unrevised work! But I totally appreciate everyone's critiques). I'm glad you enjoyed it. Not sure when the next chapter is going to happen, I'm not really sure what it'll be about, but hopefully this weekend. I'm starting on revisions for a few projects right now, so a chapter a week is probably my limit.
  7. DuLake


    Thor is not comparable to Jesus in any way, shape or form. In fact, the only figure in Norse mythology that might be is Baldur but his story has nothing to do with snakes lmao Although it is pretty interesting if you don't know of it already o uo I debated that line to myself, to be honest, but I used it because Thor is the chief son of Odin and dies sacrificially in his battle with Jormangandr. Jormangandr itself lights Midgard on fire, making him the direct enemy humanity, and thus Thor humanities personal savior. Plus the trials of Thor are decent analogue to the trials of Jesus (and more so Hercules) It's not exact, but it gives some point-of-reference for people who don't know anything about Norse legend. Yes though, Thor has very little in common with Jesus, but just enough that I thought it could help some people.
  8. DuLake


    Yeah, I meant to do a little rewriting to make sure it all flowed, but didn't, haha. That was meant to be the research he was doing, but the action kind of forks off from doing research so that's where it gets confusing. Sorry I didn't do my proper time on it.
  9. I suppose it depends on what you mean by plot driven versus character driven. The best description I've found is in the film Stranger than Fiction when Dustin Hoffman's character explains that "Plot is getting a letter from the king." Character being the inverse (a letter to the king). Of course, as people have mentioned, you can't have one without the other. They are an interplay -- yin and yang, so to speak. Every story will have characters -- be they one-dimensional or nuanced -- and every story will have some kind of forward motion. What drives that motion though? Does the story only move when a villain makes an announcement on TV (Iron Man 3, I'm looking at you! Get some fresh material!) or when a petrified Hermione leaves Harry a note about the Basilisk (as much as I love the world she built, I have to admit that Rowling is a lazy writer)? Or, perhaps, the story is driven by a character's internal goals and conditions. Perhaps it is the character's desire to reform his life after an unfair prison sentence that leads him to save the daughter of the woman his inattention condemned (Not how, after the prison sentence, everything in Les Miserables comes out of one character or another, be it the forgiving priest, the penitent Valjean, or the desperate Fantine)? Under this definition, I will always choose a character driven story.
  10. I agree with the above sentiments. Having so many subforums under anime and gaming only spread out the discussion and make the forum as a whole look emptier (since there may only one or two active topics in each). If you ask me, I'd say the gaming forum description should just be broadened to cover console, TCG, and any other sort of game (barring forum games, of course), streamlining the whole thing. Recommendations seems like it could be a pinned topic just as well as a whole forum (though it generates topics well enough, so I get why you'd want it.) and the reviews bit can fit in the appropriate medium related board. The opinion forum, too, seems kind of odd to me as well, since most of those topics would be equally at home in Balamb or one of the medium specific boards (anime, gaming, etc.). The forum is laid out really well if we had some two thousand users a day, but -- not being there yet -- it makes things look emptier than they are. Maybe I'm just talking out of my ass, but it really feels like there's a lot of overlap in that section.
  11. DuLake


    Vodka and chaos magic is a strange combination, no drugs required, haha.
  12. *Rattle* chapter three is finally up! Sorry it took so long, things came up. Be sure to check it out though – the tobacco fairy has been known to leave cancer at the houses of anyone who doesn't!

  13. DuLake


    Rattle By Jeremy Lloyd Beck Chapter 3 – In The Garden In Native American mythology, storms were a side-effect of the Thunderbird. It caused clouds with the flap of its wings and lightning with the flash of its blinking eyes. The Thunderbird was a symbol of strength and power, revered across the land. And one day, goes the story, the Thunderbird lands. For a moment, the ground shakes and the sky gasps as the bird's talons dig into the Earth. Its wings gather around its face as it throws back its sharp beak like a Halloween mask. The beak, the piercing eyes, and its strong wings all fall back, back to the ground. Like a blanket they gather around the feet of what is indistinguishable from a man. I didn't know who the snake in my dream was, and I didn't know much more about the one in my story. I needed illumination, information; I needed access to the greatest library of mythological tomes in the city. I needed to get into Sir Lancel's flat. “You awake?” I asked the phone, arm still stinging, knowing the answer. Sir Lancel was always awake. “Oh yeah, couldn't sleep. Grabbed a burger.” Sir Lancel always grabbed a burger. I was leaning against my car when Sir Lancel got back. He was carrying a sword and a paper bag – Burgers? He offered me the bag as he walked to his building, said: “You drink this?” “Goose? Do you?” “Don't know,” he said, – pulled out a key ring, Captain Picard's head bobbing next to his gym membership – “we can find out.” Jörmungandr was the world-encircling serpent that, during the end of days, will circle Earth and, with fiery breath, burn us all alive. According to legend, Nordic-Jesus, Thor, will cave it's face in with Mjolnir to save whoever's left before dying nine steps later. Another serpent appears in Norse mythology in the form of the World-Serpent's father, malevolent trickster Loki, who is lashed to a rock and punished with the acidic drip of a poisonous snake. These are the things I read at Sir Lancel's apartment; these are the things he handed me. “What do you know about Nagas?” He asked. “Quetzalcoatl?” “I know I need another shot,” I answered; he smiled; we clanked paper mouthwash cups, the only shot glasses he had. Sir Lancel's apartment was lined with shelf after shelf of mythology and board board games, a Tolkein shrine towered next to a cardboard box full of old Playboys. He had busts of Plato, Socrates and Wolverine lined up on his shelf-tops. His kitchenette was a snack aisle. A brochure on the counter screamed, Senor Pizza 24-hour pizza, our prices are loco! “They any good?” “They deliver at two-in the morning,” Sir Lancel said, dropping a book and laughing. “Are you drunk?” “I need carbs!” I dialed the number. The Egyptians used to believe that the sun was their god Ra, lazily drifting down the river-sky on his barge, and that each night he would be stalked by the Soul Eating demon Apep, a cobra coiling at the edge of the underworld, just beneath the farthest mountain, waiting for the sun to get a little too close. Golden scales gleaming in Ra's light, the snake would strike at Ra and the peoples prayers would keep him away, empower Ra's entourage to smite Apep before he swallowed Ra whole. When their prayers failed, Apep would choke the river-sky with he mighty tail and – fangs dripping with the blood of your dead uncle – wrap his lips around the mightiest god of the pharaohs. The sun would go dark, the sky would scream lightning, and the land would quake with fear. Children cried, priests prayed, and pharaohs planned an escape route. The days the sun went dark, the people pleaded and – in their penance – Set or Bast would slay the monster and slit his stomach open. But Apep can't die, he can just be sent back home. And there he waits, hissing, about to strike, at the edge of the underworld. We accidentally order seven pizzas but the pizza delivery guy – Joe – offered to take a couple off the bill if we shared our vodka. “So what are you, some kind of wizards?” Joe asked, his British accent made the question sound like Harry Potter. “Of course not!” Sir Lancel sipped a screwdriver; I raised my hand in protest, my mouth full of pizza. “I am.” “You are?” Sir Lancel's eyes widened; A slice of pepperoni fell out of Joe's laugh. “What level?” “You can shoot fireballs?” Joe asked. “I can pretend to,” I replied. “Holy shit!” Joe howled, fell out of his chair. It's really all funnier if you're drunk. “What were you doing with the sword today?” I asked Sir Lancel. “Trying to slay Apep.” We all laughed. Drunk. The earliest representation of a snake in mythology is the Mesopatamian hell-god Ningishzida. Try saying that with a cock in your mouth. The modern world knows nothing about him but that his symbol was a rod entwined with two snakes copulating. That means the same as fucking. The serpent staff symbol reasserted itself later in the staff of Moses, the Rod of Asclepius, and the Caduceus of Hermes; the mythic healer Asclepius's rod became the symbol of the medical community, while the Caduceus of slick-tongued con-god, Hermes, became the symbol of the other half of the medical community, who was too stupid to know the difference. “So what's this?” Joe marveled over a table in the middle of the room. The table was mapped and gridded, covered with little figurines, devils and sexy nurses. “That's my game,” Sir Lancel said. “All my stories take place in the game. Want to play?” “Shit yeah!” Joe yelled, waving his slice in the air, it seemed to flicker like a bulb in the air. I blinked, I coughed, I threw up a little in my mouth; then I grabbed a red marker and began drawing on Sir Lancel's carpet. In Native American mythology, the Horned Serpent surfed the land-spanning rivers and breathing chaos. It's crystal scales – with spots and rings – cut the sun like an ocean full of crude; it was hunted for it's stag-like horns and the shining diamond in it's forehead. If a man could possess the Serpent's spoils, he would be revered throughout the tribe. Scientists say the myth is a crude reaction of indigent people to dinosaur fossils. And one day, the story goes, a warrior found the last Horned Serpent in the river. His footsteps light and his heart strong, he stalked the beast as it rested by the shore. He readied his bow, but the kill was not his to take, for any man who laid eyes on the beast would be compelled to Serpent, and become it's prey. That day, the story goes, the Horned Serpent fed. “It's my damn visa, you know,” Joe said a mile away. “Spent so much renewing the thing I can't get back. Have to stay in this arse country working my willy off for Senor Pizza.” Sir Lancel giggled, said, “you called your ass a willy.” “It means knob. The shit you Yankee nutters laugh at.” Sir Lancel giggled again, tossed the die so hard they bounced off the table and under his bed, fell beside workout tapes and porn DVDs. I couldn't hear them though; I was in a trance. A world of images crashed through my head and drained themselves out onto Sir Lancel's carpet. I saw Apep, and the Naga, and the Caduceus and the Horned Serpent, all at the same time, same thoughts trying to find a way out. They came out on the floor, permanent marker, staining the carpet, soaked into the fibers. A character reborn, conceived on this carpet. I hope Sir Lancel didn't need his security deposit back. “Anyone got a fag?” “Heheh, fag.” The next day, the story goes on, the warrior's father goes to the woods for revenge. Against all the protests of his family, he goes to the forest with only his bow. In the forest, he burns peyote as a sacrifice to the creator, traps half a dozen snakes. “Just as the Horned Serpent killed my son,” he says, “I will kill his children.” And so the old man cut off their heads and made them into arrows before venturing deeper into the forest. The old man finds the river and what's left of his son, a couple bones and a belt. The old man cries, smells the Serpent's noxious breath in the air, thickening, getting closer. He wraps the belt around his eyes. “Have you come to feed me too?” The Serpent hisses. “Will you be my sacrifice?” The bow in his hand shakes, the bow string seems to cut into his fingers. The smell gets stronger, his will weaker. “How much was he really worth?” The man knows the legends – he told them. Shoot your arrow at the seventh spot from its head, but don't look. He held his air, felt the warm breath of the serpent of his face. He lets the arrow go, hears it bounce to the ground. The Serpent roars and snaps its head back to strike. I wake up with my head in a pizza box and my body won't move. I force a pushup barely high enough to see Sir Lancel and Pizza Joe knocked out on the game table, the latter is suckling on a slutty cheerleader. Marker paint on my arms look grapefruit, blood, tampon red, the last survivor in a bare knuckle zombie apocalypse, the last victim. My eyes peel to the mural on Sir Lancel's carpet, it looks like red sea waves from such a low angle. I crawl to my knees and catch a glimpse, scramble back, shouulder-walk my way up the fridge. A sigil. I double check to see if anyone's awake, look over my shoulder to see if the fridge is watching. The sigil is curious, enticing – I can't let it go. My feet pull themselves to the game table, tripping each other, fighting for first place. I look to make sure they're both out before I take the end of the bottle and step back. My eyes shake over the bottle. Not much, but enough. I glare at the pattern on the floor – my intuition helpless to explore it –, get it stuck right on the edge of my brain, paint it inside my eyelids. And stop. Consider the last few inches of vodka, consider common sense. How much is curiosity really worth? I throw my head back like a mask and drain the bottle. It hits like a wave, the boat tips as the sigil in my eye lights on fire. The floor jumps to catch me as I black out. I don't see it, just feel my head bounce against the carpet. My eyes pop open and I see Sir Lancel's head turning back to me. Hear the bottle shatter on the floor. Behind Sir Lancel, something has it's arms around Pizza Joe. He starts coughing. Everything strobes as I try to see it, see its face, its horns. The old man readies another arrow, the story goes, and the Horned Serpent lunged forth. His arrow clicks off the monster's scales as the man springs to the side, springs away from the earth the monster crashes into. Dirt flies up his nose as he grabs a hole of the beast's slick armor. He grabs a horn, holds tight as the Serpent turns up to the sky. He plants his foot at the base of the giant snake's skull and pulls, strong, wise, not unlike the beast itself. And, as the Serpent tries to shake him free, he rips out its horn, falls to the ground. The Serpent reels, levels its head against the man. “I will eat you!” It yells, dives forward; the old man smiles, sets the branching horn in his bow; he smiles at the soft squishing sound as it digs into the serpent, the hard thunder sound of the Serpent hitting the ground. That night, the story lingers. The old man goes home, drops off his son's remains and the Serpent's crowning diamond. The tribe begins to celebrate when the old man goes into his teepee, picked up his black feathered blanket. He lifts it over his shoulders, over his face, and flies away into myth and legend.
  14. DuLake


    There actually has been federal intervention in California a few times by the FBI. They don't go after consumers -- mostly growing operations and the occasional dispensary (usually ones that are grossly out of compliance with California state standards though). Granted, it's kind of difficult to gauge how that would translate to states like Colorado, since it's a different sort of legal structure ("medicinal" exceptions vs decriminalization). I have to disagree. Traditionally, addictions are the result of the brain trying to repeat a previously experienced "high." The brain records chemical surges brought on by risky or exciting behavior. For example, a man wins a small amount of money on the slot machines, his dopamine levels surge, and his brain wants to replicate that sensation. Of course, dopamine surges can be caused by substances such as nicotine and cocaine as well as any number of risky or thrilling acts (such as gambling or sex or internet shopping). Of course, some addictions -- such as alcoholism -- are a little more complicated (and not entirely understood), but that is the basic current understanding of what addiction is. Marijuana, on the other hand, suppresses dopamine and is therefore not addictive by current medical standards. I have met people who abuse marijuana, or feel symptoms when in withdrawal, so I'd agree that there are addictive qualities to prolonged marijuana use, but -- as you point out -- the same could be said -- often more so -- for most things.
  15. [box][box][box][box][box][box][box][...] First one to reach character limit wins. [...]Demonstration purposes, of course.I think it's set to only allow like 5 boxs before saying you have too many...Are you serious, that's awful. This game is already dead in the water.IIRC yeah.Well, I guess I will soon find out!Wow, I can't think of one thing to write. Weird.Aliens.You're an alien.Poop.Are we doing word association? If so--diapers.Boxes in boxes.Bag of bags! Does not compute!We are gaming the system.I got a box. You got a box. We all got a box.Boxes for everyone!! Soon I will have a box of sushi. o3oI don't know even what's real anymore.I hope you don't mind, but I moved your bricks around. The mold wasn't holding.This is a mess.Or is it?It's only a matter of time before this explodes.[/box]This is terrifying.[/box]IRBOX[/box]What is this.[/box]Java's cheating![/box]what have i done[/box]I was ninja'd! [/box] I don't even know where I am anymore!
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