Isyra: The Last Outpost

When I was a good deal younger I spent my fair amount of time watching television, like any normal child. Sure, the vast majority of the programming I was interested in wasn't exactly normal for a kid who should have been watching Transformers or Tiny Toons, but television is more or less television when you boil it down to photons and electrons, isn't it? I watched a lot of entertainment geared toward those much older than I. Documentaries and news programs were pretty much standard, very rarely did I ever opt to flip on a cartoon instead of say, The World Before Man: The Cambrian Explosion.

Which is fine. My parents didn't seem to terribly mind me being exposed to educational material on a daily basis, and it did help my grades in the end of things. But it meant that I was exposed to a large amount of advertising geared toward adults of the intellectual variety. Which meant scores of banks, software and travel advertisements.

But on occasion I'd see an ad depicting a lonely, starving and filthy child in a third world country and a large, white, fat man begging you to shell out a couple of bucks a day to pay for the little kid's booster shots so he can be healthy enough to write you a thank you letter in broken English. I'd occasionally ask my mom if we could sponsor a child in Malaysia or Chad, or where ever the big, fat white people decided to beg from, while holding a shivering, starving child.

The first several times she brushed it off, telling me that maybe for my birthday she'd surprise me, or that she'd talk to my father about it. But nothing really materialized out of my pestering. I never received a letter with a postage stamp from Burma or Costa Rica. We never put an expensive toy in the Toys for Tots bin at the grocery store. At the most we'd donate a couple of cans of soup at a food drive, but that was pretty much it. So I kept asking.

One day my mother and father sat me down, put on their parenting hats and gently informed me that we couldn't do what I was asking for. Why? I asked, more curious than anything. Who didn't want to help those less fortunate? Were they some sort of monsters? Or were they just incredibly selfish?

Well, my mother began. We can't afford to.

Can't afford to? We couldn't afford to buy one toy for the big box outside the grocery store? Or one coat for welfare?

No, my father began with a sad little laugh. You'd probably see it next time we go "shopping."

I was too young to really realize what my father meant back then. I was just a stupid little kid. So I left it at that. I only really realized what they meant as I grew up and began to become more observant of the world around me and how most of my class mates were different. Their parents didn't shop with brightly colored stamps. They always had newer, less worn in clothing. Their holiday presents were much more elaborate than anything I'd ever experienced.

The truth of the matter was my parents were dirt poor almost all of the time. We shopped with food stamps, we received federal food stuffs, my holiday season was populated by Toys for Tots and we "shopped" for my winter coats at our local welfare office. Despite both being fully employed year round, my parents were always struggling to be in the black at the end of the month.

The only time I saw anyone in my family give to a charity was when my father died. My since disowned "aunts" decided to donate $100 in my father's name to a diabetes foundation, instead of helping my struggling mother pay for his funeral (at the time, unknown to me my mother was very much in debt, due to my father's expensive medical issues).

So, suffice to say donations and charities are still a sensitive subject for me. I really don't like giving or receiving pity or handouts. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth, like admitting defeat, or that one party is inferior to the needy group. As arrogant as I may be, I don't like to think I'm better or inferior to anyone else. But it's been seared into my mind.

The moment I left the nest I became bogged down in my own financial woes and it's continued to this day. I've only started to work myself out of the enormous multi-generational slump. To this day I've never really given charity more than a couple of dollars a whack, and even then I feel forced and awkward. Like I'm a bad person if I avoid eye contact with the old army vet looking for handouts outside of the grocery store. Or screening my calls because the local police department needs money to host youth activities.

Which is not to say that I'm against charity. Quite the contrary, I'd love to help the local SPCA or help diabetes research, or provide some manner of relief to those in situations I've found myself in. I just don't like being approached and being put on the spot and guilt tripped while I barely have enough as it is.

But at what point is it wise to start channeling a portion of my income into a worth while cause? When my debt has been entirely eliminated? But at that point, wouldn't it be more wise to invest the same amount of money, so I'm capable of donating even more in the future? And what would do the greater good, giving gift cards to grocery stores to the homeless, or kibble and blankets to the SPCA? Or a big check to the Wildlife Conservation Fund, but be unable to see the results and potentially risk it being lost to administrative drivel?

Despite the fact that I have been writing for almost nine years, I would gladly give it all up for the ability to draw. You may think this madness, but I assure you that it is not. I would honestly rather be able to draw than be able to write.


For the whole of my life I have been very drawn to imagery; I know that when we're young we all like pictures instead of words, but even as I grew up the written word was secondary to images for me. I could read a well written book and enjoy it, but I would get much more pleasure out of a well drawn or painted image. To me, the fact that it's portrayed in an actual image, where the details are shown in their full glory rather than merely described and left for your imagination has a much deeper and stronger impact.


I can't say that I don't have an imagination; if I didn't then I wouldn't be much of a writer. However, when I read something, no matter how well the details are spelled out for me, I can't fully picture the image the author is trying to paint with words. For me, not having the full image degrades the work, it makes it less enjoyable.


I suppose that this all stems from the way my mind works; I tend to think in imagery. This is especially true for when I get an idea for a story and flesh it out; a basic idea can come to me in words, but as I develop the idea it comes out as an image. I can see the characters talking and doing actions, I can see the area around them, Hell I can almost smell what's around them. If I close my eyes the whole thing just deepens, my whole mind focuses on the images; that's where I really get to work, as I can almost produce a short film of events.


So I think in images, but surely that doesn't mean that I cannot write it. And that's true; I can write about the images I come up with, and I can do it decently well. That's the problem; I can only do it decently well. This is the major hurdle that I can never get over; I'm not proficient enough with words to get what I truly see across in a way that allows others to imagine what I can easily see. Detail has always been my enemy; I've never been good with describing it, never been good with using it to my advantage. Perhaps it's because I never had training, but then that doesn't explain how some people who haven't had any training can produce some of the most detailed pieces of literature that I have ever seen in my life.


If I had any talent in drawing, however, I could eliminate the need for words and simply lay down on paper what I imagine, what I think. If I could draw I wouldn't be limited to a futile attempt to get what I mean written down; it would be there for all the world to see and understand with ease.


Sometimes I wonder why I can't draw; my mother had the talent for it. Why couldn't I have inherited that instead of getting the ability to write decently well? It is as though I was going to have the talent (due to my ability to think in images), but somewhere along the way the proper gene sequences were never triggered.


But regardless of what could have been, I still have a talent. And while it may not be the one I prefer, I will still try to develop it as much as I can, even if I never rise above being mediocre.

If you haven't heard of this little drama on the Internet then I must ask; how in the Hell did you manage to get to Mars? And for that matter, how did you manage to get a wireless connection for a laptop, have Internet access and STILL haven't have heard of it?


For those who have, I'm sure you're all divided on the topic. Some of you think that this is a good thing; those damned cultists are going to get PWNED hard by the masses of teh intarwebz (which is a series of tubes, mind you) simply because they are Legion (and you may be part of said Legion, but you're anonymous so you won't say). Some of you think that this is all the work of that foul Xenu, whom is attempting to keep you from being free of those damned thetens.


As an Atheist, I get big lulz out of the concept of Scientology; it's really even more insane than the whole thing involving a virgin giving birth to a guy who is the son of God, but who is also in a sense God but not really. The whole thing with Xenu and thetens makes me laugh harder than the concept of a Devil in Hell who was once a lowly angel whose power has ballooned to a state where he's somehow able to defy the ultimate power that is God. But more than that, on a basic level I get epic lulz out of the people who ACTUALLY BELIEVE the whole thing and see it as a religion, not what it really is; a scheme to get money dreamed up by a bad science fiction writer who just so happened to use a lot of drugs and had a harem of hot pants clad teenage girls that did his bidding (including dressing).


Now, you may be thinking me part of the Legion, but I'm not; I'm one of those people that love the drama and hope that it doesn't end. I'm not going to get involved in the little war, because the moment I do I'll be a part of the drama that I laugh at in a mocking way. I cease to be an outside observer, lulzing at the idiots who defend the faith and the anon army that is taking this way too seriously (Internet is serious business, I guess).


Now, in this war I can see there are five sides to this whole thing; we have the Church of Bad Science Fiction, we have SERIOUS BUSINESS anons, we have doin' it for the lulz anons, misc folks (idiots on YouTube who are just as SERIOUS BUSINESS as the first group of anons, but against the anons because they're "Terrorists") and then there's people like me who laugh at the whole thing. Each side is almost always good for some lulz, but some more than others.


The CoBSF is always good for some epic lulz, even without this war. Everything they do and say is rich in lulz material; it's as though their whole mission in life is to be the biggest cult of clowns on the face of the planet and provide us with endless hours of amusement, but then they deny it because being a clown is not cool (or metal), so they had to come up with a cover story.


The SERIOUS BUSINESS anons are, perhaps, even better for lulz; they're so damn serious about their "cause" to "destroy" the CoBSF that they have become a beast almost similar to that of that which they seek to destroy, only without the aliens and spaceships that look like jets (but surely some have a harem of teen girls in hot pants... that or five year old girls). They have become almost as mocked and reviled as the Church itself; indeed, if they somehow manage to take down the beast they seek to slay, they will in turn be the ones hunted by people who are just as SERIOUS BUSINESS as they were.


The lulz anons are the true Internet Superheroes in this whole war; they're doing it for the lulz and nothing but the lulz. They give themselves entertainment, and by extension we also get entertainment. God bless (these) Anonymous.


The whole other group is not in it for the lulz, but there is much lulz to be had at their expense. They rage against anons, they bitch and complain, one tool named Paul Fetch (lulz "I'm taking you serious. I'm taking you serious. You hear me? I'm taking you serious." The man repeats everything atleast three times, I guess he must be OCD because we only needed to hear it once.) even decided to make a video in which he declared "war" on the anons and claims he's building "an army" (lulz YouTube Army) to fight them (oh noes, teh Paul is coming for anon!).


They're so SERIOUS BUSINESS that even if they don't mean it, they have become a major source for lulz with people who don't even like anon or the Legion. They're also proof that trolling is alive and well in the world; if it weren't do you think idiots with the need to repeat shit over and over would bother making YouTube posts about them? I think not.


Finally, there is myself and others like me. We are not a major source of lulz; indeed we don't bring much lulz to the table. Instead, we grow fat on the lulz brought by everybody else, feasting on the drama and pain and torment and Internet penis fighting that all the other sides shove into our greedy, ever thankful faces.


So I say to everybody involved, please do keep it up; everybody watching wants their epic lulz.


tl;rd: SERIOUS BUSINESS FTL, lulz FTW.