Sunday, 30 November 2014

Some work still unfinished, but... Showtime :D



Saturday, 29 November 2014

Still geeking, still not over Garrosh's death.

(soundtrack to this post)

Take me to church
I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
Offer me that deathless death
Good God, let me give you my life 



Still suffering from a micro-version of PTSD from Garrosh's death. I'm having these dumb nightmares about the fair, about being left out and not told, running around through the cheerful crowd with my merchandise, not finding my hut, screaming in frustration and being laughed at – people saying ‘no wonder she didn’t get in, just look at how she acts’… I watched some of the Spartacus and those poor slaves, the men and the women, broken like trees until they are nothing but walking exercise bait, when in another world, my world, they’d be hot guys and girls going clubbing and trying to score cool jobs.
I have to really, REEEALLY watch that line between the good guys and the bad guys, because Kay is walking on that line so unsteadily. She is angry as hell and she is socializing with men who are villains in their worst. I know the last chapter is all about the gang going bad for a moment, but as Garrosh teaches us, you may wanna keep that shit in check, because sometimes that’s the last thing in your diary and the first thing in the history books about you.
There’s a song I’ve had on my iPod for about a … quarter of a year now. But I have never listened to it, not once, because the first lines were off-putting: My girl’s got humour, she’s a giggle at a funeral ..
I listened to it yesterday. I woke up, with that song in my mind and just knew that when I start walking Starbark, that’ll be the first song I listen to. Holy shit. That is totally the song that Kay needs to listen to when she’s realizing she’s crossing the line. There is a scene, pretty much everyone is fucked over Garrosh’s death and she sees a moment in the history of French revolution, when two carriages of young women from a monastery school are fleeing the city and the Jacobin recruits, drunk on power or just drunk, decide to intercept them in the fields outside the city. These are just some old nuns and a lot of young girls, so they don’t stand a chance. Kay watches this from another portal and another great Orc’s bedroom and even though she is not permitted to breach fables, she sends the orcs and their worgs to “skullfuck everything”. The orcs kill all the assailants and finish off some of the injured, who would have not made it anyways – and they are anything but subtle about it, so that Cole has to come and clean up the mess. Kay doesn’t care. One of the girls, though injured, gets up and screams after Kay: “You are all monsters!” Kay considers this and nods her head in a dark, defeated way: “Yes. But you are not.”
Never mind the part where the girl is then told she is insane from shock and put in a mental institution until eventually she gets so upset and violent they decide it’s best to hang her for kicking another inmate to death. That much about that. Kay probably saves her at some point, probably right from the gallows, though the moment is more important because at that bit the once very fuzzy headed and moral individual genuinely contemplates letting go. Not because she would want to be a villain, but because she is sick and tired of trying to prove to everyone that she’s NOT. It just feels easier to let go. It just seems like the bad guys have all the fun. And Kay hadn’t had fun in a while.
Kestrel (in game as in the book) cuts her hair pixie short and dyes it black and moves her house to where she can visit the grotesque remains of her kid’s father every day.  


Thursday, 27 November 2014

The geek in me: History is written by winners... And he lost that one.



Did the weirdest thing today. I wilfully participated in the execution of Garrosh. I've had a crush on Garrosh for about two years now and have decided to stick to his side regardless of his lunacy towards the end. Never tried to raid on him before. His storyline was forwarded by Kestrel’s chapters in Goose, as she was the one who interacted with him and who led the band of warriors, refusing to swear to the next warchief. Well, there was an odd sense of triumph in the darkness when he didn’t die at the siege of Orggrimar and I never lost hope that he’ll come around. Funny, that. Even the way he went, I could sense that he was fucked up and full of conflict. He fled to another time and another realm and everyone followed him. Me, personally, refused to go to war against him, I even overlooked the fact that he build a throne for himself right next to where I was stationed. But, in an odd need for closure, I sent Kestrel with his enemies to take on the garrison and although he was surrounded by hot-blooded people and seemed quite interested in murdering me (and Durotan but fuck him), that annoying ex-chief Thrall showed up and challenged Garrosh to a “one riot, one ranger” stand-off. It was disturbing to watch. (Excellent cinematic, actually, great music and weather gloom.) And that’s how he died. Desperate. Defeated. The scene in which he is flailing fists at Thrall’s face, screaming “You left me---!” wrenched my gut. Not a very happy family, these Hellscream people. His father was a dick to his mom as she was begging to die a warrior’s death and he called her a weakling, he was a dick to his people, I can’t wait to see what the father guy will try to do to us once he finds out.
There will be a lot of issues going through Kestrel’s mind when I write about this decision of hers  in the book – that she agrees to watch her husband die by the hands of the righteous. Closures blow, really. Though I loved one of the comments from players below:
"Hey Thrall, what about the axe? Thrall?" *whistles* (takes Gorehowl, hurries off)
 

Even put it on the cover :D Awww.. Go me!


Tuesday, 25 November 2014

Vlatsko Stefanovski concert

Oh, ye, and I shot a concert. T'was nice.

















Five days to the fair or something


Hard to believe, but WoW has gotten to me again. All the things I didn't think were going to pull me in, did. I am still into exploration and archaeology and creating things, also some diplomatic questing and an occasional loot from a rare, but garrison, oh, garrison. At first it didn't seem like I'll find any interest in it, as the buildings were pre-designed and rather planned. But then you get your own mine and garden and workshops and above all else, you get a bunch of weird characters that want to work for you, sending them on missions. I have no idea what purpose that serves, if anything the missions cost, but waking up every morning to see what they've been up to overnight is just like old times. Garrisons are the new fishing dailies. I asked the boys what they thought good odds would be and they said they only send people on quests with 85% success possibilities. That’s just too mathematical for me. I have a rule not to go beneath thirty, but 33% is a third of a chance. Those are the odds I usually have in anything in my daily living.
Following the geekish uprising in my schedule, comes having sexy thoughts about monsters. With Garrosh nowhere in the picture yet and I don’t do good guys, I’m writing  Azog fiction, some of which (stripped of all the graphic details, obviously) will be perfectly useful later, for Kestrel chapters of the Goose.Once I get over the need to add angst to romance of grown-ups.
That said, I spend almost ten hours a day drawing nice things. The chalk is cutting nastily into my palms, but it’s just five more days and then I’m switching to other techniques. I get really tired by nine in the evening, though hating to go to bed so early and in no shape to read or write or even watch anything. Best solution is to go out, so I saw Hunger games 3.0 last night, though I wasn’t planning on it and a night or two before, I was at a party. Unusually active for winter. I should start my indoor climbing class come Monday, to get my body moving. I really do sit a lot. I’ve always wondered how come my arms are oddly well shaped for someone who only ever uses her legs during morning walks and then I remembered: oh, right – I paint like the devil. :)))

Work under construction :P :










Tuesday, 18 November 2014



Things have summat calmed down. It's a new week and I have spent the whole Sunday playing Warcraft, which is enough to distort anyone's reality. You gotsta build your garrison and send people on mission, but also you on your own have a ton of things to do, in a whole new landscape, some of which is eerie and tricky, if endlessly beautiful.And I new orc leader. Well..

I’ve had more crazy food, from excellent cake when we went to sort of ‘mini’ celebrate the cub’s birthday on a sort of a calm family coffee date, to popcorn, when My Maja and I couldn’t get good tickets for Interstellar, so we just bought popcorn, sat in the car and I told her the plot in detail. I spent more time in cool company – first another MB native took me to inspiring places, I had mango ice-cream, which I am completely smitten with, and in my old Kuba, I had coffee masala, an odd blend, which perfectly emphasized the company I’was in. In a way, I got three commissions – a dozen ‘paintings’ for a patisserie café, a short story about freaky little creatures and an article about the unicorn photo. I’ll go see parents today, on my way to get some medicine for G, after an eon. I got a great idea for a reportage, but nobody who would publish it… It’s one of those, ye.I would take my dad to Macedonia, to Skopje, where he once, a long time ago, shot the earthquake devastation. Oddly enough, I met a young man on a train and started talking, because we were both really tired looking and the train ride was for ever - and he turned out to be of Macedonian origin. I wonder if the universe is green-lighting anything for me? :P


Sometimes I am torn by grief. I am literally twisted. My head is going in one direction, my heart is going another, body is frightened, so very frightened of being just a body. I want to cry, I want to beg the world for more time, more intelligence, I want to call everybody I know and tell them I love them, I have always loved them, I am sorry I was angry with them. For sooo long I've had daddy issues, but they were issues of a foolish teenager, rebellious and undereducated. There is so much to know in this world. I come from such a small town. From a country that hates everything about everybody. We have all the freedom and almost no taste. We want to be America, with our feet still in the horseshit, in the stable. My work gets stolen all the time, discredited, ignored - people would rather fuck themselves than pay twenty bucks for a photo. And I am nothing, I am nobody. I can never be good enough, because only socially interesting people become famous and I am not. Because I prefer to read and paint.
Jodorowsky was not a nobody, he was an everybody and his Dune was like a primeval deity from which all the monumental, politically correct kings of the sci-fi movies spawned. He had to be kept in the trenches so that America could have their Spielbergs and Lucases and Scotts. I could never be truly great, because I cannot steal big enough. If his Dune script book fell into my lap, I wouldn't know what to do with it. Okay, I do. I’d apologize for the inconvenience and make sure I returned it to him. Because I am not an animal. I am but a tiny spec of consciousness, drifting through an ocean of stars. True, there is the ink and there is the camera, but there are no eyes to see my work - they are all averted to the new tits of whoever’s on a red carpet. It hurts to see my work stolen, but that man must have suffered and still suffers to see his work raped. Good thing he has a lot of humor and some good drugs. Or at least I hope so. He seems happy enough when confronted with journalists. I’m half his age. So does it get better from here on or only harder?