Tylor Kranyak's Blog
January 28, 2014
The Legacy of Krazatan
Fire, burning strong, power unrelenting,
Always growing, always changing,
A force to outmatch all,
An ocean of flames to engulf the land,
Burning hotter than passion itself.
_____
Thunder, ever blinding, utterly devastating,
None can match, none can surpass,
Turning night into day with a deafening crash,
Everlasting storms raging across the sky,
Racing faster than the strongest gale.
_____
Ice, never moving, always uncompromising,
Essence of arctic, endurance incarnate,
A river of cold intention,
Transformed to the hardest of diamond,
Glaciers to witness the end of time.
_____
Darkness, silk of the night, sight of the dead,
Ever watching, ever waiting,
The bravest of hearts gripped with fear,
The freest of souls clenched in obedience,
Domination to reign supreme.
_____
Light, elixir of life, the sun’s embrace,
Warm is the soul, bright is the path,
Courage against the darkest of omens,
Hope for the meek to light the way,
Ever shining in the midst of despair.
_____
Aspects of life and order, but also strife and discord,
Of all there is five, but of five there is one,
When war and death consume all, the five come together,
When the five come together, He appears,
When He appears, the world disappears.
_____
By His will, life begat from the void.
By His will, life returns to the void.
The will of the Creator.
The will of the Destroyer.
The will of Krazatan, the Chaos Dragon.
Always growing, always changing,
A force to outmatch all,
An ocean of flames to engulf the land,
Burning hotter than passion itself.
_____
Thunder, ever blinding, utterly devastating,
None can match, none can surpass,
Turning night into day with a deafening crash,
Everlasting storms raging across the sky,
Racing faster than the strongest gale.
_____
Ice, never moving, always uncompromising,
Essence of arctic, endurance incarnate,
A river of cold intention,
Transformed to the hardest of diamond,
Glaciers to witness the end of time.
_____
Darkness, silk of the night, sight of the dead,
Ever watching, ever waiting,
The bravest of hearts gripped with fear,
The freest of souls clenched in obedience,
Domination to reign supreme.
_____
Light, elixir of life, the sun’s embrace,
Warm is the soul, bright is the path,
Courage against the darkest of omens,
Hope for the meek to light the way,
Ever shining in the midst of despair.
_____
Aspects of life and order, but also strife and discord,
Of all there is five, but of five there is one,
When war and death consume all, the five come together,
When the five come together, He appears,
When He appears, the world disappears.
_____
By His will, life begat from the void.
By His will, life returns to the void.
The will of the Creator.
The will of the Destroyer.
The will of Krazatan, the Chaos Dragon.
July 9, 2013
Mugs
Most of my earliest memories as a child are of Christmas. The most vivid of them include opening presents on Christmas morning, watching the snow fall outside, and the smiles on my family's faces. The earliest of them all that I can remember, and possibly the earliest memory of my childhood out of all, happened when I was around 5-8. It's been so long that I can't remember exactly how old I was at the time. That Christmas I got one of the greatest presents of my childhood, and oddly enough it was just a simple a mug. It was a Sonic the Hedgehog mug from back in the Sega Genesis days, I was a Sega kid growing up and Sonic was my favourite video game character in the world. It was my favourite drinking mug in the whole house, and I would use it every chance I got. I considered it to be my mug, and whenever someone else used it I would get upset. To this very day I still have the mug. The pictures on the outside have faded around the edges, and there's a crack in the bottom of the handle. Still, I use it often and it still remains as my favourite cup.
Back in the day I remember our mugs being the largest drinking the largest drinking cups in the house, even way back then. But over time we started collecting more and more. Each one was bigger than the last, and after the span of almost two decades we now have mugs twice the size of what we used to have when I was a kid. It's odd, when I was a child I considered the contents I poured into my Sonic mug to be more than enough, possibly more than I needed to drink. But after having the larger mugs for so long I find myself looking at my Sonic cup and marveling at how tiny it is. Were the servings from that mug always so small, or have I just become so used to using the larger mugs that I feel the need to consume more than what's necessary? I still love my Sonic mug more than any other cup in the cupboard, but lately it's been getting lost behind the mountain of larger mugs.
When I was a child my Sonic mug was more than enough, so why is it almost twenty years later I feel the need to favour the larger cups? Have I just been conditioned to prefer the larger cups after having access to them for so long? Do I really need to consume so much liquid from a single cup, an amount that even our shih-tsu would have trouble drinking in one sitting? Maybe I should go back to using the Sonic mug on a regular basis again, maybe the smaller portions will be healthier for me. But with such a huge selection of larger portions in my reach will I be able to keep up the healthy habit, or will temptation drag me back to the bigger mugs? I can already get what I need from my Sonic mug, so why am I compelled to want more?
Back in the day I remember our mugs being the largest drinking the largest drinking cups in the house, even way back then. But over time we started collecting more and more. Each one was bigger than the last, and after the span of almost two decades we now have mugs twice the size of what we used to have when I was a kid. It's odd, when I was a child I considered the contents I poured into my Sonic mug to be more than enough, possibly more than I needed to drink. But after having the larger mugs for so long I find myself looking at my Sonic cup and marveling at how tiny it is. Were the servings from that mug always so small, or have I just become so used to using the larger mugs that I feel the need to consume more than what's necessary? I still love my Sonic mug more than any other cup in the cupboard, but lately it's been getting lost behind the mountain of larger mugs.
When I was a child my Sonic mug was more than enough, so why is it almost twenty years later I feel the need to favour the larger cups? Have I just been conditioned to prefer the larger cups after having access to them for so long? Do I really need to consume so much liquid from a single cup, an amount that even our shih-tsu would have trouble drinking in one sitting? Maybe I should go back to using the Sonic mug on a regular basis again, maybe the smaller portions will be healthier for me. But with such a huge selection of larger portions in my reach will I be able to keep up the healthy habit, or will temptation drag me back to the bigger mugs? I can already get what I need from my Sonic mug, so why am I compelled to want more?
June 4, 2013
The Plight of a Writer
Most people would say being a writer is possibly one of the most cushy jobs out there, at least for well-established authors. You get to work whatever hours you want, you don’t have to wear any kind of uniform, and you can work in the comfort of your own home. Some would say having such a job would be a dream come true. But is it really as easy as everyone thinks it is?
Being a writer myself I can vouch that this is indeed the most cushy job I’ve ever had, and I see that as both a blessing and a curse. With writing it’s not nearly as simple as clocking in and out and just doing the job in that time. The words don’t come out when you want them to, and if you force yourself too hard to make them come the result is less than desirable. The cushy nature of this job makes it difficult to concentrate, or even stay on task. The comfort lends itself to distraction, and some days that distraction keeps you from writing anything at all. Even now I’m sitting at my desk staring at a blank Word page trying to think of how to start the next chapter of my book. Writer’s block is the greatest bane of any author. Inactivity leads to a wandering mind, and when the mind wanders thoughts turn to other things, such as wondering what your friends are doing on Facebook, or how much you want to play that new game you downloaded off of Steam the previous night. This can lead to entire days, even weeks, lost. Whenever this happens to me I feel nothing but frustration and anxiety because I’m not putting as much time and effort as I want into my work. That same frustration can act as a mental block that keeps even more work from getting done, and before you know it you’re caught in a spiral of self-loathing because you’re sitting comfortably at home wasting your time doing nothing while everyone else in the world has to work themselves to the bone just to keep a roof over their heads. You can call being a writer the cushiest job in the world and you’d be right, but that doesn’t make it any less stressful or frustrating.
Why do I bother writing at all if it causes me so much stress, so much emotional pain? The answer is quite simple, it’s because I love it. Even with all its flaws, writing is easily the most exhilarating job I can imagine. Creating a world entirely your own, populating it, creating its history, and weaving stories that can change that very foundation you’ve spent so long building, it’s a feeling I simply cannot express with words. There are moments between the writer’s blocks where you get a bolt of inspiration, and suddenly you’ve entered a state of zen where the words are flowing out of your head faster than you can type them. You lose yourself in the story, the characters, and the book truly becomes your own. When that moment comes I feel more alive than I ever have in my entire life. It’s an addictive drug that you can’t get enough of, and you find yourself wearing your fingers to the bone on your keyboard just to get another fix. It’s a kind of feeling that I would spend hundreds of hours in frustration just for one minute of this bliss, and I would do so with a smile on my face. This is the reason I push myself to keep writing, and I imagine it’s the same for most other authors as well.
Being a writer myself I can vouch that this is indeed the most cushy job I’ve ever had, and I see that as both a blessing and a curse. With writing it’s not nearly as simple as clocking in and out and just doing the job in that time. The words don’t come out when you want them to, and if you force yourself too hard to make them come the result is less than desirable. The cushy nature of this job makes it difficult to concentrate, or even stay on task. The comfort lends itself to distraction, and some days that distraction keeps you from writing anything at all. Even now I’m sitting at my desk staring at a blank Word page trying to think of how to start the next chapter of my book. Writer’s block is the greatest bane of any author. Inactivity leads to a wandering mind, and when the mind wanders thoughts turn to other things, such as wondering what your friends are doing on Facebook, or how much you want to play that new game you downloaded off of Steam the previous night. This can lead to entire days, even weeks, lost. Whenever this happens to me I feel nothing but frustration and anxiety because I’m not putting as much time and effort as I want into my work. That same frustration can act as a mental block that keeps even more work from getting done, and before you know it you’re caught in a spiral of self-loathing because you’re sitting comfortably at home wasting your time doing nothing while everyone else in the world has to work themselves to the bone just to keep a roof over their heads. You can call being a writer the cushiest job in the world and you’d be right, but that doesn’t make it any less stressful or frustrating.
Why do I bother writing at all if it causes me so much stress, so much emotional pain? The answer is quite simple, it’s because I love it. Even with all its flaws, writing is easily the most exhilarating job I can imagine. Creating a world entirely your own, populating it, creating its history, and weaving stories that can change that very foundation you’ve spent so long building, it’s a feeling I simply cannot express with words. There are moments between the writer’s blocks where you get a bolt of inspiration, and suddenly you’ve entered a state of zen where the words are flowing out of your head faster than you can type them. You lose yourself in the story, the characters, and the book truly becomes your own. When that moment comes I feel more alive than I ever have in my entire life. It’s an addictive drug that you can’t get enough of, and you find yourself wearing your fingers to the bone on your keyboard just to get another fix. It’s a kind of feeling that I would spend hundreds of hours in frustration just for one minute of this bliss, and I would do so with a smile on my face. This is the reason I push myself to keep writing, and I imagine it’s the same for most other authors as well.
