Santa has come bearing wonderful gifts

[Dawei]

The Phoenix of Resplendence

Coming down the chimneys, his sack is filled with grandeur and merriness and the like. He's here, once again, to bring you treats. Ho-hum, ho-hum, ho-hum.

You may be wondering why the quill continues to dance across the page, long after the party lights have gone out. You may even turn to your neighbor, who feels the same way, to ask if he may know such a reason. You may even ask me, which will go in vain, as I do not know, either. If you need an answer to close your eyelids tonight, after all the gifts are opened and put away, then I will let you know that this message was delivered the same way its predecessors have: boredom. Or, for those of you who require a deeper meaning, then I shall tell you that, when the smoke cleared and the last of the narcissistic meat had been picked away by the luminous crows and their kin, I felt the final act was not how I had anticipated, although it was how I expected.

Imagine your foot lodged in the train tracks. Pull as you might, it does not budge. You know a train will come sooner or later, whether it be a day or a year, so you continue to pull. The train, however, does not come very soon. Over the months, you have become acquainted to your position on the tracks. You build a small home, start a family, and become far too familiar with the feeling of your noose. The train finally does come, and you feel as if you have been cheated, and thus you are quite frustrated with the train. Although, like most children, you learn that irrational accusations do not work when you know the culprit to be yourself. This, quite simply, is how I would describe my experience over the years in this foreign land.

As you may have learned, I did not originate here. Mystery is a card I always keep in my hand, even when I've lost all my chips and have left the table. And thus, I will not properly disclose where my original
location was. What I will tell you, though, is only what is relevant to this more formal conclusion: I originally came from a land far away. So far away, the highest shouts and the bloodiest riots in the
depths of your home would not even cause a morning dove to shift its timid stance in mine. Because of this, these two cultures, quite simply, have become alien to each other. This is not an excuse; merely an indication. But enough description. I feel I should get to the true reason why I wrote, which, under all the high diction and rhetoric, is what your beloved pickle army vet has been doing, aside from the obvious.

After I departed, I hitchhiked for a week, during which time I planned to consider what adventure I had just finished, and consider which one I would begin. I considered going someplace new and far away, where conversation blooms all about and the sarcasm is so dewy-sweet you can pick it off the leaves and mix it into your tea. I imagined where this land may be hidden, and spent the majority of the week looking for
this land, until I realized that this very land I dreamt of lied in the most obvious location. It's both ironic and pitiful that whenever we leave home, claiming to become a new person, we cling to our roots,
exclaiming that it's the only reason we will ever keep our character. With this stunning and nevertheless depressing realization, I stopped my searches and headed home.

It had been three years since I left home, and figured I should wait for the ever-following scent of processed meat to expire from myself before claiming to be the same man that I was when I walked through the gilded arches of Nsider. I had decided that I should spend some time figuring out who this man was. Although during this time, when I was re-becoming myself, I thought very little about the majority of my
adventure, or even the beginning, when I first left home. Instead, I was quite concentrated on how my adventure had ended. A dehydrated feeling of guilt and unfinished business was hanging over me. I also noticed that my journey ended the same way it began: a member, with a negative reputation, if any, and not a thing in the world to hold him back from pulling the deletion trigger and going elsewhere. I felt nostalgic when I thought about all these things, but a different kind of nostalgia than one may normally face.

If nostalgia were to mean that I wished the past would happen the same way and never end, then I wished quite the opposite. But, had I been given another chance, I would have done near the same thing. Jerry Seinfeld, whom most of my philosophy has been peppered with, advises to leave shows on a high note, which I failed to do. And, if I were given a second chance, that is precisely what I would have done. But I was
not so wise such a time ago; I was too cowardly to tear off the bandage of my own ego, and thus left the job up to more grimier hands. I was not wary of the train, and even when I was warned of its approach, I denied its sanction. I grew too comfortable with my position, and thus was too childish to do anything else than pretend to be inanimate while letting the dogs tear away. In retrospect, I cannot believe that I once thought it to be absurd that the train could possibly be coming at all.

So now, with the explanations aside, I believe that I owe you the true meat of my message. I was originally going to title this message Apologia, which I still believe is the best choice. But I feel that I owe you more than that. Yours truly knows very well that you would not dare read so much to only walk away with my sincere apologies. Instead, I hope you view this more as Dillanova's magnum opus. The final clash of reemergence before the true conclusion. Magnum opus, too, was going to be the title.

The smoke has cleared, and your ears stopped ringing long ago. So what now? A song? A nostalgic medley of the experiences we've shared? I don't see a reason why. Henry David Thoreau explains," For the most part we allow only outlying and transient circumstances to make our occasions." To this, I respond in inquiry of what qualifies as outlying and transient. Indeed, the most permanent experience we have shared has been the most negative, so perhaps this occasion has been one, big catastrophe. In which case, I will laughingly agree. The majority of my story specifically on this forum has been composed of misunderstandings. The very reason I stood as one of your admins for so long was because Snorkel mistook my AIM handle for that of Vaatix's, and thus recruited me in the process of removing this forum from beneath the feet of its true owner (whom, I would imagine, also ponders on what monster he has helped to creat). It's true. If I had been more active in the beginning, there would be a supernef board in place of the now-deceased hall of fame. Your debate board would also be under the delicate, iron fist of our wonderful Doctor Beatnik, which I still believe is an achievable utopia.

And now, as our adventure together ultimately comes to a close, I ask not that you wonder what I will be doing next (I suspect you have grown weary of thinking about me, anyways), but instead what you will be doing. You have come a long way from the cradles to the slightly more free cradles. I feel as if it was just yesterday that Bobcheese was telling me that his Green Reich would rein for many years to come. Like me, you always had the potential to leave home, but all you needed was a little push. Just remember, the smallest changes of direction can make the most drastic of differences at the end of the journey. After all, Silverhawk would be running this by himself if it were not for the brain-trust that was formed in the depths of a Pickle Army chat room, but I suppose that this is a possibility best ignored.

The last shots have been fired, and the stake has, finally, been put into this very stubborn coffin. I hope your futures are brighter than I had always anticipated, and that you try your best not to do the same things that were done under the rule of your predecessors.

Yours Cynically,
Dillanova & Trace

[Macawmoses]

It's interesting that I read all of that, but only did so as the writing was incredibly unique. I must say, while I do miss Dill and Trace, the points brought up are glorious indeed.

Pushing the boundaries, adaptation, and so much more are touched upon. Furthermore, being reminded of the Sword of Damocles is always a good feeling; after all, knowing a sword is hanging above you by a mere thread is eerily comfortable.

But, it brings up many questions which shall sadly never be answered. Why wait for the train? Why ignore the warnings (which oddly enough, some came from this mortal soul)? Why not chew off your leg?

These questions I am left to ponder, and more. It brings up more points which can not be discussed in my current position, but believe me, I am now well aware of their presence.

This is the beauty of Dill. He can bring uncertainty with confirmation. It's a truly magnificent talent, and one I appreciate. Magnus opus or not, I salute thee, Dill. May your soul be blessed with tea leaves from the angels.

-Mackormoses

[Zovistograt]

Wardplay has been a recent, more than threecent, in fact, fasciprocrastiprovocativiation for me, for I have been partaeking in the rhyting styles of a not-so-certame individual known as James Joyce.


I could and would and gould only hope that these two to too Odyssei would cometh back to our enesefseedian shores someday.


One can only drop a line in the cellar, hoping the darkness does not cut it in two...

[Super]

Why do we drive people like this away?
Shame on those who shooed them.

[Matt]

Why do we drive people like this away?
Shame on those who shooed them.

Shame on you for not shooing them away.

[Silverhawk79]

The very reason I stood as one of your admins for so long was because Snorkel mistook my AIM handle for that of Vaatix's, and thus recruited me in the process of removing this forum from beneath the feet of its true owner (whom, I would imagine, also ponders on what monster he has helped to create).

Wait, what.