moxi-koshki

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A sharp pain echoed across the woman's skull, bashing its way end to end in her cranium. There was a brief flash of light, one that pained her eyes and forehead worse than looking directly into the sun. The woman grimaced as the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth in a mix of saliva. Only after minutes could she will herself to open her eyes. Cracking them slightly she could see the outlines of stalagmites and bluish rock formations - all of which were shadowed by a bright opening at the far end of what she now realized was a cavern.

I don't want to die.

Darkness began to envelop her vision. The walls of the cavern began to reverberate slightly as though they were made of ocean waves. The light itself at the far end of the cave began to dim in a shadowy curtain that clouded around the peripherals of her eyes. The air she breathed agonized her extremely dry throat. It had a taste of mold and musk. All of her sensations of disgust were clouded in pain, however. She was going to die. Probably.

I don't want to die. Not here.

She stopped thinking about the pain for a moment, and lurched forward. Falling down a slight incline of what felt like melted lava given by how ribbed the stone was, as though it had "bubbled" over eons ago when it was molten. She rolled, like a crippled child attempting to have fun rolling down a green hill full of feathery grass. She did not find it fun. Especially when her ribs slammed into the base of stalagmite. She coughed.

I may die here.

Minutes later, through some haze of delirium and thunderous skull splitting pain that seemed to crack the bony perimeter along her forehead to her temples, she found she was getting closer to the light of the cave entrance. Her mangled hands with ripped off fingernails bled into her palms and onto her wrists. She didn't even realize her clawing to move toward the light had mangled her nails as so. In a moment she heard a voice, a bright, sparkling voice full of excitement.

"You know this is the way to heaven right?"

Svetlana looked to her-

Svetlana? That is my name?

Her eyes narrowed at the figure she just started to make out. It was a little frogman in a kind of tailored suit. Its giant green and hazel eyes stayed open as its tongue flicked its own eyes, first the left then the right. The creature seemed perfectly at ease in the presence of her immense suffering, of her blooded hands, face, and venously red eye whites. A feeling of angry frustration spewed flames up her throat from her gut.

Bastard. Stupid frog.

"Who is more stupid? The woman who races towards death or the frog who sits at ease with the idea of it?" The frog said without accent.

Shut up

She gritted her teeth, clenching them together and hearing a creaking as they pressed against the grooves of each other that had been created from grinding them so much. She focused back on the light, and started to crawl once more. Inch by inch. Pain by pain. The light was the only answer to the darkness she had found herself in. The pain was not avoidable, the light the only possible destination besides the darkness around her. There, at least in the light, she'd be able to witness something other than darkness.

Upon reaching the edge of the cave, the frog came to greet her. He paced up from her left side with a walking stick, it's wooding "tinking" created by each step he pounded the base of it into the rock beneath them.

"you are a stupid girl"

Yep. The stupidest.

"Who are you?"

A stupid girl apparently

The haze of pink light from a setting sun collided with her pale face and features. She bit her lower lip, then stopped immediately as the movement hurt exquisitely. She could not see the land before herself, the outside of the cave, for the frog blocked her vision.

"Who are you, really"

I'm Svetlana, the girl from the east, I come from the land just before the steepe

The frog lifted his cane and put it under her chin. With a small amount of force, he lifted her chin so she had to look into his giant, round, green and hazel bulges he called "eyes". From her position, the tiny foot tall frog looked like a giant from the tales of the northmen.

"What do you want? Girl from the east who came from the land just before the Steepe?"

I want.. I want water.

The frog removed his cane from beneath her chin, which fell down in short succession. Then, she felt a slight bonk on the top her head. To her surprise it did not hurt in the slightest.

"Water, no water. All water. Less water. Big water. Small water. Green water. Blue water. Water with red. Water that is full of the dead. Water that is black. Water that drips from a hat. There are many types of water to pick. But which water do you wish?"

The kind I can drink. Idiot.

"ok. So then. The water of life."

A moment passed, and she closed her eyes. When she opened them, the frog was gone as was her pain. She had somehow gotten on her back. A slight breeze played sweet music with the grass and leaves. The wind wouldve been visible, had she looked at the grass that it was flowing across. There were trees around her, flowing back and forth in a calm kind of serenade. Her pain was a bygone thing. Her finger nails were back. After she sat up, she looked before her and saw the trees, the lakes, the grass, the steepe. A calmness settled over herself and she got to her feet.

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face your fears...

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Henry Miller

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I could write a book on this topic, maybe I will. I was infantry. Even worse I was a ranger as well. Now they were giant ego maniacs, even compared to regular infantry grunts. The military ruined my entire life. But it taught me things, gave me painful wisdom, and experience from the worst kinds of hardships. A person ought not to be too wise. If a person is too wise (experienced and has seen "too much") they aren't ever happy anymore. I don't have pride in my military service. The greatest sadness I actually have goes back to when I was standing in a briefing room with afghan commandos. All of these soldiers believed America was there on their behalf. That we were working together to fight the Taliban and other unconventional forces with interests in Afghanistan. It's my greatest regret because I know most of them were killed when America pulled out of Afghanistan. I don't support the machinations of the Americans interests overseas. I support veterans and soldiers however. I support them by vying for policies that DON'T send them unnecessarily to other countries to die or come back scarred for life like I was FOR NO REASON. There is nothing glorious about the infantry. There is nothing glorious about war EXCEPT insofar as it brings you closer to God/the Gods/The Divine, but even then I wouldn't call it a "glorious" experience

The Infantryman's Arrogance

Infantrymen have a pride and arrogance that most Americans don’t understand and don’t like. Even soldiers who aren’t infantrymen don’t understand. The pride doesn’t exist because we have a job that’s physically impressive. It certainly doesn’t exist because it takes a higher level of intelligence to perform our duties. It’s sad and I hate to admit it, but any college student or high school grad can physically do what we do. It’s not THAT demanding and doesn’t take a physical anomaly. Nobody will ever be able to compare us to professional athletes or fitness models. And it doesn’t take a very high IQ to read off serial numbers, pack bags according to a packing list, or know that incoming bullets have the right of way.

The pride of the infantryman comes not from knowing that he’s doing a job that others can’t, but that he’s doing a job that others simply won’t. Many infantrymen haven’t seen a lot of combat. While that may sound ideal to the civilian or non-infantry soldier, it pains the grunt. We signed up to spit in the face of danger. To walk the line between life and death and live to do it again – or not. To come to terms with our own mortality and let others try to take our life instead of yours. We have raised our hands and said, “Take me, America. I am willing to kill for you. I am willing to sacrifice my limbs for you. I will come back to America scarred and disfigured for you. I will be the first to die for you.”

That’s why the infantryman carries himself with pride and arrogance. He’s aware that America has lost respect for him. To many he’s a bloodthirsty animal. To others he’s too uneducated and stupid to get a regular job or go to college. Only he knows the truth. While there are few in America who claim to have respect for him, the infantryman returns from war with less fanfare than a first down in a high school football game. Yes, people hang up their “Support Our Troops” ribbons and on occasion thank us for our service. But in their eyes the infantryman can detect pity and shame; not respect. Consider this: How excited would you be to meet the average infantryman? Now compare that with how excited you’d be to meet a famous actor or professional sports player and you will find that you, too, are guilty of placing the wrong people on a pedestal. You wouldn’t be able to tell me how many soldiers died in the war last month, but you’d damn sure be able to tell me if one of the actors from Twilight died.

Yet the infantryman doesn’t complain about that. He continues to do his job; to volunteer his life for you, all while being paid less in four years than Tom Brady makes in one game.

It’s a job most Americans don’t understand, don’t envy, and don’t respect. That is why we have pride for the infantry.

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In the shadows of Lordaeron's ruin, a figure emerged, shrouded in beauty and darkness - the Dark Ranger, Eve Shadowblade. Once a valiant protector of her homeland, she succumbed to the blight's grasp during the scourge's relentless advance. Yet, from the abyss of despair, Sylvanas Windrunner extended her hand, offering salvation in undeath.

Eve embraced her new existence with a haunting elegance, her spirit bridging the realms of the living and the dead. Drawing strength from the whispers of the void and the embrace of a mysterious goddess of death, she became a formidable force on the battlefield.

By her side stood Dyezsha, a resilient and cunning Deathstalker. Bound by a bond forged in the crucible of hardship, the two undead women journeyed through realms, their missions cloaked in shadows and whispered secrets. Together, they waged an unyielding war against the forces of the living, their blades carving a path of vengeance through Ashenvale's moonlit groves and the forsaken depths of the Undercity.

As allies of the Forsaken, they sought to reclaim what was lost, their destinies intertwined with the fate of their fallen kingdom. With each triumph, they whispered invocations to their dark goddess, their souls forever entwined in the eternal dance of death and rebirth.

(chatgpt driven)

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Cossack Quote

“Sinful? Where's the sin?' demanded the old man. 'A sin to look at a pretty girl? A sin to walk out with one? A sin to love one? Be that a sin where you come from? No, my dear boy, that ain't no sin, 'tis salvation. God made you, and God made the girl, too. He made everything there is. So 'tain't no sin to look at a pretty wench. That's what she were made for, to be loved and to give happiness. That's the way I sees it, my good fellow.” ― Leo Tolstoy, The Cossacks

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Lol as soon as I tag a post with "#trans" my feed keeps surprising me with other trans girls pale, giant butt cheeks. Like wtf lmao

1. Open app

2. Get ambushed by a huge ass right in front of my face

Me:

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Boom

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Monty Python and the Holy WoW

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Void Duel

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Enough (A Poem)

Enough!

I’m in the rain, soaking and showered

Feeling the pain and it’s making me sour

Under a bridge, left to die, abandoned, broken I cry

In these moments no peace I find just the sight of my old world die

It wont be forever, I tell myself.

They won’t box me up and put me on a shelf.

 Soon the news anchors won’t shout their curses

Even though comedians can be worses

By every politician who wants everyone to be the same

By every man who wants me but feels shame

For every flower I wish I could be

For every person who cuts me

I can’t breath most days, going out and feeling the stares

Do they hate me, do they want me, or do they have no cares.

To the man who opens the door for me then slams it my face

When I say “thank you”, I attest you’re a disgrace

NOT to me, though you did make me suffer

Not to other women, though and I’m sure you made them suffer

But to every man, young or old, you give them a bad name

They should look upon you and feel the essence of shame

It’s a reflection of you, the man who prizes materialism and flash

Completely forsaking real humanity like it’s a bit of plastic trash

Black, White, Cis, Trans, Gay, Straight it don’t matter

If we don’t fit your bill our lives and humanity apparently don’t matter

You have nothing to say because you can’t justify your hostility.

you’re just happy you don’t have to justify your responsibility.

So you go on tv and come up with some arrogant shit

Or on that diseased ridden internet cesspit

All you can do is tell me I’m not human, I’m not who I say I am,

That in your delusional lunacy you assert you know me more that I can

Though we’ve never shared a sentence or even seen one another

I can hear you say I didn’t have a decent father or mother

Your minds already made up, I can see it in your eye

I’m a degenerate, and that’s according to your lies

Yet you may beat your wife and kids, and drink until morning

As long as you point the finger its alright for you to go whoring

You’ll pick us up and pay us

Then the next day you’ll try to erase us

You say I’m not a woman, yet also say I am not a man.

Well I say fuck your bullshit and I say YOURE THE ONE THAT’S NOT A REAL MAN.

I’m an idiot though I have two college degrees

I’m still sitting in my basement just trying to breath

A 4.0 I worked my ass off means nothing in the face of your stupidity.

No matter how much shit I went through and go through you’ll never have pity

No matter how many battles I fight I’ll never be tough

This isn’t an insult, it’s a truth that’s a bit rough

I don’t want to be smart.

I don’t want it to be tough,

I don’t want to be rough,

I just want to be.

Enough.

(no AI was used to create this poem)