Fire Red Nuzlocke

Rolled Random for starter: Got Squirtle (3 on d6) (Female: Bubz)

Route 1 caught Ratata

Route 1 Ratata Died from crit

Route 2 Caught Pidgey (Male: Downey Jr)

Route 22 Caught Mankey (Male: Guy Fury) Species Clause kept Pidgey from being caught again

Veridian Forest: Caught Caterpie (Ms.Stique)

Veridian Forest: Evolved Caterpie into Butterfree

Defeated Brock. No deaths. Squirtle's Bubble and Makey's Low Kick wiped gym

Route 3: Caught Nidoran Male (Spike Lee)

Route 4: Caught Spearow (No name. Bad control memory)

Mt. Moon: Caught Geodude Floor 1 (Sharon Stone)

Mt. Moon Foor 2: Squirtle Died (Hyperfang Crit)

So much for my starter. It's gonna be a while before I get another water type....

Mt. Moon Floor 2: Caught Paras (Hilton)

Route 4: Evolved Nidoran into Nidorino

Route 4: Evolved Pidgey into Pidgeotto

Beat Nugget Bridge and Rival No losses

Route 24: Caught Oddish (Erikson)

Route 25: Abra was killed on accident from crit tackle
I taught Butterfry THIEF to have a dark type attack at this point as I have little else good against psychic type pokemon.

Beat Misty

Evolved Oddish into Gloom

Diglet's Cave Caught: Diglet (Nick Cave)

Finished SS Ann. Defeated Rival No losses

I was worried about my rival fight, but with a combo of DIG and SLEEP POWDER he didn't lay a single hand on me. His Pidgeotto got off a sand attack. Everything else was a clean wipe.

Route 11 Caught: Drowsee (ChrisAngel)

Evolved Nidorino into Nidoking (Taught Dig)

Beat Lt. Surge

Diglett and Nidoking are OP vs. Surge. Man I love DIG

Route 9 Caught Ekans (Snek Tie)

Rock Tunel Onix Caught
This Mankey is a Brick-Breaking-Karate-Chopping Rock Tunnel Murder Machine. I expect him to be a Primeape when I'm done here.
Mankey Evolved ino Primeape

Skipped Lavender Town to get to Celedon City
Evolved Gloom into Vileplume with Leaf Stone

Celedon City: Got Eevee (Steevee)Evolved to Jolteon
Played Game Corner to get Shadow BallTaught Shadow Ball to Jolteon

Current Team:
Pidgeotto: Downey Jr. (Fly,Gust,Quick Attack, Sand-Attack)
Nidoking: Spike Lee (Dig,Double Kick, Peck, Counter)
Jolteon: Steevee (Quick-Attack, Shock Wave, Shadow Ball, Sand-Attack)
Vileplume: Erikson (Absorb, Bullet Seed, Sleep Powder, Acid)
Primeape: Guy Fury (Seismic Toss, Brick Break, Karate Chop, Mega Kick)
Butterfree: Ms.Tique (Confusion, Sleep Powder, Thief, Stun Spore)

I have good coverage, but need some fire moves. Pidgeotto will hopefully be replaced before Elite four, and a Water Type will take over for Butterfree. I'll need some Psychic coverage once Butterfree is gone. If I can get a Lapras at Silph Co. I can teach it Psychic and fill my needed water/ice slot. Near end game I'm sure to teach Nidoking Flamethrower, and probably replace Pidgeotto with either Aerodactyl or Moltres, if I can use a lot of repels. I'm hoping Aerodactyl.
Defeated Rocket Hideout. Primeape DESTROYED Giovanni. Zero damage.

At Pokemon tower. Jolteon with Shadow Ball and Dark Glasses is absolutely one shot killing every foe here. What a great choice. Sadly I wasn't thinking about it and blasted the first Ghastly I saw here and destroyed it before catching.

Also, I'm not really over-leveled. I was the same level as Giovanni.
OH SHIT OF FUCK PIDGEOTTO GOT KO'D BY AN EXPLODING WEEZING ON BIKE ROAD
Route 16: Immediate caught Doduo to replace Pidgeotto (HeadyLamar)

Bulked up Doduo at Pokemon Tower to level 25

Route 15; DODUO INSTANTLY KILLED BY A CRIT FROM A WILD PIDGEOTTO. FUUUCK. There aren't any other birds besides Spearow and Farfetch'd in this game until the legendaries. FUCK. I guess it's Fearow Time?

Got my Spearow out of the box. Level 10. OH BOY. T___T
Going to run around route 8 to find a Growlithe. They are a rare spawn but thanks to the Species Clause there is nothing else in this grass I can catch, I think.
Route 8 Got Growlithe (Thicc Boy)
Safari Zone Caught Nidorina (Cersi)

Fuchsia City -fishing- caught Magicarp (Tempura)
Safari Zone CAUGHT SHINY EGGSECUTE!!!

THE BACK ALLEY

Portland, is without a doubt one of the countries best weirdly kept cities to enjoy a vast array of creative meals, be it a lovingly crafted pub burger to soak up one too many well whiskeys resting in your stomach, or a finely composed dollop of roasted beets with a tiny crispy piece of duck meat leaning against it, bone reaching valiantly towards the heavens. When it comes to chefs, we have all kinds. Broad shouldered ex-punk rock tattooed blow-snorting beasts, to elegant exhausted lean and fierce lady chefs, with hair piled neatly atop their head. They've all worked together, they've all yelled at each other, and they all love to make food.

Sadly, too often, with Portland's desperate need to have a gimmick, or a special menu (which I am not personally against) it becomes too much of a popularity contest. Which Chef will look the best holding their masterfully arranged prismatic confections on Instagram? Who knows all the right people, and understands the importance of giant crystals of hand shaved Sea Salt? I have nothing but respect for anyone who achieves these kinds of positions, having worked under many myself as their right hand whipping boy. That brings me to the back alley. The dark truth behind the curtain. The great equalizer. The hall of legends.

Here, after the rush is over, as you shoulder the heavy back door open, and swing the ready-to-burst bag of kitchen garbage with all your might into the overflowing dumpster, thankful to some dark Gods that it didn't tear open, easing your crud-caked stripped kitchen pants down onto a slightly damp milk crate, feeling the ache in your legs and lower back, you become a hero. You look down at your arms, blasted with ribbons of grease, countless swear words spelled out in tiger stripe burns and oil splashed red patches. These are your battle scars. This is your tribute to the taste buds of people you'll never meet. You pull a bent pre-rolled cigarette out from your breast pocket, and light it with a stick torch. You take two drags and rub the sleepiness out of your eyes, replacing it with whatever schmutz was on your fingers. You're a machine held together with coffee, nicotine, and Spotify playlists.

A server comes out, silently fuming at the frustration of stroking their customer's egos. You give a nod of recognition saying “Yep. That kind of night.” You give them the rest of your cigarette, feeling a bond of comradery, despite the fact that you fucked up one of their orders, and they rang in some apps wrong. You give your back one last stretch, and head back inside, because there are dishes to do.

The food industry is a stressful, rewarding, hair pulling, body ruining field. We burn our candle at both ends, and then use it to light the flat top, because it went out again. We're a team. We understand the struggle. When we go out to eat on our own time, we peek back into the kitchen with respect and curiosity. We're all one family. We stay sane with shift drinks, laughter, and countless other chemical comforts, but in the end, we just want to hear you say “Yum” as you walk back to your car, passing the weird grease covered hero in the back alley.

The Ballad of Gregori Sangrey, He Who Courts Death.

There once was a boy named Gregori Sangrey
Oh oh. The Son of Corpse.
His Mother'd been passed for more than a day.
Oh oh. The son of a Corpse.

The Mortician who cut her found Greogri inside.
Oh oh. A boy born in death.
The Father, dead too, at the side of his bride.
Oh oh. A boy born in death.

The Enbalmer decided to make him his own.
Oh oh. A boy who was cold.
He grew up playing in coffins and tomes.
Oh oh. A boy who was cold.

When age came to find him, he helped with the chores
Oh oh. A boy with the dead.
He cut them and cleaned them behind sacred doors.
Oh oh a boy with the dead.

He learned of the body, both inside and out
Oh oh. A boy in the blood.
He learned of religion. They robbed him of doubt.
Oh oh. A boy in the blood.

The Goddess of Death, like two balancing scales
Oh oh. A boy with a God.
She sends lost souls to rest. These his childhood tales.
Oh oh. A boy with a God.

The boy grew much taller, and wider, and cold.
Oh oh. A boy who had grown.
And the world fell apart. He turned 15 years old.
Oh oh. A boy who had grown.

Strange magic was flowing from deep down within.
Oh oh a boy with a curse.
And that's when his secrets lessons begin.
Oh oh a boy with a curse.

A strange fellow who lived in the morgue's tallest tower
Oh oh a boy with a gift
Would teach him Arcana, in the wee midnight hours
Oh oh a boy with a gift.

The power within him was more than he knew
Oh oh. A boy with a past.
He had no control when his master he slew
Oh oh. A boy with a past.

He had to escape. Redemption he swore.
Oh oh. A boy on the run.
They gave him two silver to fight in the war.
Oh oh. A boy on the run.

The king sent his troops to go train in the field.
Oh oh. A boy in a war.
He learned of the axe, and the sword, and the shield.
Oh oh. A boy in a war.

With his size and cold eyes, what a terrible foe.
Oh oh. A boy with a blade.
And the magic within him, it started to grow.
Oh oh. A boy with a blade.

Out there in the gore battling day after day
Oh oh. A boy on the field
He found inner peace as he started to pray.
Oh oh. A boy on the field.

The Goddess of Death, she still slept in his heart.
Oh oh. A boy with a cause.
And she showed him the magic within him was art.
Oh oh. A boy with a cause.

The war, it was lost. He emerged from the battle.
Oh oh. A boy who had lost.
So he set out on his own as he dawned his God's mantle.
Oh oh. A boy who had lost.

He travels the land, keeping peace with the living.
Oh oh. A man in the world.
And for those who disrupt it, there will be no forgiving.
Oh oh. A man in the world.

And now he is know far and wide by his name.
Oh oh. He Who Courts Death.
They fear his dark judgment and fear his dark flame.
Oh oh. He Who Courts Death.

Excerpt

When she first saw him, it became a problem to not see him.

Something about the strange man held her attention in a fashion somewhere between a breathtaking sunset and a horrible car accident. He seemed more in focus than the world around him. His lines seemed more crisp. He seemed to exist more than a normal person should, and something about the absolute nature of his existence managed to feel more believable. Comforting. Then she looked into his eyes, and saw into his terrible mind.

She saw into the chaos of the male psyche. There was an elaborate history of pain feeding like coal into a fire, shaping  into competitive vigor, anger, and distrust. Behind the walls of aggression and tension there was a deep tapestry of lust, the details of such causing intense shock even to a mind as lustful as her own. These visions of hateful and passionate fucking bombarded her like an illness. It infected her desires. Such acts of selfish cruel lovemaking. So much disrespect and calculated harm powered by a distrust towards all woman-kind. He was a king in his mind. A God. It was beautiful.

Suddenly and absolutely she was convicted in her needs. She wanted to be his. She needed to be the prop for him to play out all of his egotistical sexual desires. She wanted his strength to overpower her, and to make her faceless. The thought of being his conduit of masculine excess made her spine feel like liquid mercury. She wanted to belong to him, to not matter, and be used at any moment, and for any reason.

Time is a fire that slowly burns
Consuming all of life
Composed of crimson waving blades
With hunger it is rife
The world outside turns like like a page
Re-painted every day
For every joy and beauty found
Two more it takes away

Campus Operandi.

Despite the lack of decent Lattes, the campus was very articulate in letting me know I was warmly welcome on its grounds. It brought to mind questions like "what was I afraid of?" and "when did I decide this was a bad thing?" 
The moisture from the picnic table makes its way through my Wrangler cargo pants, past my Fruit of the Loom boxer-briefs, and sends a naturally moist chill across the canvas of my freshly showered ass. I don't remember it raining this morning.
A caravan of tiny people zig-zag and vanish up the face of that monogrammed mountain you see on all of our T-shirts. Perhaps they are so bored with life this Autumn Sunday that they need to exhaust themselves for a better view of their house. Good for them.
All the plants, labeled with their botanical surname, and all the old red bricks smell like slept upon sheets. The constant pop clack of tightly strung racket wires attacking unappreciated pockets of air imprisoned in fuzzy tennis balls makes me feel that just behind me, people are wasting time.  
Somewhere between 20-713 young women walk past me, as if they are nothing more than young women. They visibly struggle to look attractive, failing for all the wrong reasons, and unquestionably succeeding quite on accident. 
A social experiment. 
"I like your hair."
Silence. 
"How is it going?"
Silence. 
"That skirt is very pretty."
"Oh, well thank you."


Things are gonna be okay.

Pedes Iter Mortis

The heel of man in chase of remnant toe
Eternal trenched these trails in mapping life
Shall dig and lift upon the surface so
To dictate chance and choice like wood to knife
In countless marks life's vexing breadth is wide
So comfort makes it's home in prints fore pressed
For each soul's path in tangent line collide
Yet sands untouched and they shall serve you best