For I dipped into the future
far as the human eye could see
saw the vision of the world
and all the wonder that would be.

Alfred Lord Tennyson: "Title of Poem"

"But, when I was younger, I travelled the world!
And saw many great wonders."

Eloi of Mo, Lost Eden

Sudden images. Fireplace, iconous windows, blue, a wall of beige, the Fragrance... fairiŽ, the arable Sun-field. No less it must be. It is either, the source of dreams, or one of them the very least... The playground... In this world, that is the place where shapes begin to be formed. So it was with me, too. Sometime in the distant childhood, alone or with others, I too began to discovers things... wonders... they could've been discovered by anyone else, of course, but it just happened that me and my few other friends or acquaintances were the ones who first encountered these small green roots, the breezes in the Pale-blue Desert. A floor, that was for a desert, or plains; drawers and chairs were hills and mountains, and that deep-green forest grew near the beneath opening of bed. In rainy days, when the shadows were longer, there were even more creatures in such a small white room, colourful and different. All was endless. Some of the charactery lived in the village made of trees, some crept in the dark hollows; some good, some rather evil. There were many different adventures and back stories, each like a breath of air for a child, and each one, not any psychological crap of imitating, Freudian ego-developing but exactly that what it was called and known by us; ironic as it would have surely seemed, even then... we would have laughed at them. I did not, we did not play with just cars, soldiers, knights or monsters; no, I daresay the Sea was (and is) much wider and deeper than that, and even every small bush had a meaning or a name, though as said before, there just might be that extra mirror somewhere for them, the dead un-dreamers, to trip over as well. But I'm not trying to prove anything. Though the Blue Sea is wide and with endless stock, them stories happened; though they were not recorded (or so it seems). And finally, though not becoming chained or ruined, the dreams took on some certain shapes.

So many stories. Some of them were more exciting than others, and some were that on a certain day or a week. Most of it was not of our creation originally; they were all themes -- which is rather the correct word -- as one would expect. But a part of it, a small part that perhaps started to come from the circumstances, the surroundings and like that which, eventually, evolved it all into something different. Something more. And I guess that's when the thing's officiality for the traveler starts to knock on the door. Knocking, because it is only later determined if one's destiny is at all connected with this sort of exploring, even in the smallest or briefest way. But back then, even though the universes were not ours, though we were merely messengers, we enjoyed it like rain in the desert. I enjoyed it. And I must say I still do... or would.

Also chronicleing past adventures does not necessarily mean that you lock the whole thing up; the double joy I would get from the area started to make itself known to me in 1995, when my friend and I were mingling around with self-made comics between our more or less school-related issues. I was never really good at drawing which in my opinion also took too much time, but nonetheless the comics needed stories. It was a start, I'd say, for the whole idea. By that time, many different universes with all of their stories had become known to me through the natural work of a kid. They were a sort of continuations or offshoots of the often not-so-deep plots and story arcs presented in the phenomena surrounding the marketing of various toys, though comic books were (and are), of course, from the deep end in their unrelatedness to the brief and public-kissing advertisement industry, and they had their part in the impact on me over the years. But as I said, by the time of 1995, many stories had been played out, and for me, they had become more or less "official", having happened and having a value in their own right. Perhaps some people require at this point to be reminded of the fact that I am definitely not a naive person (anymore), but I do however recognize and admire the power of the story, a good story, and I have rather definite and maybe in someone's mind naive or at least sometimes a bit "unpractical" moral concepts of life, right and wrong, and everything else as well.-) Though that sounds a bit egoistic, but then again I can't help it. I definitely do not speak to people with any chips on my shoulder, if they don't start to ask me do something I see to be wrong. What could then come of a child's play? I guess for some (and more often) nothing, and for some, a beginning. The root of bread.

If it is done more on the basis of fear of losing something, it will never become anything. It has to have love, and it needs to give something to the one who does it, the story's conveyor; for nobody drinks from a spring that isn't there, nor knows a spring if it doesn't present itself. I have noticed an enjoyment in writing, though I know I'm not much of a writer; but then again, my main aspiration has been merely, if possible, to relate these "solo role-playing" adventures as well (and as vividly) as is possible via a text medium. This of course is related to the important point about plot; how can I remember such a thing (even if it was any "good") from the passed years? Well, there is merely one "solution" to that: re-enactment. :) Or "special editioning" as one might also put it. ;) The actual(ization of) universes is still the soul and spine of everything. It is like "making the screenplay by acting the movie before the screenplay is written". *g*
      Naturally, when one grows older, he is able to pay more (recognized) attention to advancing and bettering the desired genre and story, also taking good examples from various media works (text adaptation also offers a chance to possibly improve the intrigue). Especially music has been a major source of inspiration for me, and something I have tended to listen to while attempting to put text on screen.

Despite the fact that the continuation of the discovery has now been long delayed because of a recent long and dark period of personal idiocy and undoing, these worlds have nonetheless already become somewhat strangely entwined, perhaps through the hopeless mind-attributings I still gave them in my better moments; all Neverlands have become a bit mixed up, as J.M. Barrie might've put it; but also, even after facing my situation and the long stumbling back, I find there's still this strange burning sensation of something unfinished within me. So maybe these stories might still get to be told... someday. Although now, of course, there would also be something different.


From the pseudo-ST: Apocalyptica - Pray

A collection of all-round odd wanderings, in three main parts (A Piece of Danger, And Then They Were, and Strange Dreams); inspired, among other things, by the works of J.R.R. Tolkien, David Lynch, and the music of Nightwish, Apocalyptica, etc... and possibly ending in Greece...

Away, away in Time... every dream's a journey away...

The Eldia Trilogy

From the pseudo-ST: Vangelis - Monastery of La Rabida

A tale about the key events in the history of Elenyona, a valley that lies in the waning world but is re-awakened and ultimately turns into a scene for the battle between good and evil in a strange high-fantasy form.

Current status: One novel completed (1998).

The storm sailed above them towards the west.

Sanctuary of Magic

From the pseudo-ST: Kitaro - Winter Waltz

Like in the desert sand, like by the waterfalls, on a spring or a forest clearing, there may be an echo of a music, music that is not of this world... but from somewhere else, where perchance the colours are more vivid, and adventures like odd dreams... and the threat of evil, not menacing, but exciting... though yet it would be there.

Somewhere... where are always swords in the stones...
And the Noon Sun shines on the Field...

The First Voyages

From the pseudo-ST: Vangelis - Conquest of Paradise

In an unknown course of history, some French and English ships were strayed further north in the late 1600's; and despite an injustice which would come to spell the future, it meant everything but the end for the brave spirit of those seafarers, or for the swashbuckling sword-fights, quest for gold... or even strange encounters in unknown lands and newfound regions.

The Blueland Adventures

From the pseudo-ST: Glennie-Smith/Zimmer - Theme from The Rock

The main body, and one of the earliest universes, around which most of the other stories were gathered or are at least linked somehow... it is a series of the modern day, with the place being the unusual, a valley where a different characters find themselves sent or drawn; a group of soldiers, a terrorist organization, a criminal syndicate run by a dark mind, and various persons of powerful presence.

"You think I would be here if I knew everything, lad?"

Despite the fact that most of the characters are not created by me, but come directly from my childhood, TBA with its campy name is probably the most important piece "story-wise", since it is, for me as a "fan", the rather "official" version of how things went after a certain point (that's an adventurer and storyteller's arrogance); but also, more importantly, because it has many important twists (or at least I think so) and would eventually, I daresay, grow into something else as well.

Reaching from 1992 as far as 2050 (and beyond), many things happen, and though many a storyline has not been explored, it would of course be needless to say that many of the lives of the characters, old AND new, would change forever, the secrets of the past would eventually be uncovered, the future shaken, technologies experimented, and the world... well, I guess that the exact outcome would just have to be seen. And even that would not be the ultimate end.

Current status: A dozen episodes written.

"Wherever there's a democracy, there is also capitalism..."

"Only two things are infinite: the universe and human
stupidity. And I'm not sure about the former."

Albert Einstein


An essay concerning Xena and its finale

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