Glad You're Well..

I saw that new picture. Glad you're doing well. Thanks for (NOT) asking about me. I'm just fine. Keep playing your games. Someday you'll grow up, get well, and think about everyone else as well. I try to...
I won't rain on your parade anymore. Just enjoy.


See ya around. . .

The Dream's Right Here..

Here's the sweet and condensed can of milk for everyone: I want to build an MMO, but there's a lot of problems that go along with it.

1. High Cost. Just typing it in the main page of Google shows about $50M, plus server cost. Now, I don't know how accurate that is, or if that figure will remain relevant, but the takeaway is that it's millions of dollars initially, plus thousands of dollars monthly to support servers, if one aims to make a good MMO. Free made ones where you spend chump change or less on a server may not make a great game, but it's FREE, even if it takes decades to make.. NO.
2. Standards. Essentially, different people, different standards. Hard to make the perfect game when there's a lot of different wants and needs.
3. Saturation. This speaks for itself. There's at least half a dozen really well made MMOs out there, and a few dozen in total of varying qualities. 
4. Competition. This goes along with Saturation, but the idea is that I want to be as good as WoW or SWTOR or GW2, etc., etc.. Any bigger named titles, and certainly more to come.
5. Dedication. What makes anything really succeed in life? Dedication! I'm dedicated to this idea, because it's something I am passionate about. Not everyone is though, and it's harder to get people on board with MY idea alone. Doesn't mean I don't have any support of varying degrees, but I'm feeling very alone on journey to this.
6. Content. At least every week, if not daily, I refine or innovate or apply a new idea to my concept game. This makes for a lot of content to put in. But the more I add, the more work it'll take, and the more crowded the game could potentially become. 
7. Time and Experience. I've never made a single video game before. I've never programmed anything. But I have this vision, so even if I could lead a group of developers and programmers and techs into the fray of the gaming world, I lack the experience needed to guide everything properly. The other issue is time, which I lack to educate myself properly, since I'm applying myself to work to sustain myself, and to educate myself in geneds at college. Not too mention, the longer I have this put off, the less of a reality it may become. I'm battling the clock.
8. Vision. I touched on this point lightly in number 5, but the main idea is that a lot of games I feel lack a vision. They just make a game that has a direction, but where does it end, and what is it you really want from it? The second part to it is that from reading about a player-base insight is that there is a lot of cynicism for good MMOs. They lack the vision of seeing a new fresh idea come out anytime soon. That leads me to point three; I'm feeling alone. I have a good sister to support me, but I really have no one that believes in me, or they do so halfheartedly. When I ask my close friends if they'll want to play, they ALWAYS tell me they probably won't have time. I understand that it may be true, but for Heaven's sake you could at least say you'd try. Just ducking out and dodging my game based on what you may do in your future doesn't help me. I feel like it's being avoided like the plague, more than just a concern of time to be quite honest. So thanks a lot for having some genuine hope in my vision. 

All in all, it's not what I'm giving up on. If you're curious about it, ask me. If you want to support me in any way, please do so. I'm not asking for anything though. Just that you'd read and consider your dreams and goals. Mine's right here, so wish me luck on it.

Music, and it's Power to Me

I ask a lot of people what they like to listen to. The say anything. But when asked what they don't like, they can come up with something. I like everything though. It all depends on what and when and where though. And not everything always hits it off with me. Somethings better than others though.

The right song, and the right sound, and the right lyrics all in perfect place makes a massive impact. It is powerful, and I like to ... feed off it, for lack of a better word right now. I feel with the right song, I can overcome anything. I wish I could share each song, and each feeling attached, but I can't. People may not always like it, and they certainly wouldn't understand the significance. But if you have a good song worth sharing, SHARE IT! You never know what power it could have.

Welcome!

TL;DR (Too Long; Didn't Read)

I'm doing blogging again. This was for a school class in high school. I'm gonna do it for myself now. I'll keep all the old stuff, and I'm resurrecting what I've labeled as Amanalii Stories. Check em out. I'll do some Tl;Dr abridgments on them now and then.

All the old stuff is buried, so you may need to go digging if it's interesting. Most of the new stuff I'll put up may be simple for the most part. I'll get fancy later. So.. yeah. More to come. More to add to this.

Be nice. Be courteous. Be clean. Be grand. Have fun.

Fire It Up Again.

For all intents and purposes, I'll probably be firing up blogger again. Maybe posting some college papers on here for feedback sake, and not as a form of plagiarism  because it's for feedback and not really to call something my own. I hope none of you ever plagiarize something, and I don't condone it. Either way, we'll see where that goes. Also, share this link around to your new blogging buddies (I'm looking at you Bligert..).
Just FYI. Be Grand!

Valentines Elegy, or something of the likes.

I never liked this kinda thing. The whole blogging business. Felt it leaned too much towards one kind of topic or another, and I just missed the mark. And so I changed when it was a bit too late to fit the bill, and now I'm just stuck with a mess of what was actually really good, with some decent wannabe work, and a big hole inside of me. Really that hole comes from betraying a dear friend of mine. So I write this letter... it goes:

Dear Amy,

       Sorry for betraying you. It wasn't big, but it took out what I had of you left. You gave me so much to work with, and I didn't think it was good enough because I was trying to conform to everything else. Really it wasn't against you, and we both know it's not that big of a deal. You took it in stride. You took it okay. Really you just took it as it is and didn't say anything of the sort. You didn't care or mind. Not a 'seem to care' or 'seem to mind'. Hard fact: not a biggie.

       So why do I apologize? Because now you're gone, and I'm left here, thinking and hoping and praying that just doing this again after so long will help me feel better. Speaking of prayer, I think of you and sometimes just want to blame God for the fact you're gone, and I don't want to pray. I get it in my mind that it's His fault, but then I pray anyways. And I always pray for you. And I prayed for you for when I don't.

       I heard your name in my dream, and I was ecstatic! There was no face, no memory. Just a name and a desperate plea for you to be found. You weren't there, but it was enough for me to have a good day. Just to hear your name! Think how it would have been to actually see you in the dream. Think how good it would be to see you face-to-face. . . but wishful thinking never did anything but get me lost in thought. At that point I forget to think about you, like how I've forgotten you time and time again, and just hope that it won't be for good.

       It was funny; I was at work and there was a lady from another store (who worked for the same company too). Her name was your name, and she had hair like yours. I had to second guess if it was real life, but she wasn't quite you, and older too. Not by much but just enough to be what you're not. I was shaken a bit, and then saddened I didn't see you. Sometimes I wonder if I try to forget you, but that's just silly. You haunt me, honestly.

       I've found comfort in my songs for a very long time. But now I just have old songs I don't have anymore stuck in my mind, and they are yours. Tracks we've shared and loved and craved. I just wish I could get them again. And maybe I'll get used to hearing it. Through my list of ex-lovers, never have there been any songs shared that I couldn't handle. But you weren't an ex-lover, and the songs just aren't the same. You're in a way better, and certainly better than most of that.

       At this point, I'll be rambling on and on. I'd love it if it wasn't so long. But I can't go on forever like this either. I can ramble on the past, and shamble in the future, but not when I'm hooked on Amy-fever. Sorry. Good luck to you. Hope all is well. Happy Valentines Day.

                                                                        -Me

Good Morning, Good Day, Good Night, Dear Paris... Farewell

This is to Paris. This is to the artists, and this is to the tourists, and this is to those who travel through, and this is to the natives.

I came to Paris, so excited and ready to set the world on fire (in a good way), that I didn't gave a second thought towards anything else. We had secret identities, and we wrote about crayons. Crayons! Crayons and bricks and love, and not being robots and space camp. I'm a robot going to space camp now.

I was so ready to wander the streets and see everything, and paint cathedrals of light and life and love. And then I stumbled into bad lighting... I saw myself in a reflection, and saw the streets around me. This was Paris; this was the ghettos and the slums, and everything wrong. I never made it out until now.

I had drawn such beautiful art, and I decided to sell out, and I didn't get anything out of it at all. I tried to be something not even important, and pride and ambition had swollen my eyes, and then I saw corrupt and dark things. Forgive me, sweet, sweet Paris. I had lost myself in my excitement.

It occurred to me today, the 8th of January, 2014, that I had been wearing glasses, and I never needed them. They fogged up, and blocked my vision. I feel in a puddle of mud, and they were stained and covered. I took them off today, only to wish to return to the beginning, to try again. What's done. . . is done.

Paris, I'll do better. I'm not going to college. I'm going to Art School, and follow my passions. I learn what is considered important by wise people who have seen You, and through the public library. Raoul, f--- off! "If you haven't dropped a chandelier on anyone, you aren't in love", said the wise and patient zen master of Paris. I never followed Harold Miner, and I should have from the start.

But I hold no regrets. My final words as I kiss this goodnight is this: I regret quitting my stories. I should have never stopped, FORGETTING WHAT YOU ALL THINK OR EVER THOUGHT!!! I should give more Grand Slams, and no one has claimed GRAND SLAM!, so you know what?

'Shawn Milke, congratulations! You have earned the self proclaimed honor of receiving the GRAND SLAM! May your works go down in legend.'

Suck it! I may not speak the words you want, but I gave myself something to enjoy. I didn't realize this was for me.

This was for me, from me, around you. You didn't matter, and sorry Paris. I should have known sooner that You only want us to succeed, and not worry about impressing You. We made You proud every step, until we lost sight of what's important.

I wanted this short; this is really long. Whatever, man! This is it. I'm slamming the door on anyone and everyone. Except that one person I promised a grand adventure. I'm not mad at you, and I wish you would just say something to me, because I'm to busy fixing myself.

Hears to the anagram friend, I wish you wrote more. You know who you are. You did so well, and every piece is something to savor. And the girl who follows the sun down, you got the GRAND SLAM! as well. Because you were honest, and I wish you weren't so honest. But f--- me, it's not about what I want. You wrote for you, and good job!

And everyone else. I don't know... I wish I could go on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on aodn onad onadondaondoandonaodnoanonn ------
Until everything blurs together, and I understand who you were, and who you are, and what you want to be. Because I do care. I do care. I do care. I wish I cared. I wish I cared more. I couldn't care less than what I felt. I feel like I need more.

So, Paris, I hope you understand now. I wish I could echo through eternity, just to tell you what it meant means to me. It's more than I thought, or ever wished for. I wrote some grand things. I wrote some trivial, meaningless nonsense. You were the wiser one, dear Paris. I'll leave you with one last song, and I shall leave, and this place will build dust. Remember me, Paris. Remember me, and forget I was ever here.

Paris. . . Farewell.