Reges Mundorum

REGES MUNDORUM? – First contact
(Written 05 – 03 – 2015)

Sky, vast, fast and firm
Buzzing little mankind
Look up in awe, squirm!
Far beyond the cloudy scope
Transcending the familiar blue
Therein lies our biggest hope
Tho’ if they be of minds
————————- cool and unkind
What leave we to past generations
————————————-behind
Best then to leave man’s starbound shout
—————————————- on mute

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Benchdweller (Danish Version)

Here is the original Danish version that Benchdweller is based off. Wrote it originally as part of a writing project for a university course, but soon grew into this short story.

Bænkebo – Som en vandrende Stjerne

Der var engang en bænk foran et indkøbscenter. En ensom mand lå der. Vinden kildede hans skæggede ansigt. Morgenlyset gennemtrængte hans øjenlåg noget så skarpt. Solen, den fandens til pralrøv, altid tidligere oppe end ham. Men han havde nu fået en god nats søvn. Månen var dog, mente han, en bedre kompagnon.

Langsomt rejste han sig, strakte sig og gennemsøgte sin sæk der lå ved siden af bænken for at få sig en tår vand. Flasken var som altid fuld. Vanskeligt blev det at finde flasken, da hans øjne var nyligt blændet af morgenhilsenen fra før, desuden havde han glemt hvilken flaske der var hvad i. Drikken syntes at være sælsomt gylden. Han tænkte at det kunne være en øl eller måske sågar æblejuice. Selvom om dens odør var noget så rædderlig så skulle han jo ikke klage. Måske var den en anelse for gammel? Pyt skidt. Han drak den. Smagen var hæslig og bitter, dog underligt nok familiær. Instinktivt spyttede han ikke bare de gyldne dråber ud, men også adskillige fæle ord vedrørende forplantningens mirakler og dets inkongruente og tvivlsomme forhold til den indtagede væske.

Det var ved at blive det tidspunkt på dagen, hvor han ville vandre fra skraldespand til skraldespand i nærheden af indkøbscentret efter proviant. Folk var så letsindige når det kom til deres mad, men ganske gavnligt syntes han nu selv det var. Han samlede sine egendele i sækkene og afsted drog han på sin regelmæssige tur.

Hans første destination var bageriets bøtter, men der var intet at finde der. Nuvel, hen gik han så til supermarkedet, ”der måt’ jo vær’ nog’t der,” tænkte han. Han fandt en pakke halvspiste morgenbasser og uden videre tøven åd dem, ”æ’ så ring’ endda”. ”Der måt’ sgu vær’ mer’ at find’ ind’ i æ center”, tænkte han. Og med den overbevisning færdede han, gadens utrættelige lykkejæger, ind i denne forbudne have af opulens, tindrende butiksvinduer, rovgerrige kunder og skidegod ædelse.

Han spankulerede rundt omkring butikkerne. Hamburger, det lød sgu lækkert, men en kende dyrt, så skulle han vel bare vente på at folks frådseri kom ham til gode for jo mere de åd des mættere blev de og dermed mere ædelse til overs! Runden fortsatte. Så måtte de gode folk vel snart begynde at blive griske med at købe hambugere tænkte han. Endnu mere spændstigt gik han frem og tilbage. Han satte farten ned, ventede ved barens toiletter, og besørgede sig. Han gik igen frem og tilbage foran burgerbaren hvor han kunne se at folk glædeligt mæskede burger efter burger i sig. Mon der nu ikke bare var én der var lidt for fornuftig og ville fortryde sin hamburger?

Næ!

Folk var tilfredse med deres spise. Så gik tur hen til pizzastedet. Samme vandretur frem og tilbage, men det gav nu pote. Folk var aldeles dydige med deres sundhedsreglementer eller rettere sagt fornuften kom trillende efter at de havde bestilt deres mad. Som en høg vågede han nu over dem. Hans øjne fulgte pizzaens færd fra vindue til skraldespand. Listigt sneg han sig om bag pizzastedet og nuppede sig sin aftensmad.

Al den salt og fedt gav ham den voldsommeste tørst efter noget sødt at drikke, heldigvis var der et par få dåser cola at finde samme sted. Han tøvede lidt, men drak den alligevel. Sødt smagte den, end ikke den mindste eftersmag af bitterhed at ænse. Kvalmen fra den gule, spøjse drikkelse og lidt for megen pizza begyndte at vise sig. Ansigtet skiftede kulør. Ned var drik og pizza gået og op fór de igen. Mødig fra sin ørlen og vandren gik han tilbage sit hjemmelige bænkebo.

Natten sank sig og ligeledes sank han ned på sin bænk. Et stykke småbidt pizza og to dåser af suspekt cola var hans aftensmad. Hans morgenmad var resterne fra nogle morgenbasser. ”I det mindste smagt’ æ cola – og’ selvom den var en anelse gammel – æ’ særlig hæslig”.

Et tusindtal levende ædelstene strøet henover hvælvingen viste sig. Månen opsteg blandt dem skysvøbt. Manden var i dens audiens. Den hilste manden på bænken og manden vinkede tilbage, de ønskede hinanden en god nat og så sov han.

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Benchdweller (A Rewrite)

Benchdweller – As a wandering star.

There once upon a time was a bench in front of a shopping-centre. A lonesome man laid there. The wind tickled his bearded face. The early light of the morning sharply penetrated his eyelids. The sun, damned braggart, always earlier up than he, but he had had a good night’s sleep. The moon was however, he thought, a better companion.

Slowly he rose, stretched and searched through his sack that lied beside the bench to get himself a drop of water. The bottle was as always full. It proved tricky to find the bottle as his eyes was newly blinded by the matinal greeting from before, furthermore he had forgotten which bottle was which. The drink appeared to be unusually gilded. He thought to himself that it might as well be a beer or perhaps apple juice. Even though its scent was oh so ghastly then he wasn’t the one to complain. Maybe a tad too old? Never mind. He drank it. The taste was horrible and bitter, though strangely familiar. Instinctively he projected not only the golden drops out, but also several foul words pertaining to the miracles of reproduction and its incongruous and dubious relationship with the imbibed liquid.

It was becoming that time of the day, where he would wander from bin to bin near the vicinity of the shopping centre in search for food. People were so frivolous when it came to their food, but much to his own personal avail he thought. He gathered his belongings in the bags and off he journeyed for his regular wanderings.

His first destination was the dumpsters of the bakery, but there was nothing to be found. Very well, t’wards the supermarket he went, “there oughta be som’thin’ thar,” he thought to himself. He found a packet of half-eaten doughnuts and without much hesitation he scoffed them. “Ain’t ‘alf bad methinks,” he thought. Thus with that conviction he fared off, the indefatigable prospector of the streets towards the depths of this Eden of opulence, scintillating windows, ravenous customers and bloody good grub.

He strutted about the shops. Hamburger, that sounded bloody lovely, but rather dear, so all he needed to do was the wait for gluttony to be of advantage to him for the more the people ate, the more satiated they became the more grub there was left! The rounds continued. Now people had to start becoming more avid with buying hamburgers, he thought to himself. Even quicker and more tensed he wandered back and forth. He slowed down, waited by the toilets of the place, then did his business. He went yet again back and forth, in front of the burger place, where he could see people happily munching burger after burger. Couldn’t there at least be one who was just a bit sensible and regretted their hamburger?

NOPE!

People were content with their dinner. So he went towards the pizzaria. Same perambulation to and fro, but now it paid off. People were exceptionally virtuous with their dieting or rather sensibility came trickling forth after they had ordered their meal. Watchful as a hawk he monitored them. His eyes followed the pizza’s course from window to dumpster. Surreptitiously he sneaked behind the back of the pizzaria and snatched himself his supper.

All the salt and fat had given him the mightiest thirst for something sweet to drink, luckily there was a couple cans of soda to be found the same place. He paused, but then proceeded to drink it. It tasted sweet, nary the slightest aftertaste of bitterness to be noticed. The nausea from the yellow, funny drink and too much pizza was beginning to emerge. The countenance shifted in colour. Down was drink and pizza and up they gushed. Weary from his puking and wandering about, he went back to his homely bench.

Night descended and so did he upon his bench. A small piece of bitten pizza and two cans of suspicious soda was his supper. His breakfast was the leftovers from some doughnuts. “Least the soda tasted – tho’ quite owd – not as ‘orrible”.

Thousands of living sapphires strewn across the firmament appeared. The Moon rose amongst them in nebulous majesty. It hailed the man on the bench, who waved back, they wished each other a good night sleep and then he slept.

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Christmas and New Year’s Update

Thing have been moving slowly over on my end. University being the great consumer of my time with imminent exams and at the same time preparing for Christmas, buying the presents, food, drinks and generally trying to get into the cheerful spirit of things can get stressing. As you have no doubt seen then I have posted an old Christmas poem, but promised at the same time to post most or at least parts of a new poem that it is in works.
Expect it some time in the subsequent week after the posting of this blog post.
I hope that you all have had or are having a joyous season and may the new year be the beginning of a brighter future, because 2016 has been pretty much one downer after another.

Ace

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Nick drops by

Here’s a Christmas poem I wrote a while ago. Basically a parody on the classic A Visit from Saint Nick by famed American poet Clement Clarke Moore. Please forgive the lack of metre in this poem as I suppose the lack of one to convey the clumsiness of the main charitable guest himself, but also due to the fact that I was experimenting back then, for those of you who want a more orderly poem rest assured that I’ll be publishing one shortly.

Nick Drops By – A Christmas Visitation:

‘Twas the nocturnal time afore Yuletide
Not a rodent stirred nor cried
Socks, trousers and pants by the stov’
Soaking wet it dampen’d the ember’s glow

The kids crammed into a single warm bed
With hopes of presents by the tree’s stead
Pa’ and ma’ sleeping lightly in their room
Trying to escape workin’ day gloom

A banging and thud was heard from the yard
Then a tremendous boom large and hard
I sped from my bed towards the window
Curtains open’d and I wanted to know

The glow from the lanterns lit the night
Into darkness I peer’d and what a sight
A carriage drawn by several dreary ‘deer
What was this and why was it here?

A swollen man cramped into the seat
‘Twas Father Christmas that I might greet?
He lashed out his whip and slapped them with flout
Roaring foul words and spewed all of their names out

”Cometh  Farter, on Filth!
Now Shitter and Belcher!
Haste Vomit, on Putrid, hie, hie, Chunder and Squelcher
Above to the roof! Ye rotten cretins, haste!
Hurry, hurry! I have no bloody time to waste!”

In the same manner as a rocket he dashed on
If hapless bird met the carriage, in crimson mist gone
And onto the rooftop the bulky wagon fluttered
Full with treats and the pilot, whom words of rage uttered

A terrible din echoed from the roof
The sound of driver and hoof
I cowered in a corner out of fright, into a ball I did roll
Father Christmas came bursting down the chimney hole

His furry garbs were filled with ash and grit
The dusty hobo sat on his arse, arose and did spit
He reached into his pockets cruddy and begrimed
Was this the jolly potbelly to whom merriment chimed?

Furiously drunk his eyes they gleamed
Malodourous hygiene from his armpits beamed
His mouth hollow with a single tooth, small and lone
His beard fill’d with dead vermin bone

The room still filled with black and ashy air
Darkened further by the smog from his pipe, kindl’d by flare
Suddenly his face cring’d into yearning torment
The festive fatso piss’d into the fireplace and did lament

The bulging burglar turn’d around and gave me a stare
I shriek’d in terror by this sudden surly glare
He fart’d loudly and soon donned a smile
Alas, fear had taken over me for a while

He scratched his arse and began his seasonal toil
Forth from his pockets came dubious treats in foil
Thus he stumbl’d back into the wettened fireplace
Twist’d his nose, off he soared fartingly with great pace

Strenuously he squeezed his giant gut into the tiny seat
Cracked the whip and off they went, this motley fleet
Afore he vanish’d from my field of view
He bellowed: ”Happy bloody Christmas from me to all of you!”

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The Fellow and the Bench

Comment: The story has been update a tad based on criticism from readers. Mainly parts have been expanded and revised.

There was bench in front of the mall. A lonesome man laid there. The wind caressed his bearded face. Light dawned on his face and sharply it pierced his eyes. Begrudgingly he greeted the sun. Damn braggart, he thought, always earlier up than he. Still, he had rested well. At least the moon was far friendlier a companion.

Slowly he rose, pandiculated and searched his bag besides the bench for a sip of water. The bottle was full as always, but his eyes were still slightly dimmed by the matinal salutation from before and he had forgotten which bottle was labelled which. The drink seemed strangely golden in colour. He thought it might as well be beer or perhaps even apple juice. He wasn’t really the one to complain, though the odour was quite foul. Perhaps a tad too old? Never mind. He drank it. The flavour was grim, bitter. Strangely familiar. By reflex he spat it out again and foul words pertaining to the miracles of reproduction and its incongruous and dubious relationship to the imbibed substance were heard.

It was about that time of the day that he would roam the bins around the mall for resources. People were too careless about their food, much to his fortune though. Off he went for his regular rounds. Gathering his belongings in the bags.

His first destination was the bins of the bakery. Nothing there. Then the supermarket, must be something there, he thought to himself, found a package of half-eaten crumpets. Scoffed those. Perhaps more stuff was available within the mall itself, ever the prospector he journeyed into the vast, opulent Shangri-La of scintillating shops, rapacious customers and lovely grub.

He wandered around the shops. Hamburgers, sounded bloody tasty, but also a tad expensive, so all he had to do was wait for folk’s gluttony was to avail for him. Onwards he went. Now the good folks ought to become extra ravenous with buying burgers, he thought. Even quicker he wandered back and forth. Then he slowed down. Waited by the burger place’s toilets. Did his business. Strutted about again back and forth in front of the burger place, could see that people happily munched their burgers. Perhaps there couldn’t be one person in there who was a tad too sensible and would regret their hamburger?

Nope.

People were satisfied with their dining. Thus the trip went to the pizza place. Same wandering to and fro, but now it paid off. People were surprisingly virtuous with their dieting schedules or that is to say that reason came trickling forth after they had ordered their dinner. As a hawk he watched over them. His eyes followed the pizza’s journey from window to dustbin. Surreptitiously he sneaked behind the pizza place and snatched himself a bite for tea. Luckily a few cans of half-drunken coke were also available as he fancied himself thirsty. Feeling slightly nauseous from the dubious drink from before and too much pizza, he made way back to his homely bench.

As night fell, so did he on the bench. A piece of bitten pizza and two cans of dubious coke was his tea. Breakfast was bits of crumpets. At least the coke though aged didn’t taste especially foul. The moon rose, robed in nebulous majesty, it hailed the man on the bench, he greeted him in return, both wished each other a good night and then he slept.

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Customer Service or Lack thereof

It seems to me that in this day and age that gaming companies are far more focused on maximising profits than creating a salubrious relationship with their customers, that is to say maintain a good PR. Microsoft’s membership offers for their Xbox One console demands paid subscription in order to access online multiplayer, something which ought not be a paid-for feature to begin with, did not make it any better that Sony decided to copy this ill business practise by demanding payment for online multiplayer with the advent of their Playstation 4 console. Nintendo is pretty much the only people who won’t demand for payment out of the big console providers. Distressing, might I add, is the decline in local multiplayer with more games favouring the online variety, but I’ll save that for a future blog post.

Customer support on the PC side of things is also worrisome. Trying to retrieve your old account from Steam is like pulling teeth. Lost your e-mail address? Tough luck. They will be incessant on demanding that you provide them it despite you not having it. Indeed, it requires almost full paper work to get back anything related to your old account.

With that being said, I can understand that they would want to improve and enstrengthen the security of their services to avoid scammers and bots from pinching or stealing account information especially since sensitive material such as credit cards are attached to the accounts.

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