The word 'alicorn' has become widely used within the My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic fandom to describe a pony that has both the wings of a pegasus and the horn of a unicorn. 'Alicorn' is used as a catch-all term attributed to any pony that matches these vague descriptions. From a basic glance, there is no real problem with this: after all, a fandom can create content as it sees fit, even if the word that they are using is technically inaccurate. However, if we risk delving a little deeper it becomes clear that these are turbulent times within the pony community, and that the liberal use of 'alicorn' has created a chaotic dynamic that seeks to severe ties between fanon and canon altogether!
One of the key problems that I'm talking about here stems from the contention that surrounds ponies dubbed 'alicorns'. For one, the fandom seems to unite in a fairly substantial act of aggression
The sound of traffic wafts up to us from the street far below. Heavy clouds block out the night sky, reflecting back the poisonous orange of streetlamps and office blocks. The rooftop is high above it all, and we are invisible. That’s why I chose it, to be alone. The last thing I expected was a visitor, proclaiming to be a god.
“Ares?” I scoff, looking her over with something I imagine to be petulance. If not for the fact that she was so decidedly un-human, and that she had materialised on the rooftop with n
Poisoned apples red with easement, fat with sweet liqueur.
A molasses prison within a dream, a sleep with no stone cast.
Whispers delusion into tired bone, pledges asylum vast.
Thicker than reason and gilded neatly at every golden seam,
wont let it grow without a mess, a mess I cannot clean.
lust maroon for pathways mild and burden a fraction lighter
Saturate us, destroy our home, the noose a fraction tighter.
The call of sleep is oh so sweet, the phalanx wilts, fatigued.
Demon lend me another drink, as I'm thoroughly intrigued.
Oh there is? Through the pass? Shelter to weather the storm?
Say its ok, it's easy and pure, but ultimately, forlorn.
No matter how twisted these ancient halls, or pathways wrapped in snow,
no matter how thick with thorn and swords this journey overflow,
ignore the lies, the trap, the swamp, the corpse soaked in Merlot,
Fight for every fucking inch: it's the only way to know.
The man's face jerks my way, and I look to his forehead. In the late evening darkness, glowing from his bald scalp is a violet tattoo: an X overlying a large circle. He's a Delinquent Archetype. A Thief.
"Step away from the woman!" I walk closer.
The Thief's eyes widen at my gun, but without missing a beat, he puts the girl between us and pulls her close. He has a knife pressed against her breast, where the tip pierces her blouse.
"You aren't going to do anything to this girl, are you Thief?" I say. "That wouldn't make your handlers too happy, you know." I press a button near the back of my gun, and the small, mounted screen blinks to life, displaying an ID number and a series of readings. One registers fear. It pulses. The Thief pales, almost to the girl's chalky degree.
This close, I can see pas
A little boy asked me that today.
I bent down so that our faces were level
And then I said to him with a smile,
Why do you care?
Out of so many people today
Why do you care?
He looked back at me
His eyes too thoughtful for his age
And he said right back to me,
Because I want to make good music.
I liked that answer, and I told him so.
He was happy and he smiled.
Take my hand, I said, and walk with me now
And I will show you those things that proper music make.
He put his small hand into mine and came with me.
I didnt know what to make of this, he trusted me.
But I led him along, and as I did I pointed out
Some of those things that proper music make.
Music, I said, is the harmony in the world
Brought together to create a myriad of sensations.
Music is our footsteps on the ground
Music is my walking with you.
Music is that ancient couple over there
See how elderly they are, yet they see each
I'm done with all the gossiping and the bitching,
The back-stabbing and the gender-switching
Between people who pretend they're something
They're not. 
I'm getting out of the fandom;
I'm sick of its porn and its gore,
Its darker side and its desire for more
To join the herd of egotistical pricks
Like them. 
I'm tired of this fandom;
I'm bored by endless proverbs and morals,
By the puffed-up glands of internet quarrels
Of who loves and tolerates in greater amounts
And wins. 
I've had it with this fandom;
I'm hateful towards drama and exaggeration,
Towards those who react to every situation
That comes about and fucks with their next
Great idea. 
I've given up with this fandom;
I'm leaving DeviantArt and deactivating my account,
Leaving behind my reputation and getting out
Of this mess of a culture of childish
Well, I'm still in this fandom;
I decided to give it another shot,
Because without the bitching and the clop
I am nauseous and weary of humanity. I am revolted and emaciated from others conformity. I cannot bear to exist another day conscious of the world's continuous heading in the same direction that is unless someone stops it. It is time to remove the blinders off of the nations who cling to them as if it is their source of life. It is time to cause those who cast their self-righteous stones to realize exactly who it is they are casting them at. It is time to make the corporations preying on the naive youth for their sheep like qualities to take another look, to recognize that everybody is not as gullible as they deem. It is time to succeed in forcing those whisperers and nay Sayers to stand up and take notice. The time has come to join together as one and influence a revolution. Together we will break the molds that ha
“Well, you don’t know that for sure-“
“Bernard, as an AI connected to every philo-science document, every parabyte of knowledge in the Human Empire, every logic string going back to the days of the Past Colonists... I can assure you, there is no God. It has been proven.”
Bernard sighed. His helmet visor fogged up then disappeared.
“I’m not going to bother arguing with you. Soon that golden gate is going to open, and I will walk into the Kingdom of Heaven. That should be enough proof.”
The gate in question was a smooth sphere of gold, slowly rotating on an equally dull pedestal. Crystal red spires pointed at specific points on the globe.
“You just don’t want to argue with me because you are in fear of how wrong you are. And how right a computer can be.”
Jude deserved to be muted, but sass like that always kept her voice a ubiquitous presence in Bernard’s helmet. A blue flash in the top
Yes, hello again.
I'm sorry, my memory fails me. Which one are you?
Well, I was Martin Fry.
I'm sorry, those records are terminated. What's your number?
No, no, not your queue number. Your executive number, the eight-digits.
You expect me to remember that?
Well, it is within the seven plus-minus two limit, which you should achieve if you've reached up to level one. Or, are you the reincarnation?
Yeah, that's right. That's what I wanted to discuss with you.
Did you miss your stop?
I only sent you off a few hours ago.
Yes, my point exactly. What's the deal with turning me into a sea turtle?
You said you liked swimming, and that you'd like a long life.
Yeah, but their life expectancy from hatching is only about four seconds, innit? I was eaten by a gull after two. You do realise that the odds of me becoming an old sea turtle are about one
You are muffled gunshots wrecking yourself in high speed collision with his brass armor. You compress every eruption by choking ashes and swallowing shatter glasses because god forbid you are a frostbitten girl with hitched breath and messed up mascara and god forbid you are explosive and god forbid you crumble down because no, you are an inspiration and you are clenched fist and sculpted chest, you are concrete and you are statue, you are the ice cold dusk and YOU DON'T GET TO FALL.
And somewhere between waiting the incoming of a knight in a white horse and the utter destruction of a gale force hurricane, you vomit pills and anesthetize your heartbeat in a locked bathroom, you are a sinking ship with polished medals and you are a callused writer with in
Now, I won't pretend I understand. I never will know what she went through for those ten months and two days. She had a constant sting in her side that she claimed she could only numb by sticking her head in the stove. Her nightmares became easier during this time. And I like to think that I did my best in the time that she had to make her comfortable, even when the sting became too painful to breathe.
But let it be known that this w
An Introduction to Haiku Structures
A haiku poem cannot be defined according to the number of syllables and lines it contains (nor by the number of syllables in each line). Although I do not wish to go into the reasons why at this point (I will save that for a later discussion) the form of modern English haiku, as Haruo Shirane writes, is a short poem, usually written in one to three lines. (in Gilbert, 2009) At this point our definition sounds very vague. If the number of syllables and lines do not define a haiku poem, then what does? And if a haiku poem is simply a short one, two or three-line poem then what separates it from other forms of Western short-verse or, in the case of one-line haiku, a sentence?
Patricia Donegan writes, in agreement with the Western haiku community at large, that syllable counting... is not the important thing for haiku in English. Haiku is an experience, not an act of co
PETER. Beautiful weather today.
GOD [focusing on his newspaper]. Mm-hm.
PETER. [Extending his hand] The name's Peter.
GOD [shaking PETER's hand]. God.
[GOD returns his attention to his newspaper.]
PETER. Um… God?
PETER. Not to be rude, but… your name is God?
GOD. I am God. Or at least I was God.
PETER. I… see.
GOD. You don't believe me.
PETER. Would you?
GOD. No. But it doesn't matter whether or not you believe in me.
in hopes they'll love me enough to stop hurting me.
But life isn't that way, and tomorrow is no better than today.
and when reality is worst then the lies that had broken me,
piece by piece I'll see in the reflection of my hands whats left of me:
an empty face and an swallowed heart with silly dreams.
It's these stubborn hopes that kept me from empty
but closer to all that hurts me.
Tomorrow is no better then today.
Its my hopes that trap me
like every other broken promise,
at first its so sweet, I cant resist
and its all I can do to believe in tenderness.
Life is not that way,
but the child in me, will always be the same
and more than my past, and more than my future
she is my now and she is more important than my pain
and more important than my time.
Tomorrow is no better than today.
That place, that child in everyone
is stronger than any reality or lie,
but oh so much softer
...And here I am, walking up these large stone steps. Climbing up them, literally, as they were not made for humans to traverse. I would have been tired of ascending them each day, if not for the fact that I was no longer human. You see, I am what they call a Dragon Hunter. I happened to be one from the icy north and as such, this entire army of armour-clad Templars brought me along to exterminate the demon dragon that was said to plague these frost-bitten mountains.
The Icy Peaks of Teruel, or so they called them. Really they were just a collection of very large and harsh mountains, in which nothing dared to make its home. There was no wildlife here, no trees, not even the barest hint of a stone bug to be found. There was literally nothing here, except for a blind belief that a demonic drago
The first is misreading the text, the second is misunderstanding the context, and the third is not reading that section in light of the whole of that section.
The fourth is forgetting who it addresses--that is to say (allegorically) people of a certain heart or disposition.
The fifth is seeing these words distinct from a life that has been lived.
The sixth is to see the Old Testament without considering and making it separate from Wisdom, Proverbs, and Ecclesiastes, and to see the New as separate from Christ's example.
The seventh is to see the Old Testament radically distinct from the New--what does Christ cast aside, what does He fulfill, and what does He do in His life?
We, first of all, are so easily lead into error. Furthermore, the impious, atheistic, agnostic, lukewarm, and indifferent will never read the Scriptures accurately. This does not mean the words are inaccessible; it is q
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
~ T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
I am going through the keyless gate
to watch and wait,
to wander here and there among the proud,
among the white and old whose wisdom rots, repressed, untold:
the soporific royals wreathed in leaves of gold.
And to them I shall read aloud from the Book,
read of the sins their lips have took
and upon me they shall look and patiently reflect
I am lost in my own depth, I will say
in a slight, impartial way
(for I lack violets and an antic princes love)
and they, floating through their channels deep
dare to drown me in my sleep and in their orisons remember
So shall I be a queen bone and ash,
of crawling worms and sullied, melting flesh.
Kissed by death, I shall burn upon a pyre
knowing only distance and desire and, rising from the fire,
I shall step with soft, unfettered feet
What is this sensation we feel?
Are we just reliving the life we once lived?
Did we die already and just get revived?
Who once decided what's left and right?
Who sees everything in black or white?
Is this whole world just a dream?
Is this all part of some scheme?
The answers to the questions were not written in ink
It always changes no matter how much you think
Because you're neither right nor wrong
People have been searching for answers for so long
Laws and rules,
Are just some of our tools
Tools to make this world seem more vast
If they are not believed in then they are just the past
Do we have some weird ideal?
Are we nothing yet real?
An answer is that ''we are'' therefore we exist
But that doesn't always mean we can coexist
Searching for answers can lead us to depression
But when we find the answer, do we remember what is the question?
one does to make the small change really matter?
Introduction; The Problems and Where They Lie
There are many big issues happening in the world, regarding poverty, disease, human rights, animal rights, environment, and many others.
There are many people who act upon this to help improve them, but there are also people who dont believe in small changes because the problem is too big, and often criticize those who try.
Deal with it, some would say. Thats how the world goes. Theres nothing we can do about it.
It is agreeable that life, to some extent, stinks. However, dealing with a situation does not necessarily mean remaining passive and watching the problems grow; this does not solve anything better either.
The problem does not simply lie in the problem itself, the causes of the problem, or the size of small efforts, that mak
This is because the Catholic Church has rightfully questioned everything and accepted what it must. It is derived from the fact that we see creation as good and, as such, there is nothing that exists separated from goodnessno matter how hopeless. We are tolerant precisely because we call things evil and because we call things good. These are like the actions of a wise gardener who prunes leaves and branches, allowing the good to grow properly and the bad to fall lifelessly.
Indeed, the history and hagiographies [lives of the saints] of the Church attest to this attitude. St. Martin of Tours, though he had the mighty pine tree cut he erected an altar in its place. He removed the worship of something false with the worship of something truehe did not remove worship.
St. Catherine of S
at the sea(m)s
of tidal vacancy;
I am the ocean, and
the moon has
cling to reason,
I stumbled on
abrupt. bedridden yet
ever chas(m)ing, I
fell to salt-soaked
ground from a
words were all it took
but all you do is take.
I am waking
and I am shaken
tsunami waves that break
in empty frantic fury;
the briefest repose
or instant of stillness,
I yearn; instead
I am abandoned by language,
I am bound to languish beneath
tempests that swell,
even the most desperate of breaks
for the shore.