Living Expenses while Healing, and De-Yoking

Link Takes on Five Stalfos:

The dungeon air was thick with mildew and silence; too silent. Link had grown accustomed to the way the temples seemed to breathe around him: shifting walls, groaning hinges, distant rattles of unseen chains.

But this silence…

...this was the kind that pressed against his ears. The kind that told him he was being watched.

He stepped into the torchlit chamber, boots echoing against the stone. The Master Sword was drawn, its edge faintly shimmering in the gloom. His shield angled at his side. Then came the scraping — bone on stone.

A chorus.

From the shadows stepped one Stalfos. Then two. Then three more. All five formed a half-circle, their skulls grinning wide as they raised their swords in eerie unison. Their armor clattered with a strange, almost mocking rhythm. The ambush was sprung.

The first lunged. Link raised his shield just in time, sparks flying as steel screeched against steel. He shoved back, twisting into a counter slash that rattled the Stalfos’ ribs apart — but the skeleton reknit itself and pressed forward.

The others closed in.

The chamber filled with clangs and echoes, Link’s blade dancing, meeting their jagged strikes with fluid arcs. A shield bash staggered one, buying him room to pivot and cleave down another’s arm. The bones fell to the ground with a crash, only for the Stalfos to scoop it back up with its free hand and lunge again.

Link’s breath was heavy.

Sword met sword in a constant chorus of sparks. He rolled under a wide slash, cutting through a knee joint. He parried high, then low, then kicked one opponent square in the chest, sending the bones scattering across the floor.

But they regrouped. They always regrouped.

His eyes narrowed.

He needed an end. He needed something bigger.

As another Stalfos thrust, Link caught the blade on his shield, twisted, and hooked his Hookshot onto the skeleton’s ribcage in a blur. He fired — the chain snapped taut, dragging the monster off balance. With a brutal kick, Link knocked it back and used the momentum to swing himself forward.

He barreled into the nearest Stalfos like a cannonball, shoulder-checking it hard into the wall. Before it could recover, he pinned it there with his shield, then body slammed it, stone and bone exploding into fragments.

The others faltered. Link tore the Hookshot free and used it again — this time on a torch bracket above. He launched upward, flipping midair as the Stalfos beneath swiped wildly. From above, he descended with the Master Sword two-handed, cleaving through one skull in a flash of light. The skeletal body collapsed, crumbling into dust.

Breathing hard, Link spun, deflecting one last overhead strike. His shield crashed into the opponent’s face, staggering it just long enough for him to fire the Hookshot point-blank into its chest. With a yank, he reeled it in like prey — meeting it with a savage kick that sent its skull flying.

The chamber fell silent again, only the sound of bones rolling across the floor.

One by one, the five enemies dissolved into smoke, their clattering remains fading into the dungeon’s shadows.

Link stood alone, chest rising and falling. He slid the Hookshot back into place, planted the Master Sword’s tip against the stone floor, and leaned on it for a moment.

The Happy Mask Salesman Travels for a Day:

The sun has only just climbed above the eastern hills.

The road into Termina is empty except for a lone traveler with an enormous pack.

The Happy Mask Salesman walks without hurry.

He pauses beside a patch of wildflowers growing through broken stone.

"...Persistent."

A small smile.

"They know nothing of architecture."

He continues.

Near Clock Town, a young stable boy is trying to frighten another child with ghost stories.

The younger child looks close to tears.

The salesman watches for a moment.

Then kneels beside them.

"Oh?"

"You've seen ghosts?"

The older boy nods proudly.

"Lots."

"I see."

The salesman reaches into his bag.

Not for a frightening mask.

A smiling one.

He places it over his own face.

The children giggle.

"You see..."

...he says through the carved grin,

"many things become larger after we imagine them."

He removes the mask.

"...Including fear."

The older boy scratches his head.

"...Yeah."

The conversation ends there.

No lecture.

Just enough.

Inside Clock Town, a merchant is arguing furiously over the price of vegetables.

The salesman browses quietly.

Eventually he buys one apple.

Exactly one.

For the full asking price.

The merchant blinks.

"You know you could've haggled."

The salesman smiles.

"I could have."

"...Today I decided not to."

He leaves before the merchant can ask why.

The argument somehow never resumes.

Near the Laundry Pool, he sits feeding crumbs to birds.

He watches people far more than the birds.

Children running.

Workers carrying lumber.

Couples disagreeing.

Musicians practicing.

Nobody realizes they're being studied.

Not judged.

Simply...

...noticed.

He quietly murmurs,

"Masks."

"...Everyone wears one."

A pause.

"The fortunate ones know it."

Outside town he meets an elderly carpenter struggling with a wheel.

Without speaking, the salesman sets down his pack.

Together they lift the cart.

The wheel slips back into place.

The carpenter reaches for his wallet.

The salesman raises a hand.

"No."

"You've already paid."

"I have?"

"You allowed me to become stronger."

The carpenter laughs.

"I suppose I did."

By evening, he reaches Romani Ranch.

Romani notices him immediately.

"You're funny."

"I've been told."

"You smile all the time."

He thinks about that.

"...Not all the time."

She tilts her head.

"I think maybe on the inside."

He laughs — a genuine, surprised laugh.

"Perhaps."

She happily returns to chasing Cuccos.

Night falls.

The ranch quiets.

The salesman sits beneath the stars with a simple meal.

No audience.

No performance.

No masks.

Just silence.

He looks upward.

"The face..."

he whispers,

"...is not the person."

Another pause.

"And yet."

He closes his eyes.

"Sometimes..."

"...a face can remind someone who they truly are."

The breeze carries the words away.

In the distance, Clock Town's lights flicker gently beneath an ordinary moon.

Tomorrow will simply be another day of walking, watching, listening, and quietly nudging the world a little closer toward kindness — one conversation, one mask, and one unnoticed act at a time.

A short story produced with a slight nod to Mad Libs in ChatGPT:

The Hyrule High Court – The Trial of Kingship

The ancient stone courtroom was filled with murmurs.


The judges — wise sages from across the lands — sat atop their elevated bench, their faces grave.

At the defendant’s podium stood Ganondorf, arms crossed, an air of smug confidence about him. His lawyer — a trembling Bokoblin in a poorly fitted suit — hid behind his briefcase.

Across the room, at the challenger’s podium, stood Link, hands on his hips, eyes sharp. He had no lawyer.

He needed none.

The lead judge, Sage Rauru, struck his gavel.

Rauru:

"The matter before this court: the rightful kingship of Hyrule.

Ganondorf claims his military dominion entitles him to the throne.

Link challenges this claim.

Ganondorf, you may begin."

Ganondorf stepped forward, voice deep, eloquent, almost dangerously persuasive.

Ganondorf:

"The rule of Hyrule is a matter of strength.

I command legions: Bokoblins, Moblins, Lynels, and even the fearsome Molduga.

Their allegiance proves my right to rule.

Without me, these lands would fall into chaos.


I bring...

...order."

He smirked, convinced his iron logic would end the matter quickly.

Rauru:

"Link, your rebuttal?"

Link stepped forward, adjusted his tunic, cleared his throat...

…and let out a single, firm grunt.

Link:

"Hyaah!"

The crowd blinked.

Ganondorf:

"Surely, you cannot expect the court to take—"

Link:

"HAAAH!! YAH! Hnnngh!

EIYAH!!"

He gestured, grunted, and hopped emphatically.

Each grunt followed a rhythm, his tone rising and falling like a seasoned orator.

He pounded his fist into his palm. "HNGH! Hngh. Hyaah! Yah, hyaah!"


He pointed to Ganondorf. "SAYEH!"


He slammed his fist to his chest. "HYAAH!"


He raised both arms dramatically. "Yah! Yah! Hyah!"

The sages leaned in.

Some of the Bokoblins in Ganondorf’s entourage nodded, strangely moved.


Ganondorf *face scrunching* :

"This is nonsense!"

Link:

(pointing at Ganondorf)

"Hmmh!"

(shrugs)

"Hnngh."

(grits teeth, fists clenched)

"HYAAAH!"

Rauru:

(strokes beard)

"A compelling point..."

Ganondorf slammed his fist on his podium.



Ganondorf:

"How is this... grunting poetry being considered over my military dominance?!"

Link:

(softly, with quiet, righteous intensity)

"Hyaah..."

A hush fell over the room.

Rauru:

"He speaks from the heart."

(The other sages nod sagely.)

Ganondorf’s eye twitched.

Ganondorf:

"This is absurd!”

“You would choose... this man, this...

…this grunter over me?"

Link:

(firmly)

"SAYEH!"

Rauru:

"We have heard enough.

The court finds that kingship is not established by domination, but by courage, by heart, and by one's ability to deliver a sound argument...

no matter how unconventionally expressed."

He struck his gavel again.

"Link, the court rules in your favor.

The throne of Hyrule is yours."

The courtroom erupted into cheers.

Ganondorf groaned, defeated, as Link gave one final triumphant cry.

Link:

"HYAAAH!"

Have been trying to pull myself up...

...but, I'm about $10000 behind on my bills right now.

Perhaps I'll figure something out.

Added a Gmail, Discord, Instagram, and Twitter.

Re-uploaded my medical photos with the date of birth blocked out.

Maybe that's overdoing it, but I guess better a hair safer than sorry.

Either way, I'm 30 years old going on 31, and on accounts that I use I change the date of birth occasionally within the orbit of one to three years, just so it's not spammed all over everywhere, or easily traced back to me by anyone unsavory, even though 98% of people I don't care about them knowing my exact birthday.


And, if you do want to know more about me, just email me at the address I provided, and we can strike up a conversation about my need-based effort here or anything you'd like really, but practice basic stranger danger of course; you don't know me and it's kind of a bad idea and bad manners to give me information I can use to locate you or otherwise find / identify you.

Right now I only have the pseudo-private address since I'm trying out Proton Mail, which works fine but maybe comes across as giving off a "Don't actually email me" vibe, but I'm making a few more Gmail accounts, and I'll add one to the bottom of the main description.


I might add a Discord and some other links too, to make it easier to reach out to overall.

Getting infusions every six weeks has been my normal for a long time...

...but as you can tell, I'm starting to question "normal", and trying to figure out what the right strategy about all of this is.

No more letting my own anxiety or popular hysteria get to me, because, it just ain't a thing.

It's really not.


I don't want to have a bad attitude, or be foolish.

But I'm thinking that, honestly, neither is difficult to overcome.


In the worst case, it's a little bit like that movie Gattaca for those of us who deal with physical challenges and illnesses.

Whether or not its a particularly good movie, or more of a niche one, it makes the point that, even when everything is going wrong, the battle is more in the heart and the mind, and comes down to our attitude and our beliefs, than anything else.

In his near-future dystopia, everything is about genetics, from getting a good job, to dating, to solving crimes, and your life expectancy.

And he's a faith birth, not fertilized in-vitro, and, due to his "bad genes", is quite literally called in "invalid" by everyone else, expected to die young because of a supposedly bad heart.

Except, he doesn't buy in to any of that.


He studies, exercises, gives his best, and eventually can even outswim his younger "engineered, healthier" brother in endurance contests, and then borrows the "genosome" of a top-notch foreigner named Jerome Marrow, to get into the flight planning and astronaut program at the Gattaca Aerospace Corporation, that only takes the cream of the crop.


And, even despite being implicated in a murder he didn't commit a week before and some family-complications revealed at the end, he still gets to go on the first manned mission to Jupiter, despite his health problems, slightly short stature, and horrible near-sightedness.


The movie does have a few little plot holes, but overall, the message is at least halfway decent; no matter what everyone else says, we're only victims if we think we are.

I do find this all a little confusing.

I seem to like charity and non-manipulative usury if I'm on the giving end, but not so much the receiving.

And, my injuries and ailments are minor enough / strange enough that I don't seem to reasonably qualify or want anything akin to Disability...

...yet, how much of it is in my head?

My mind seems capable of running on 12 cylinders, but my body is ranging from 3.5 to 1.5 right now out of a normal "4"...


Going back a few days in my life...

...starting at about age 6, I wanted to do martial arts.

Kenpo Karate or American Kenpo it was called, which focuses more on rapid striking, but not exclusively on it, also emphasizing technique, form, katas, techniques for getting out of headlocks, chokeholds, and the like.

And my issue that I have now with that karate studio, is it didn't have a spoken or unspoken Christian basis, and, I felt like they tolerated laziness too much in their students, and also timidity, at least in me, if not in others.

Yet, an echo of Christ was there, at least, subtly, in part.

Emphasis on always treating others with honor, respect, be they your peers, adults, mentors, authority figures, or your enemies both open and subversive, and never to seek conflict, harm, aggression, or violence in the body, mind, or heart.


I didn't and still haven't taken it far enough though.

They taught more advanced classes at the studio, that I didn't take until further along, not because I couldn't, I just, again, had this sort of timidity, or just a desire for "sameness", repetition, that I didn't like to part with.

A type of OCD thinking if you will.

So, before I quit going at around age 14, because that was when my Crohn's was at it's height...

...I hadn't learned the acrobatics such as cartwheels, flips, round offs, dive rolls, or hand stands.

A little bit of Capoeira taught me cartwheels now, but, I was having trouble really getting into the Capoeira because of health problems of various stripes.


At that studio, I had gotten what was called a "junior" black belt at about age 12, and then they started letting you taking classes in their adults program to raise the difficulty a little better and achieve a sort of mixed demographic between the less experienced adults and more experienced youngsters.

Looking back now, the comprehensive solution would've been to train myself at home, go to a Christian martial arts studio or practice, whether or not it was an official studio, and, to go to that studio too.

That way neither the former nor the latter is neglected.


It was just a short vapor ago too, the summer after I got my "junior" black belt, that I somehow got 20 to 40 warts across both of my feet, and I had to go to I think, 4 appointments with the dermatologist, to get them all frozen over and over again.

And I still went to karate during that whole episode, which was very strange, for me to think was okay, or the adults around me; they had me wear socks in class, which didn't work very well, since bare feet had much better grip on the dojo floor.

Reminds me of when I hurt my arm because I kept going to classes right after having my arm tensed during a Tetanus shot, and then when I broke my left arm the second time and still kept going to classes despite my arm being broken.


I suppose somehow these types of actions might show a form of determination or perseverance, but really, it seems to show a lack of wisdom that both adults and children should possess.

I simultaneously suffered all the effects of a subtle and not-so-subtle victim mentality and reckless fecklessness at the same time, which is an odd combo.


And, for what it's worth, what got me into going to that studio in the first place, was when the owner and his instructor, Mr. Josh, came to my kindergarten class, and gave a demonstration, just some basic techniques, stranger danger, and respect / honor concepts, but it had me hooked; I just didn't keep that proper determination consistently, exercise discernment, or understand spiritually the difference between the echo of godliness and seeking godliness itself.

I remember too, when it was essentially just my Mom and I, and she and my brother were fighting, that Mr. Caputo, the owner of the studio let me keep coming to take classes there, though I couldn't afford it, and I would vacuum the dojos for him some days.


And, in other daily updates, I guess I'll post photos on here as I suffer through the bad design choices of the 3DS system and of Majora's Mask 3D, unless I set up that 2ship2harkinian mod or the Ocarina of Time version on my laptop, as I use my addendum Instagram page to make commentary on Zelda content and ask the good strangers of the internet for assistance so I can pay off my over-drafted checking account and credit cards before they blacklist me, which, I'd like to avoid, even though I know Hell reigns on this planet and in the human heart, so I shouldn't complain.

Seems the bomb shop among others in Clock Town is open 24/7 leading up to the carnival, and the Goron offering to benignly sell you explosives is slightly humorous out of context, since he comes across as an arms dealer, even though, I guess, technically he is, just for the right reasons.

And then there's a sword-crafting blacksmith Yeti up in Snowcone or Snowhead or whatever (I could just call it "Mountain" as it appears on the map) who is constantly roaring, heart of gold beneath perhaps, as he's trying to conduct business with you alongside his caretaker / master dude isn't bad either.

Picking up massive jars too is only to be expected from our little Hero of Time in child form.


It just frustrates me that I've always seemed to have this victim mentality inside me, and let my fear or even cool (confident?) pessimism get the better of me...

...when, now, I think to myself...

...why is it that then or now, I think that's its up to my bad judgment, good judgment, or even excellent judgment?

Is God weak to form, cause, and guide me into and as the person He created me to be?


(Yeah yeah, I know, age of accountability, but don't most cultures expect boys and girls to start acting like adults at age 13, if not age 10?

How about Sosuke from Ponyo?

That movie has a lot of problems, but one thing it got right was understanding that even at five years old we can choose if we want to display maturity, sense, and godliness, or not)

Still in the healing process.

Every little bit of giving helps, since I could definitely use it right now :)

MRI came in a little early...

...everything looks normal, or, unremarkable as they put it.

No fistulas or anything odd on the inside, which is good.

Got the MRI done.

They said it will take about 5 to 8 days to get the results.

Added pictures of the imaging order and discharge paper.

Going for a pelvic MRI tomorrow, to introspect some issues related to my Crohn's symptoms.

Hopefully it's helpful.

I uploaded the results of my colonoscopy from three weeks ago in four different images...

...hope I'm healing well, but never too sure what I'm doing wrong and what I'm doing right with this type of thing.

Am I eating or drinking enough?

Healthier whole foods have more fiber and ruffage, and artificial foods might be what contributes to poor health and intestinal issues in the first place.

My colonoscopy report said there are patchy erosions, and I remember my doc saying there were eight total, and that's why he took eight biopsies.

I'm trying to understand if God wants me to power through all of this, or just essentially take it easy and lie in bed until it's all over...

...but if I can't exercise or find ways to solve my problems, that's kind of frustrating.

Would've helped too if I didn't let this happen and / or had saved up a bunch of money from working, but, it seems I've free-wheeled it so far, yes, technically with fairly good attentions, but uh... foolishness tends to be the hatred of wisdom, and all who hate wisdom love death.

So, going to keep trusting and do what I think He wants me to do, hopefully without being deceived or fleshly in my actions and choices.


Also, to anyone reading this, please avoid the Charismatic movement.

Yes, we must be lead by the Spirit, but they're not following God at least in the mainstream, that much I can tell you by simple observation, and I spent a lot of time being intermingled in it.