Respect

Treat all humans with respect. If you want to be in a romantic relationship, it is the first commandment. Memorize it. Internalize it. Breathe it. It is one of the few human behaviors that comes with no downsides. We live in a difficult time and it is hard to find behaviors that do not inflict harm either directly or indirectly. It is also the first thing to go when bigotry, sexism, hate and violence enter the equation. Regardless of your upbringing, class, political profile - all human relationshiops, especially romantic ones, begin with respect.

I know nothing. I’m like John Snow on the wall, figuring out how not to die. I didn’t say a successful John Snow either. I would probably be the last person to recommend my advice. There are far better resources about human interaction. So, here’s what I am going to do. I am going to explain who I am, my storied (and not necessarily always a good way) romantic life and my evolving gender identity. Then, you can decide for yourself if I am worth an equal hearing. I mean people take life advice from a guy who made a career out of getting punched in the head, why not a guy who got hit in the head with a brick.

Hazriel and Arigale

Hazriel hated Arigale. They were primordial dragons, brothers and born from starstuff. They were destined to be locked into
an eternal struggle to provide momentum to the universe. The gods created them from that purpose. Bred generation after generation until they selected for every malevolent trait. They shared the same fate
of all siblings born into fire and dark places.

They crawled forth from Obsidian eggs which was a test of strength given even before birth. Out of the average five or six eggs in a clutch, only one survived. Some fetuses lacked the strength to punch their egghook through the ebony gemstone shell. The hatchlings devoured each other until only the strongest survived. If that one survived the myriad wounds inflicted by the death throws of their siblings, it lived to breed the next generation. They would do this until, unexpectantly two survived and had to be pried apart for their struggles had grown so massive that it threatened the heavens themselves.

“You will drink your tea.” said Warden Basho as Prison 88 stared down at the lacquered tea cup and refused to drink. This was the nine-hundred, ninety, seventh time they had performed this ritual. Prisoner 88 had plenty of time to think, plenty of time to count the days and plenty of time to remain in stoic, silent rebellion. Enumerating his refusals had become the object of his fixation. How many more days could he perform the only act of defiance left to him? How much more time could he hold out.The problem was that Warden Basho had just as much time.