Looking back at my youth, I realize I was both naive, ignorant and chauvinistic. As a slave I wasn’t afforded the opportunity to attend any fancy schools, or garner a formal education. I learned by doing, or hearing how to do from my friends. Later in life, of course, I realized most of my friends had told me was complete garbage, and had to unlearn so many things, but that’s another story.

There are countless tales to be told on the horrors of slavery, and not one of them will do justice to the actual reality of this abhorrent practice. The real testament to the strength and spirit of the Minmatar people, to any people that have ever experienced the brutal and unforgiving cruelty that is enslavement, is their ability to find happiness in the midst of the greatest inhumanity any being could suffer.

All that is to say that when we did party, we partied well.

At the time, Mihan and I were still inexperienced with each other sexually. We had messed around, as all teenagers do, but when it came to “doing the deed”, we found ourselves a little shy and apprehensive. She was my soul mate, the most true love of my life, and the only woman I had ever truly cherished above everything else. It was probably for the best that we didn’t rush into things. Hindsight is 20/20 and all that.

I will never forget one particular celebration we shared, in recognition of one of our Brutor traditions. Really, as teenagers, we used any excuse we could to get together, drink, make out, smoke, and feel like adults. I was never a drinker as a young man, but I comforted many friends that spent hours puking their guts out from drinking too much. Adults had nothing on us.

Mihan and I had isolated ourselves from the main party, desperately wanting a little alone time together. My friend Tiny and his conquest had secreted into the room beside ours. We discovered quickly just how thin the walls were in that dwelling!

It seemed every time Mihan and I drew closer in our intimacy, there would be loud, sometimes awkward sounds from the room beside. We would simply smile, do our best to ignore it, and try not to ruin our own moods. Even thinking about her now is intoxicating; there was nothing about her that wasn’t divinely perfect. This next statement is probably too much information, even for my personal memoirs, but if ever there was a woman to be craved, to be wanted and desired more than breath itself, it was Mihan. I’m aching now just dwelling on other memories we shared later in our teenaged lives.

I pulled her close, devouring her lips in mine, breathing in her essence deeply, losing each other in our passion. That night could’ve been the night we finally went all the way.

Then there was laughter, followed by a girl’s yelling, then more laughing, crying, the sound of bare feet running, and a door slamming. Mihan and I both looked at each other stupidly, neither of us having any idea what was going on.

Suddenly the door to our room burst open, and there stood Tiny in all his naked glory, an ear to ear smirk on his face, laughing, tears streaming down his face.

“Roc! Man! You’re never going to believe this!” he said, storming into the room, completely oblivious to the moment he was ruining.

“Hi Mihan.” he said as an afterthought, plopping himself down on the bed between us.

“So there we are, getting it on, and I knew I was gonna get some, right?” he started, ignoring my imploring look for him to get the hell out so I could get some myself.

“Nice tits and such, so things were getting hot and heavy.” He still had that stupid smile plastered to his face. Mihan rolled her eyes, making it apparent our moment for hot and heavy had passed by. Dammit Tiny.

“Anyway, I take my pants off and ask her to give me a blow job. She gets all nervous and shit, so I encourage her with my hand on the back of her head. I mean, that’s cool, right?”

Why he was telling me any of this, I really did not know. I had less than zero interest in visually picturing the story he was describing, especially because the graphical reference was dangling less than a foot away from me, hanging off the bed.

“She kept backing off, so I asked her ‘You do know how to give a blow job, right?’ and she said ‘Of course I do’. So then she grabs it in her hands, puts her lips around the end of it, and starts making a ‘huff huff’ sound. She was actually blowing it!!!”

With that, he fell over backwards onto the bed into hysterics.

There are moments when we all make horrible, unthinking choices. The next few moments slowed down painfully, forever etched into my memory.

I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. It was a hilarious story. Blow jobs, I thought to myself. During my growing fit of laughter, my eyes slowly fell across Mihan, but not fully understanding the disgusted, horrified look she was giving back to me. Dumbfoundedly, I watched, the smile falling off my face far too slowly, as she stood from the bed and raced out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Moments later I could hear her muffled voice next door, and renewed crying from the other female at the realization that Tiny was spreading the details of her naivety. I could hear Mihan comforting her, and knew I was now an accomplice.

Even though I hadn’t been drinking, I had never been more sober than at the moment.

I punched Tiny in the gut. “You’re an asshole, you know that?” I said.

“Wha?” Tiny said, looking up at me stupidly from the bed.

Welcome to the nineteenth installment of the EVE Blog Banter, the monthly EVE Online blogging extravaganza created by CrazyKinux. The EVE Blog Banter involves an enthusiastic group of gaming bloggers, a common topic within the realm of EVE Online, and a week to post articles pertaining to the said topic. The resulting articles can either be short or quite extensive, either funny or dead serious, but are always a great fun read! Any questions about the EVE Blog Banter should be directed to crazykinux@gmail.com. Check out other EVE Blog Banter articles at the bottom of this post!

This months topic comes to us from @evepress, and he asks: The CSM: CCP’s Meta Game? – The CSM, an eve player’s voice to CCP.Right? In the grand scheme of things yes, the players bring up issues and the CSM presents them to CCP. But in its current iteration the CSM was supposed to be given small authority to assign CCP assets to projects that the CSM thought needed work on. As it has come out, this was not the case. So fellow bloggers, is the CSM worth it, has the CSM improved the game in any way, or is it just a well thought out scamby CCP to give us players a false sense of input in the game? What’s your take?

Everybody has an opinion on how to do things better; it’s a fact as old as mankind itself. There are several quips & quotes that paraphrase this sentiment: walk a mile in another man’s shoes being one of the more famous.

Opinion is based on perception and experience. We all have our own views and individual histories that have shaped our lives thus far; no two are identical, so therefore, coming to an accord on any topic is a grand undertaking to say the least. The more people you introduce into this mix, the more unique perspectives there will be, and the exponential growth of conflict is unstoppable.

I am sure this particular blog banter is going to generate a lot of interest from players of EVE Online, as well as from CCP itself. I am personally looking forward to reading as many as possible, seeing how things pan out, giving my opinion here and there.

I believe the topic of CSM falls into a few generalized opinions:

• Players that love the CSM
• Players that want to believe in the CSM but are disheartened by CCP’s treatment of it
• Players that think the CSM is a waste
• CCP staff that love the CSM
• CCP staff that like the concept of the CSM as long as it doesn’t involve any effort on their end
• CCP staff that think the CSM is a waste

I am sure other EVE bloggers will pick one of these views and go into their own personal support of it, or debate it.

My dilemma is I can see all points of view, based on my own experiences with CCP, with MMO players as a whole, past and present, and from other game developers I have interacted with on similar endeavours.

Through all of it I have learned two things:

1. The player base is never satisfied, no matter what you do.
2. Ultimately, if the company continues to profit, everything else falls to the wayside.

That is the way of things, the way of the Force. Out of sight, out of mind. Hurts us it can, hmmm?

I am willing to respect and debate my opinions with others, provided it is done so in an intelligent and logical manner. I bring passion to the table, and admire that in others. It’s only when a discussion deteriorates to ignorance and an unwillingness to listen that I become frustrated and will simply walk away, or punch someone in the throat (as is the habit of my newest corp mate. She’s pretty awesome).

I have ideas on how the CSM could be better. I have ideas on how CCP could run things better. I have ideas on how EVE could be better. Like I started off saying, we all have our own ideas.

I choose to be thankful for CCP’s willingness to even have a CSM. Many games do not. They simply do what they will, and when things start going poorly, then they try a “too little, too late” approach, listening to everything their users say, making drastic swings in direction, usually taking a year or two to continually refine and refine until they either get it right or have committed themselves so far down the wrong path that there is no coming back! (Do you hear me Sony Online Entertainment?!? I will never forgive you for f*cking up my Star Wars Galaxies!)

Ok, Roc, take a breath. *breathes deep calming breaths*

So does CCP have it all figured out when it comes to the CSM? Hell no.

Could it be better? Hell yes.

Could it be worse? In many ways … CCP could abolish the CSM altogether … CCP could listen to everything players say (Jebus help us!) … CCP could just do what I tell them in every regard … wait, that should be in the make things better category.

So bottom line for me, having met and developed relationships with quite a few people at CCP, is that they believe they are doing the right thing, for the most part. They are divided, just like any growing company, and not everything runs smoothly, just like any growing company.

Players should always be careful what they ask from a gaming company; they might just get what they ask for (F*cking Sony Online Entertainment! The greatest franchise of ALL time and you monkeys STILL managed to F*ck it up! Oh sure, blame Lucasarts; it was their creative control that destroyed the game. Whatthefuckever! How’s the Matrix Online doing for you, and other big name properties you destroyed that didn’t involve Lucasarts?!? You have so put me off the idea of an online Star Wars MMO that I’m not even willing to try The Old Republic because of the hurt you’ve caused me, and I believe in Bioware as a company a helluva lot more than I do you!!! Dammit, why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone!)

On a more rational note, if any of you reading this know a SOE employee, punch them right now … hard … in the throat, and tell them Roc says hi.

“No, leave him the way God intended. It will teach him humility, if he survives.”

That was my father’s decision when I was born blind, the doctors recommending a minor procedure to repair my sight with the use of cybernetics. It was a common corrective measure for such a rare defect.

My father was a devout religious man, stern, a strong disciplinarian. He always pushed me harder than my siblings; always chastised me if I fell to self-pity. To him, I was just as good, if not better, than anyone else that had vision. He always used to tell me how blessed I was. “God saved you from having to see the shit of this universe.” he would say. Looking back, he was right.

My mother was a quiet woman, submissively obedient to my father in most things. When push came to shove, she would dig in her heels and stand her ground, mostly for her children’s sake. That isn’t to say my father was unloving or abusive; quite the opposite in fact. Together, my parents were a good balance, a healthy blend of couple whom I am thankful to call mom and dad.

Growing up, I was teased for my blindness. Some kids would make fun of the disability itself, while others made fun of my family, assuming low financial standing and social status is why my eyes weren’t fixed. I had no problem ignoring the first group; they spoke from ignorance. The second group, well, they spoke with maliciousness about my family; I had less patience with them. It wasn’t uncommon for my mother to lecture me on how unbecoming it was for me to be suspended from school again for fighting. Out of earshot of my mother, my father would secretly congratulate me for being a man, standing up for myself, and my family.

As I began maturing into my early twenties I had developed my other senses and perceptions to the level where many people, meeting me for the first time, were surprised and skeptical of my blindness. I worked diligently learning how to read people’s voices, the tempo and pitch of their tone, the strength they projected or lack thereof, and much more. I could feel the slightest sensation of movement across my skin, whether from someone breathing or simply passing by. I could tell the rough height and weight of a person simply from the sound and timing of their footsteps.

What my father had predicted for me at birth had indeed come true. I wasn’t vain, full of arrogance and misplaced pride. I was thankful to God for teaching me how to appreciate everything in life, and for granting me the patience and dedication to excel.

I graduated university at the top of my class on a full scholarship. My parents had never been more proud, which was a huge statement in and of itself.

“So, what now?” my father had asked after my graduation ceremony. “Are you going to join the priesthood? The planetary research department? Or maybe you fancy yourself being one of those capsuleers?” He laughed at his own joke.

I didn’t.

Within four months I applied for the capsuleer program. Much to the surprise of my father, and myself, I scored the highest aptitude ever seen in the program within our entire region. Within days I was to be shipped to an orbital space station to begin the program.

The capsuleer program was known to be harsh. Many candidates didn’t survive the surgical processes involved in transforming a man into a god. My mother cried, refusing to let me go, but at the same time, full of so much pride that she threatened to burst at the seams. My siblings were a mixed bag of jealousy and congratulations, and I loved each one of them for their enduring sincerity.

My father wasn’t one to show much emotion outwardly. He shook my hand, patted me on the back, and said, “Never forget who you are. I brought you into this world and I’ll always be able to take you out of it.” He pushed passed me then, to hold my mother, and as I turned my head towards my family, perhaps for the last time, I swear I could hear my father sobbing.

—

“No, leave me the way God intended. It will teach me humility, if I survive.”

I smiled at the doctor’s reaction, I could hear he was flustered. I had just refused his request to correct my eyesight. Apparently nobody had refused free medical miracles before.

A part of me was thankful for the darkness that was a constant in my life; it prevented me from becoming terrified at the sight of the surgical equipment surrounding me. Had I been able to see the instruments used to create the melody of eternal life, I would’ve run away, screaming in terror.

A mask was fitted over my face, and I was told to count backwards from ten. I don’t remember making it passed seven.

—

That was over one year ago.

Since becoming a pod pilot, I have never ceased to marvel at the extended sight interfacing with my ships brings me. I marvel daily at the endless beauty New Eden has to offer.

I have gained wealth beyond my father’s wildest imaginings, and tended to my family, that they may never go without again.

I am a Director in a capsuleer corporation, a position of prestige even among immortals.

I have come to favour stealth bombers and Caldari ECM vessels, both of these allowing me to employ the same “disability” on others as I was born with. It is a poetic irony, taking away the sight of my enemies, and a sound strategy.

Even capsuleers need to learn humility sometimes.

My name is Philip. And I see you.