Bravo old one, bravo. It was a well played move, and I respect your evil -but we'll get to that in a moment.
The way this should start is with yesterday.
-Yesterday was not a good day. It was very much not a good day. I thought it was at first--I mean, it's not every day that you get to hallucinate Burt Reynolds (yes i know, but there are saving graces)--but I learned better by the time I made it home.
I'm not really sure why I went to work yesterday, I woke up knowing I would be little better than a fevered zombie, but slogged in anyway. Since all we did was surf the internet it wasn't so bad at first. After lunch I had my first Burt sighting.
For some reason he was stuck in his role from Boogie Nights (which, if i think about it, isn't so odd as that was his best acting to date) and seemed very chatty. All this time I knew Burt Reynolds wasn't there, but I didn't really care -he was very amusing and I npticed that a lot of his opinions mirrored my own.
So after I joked around with Burt to the point where my "thinking voice" had become my "talking voice" (and all the odd looks i got due to people only hearing my half of the conversation... <silence> ..."..no, I don't think I'd be comfortable working in porn." <silence> ..."..haha, yeah I bet the benifits are nice... but really, I'm just not cut out for that sort of thing..." <silence> ..."..*cough* well I've never really measured... er, look Burt, It's not that that I'm worried about, it's the whole idea of having other people watch and, you know... besides... I'm out of practice...") it was luckily time to go home... oh wait, no. No it wasn't.
So I then have to run to Best Buy to check out the GameCubes, but they didn't have what I was looking for so I had to go to another store. And of course my lovely bank prevents the use of Checkcard from working for the holidays--"What do you mean I can only use it as a debit this time of year?! That negates the whole purpose of getting the bloody thing in the first place!"
With the cash I have on me I'm able to get the GameCube and one game, and I can't pull money out of my account because I burned my bank to the ground, pissed on the ashes, scooped them all up, and made fruitcakes to give to any other people who displease me this season.
Finally I make it home and try to curl up on the couch for a nap... but no, the kids are here. Oh don't get me wrong, I love my niece and nephews more pretty much anything else, but when I have a fever and a hacking cough, the nose is running like a knife-wound to an artery, and I just spent several hours of hell getting them something they will have broken a month out of the box... well, they're a little much.
So I crawl into my bed and lay with hands wrapped about my forehead, trying desperately to keep my skull from flying apart. And soon I slept.
Unfortunately, I woke to the sound of any one of my alarms. Feeling a mite better, I decide to go to work. Before I leave the house I spend several minutes torturing myself by gathering up all my video games... -and then the old man yells. Already I will be late to work as I had to spend twenty minutes getting a loaf of bread. But that's ok, because there's been an accident on the interstate and only one out of five lanes is open. So I get to work an hour and twenty minutes late (and i'm usually there twenty-five minutes early).
I stayed at work as long as I could, and even though I felt much better after vomiting, I decided that I should probably leave. So instead of coming straight home, which is what I very much wanted to do, I go by one of the malls to trade in all my beloved games. Yeah, yeah, I know I'm a geek, but I only keep games that I really, really like... So it was very much pain that I traded in quite a few of my favorites so that I could get two (fucking hell, only two!?) games for the kids...
After spilling my geek life-force all over like that, I finally make it home. So now I get to rest, right? No.
Now I get to go to Target and the Grocery store! Oh joy! Oh, what fun!
I hit up Target (or Tarj~ay as my family calls it to give it that fancy, mock-french aire) first so that the food doesn't rot in my car, and it is surprisingly painless.
The grocery store, it turns out, is where the most blood is spilled two days before Jesus blows out his candles. -I couldn't find everything on my list, but I was too shaky and fever-ridden to fight through the mass so I just gave up on the undiscovered and hopped in the closest check-out.
There was a brief moment where I debated changing check-out lines due to the definite hot-ness of one of the other cashiers, but I ignored the urge -I should really listen to my penis more.
After thirty minutes in line there were now only two people in front of me--where there had been a whopping three! Another fifteen minutes pass and the old bag is nearly finished with the lady just in front of the lady in front of me. That's about when she decides to tell us, "I'm going on break after her."
Bravo old one, bravo. It was a well played move -and by honor of the evil within me, I must respect the evil you so aptly displayed.
But damnit, you couldn't have said something earlier? There were now five people behind me, and all the lines were similarly packed -twenty minutes previously the lines had been fairly slim.
Oh, but I understand. You need a break.
Your impossible job of dragging bar-codes across a glass window, and taking money and making change demand a break!
Nevermind that I've got a fever. Nevermind that my stomach has recently violently emptied itself. Nevermind that in my job, where you actually have to use your fucking brain up to 40% of the time, and all the customers are not only stupid but a hundred times bigger assholes than me, we often have to work through our breaks to accomodate high volume customer traffic. -Take your break old one. Take it well. Enjoy.
I am sick. I still have a fever. And I am un-repentant for being an asshole. (i am moderately guilty over some of the people i abused on the way out of the store... but they probably deserved it -each was doing something as least partially assholey...).
Ug, I hate being sick. All my control leaves me. I just want to get naked under some warm covers and sleep until I die, but the kids are here so that's not an option. I am at my most pitiful when I'm this sick -I don't want to be babied, but I definitly wouldn't turn down someone with warm hands and a soft smile if they wanted to curl up next to me.
Uuuuu, I think I'm done, I'll try a nap maybe.
(i can't believe how coherent this came out)
--"Could you find it in your heart to make this go away, and let me rest in pieces..."
::POST-NAP/PRE-POST EDIT::
I gotta say, "My mom rocks." -Because my mom does indeed rock.
After my nap I called my mom to chat a little--figured it's the least I could do, it being her birthday and all. Since I'm a complete incompetent on the phone I'll just give the basics: My mom doesn't make a big deal about her birthday (perhaps that's where i get it from but i think it's more likely that the reason she doesn't make a big deal is that her birthday is slightly over-shadowed by another more well-known birthday and she probably got shafted on gifts and parties and cakes and such, whereas i would rather have recognition for something i actively did instead of something that, when you get right down to it, isn't so special for me to do... considering every other person who has ever lived has done it -basicly saying that, yes, i want to feel special and loved, but i want to earn it and not have it be some requirement of tradition forced upon family and friends), she might be dating some guy named "Gary" (i will not go into it -if you are so terribly curious, i will go into the reason why i won't go into it), I am not a good enough actor to fool my mom (this one isn't completely true... back when i was younger i could fool her into thinking i was sick any time i so chose, but now that i'm older, i couldn't for the life of me convince her that i was fine... ), and finally, women hear you and they listen -but they're gonna do what they want to do anyway (noted by the wrapping paper and Sudafed<sp?> found on my doorstep half an hour after repeatedly telling my mom that i was ok, and no she didn't need to get me Sudafed [the wrapping paper was my way of telling her not to bother, "I'll pick some up if I have to run out for wrapping paper later..." -she's a crazy woman.].
In other good news, one-third of my smuggled Bosnian Contraband is now in the Memphis area -now I just have to link-up with "The Jew" and verify that everything is in order...
What a difference a day makes. A few days ago I felt like crap and was pissed with nothing to vent on (that doesn't mean i don't still hate yahoo, because i very much do and will indeed leave this place) -And now I have an ego so big I'm thinking of hiring an assistant to help carry it around.
-What changed?
I'll tell you:
Well to get things started, I wasted all my free time a few days ago watching tv, and it was good. I didn't just watch any old crap, I watched specific crap -and to speak more specificly, I watched the Battlestar Gallactica mini-series (all four hours. it was rolling the opening credits when i walked in the door at three after six and i sat on the couch until the credits closed it at ten). Was it crap? Was it great? -Neither. It was "meh". It had nice moments, retarded monkey moments, cliche-ladden moments, and one or two specks I'll remember for quite a while ("Is that an order, sir?" heh).
Anyway, you might be wondering why this decent-to-crappy four hour time-stealer was such a good thing for me. Well let's sit here and figure it out: I never had opportunity to watch much of the original series, but I enjoyed what episodes I did see (which basicly means i was familiar enough with the story to be able to enjoy it, but not so much a fan that i could raise much ire with some of the changes--turning Starbuck into a women did grate on my nerves though). It's a story about a really big ship on a really long journey. It has some cool characters in it. It has nice space-battle-dogfight things. It has a promised legend and a vague enemy. -Is this not nifty? Is this not epic set against the stars? -Is this not space opera?
So. We have a space opera happening right there while I struggle with my own. -And it's amazing how things work if you look at them through the right eyes. I happened to have a nice pair on that night as I watched and it caused a wonderful thing -some things I saw and thought, 'Wow, that's great -I want to do that!' and others saddened me and brought thoughts of, 'Damnit, classic mistake -I can do better than that!' -And a few times I mourned the loss of Firefly due to the disturbing nature of the Gallactica camer-work (either they blatantly ripped off that beautiful deceased show, or they had the same people -boths ways to sad). -Well anyway, it was inspirational and caused me to blindly delete what I had so far written and called Chapter Three -and now the real Chapter Three is being born. And she is beautiful -better beautiful than perfect anyway.
One thing that helped was that I've been having a really great time at work. I've been jumping sides all day long -to some I am kind, a helper and motivational speaker... but to others I am a cold piece of metal shoved up through the tender soles of their feet... *sigh* I love being me...
Another reason I am feeling so great today is that I received an email from an old friend. Though not particularly old, we were pretty close and I had feared that we wouldn't be able to maintain contact (much less friendship) -but now I get this email and it is good. She is doing well and happy and misses me terribly (and it's about damn time someone liked me -i knew it was possible, i just knew it...)
Well I'm feeling good. Was just treated to dinner by my old First Sarge who promised to do some digging into my reclass (which is enough to garuantee her a lifetime of servitude should she succeed in getting me what i desire). Chatted with Stetz and Lew, who were there. Got Cpt A's number so I can get this travel voucher mess out of the way. And just generally had a good time. -life is good for the moment... ...but you know what that means...
-1727hrs, 5DEC03-
You'll have to bear with me as I learn some rudimentary html. Apparently, constantly editing pages in this program creates reams of redundant code which is starting to have a visible affect on the site (and it's pissing me off) -causing me to get frustrated when nothing is turning out like I want it.
The Bennies: The site is bound to start looking better (pretty much has to as it can hardly get worse... unless i put some of those Dancing Jesii <'Jesii' is the correct plural for 'Jesus' right?> on here... ... um... i won't...).
I'll be doing something to the site.
I'm sure there will be more posts than usual as I fumble with a plethora of new knowledge.
The Downside: Being stupid and all, it might take me a while to get the hang of this "html" thing.
I'm hungry.
Well, there's something... hm, ok... more... uh, I am not very good at this whole "writing" thing... -Er, let me explain; I've been writing Chapter Three and it sucks. It doesn't suck because it sucks so much as it sucks because it doesn't jive with the first two chapters (but it does suck because it sucks, that's just not the most predominate sucking).
I attempted to write Space Opera in a nice, flowing, friendly style (i think i succeeded somewhat) but Chapter Three is more clipped and direct (much like the last two stories i worked on) and I'm having difficulty getting back into the original style...
-Oh well, enough whining for today, time to learn... but I leave you with a sample (stool variety) of Chap Three:
---
Jude torn his crown off, ignoring the slight pain as the needles left his skull, taking skin and hair with it. The crown lay where he dropped it as he exited the aft Bay into the main corridor. He managed a few more steps before having to lean against the wall for support. Slightly proud over this feat, he was unprepared when his stomach decided to betray him.
Thinking he might retch again, Jude hung his head and closed his eyes -It was at that moment that the over-full lift arrived and disgorged its passengers.
I should have stopped. It wasn't right to keep going. I did in fact pull over for a moment, but it was more a pause. I saw at least three people running that way, their cars off to the side. A woman across the street had her cell phone out. And I drove on.
What could I have done? -I justified it, What CPR I learned was years ago, and never used. I would just get in the way. I would be late for work were I to stop. -I saw crumpled a sheet of shatter-proof glass and swerved around... I told myself that wasn't blood smeared on. It may have been.. ...just a trick of my mind.
Behind me traffic built.
I couldn't comprehend the logistics of it. There was practically no traffic compared to the usual. I've only seen cars go that high off ramps -or in movies. It was something you would see on RealTV or some similar show. -What are the chances it would balance on its side?
I should have stopped. What if my training--so little, so long ago--was more than what the others had? What if they had needed but one more person to pull them out? What if I could have kept someone alive for just a moment longer? -A moment for the EMTs to get closer? What if that was the reason I was there?
"...when good men do nothing?" Can you do nothing and still consider yourself a good man? Is that not the most prolific of evils? "Don't get involved" and "Turn the other cheek" were not coined for such instances as this. The "Apathy of man" will be it's downfall as much as its hatred and paranoia.
Somehow I doubt feeling a bit guilty about it will make things right. -And the jokes after the fact will do count more against us.
But that's how we cope -always has been. We joke because it helps to distance us from the horrors that surround us.
We joke about things no one else would. -We joked, as we had fifteen minute till work began.
I'd like to say that I am not a good man, I'm just like everyone else -but others stopped.
Others helped.
I didn't stop.
I drove on.
--"Evil triumphs when good men do nothing"
I remember reading 'My Teacher is an Alien' I fourth/fifth grade and thinking, 'I can do that.' (i just horribly buned my finger -i think i'm gonna die... da pain! da pain! ...always remember... that .. I ... loved.... .y............ *i'm dead now*)
Yes, I'm back. Being dead was alright, but I missed my people so I came back for you. -So to recapitulate: Was in horrible pain, but loved you, died, came back just for you. ... Hm... dang that sounds familiar... If I could just people my finger on it... must have read it in a Book or something... Ah well, I'm sure it'll come to me.
Just have to remember to think about it, really think... Ah well, it's a good season for thinking about things anyway.
Well enough of the zany antics of others, some person has claimed that this current post, in its unfinished state, was a cop-out (damn i meant to say "people"... do over..?). And I'm here to say that it was. More than that. (hm, period might be in the wrong place...) But when you get down to it, it might be.
I just really wanted to avoid saying what I was going to say. The reason I wanted to avoid saying it is because I got tired of saying and not doing. -But I guess I can say it now as I have doing--or am do, as the tense may be--what I was going to say I was done. -That of course being writing on pre-posted posts of a postable version of an un-updated update.
I have my hand in three pots at the moment and let me say that is quite a feat for me -usually I have trouble getting anything into even one pot and once there nothing good comes of it.
This time though, I have my hand in and my fingers wiggling and there seems to be a lot of excitement from the odd female.
Since I have no idea what the hell I'm talking about--I'm sure that no one else does and I expect parties to be forming, with pitchforks and torches doled out to the first to arrive--I'll just go ahead and type a reasonable facsimile of english: I'm writing three stories currently, and yes I'm actually working on them. Not just idea phase. Not just stint phase. Not just 'i'll write now while i'm bored in class so it'll look like i'm taking notes but really i'll be doing my own thing so i'm still cool and then later i'll say i'll transfer them to the computer but actually i'll close up this notebook and put it with the others in the steamer trunk which is really more like a graveyard for all the ideas i really liked but was too lazy to work on and so locked them in the trunk and put it in the shed at ammar's house and then went off to bosnia but when i got back i was here for over two months and never even thought about getting the trunk until i was making an update in my stupid website and i suddenly remember that box of broken dreams and now i feel like an ass because this seems a lot less funny then it did a few hours ago when i thought of it and instead it seems a lot more sad and pathetic like some lame attempt at a humours cover-up of laziness but not even good enough to be called lame' phase. But actual writing. Space Opera. Chapter Three. -Coming Soon.
--"You say I'm a dreamer, we're two of a kind -both of us searching for some perfrct world we know we'll never find"
So in my last post I was living in some guy's basement, feeding him story ideas to buy his wife's new car -yes, it was a beautiful bit of bitchery and you missed it. All because I'm stupid and dail-up sucks. -Well the past is dead, note it and move on (never say "forget it and move on" because you should never forget anything. no matter how painful or misguided, no matter how accidental or glorious <oo, so like a fortune cookie!>).
I'm fidgety. I have to move. I'm stuck and sinking and the end is coming fast. It's not, but it feels that way -Why? (good question. you gonna answer it or just ramble on like normal? -maybe)
First off, I just want to say that it is not, in fact, a good question for those who do not know what I mean. (so what do you mean?) -Ack! Shut up, you parenthetical madman! (honestly, you use these parenthesis too much... -and you seem to have gotten on a kick of actually saying 'parenthesis' which is just disturbing...)
Ok, enough dodging the issue/question/whatever -Have you ever been driving? Ever take a wrong turn and not realize it? Alright, before you fully realize that you have no clue where you're at don't you start to feel something? Something unknown, unspoken, unnamed? Something that rises slowly and tells you something is wrong? Something...
It tells you to move, you're not in the right place... Maybe it's an aspect of fight or flight -you know somewhere deep within yourself that something is not right... your body slowly gears up... there is no clear threat so your body holds back--must not use that precious engergy too soon, but get it ready... ...and then you realize you're lost *bam* you smack your hand on the steering wheel, there is no danger, that stored and prepared energy is wasted... or converted to anger. Sometimes in those situations where you don't know, you feel uneasy -you have to move. If you make the wrong move then sometimes that energy is converted to anger disproportional to the actual focus of that anger -you got lost, so what, everyone takes a wrong turn... life is full of them...
-sometimes, you don't have to be driving to take a 'wrong turn'... sometimes things are going wrong, maybe you know, maybe you suppress that knowledge... but it's coming back to the surface. You will know. You will remember... until then you feel fidgety.. until then -you gotta move...
--"Well it may sound a little frightening, I want to swallow all of your skin -Chew your soft tissue into ash, Beat your ego black and blue..."
The week has not started off with promise. Barely an hour and thirty minutes into it (about 1:30am) I woke up with just enough time to dash into the bathroom to empty my stomach. -Anyone who knows me will agree that I'm not a big fan of vomiting. Well, who is, really?
Well the weekend was good at least. I woke up painfully early and managed the daily routine. I headed out and bought a couple dozen donuts and a full tank of gas. Picked up Ammar and Ronnie and we drove North.
We really had no trouble finding the way. We found the Lightfighter store, which was our first objective, and did a bit of drooling over all the stuff we couldn't/shouldn't have. The seond phase of our plan was to locate the local theater and catch the third Matrix movie. -Easy, right? Not so much.
We went to the mall, which had the greatest store ever--sort of a combination between a gourmet coffee store and a cigar shop--and found the cinema five inside. ?The cinema five was only showing three movies and none the one we wished to see. While Ammar and Ronnie got directions from the ticket wench, I stepped across the mall to search the music store -lucky me, they had the new A3 cd I was looking for (i might be making this judgement early, but so far La Pesta -the second cd- is by far the best one they've done).
Well we did our damned best to follow the directions we were given but they were no good. We tried several variations, just in case we had misinterpreted them. Nope. Ok, so we stop at a gas station to refuel and get directions -at which point we are given the same directions. We try again to follow these twice given directions. Same nowhere. We end up in a dead-end neighborhood.
It's somewhere at this point when we realize there is a conspiracy. Apparently everyone in town is instructed to lead visitors to their deaths by giving these same directions (which, by the way, will eventually lead you down a dirt trail into some shadey woods if you follow them far enough). We tried another variation of these directions and ended up at a gas station. Directions this time had nothing to do with the damnable 'Dunbar Cave Rd' -which we saw as a good sign.
After an hour and a half of driving in circles we ended up at the theater--which was not even in the direction of where we had been repeatedly sent.
Well the movie was... er, just see it yourself.
The pistol class was great. Worth every penny. Unfortunately, I had to borrow several thousand of those pennies from Ronnie. I really need to get people to pay me back.
What impressed me most about the class was that it wasn't just shooting, improving your shooting, and where to shoot -no at all. We actually went over warrior theory and such things as how to avoid getting yourself in situations where you have to shoot. We are not blood-thirsty monsters out looking for gunfights. We are just people who wish to be prepared should we get ourselves into such an unavoidable situation.
What was most disappointing about the class was that I was by far the worst shot there. I understand what was being said, and honestly, I'm trying to do it -but for some reason I keep slipping back into those bad habits. I need practice. A lot of practice. -I know I can do it -hell, I shot the head off of a match in two shots (so did everyone else, I believe) but I keep resetting to default. Well, practice.
The head instructor was great. James Yeager. He is probably the top guy for this sort of thing the world over. Aside from that he is also a nice friendly guy. I'm sure I'll be taking more of his courses.
Hm, Ammar got Tasered that first day -video to come soon.
Ammar is now a better shot than me -I'll probably cut off his trigger finger in his sleep.
Ronnie is still thirty times better than Ammar or me -I'll keep him around to master his secrets...
Hm, I suck at the shooting, but I rocked on this special drill... unfortunately, I can't talk abut the drill because it would ruin it for anyone who hasn't done it and I promised I wouldn't.
--"He lived with his mother and the torments of Christ...
-dig him up and shake his hand, appreciate the man..."
Life is not made up of grand events. Oh sure, grand events do happen. There are those moments that send shockwaves out through the rest of your life. Events that mean something to you. Events that change and shape you. Your first love. Your first lover. Your wedding day, perhaps. The birth of your child. The death of a loved one. The loss of a friend. -Maybe those mean something to you. Or maybe it is a smaller thing that rings through you. A kind word from a friend at the exact moment it is needed. A smile from the girl in the checkout line. Maybe your first homerun, your first fish, your first glimpse of your crush's cleavage. Who knows, everyone resonates at a different frequency. One man's life altering event is another man's regular Friday night.
-But all that is not important. What is important is the realization that life, though containing them, is not made up of these things.
No.
Life is made up of details. The small, everyday, over-looked aspects that fill the empty places between what was and what is and what will become of you. The grand events shape your life, while the smalls ones make your life.
"Ok," I hear you thinking, "Yeah... I can see your point of view--doesn't mean I'll share it, but I'll let you get away with believeing it (until it interferes with me in anyway whatsoever, then i'll take action to either convince you to change or force you to change)--but where's the joke? -Aren't you going to say something either funny or psuedo-depressive?" -To which I reply, "Shut up, I'll get there, quite bugging me."
Anyway, forget all that up there for now while I relate to you one of my character traits (perhaps 'character flaw' would be more to your liking? -well screw you and your Monkee's album <yeah, yeah -this is the point in the posting process where i either lose interest in my own point, feel too preachy to continue, feel like i'm making an ass of myself, have forgotten the point, or some combination of the four>). I have this obsession with details. The insignificant (you can't tell, but i actually said that with my mock-French accent, so it was really quite amusing).
Ok, confession time: I am a picture straightener. Yes, that's right. If I see a picture hanging askew on a wall, I will straighten it. Why? I don't know. Or maybe I do. -I used to blame my mom. She is an obsessively tidy person, but that's not it. I'll straighten a picture on the wall of a rib joint in West Texas (yes, i did) and yet I can't get the energy or focus to do more than one load of laundry a week (maybe it would help if you knew i have a pile of dirty clothes on my floor that would quickly vanish if i washed maybe--oh, i don't know--twice a week...). So I'm not obsessively tidy. But details get me. "Ok, you're a freak of some sort -but what does that have to do with details?" -I'm getting there. If you don't like the scenic route then I'll slow down so you can jump out, ok?
Details.
'Sevengill the Shark and Me' I believe it was called. Don't ask me who wrote it, because I couldn't tell you. That was the subject of my first book report. Must have been fourth grade. Nice story, I'll summarize: "I am a man who trains and cleans shark tanks. We got a new shark! I like this shark. I call him Sevengill (i don't recall if that was a type, he had seven gills, or what). He is a gentle shark. I will clean his tank now. Ouch! -he is biting my head! Skull colapsing! -Whew, he let go. Haha! It was all a misunderstanding... I had torn my wetsuit and the red inside was showing on my head. Silly shark thought I was wounded... Oh Sevengill... you're the greatest..." -Yeah, ok, I promise not to do the backs of my own books (if any should be published <"Or completed..." -quiet, Plush-Beki!>). Anyway, aside from the fact that I remember my first book report (that was pretty much it..heh...), I had to make a dust jacket to hold it. Well why go plain brown bag when you can draw a shark biting a man's head (i was in fourth grade, remember...)?
So I'm drawing away and drawing away and the teacher comes by to collect. "Can I turn mine in tomorrow?" -"A-ren (she couldn't pronounce my name worth a damn) you shoulda been finished with that a long time ago!" -"But I can't get the teeth and fins right!" "..." Ok, for some reason I became fixated on those damn shark teeth. Yeah, I know I mentioned the fins, but I didn't think she'd go for just the teeth... So a couple days later I'm carrying this pink envelope home. Great. I'm in trouble because I've been drawing shark jaws in the margins of my homework. --And the worst part is... heh, this is all part of the next post, so you'll have to read it twice!! Mwhahahahahaha!-- ((damn it, i've been rambling so long that not only have i lost any coherency, reason, and the point -i've had to resize the page twice...)) -Ok, I know, you want short, sweet, to the point, and perhaps, insightful -Well screw that. I'll try to jump ahead, but no way are you forcing me to be sweet or insightful...
The envelope was not a rebuke, but a permission form... -'Would you be willing to let your son take the Art entrance exam?' Hm, I've never been that good at drawing and such. Oh sure, at that time I was selling pencil sketches of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for fifty cents a page (seventy-five if you wanted front and back, but i'm not responsible for the lead smearing on the first one...) to get concession money. I didn't come up with that scam. It was Dave "I do tattoos for a living now" Vernon and ... damn, forgot the other kid's name. But I jumped into it full force and was usually able to get a couple pocketfuls of Atomic Fireballs (they weren't strictly speaking my favorite candy, but they were only ten cents per and you could eat them all day, whereas a candy bar would cost fifty to seventy-five and was the school-issued one that is a bit smaller than store bought -a good deal by any measure).
Well I passed the entrance exam, having completed only three of the five drawings I was suppose to. I did a still-life of a femur and cow skull, and then one of a broken wine bottle and rusty corkscrew, and then there was the boot. I'm not sure what went with the boot as I was too focused on getting the stitching right. Yup. I spent all my time for the last two sketches trying to perfect stitching on a ratty old boot. Funny thing is, I'm sure it didn't matter. I think anyone who tried got into art.
Well, a year of having to put up with me in art class lead Mrs. Jackson to believe that I was gifted. Most people figure out I'm "special" in a lot less time, but Mrs. Jackson was picky. In addition to art she also taught Spotlight. Spotlight is the DeSoto County School System's way of saying. "There's something not quite right about your kid... " Oh they didn't intend it to be like that, but based on the people I met there I figured it out real quick. It was all fun and advanced learning for us. I have some decent memories of that class... (testing the structural integrity of various bridge designs when made out of toothpicks, filming our own science fiction show, and being a single father to an amputee egg-baby in a plastic cup wheelchair of my own design, come to mind <also happens to be the place where i first really started hanging around Ammar... who was considered "gifted" while still a fetus... heh...>).
Anyway. I'm sure it wasn't my intellect that got me into that program. Oh sure I had to take intelligence tests and such, but that hardly matters. No. Most people who know the surface me are in no danger of assuming I'm intelligent. It was my constant obsession to details in art class and it's first spinoff: my need to know.
I'll discuss my obseesion over answers some other time. I started this post on the non-event and trifles and I should finish in the same vein without jumping another tangent.
-Now let me ask you this: "How long did it take you to read this rambling nonsense? This patchwork of insignificant details? This string of useless moments..?"
Not a full day, I'm sure. Probably just a fraction of it. -Why you could almost say it was just a moment. Just one out of an uncountable number you will live and experience in your life. Did it change your life? I doubt it. Was it grand or earth-shaking in its relevance? No. It was just a moment. And now you are done and will move on to the next. And the next. And the next. Life went on while you were wasting time rotting your brain to nonsense. Life goes on. Moment by insignificant moment.
"I think you're so mean- I think we should try...
I think I could need .. this in my life..."
"Wake up, it's time to die," her voice soft and husky from the long night barely registered. I made that 'Mmh' noise everyone makes when they're enjoying the moment too much to spoil it by being conscious. She murmured something breathily into my ear. My head -warm and fuzzy, far away, and her -warm and close, I could still feel where her bare skin had been pressed against mine.
"Wake up," not exactly a giggle, but her amusement was evident even through my sleeping brain, "it's time to die."
It trickled in slowly, as I'm never one for waking, but it didn't make sense. Should I try for a few more minutes of rest, or awaken to her?
The blade was warm, which seemed odd until I realized that she must have held it close throughout the night. That lifeless tool, that ribbon of steel, pressed against her flesh as I had been. Warming slowly as our bodies cooled, our passion calmed, our sweat dried...
As the warm edge parted my throat--skin, tendons, muscles, jugular -opened for and by her--I had the fleeting thought that this relationship had taken a turn at some point--
"Bullshit!"
"What..?" I sighed and pulled off my glasses.
"You never went to Ohio," his eyes narrowed in that way of his, "and I'm pretty sure you never died, either..."
I held my right eye on the heel of my hand and stared at him with just the left. After a few moments I nodded into my hand, and ceded to him.
"Alright," he said as I replaced my glasses, "I knew the bleeding wouldn't stop itself, but I couldn't exactly hold the rag to my side and shift gears. So I figured I could..."
--"I can see your face, I can hear your voice, I can almost touch you..."
*The above story was inspired by a conversation with an actual person.
**The above story is a work of fiction. Any similarities between actual events or people is something that can only be hoped for.
Oh yeah, tonight is movie night -I'll try to watch it with a critic's eye, instead of that of a Bruce Campbell fanboy, and post a review or something. Damn I feel good -must be something in this stuff I'm taking... mmm, beef.... -nothing like a home-grilled burger to wash your cares away...
--"I'm fixin' some bacon, want some..?" -"You know damn right I do!"
I had this great idea -I think I might get into drugs!!
--Details Forthcoming!--
When pressed by nearly all one and a half of my orphans (see post from last year... i don't know which) to update I said 'ok' and then invariably didn't. Sucker. That'll teach you to have faith in me. Uh, anyway the reason I don't update regularly is that I'm lazy- damn! I meant, 'uninspired'... yeah, uninspired, unmotivated, and un... um, un-.....damn, I know I can think of something... under?..no... unwilling?.. no... wait, yeah.. I can make that work, just come up with a bullshit explaination...
See, it's nothing new for a writer to be uninspired and have nothing to say (sure that doesn't stop 90% of the hacks that don't have an original idea in their entire collected works, but they continue to write anyway. useless, rehashed novel after short story after movie, damn them. write something new or stop writing -at least try! is that so much to fucking ask? drop your formulas and try to be original. -oh, and the worst is a writer that writes an original story and gets his notoriety and then, afraid he'll not be able to follow up on his one success, writes the same damn story over and over and over. or he refuses to end a series that should have been a trilogy, or a single book, because he realizes that it is his cash cow and he has a set amount of fans who have mental problems and just HAVE to know what happens to the protag, who by this point--following the formula set up in the first novel--is ridiculously over-powered and should really be put down, because who really is surprised anymore? ...*pant, gasp, wheeze* --um, sorry. might have gotten a little carried away.) and so not update.
As for lacking motivation -what exactly is my motivation suppose to be anyway? Really, why am I doing this? Do I really think that at some point I'm going to regularly update and post? That I'll actually get around to finishing anything on this site? -And even supposing I DID finish something, what then? Am I expecting publishers who surf the interent on their lunch break to come stumbling upon this site, read and be amazed, reach out and take me under their wing to be brought up as the next great? No. In fact, I've never really considered why I started this site. Maybe I did back in the beginning, but if so I have forgotten -perhaps I should browse my own archives. Honestly, I can't even say I do this for the masses as I don't give a damn whether the masses read my site or not. -Actually, I take that back. I DON'T want the masses to read this site. That's all I need is a bunch of morons pointing out the truth, that I do indeed suck.
We come to unwilling, which started out as a nice BS target that had the proper sound, but now--having written and read the two previous--I don't see that I need to go into too much detail on this one. Who would be willing after those first two? -A mental case. That's it. That's all. You have to have a deep psychological problem to want to let your ass hang out for the world to kick.
--And that's why I haven't updated in a couple of days..
Things are going ok, just boring-sloth-in-a-tar-n-molasses-milkshake-outside-in-january sort of way. I'm feeling pretty good today, woke up early, went to sleep late, did my part to crush the rebel scum... hm, that sounds like a good topic for my next post...
--"no I do not know my enemy's name, -so much easier to kill him that way..."
I have a lot to talk about so let's see if we can do this. I'm liable to get distracted and ramble off (need i even bother saying that?).
Where to start? Oh yeah, the 15th was my birthday. I wouldn't have mentioned it except for the car wreck. Anecdotes like that are always better with a twist--car wreck, interesting.. ..first car wreck ever happens to be on your birthday, slightly more interesting with a wry bonus. So you want the details? Ok:
I was driving down Poplar at the birth of rush hour. Why was I on Poplar (let alone way out in Germantown -almost to Collierville)? Well I was lost, of course! Never mind the fact that I've lived in and about this city for twenty-four years (not counting the occasional year or two doing army stuff), oh no, I get lost going to a place I know. I wasn't lost so much as I was stupid. I was headed to the Verizon store to smack someone into doing something about my cell phone (did i mention i had one of those hellish devices now?) when I obviously passed it. So I drove, and drove, and once I hit Collierville I thought to myself (let's see if i can phrase it properly), 'D'oh!' How could I have passed my destination by more than ..what?.. ten, fifteen?.. miles? Only me. I know I was thinking about something, and I'd like to pretend it was deep and intuitive, but let's face it folks; I was probably just zen-ing or something. (oh, i don't think i ever explained that. no wait. i don't think i've ever even mentioned it. -ok, the quickie: foster school of zen-ary: first, make sure you are doing something safe that doesn't require your forebrain--in this case, driving <trust me, i know of which i speak>. and then you zone out <you can use the term 'zen out' if it makes you feel better or 'enlightened' or whatever>. now i didn't say to space out, the goal is to remain in coherent thoughts, but to let them flow and weave themselves. it's sort of a free thinking exercise, like brain-storming, but without the obstacle of forcing the thoughts. has any good ever come of my zen-ing? maybe. i'll leave it up to the publisher to decide. -or if i get Space Opera finished this decade, i'll post my current zen story... i quite like it. ...that was quick..?)
Where was I? Oh yeah, Poplar. So I turn around and head back into the teeth of rush hour. The sun was in my eyes and on my skin. I felt good. I had treated myself to a pretty nice present and after the Verizon store I was going to buy a couple of CDs and take myself to the range. (this is not a tangent--it's an aside... my best friend and spirit brother <in Cat's Cradle there is breifly mentioned [this, by the way, is a tangent] this, oh damn it's been so long i'm going to screw it up, spirit or soul tribe. not just one but many. have you noticed that some people, not all--not even all your friends--but some special people you meet are like lost family? like a lost friend, or a missing piece of yourself? you meet them and you 'click'? you know them, they know you, and even if you never see that person again that connection is there/has been made/will never fade? well these are people of your 'tribe'--your spiritual tribe. you have a connection beyond this mundane plane of existence. other people you may meet and there is instant distaste -a hatred born out of seemingly nothing but having a mutual existence... these people are from a different tribe. a tribe at war with yours. a tribe that has wronged yours or yours them. and the majority of people you meet [whether you like them, don't, or have no opinion] are from just some other neutral tribe. ...anyway, that's what my friend is. he is my brother, not in flesh, but in spirit most definitely [as an aside to this tangent {you hate me now, no? ;) } i think i have recently found another member of my tribe--she'll probably tell me where i can shove my tribe later.. [then she'll probably yell at me for all this shunning of proper writing form and lack of capitalization.. :D ]> gave me <back to the aside> a pistol. but not just a pistol. a Beretta 96 Brigadier 40 Cal. S&W Elite -a very fine gun indeed. it's the same basic style as the military model, except it's a 40 Cal instead of a 9mm -and i get to keep this at home--the government frowns on my attempts at personal weapon requisitioning. ah well. any way, this has become too convoluted. in summation: my brother bought me the greatest welcome home present -a very nice gun.)
All of that aside... heh, so like a pun--only not funny. So I'm driving down Poplar with 100 rounds in the passenger floorboard and an unlicensed pistol in the trunk, when suddenly the truck in front of me slams on its brakes! Bam, I slam on mine (after a few second delay of not seeing her brake-lights due to that sun thing) and manage to stop about three or four inches from her rear bumper... whew.. BAM! The SUV behind me slams into the back of my '98 Buick Century (yes, yes -i know... it was my grandmother's car after all...) and pushes me into the truck in front of me...
Great. My having stopped without contacting the foreward vehicle probably saved my car some damage. -I was not thinking this at the time.
I don't get shaken very easily. I'm not bragging. My natural reaction is to stop and wait on the facts. This will get me killed one day. An example of this is: You know how movies are relying on the startlement factor these days? They'll throw an image and a jarring sound at you suddenly to get you to jump? -well I don't. Very rarely do I jump. This isn't to say I have 'nerves of steel' but that my brain is broken... The reason you are hard-wired to jump is pure survival. A thing happens! You don't know what it is! You must move! It's simple fight or flight instinct. Maybe if I were more of an ego I could claim that I am a more advanced specimen of man. I have a healthier brain and have bred out the need for a fight or flight instinct because I am supposedly able to handle anything I should encounter by thinking my way out. -But really, who would I be trying to kid? I'm broken. When that sudden image flashes, when the noise blares, I freeze. Every momement ceases. My heart slows, my breathing stops, ever muscle is tense and ready to lash out, but I don't jump. I don't start. -I may never be able to dodge bullets, but I'm hoping when the time comes, I won't have to. Lame Matrix quote aside, I will likely get hit by a bus waiting for all the factors of the danger to register.
Contrary to the last paragraph , I turned to liquid when the Ford's inertia vibrated through my trunk and foreward through my car and me. I didn't tense, I leapt foreward as far as my seatbelt allowed (yes, I always wear my seatbelt. i have to set an example for my babies and how can i honestly tell them to always wear one if i don't?). It was very odd trying to move with the vehicle. It all happened so fast and left me feeling shakey and warm -much like after a particularly large heave that leaves your most recent meal in the bottom of the toilet. The effort of it made me weary.
After checking to make sure that the car behind me wouldn't be zipping around me to leave the scene, I cut the engine and climbed out. The driver in front of me exited her truck and the one behind asked what she should do.
"Is everyone alright?" I asked. Not so much that I cared or actually thought to ask, but more as reflex.
"I got the license number of that car," said the Chevorlet driver, a woman in her early forties or perhaps her late thirties -give or take a rough life.
"Should we call the police?" the moderately attractive, twenty-something woman who tried to ruin my birthday asked.
"Yes, this is when you call the cops -is everyone alright?" Damn it, answer me when I talk to you. This idea had entered my mind and I would not rest until it was realized.
Two nods, one confused yes. Thank you. I notified them that I too was fine -I don't think they cared.
"Do I dail 911? What do I call?"
"Call information and ask the number for the Germantown Police," Why is everyone bothering me? I need to check on the damage to the vehicle now that I know everyone is ok.
The truck in front of me seems unharmed. Good. My hood it bent ever so slightly. It rises up just a bit diagonally across the middle and has a sharp down-turn at the very front passenger side. The Ford Escape (go ahead, everyone has already made that joke, but i'm sure you won't be happy until you do) is in bad shape. At this point I can't see the back of my car and I know it must be a mess if the Ford is that bad. I walk around while the two ladies call the police. The Escape has massive damage to the hood. It's exactly like my hood only one hundredfold -and it was folded quite a bit. Thick, steaming green liquid is pouring on the ground from under the Ford. The hissing sounds like a snake wrapped around a weed-eater -sort of in and out. The rear of my car seems shiney and new compared to the Ford. Minor sratching added to the earlier minor scratches. A small split where the Ford's bumper tooth pressed into my rubber bumper. And an eerie black honeycomb, exactly matching the grill of the Escape, spread across most of the length of my bumper.
The older woman relates several times what happened, "This car in front of me kept slowing down and speeding up. Then it just zoomed into the right lane and there was this other car there -I slammed on my brakes and wham! I got that car's license number."
The 'other car', the one that was stopped and revealed by the 'zooming' of the inconsistant velocity vehicle, actually came back to check on us and tell the cops her side. -That was damn decent.
Very long story made short by my desire to go to bed: The cop who stopped had a brain that popped when he saw our vehicles' need for the shop -if only we had managed to stop! He called the pro, an investigator of traffic--who managed not to be an actual prick, and told us straight that the reason we stopped to late was that our space did not equate or near as much relate to a proper stopping rate. Two tickets, one each, for me and the beech -a ticket you say... but it's my birthday! Small talk aside, the Ford driver needed a ride, her cousin she called--soon to be a bride--came to deride me -for being snide. But I had stopped before hitting the truck -it was all her cousin's fault, that dumb fuc--wait... Why did I go all Dr. Seussy? Forget that, you have the idea. (and even though it all became silly rhythm, it is all true -even the cousin being a bride. the Ford lady kept mentioning getting ready for the wedding this weekend).
Well, after the cop let me go, I went straight to the nearest gas station as I had need to urinate since well before the wreck.
After that I drove closer to home, forgoing the CDs and the cell phone store, to head straight to the range. I chatted with the worker and bought an hour. Fifteen minutes later I had put one hundred rounds through four paper targets and was done. I had shot like crap, but I used the old, 'got into my first car wreck two hours ago, and it's my birthday' excuse to explain away this pitiful shooting.
I came home and goofed around on the computer. One of my friends called and asked if I wanted to hang out, I told him no, no I was in a car wreck and it was his fault (that begs to be explained, but the explaination wouldn't satisfy you nearly as much as the mystery will niggle inside you.
I had near successfully made another birthday into a non-event. Curses, maybe next year will go better. I did manage to hide my birthday from all but my family (even my best friend just realized it tonight). Well that's not accurate, a few people I talk to on AAA noticed, and I told Beki (but that was to make the car accident seem more intersting).
Speaking of Beki, it's (i don't want to use this term, but i can't think of a more appropriate one) nice? comforting, maybe, to know that One's quest (well, maybe not a quest so much as a question) for purpose and meaning is not the only one (i'm referring to the Devil Has My Ear Today, I'll Never Hear A Word You Say post <after all the 'I need a man, but all the men in Ohio suck, why-oh-why can't we have real men like Foster' stuff, of course... *cough* -i wonder if i can get slapped from two states away..? -nevermind ;) > right around the word 'anyway' and carrying clear on through the word 'ciao' to end as things must... uh, with a period... yeah.)
No quote today, as I was going to quote the above mentioned only to learn it had previously been quoted, and I am by no means a haberdasher.
I'll be happy when the novelty wears off. -Trust me people, I'm not that great.
Anyway, I'm tired these days, and it seems like the majority of my time has been co-opted by everyone ('everyone, boss?' -'EVVVVVVVERRRRRRRYOOOOOONE!').
I wrote an earlier post (which apparently didn't upload nearly as well as I thought it did) and talked a bit about my new and old hobbies. My new hobby is 'stereotyping' -which probably bares explaining, but you'll have to wait till I'm in a more repetitive mood. The old hobby was 'false prophet' but I had to quit in disgust when I discovered that the potential earnings had been greatly over-stated (and if you're operating on or at my level, then you realize that means there was a false profit... -i never said if my level was high or low--it just is...)
You know, I honestly think there is something wrong with my brain sometimes. This is not a setup for a joke. I just have so many things spinning away up there -not thoughts, but perhaps conflicting feeling... emotions. Something.
I don't know how to explain this. Almost everything in my head is a contradiction. It's like I have the evil version of me super-imposed into my brain completely with goatee (see, that's not accurate either, because i don't really think i'd be the good me).
I don't really know what I'm talking about. Maybe I just have a suppressed split personality or some such broken id.
As for the rewrites of that space thing, it will likely be a few weeks before I post the first. I'm constantly busy for the nonce and I can't really get in the writing mood at this point. I'm hacking out my resume tonight and should start working in a few weeks, so that will promote my interest in the site once more as I will have much more free time to write really long sentences that just seem to go on and on forever -sentences that use controversial punctuation in inappropriate places and cause tiny shivers to advance outward from your belly, rising up and down your body... making you feel naughty for reading them but hungry for more of that off-beat but somewhat inspired madness that I call wisdom.
--"there�s only one sound to love -Bye bye Bye bye Bye baby Good... Bye bye Bye bye Bye baby Good... Bye bye Bye bye Bye baby Good-bye"
***Post lost (blame dail-up, because i'm not re-writing it)***
I had this dream last night/day/yesterday morning. It was very odd. I'm not quite sure what it means. I'm not quite sure I want to analyze it. At the same time, I know what it means. -I blame the es mucho grande chupa la el payaso me asusta coffee I had about two seconds before I went to sleep. (anyone who knows me will say, 'wait a minute! you're a coffee guzzling bastard, you bastard! bastards like you can't blame their coffee on odd dreams and vice versa, bastard! -um, long story about the whole 'bastard' thing)
Well anyway, I haven't had more than four cups of coffee since I've been here (and that coffee--as illustrated by the meaningless spanish-esq phrase--amounted to about thirty or fifty gallons of coffee).
Enough jibba jabber, here's the dream:
It started out believable enough, I was addressing Congress regarding my new proposed budget for the year, when of a sudden I realized that I was a stick figure. This disturbed me for some reason.
I was looking at my three-fingered, black stick-hands when I saw the eerie blue glow. The glow was eerie in that it appeared to be coming from my face -my eyes, more specifically.
I looked into a mirror or a mirror looked into me. There may have been no mirror. I'm not sure -all I know is that I was staring into my own giant stick eye. The soft onyx marble now shifted like an iridescent blue cloud, boiling with something I didn't want to face.
As the unholy light burned outward from the window of my soul, I fell. I was no longer presenting my case to Congress. I spiraled downward as plunged into a thick black liquid. It burned my eye. My flesh seared and I sank.
I was no longer locked into that demon light that came from within. I was my stick-self. I twisted and turned, gulped and choked, air spewed from lungs that had no room to exist.
It was an odd realization that hit me when I tasted my death in liquid form. Coffee. I was going to drown in coffee and there was not enough sugar. Death can be bitter.
I was not just dying in a sea of coffee. I was dying in an actual coffeepot. It was immense and appeared in a convention hall of some sort.
I struggled, trying to swim, but in addition to my absence of swimming ability I now had to contend with an absence of water displacement -my stick form had the aero/hydro-dynamics of a needle.
Just as I was ready to succumb to my doom -a hand. Someone had reached into the depths of the scalding beverage to pull me free. I grasped it much too tighly, my stick hands carving furrows in the tender flesh of my savior.
I was pulled free and lay open and vunerable to the world. She smiled, a face I knew but did not know. The smile eased my burning and I felt the fire in my eyes change into something more subtilely sinister.
She smiled once more and left, knowing that I too would know someday.
--And when I woke up, I had to pee sooooo freakkin bad...
--"Mr jones and me stare at the beautiful women... she's lookin' at you -no, I don't think so, she's lookin at me!"
When did this become some mopey blog? Screw that. Blogs are for people who think that their lives are interesting enough for complete strangers to read on a daily basis -they're not, trust me. You'll be lucky if a handful of your close friends read them (and what's the point in that? -pick up a damn phone and let your friends know what you're thinking <of course in my case that would consist of, 'you home? -alright. woohoo in ten? -yeah, i guess the ck's by the mall will do.' click.> bam boom bing, i want people to know how i feel, i talk to them). The only people who should have blogs are ninjas. Ninjas. Pirates. Vikings. Oh, and James Bond. -You want me to read your blog? then you better have a damn interesting life, pal.
I'm not down on all blogs. I know some people who have them and that's cool. -Just don't expect me to be a regular reader. Now if you do something in addition to the blog I'll give you a chance. -If I read a webcomic or a fanfic or whatever, I think it's nice to be able to go back and see what was in their head when they wrote that piece. Or even if you are someone I find really interesting, I think it's cool to be able to go back and see how your head works.
Hell, make it entertaining. I'm not even spitting on creative blogs. What I hate are the, 'Woke up today, was feeling sad. Ate a tuna sandwich for lunch -think I'll turn in early.' blogs. Who do you think cares about that stuff? No one. Not even you -if you cared you would have made it entertaining. You would have spent more than two minutes on it.
Instead of that tripe up there, get fancy, "As the pall of unconsciousness drew back, it left with it an emptiness. The weight of my morbid mood crushed down and exhibited itself as a down-turning at the outer edges of my mouth. For lunch I had a tuna sandwich -the bread toasted on the COALS OF HELL ITSELF!" -whatever, get poetic. Get interesting. Probably forget the goth stuff -no one cares about that either. Who cares that you think you are 'Sadder-Than-Thou'? -"No one in this world ever gets what they want, and that is beautiful. Everbody dies frustrated and sad -and that is beautiful." So come off it. Life sucks -we get it. No need to get redundant on us.
-Damn, I don't even remember what point B was suppose to be anymore -and I'm pretty sure that I might inadvertantly piss off some people that I'd rather not. -That was not my aim. Anyone that I know and/or associate with is not stupid enough to have one of those memo sites. -If they are, then I don't want to know.
As far as I can figure, my goal was to claim that this was not going to turn into some mopey-assed, depressed-loser blog. (and just what the fuck is a blog anyway? that word is stupid -i don't think i'll use it anymore until someone gives me a reason why it is not the drivel that it is).
Oh yeah, besides turning into some sort of mopey thing-that-I-post-regular-useless-personal-trivia-to, this thing is becoming too ranty. Screw rants. I hate them. -Not true, I love them. I hate pointless ranting. I hate when people do nothing but rant. What's up with that? Are you so useless that you can't have thoughts in anything other than anger?
Nevermind. That's a rant topic. -I only rant when I have something rant-worthy. Hopefully that's very rarely.
Ten points to the first person to collect all the irony and smelt it into a nice set of sarcasm.
Bonus points to whomever can tell me the exact number of times I've contradicted myself in the last several posts.
-Is that right? Is it 'whomever' or 'whoever' there? Language: Is it really worth learning -shut up.
What the hell is going on? I'm in a good mood, but I keep sounding angry...
--"There are always casualties in war, gentlemen. Otherwise it wouldn't be war, just be a rather nasty argument with a lot of pushing and shoving."
Ah, I feel better. I feel like a great weight has been lifted from me -as if a burden I have carried for far too long has finally been taken by much more deserving hands... Oh wait, that's right--I got rid of my M16 today. Believe me, as much fun as it may sound to lug a rifle around every single little place you go -it's not. Perhaps if I was allowed to choose my own favored firearm (and maybe even allowed to go play cops and crooks -with real crooks!) -but no, that's still a good deal of extra weight to have...
Mm, my headache is gone. I took much too many T3's--and where can I find Tylenol 2's?--to retain any of...stuff. (yeah, i realize that makes no sense -that's how i felt last night. ---and speaking of last night, i'm not sure what exactly happened, but i think i spent the whole night hitting on 19 year old AU girls... ..hopefully that was just a dream--no wait, that's a sucky dream! i didn't even score--i did have the most rushing yards, though.)
All kidding aside (that's a damn lie, and you know it!) I do know that I had a conversation last night about things. Yeah, I know. My policy has always been to 'leave things alone', but dammit! -what's wrong with wanting to try to help somebody? Especially when you're concerned they are heading to places you've been? (oh sure, maybe they're going in a different car and taking an alternate highway and hell, using a different fuel to get there -but it's the same neighborhood. just maybe across the tracks and around the corner from the diner) I'm not making sense (do i ever?) but I don't really care. --I'm just pissed off that words always fail me when I need them most.
So I took Chapter One of my little trifle and I'm kicking it in the groin until it gives. Someone told me it reminded them of the time they tried to look at their own exit hole -they looked because they were curious, and were completely disgusted and ashamed at having done so and by what they saw... (ok, so maybe i paraphrased a bit). The fact remains that it can't get much worse.
I can rebuild it, I have the technology: I can make it stronger, faster, better... (maybe easier to read, too...)
I'll put some more stupid crap up later -man I'm in a good mood (not sarcasm, really).
--"You don't change Hell -Hell changes you."
--"Sometimes you eat the sandwich, and sometimes the sandwich eats you..."
You know what word I don't use nearly as often as I should? -gibbering. That's right. How many occasions have I had to use that beautiful word but failed? Uncounted millions, I suspect. I think from this point forward that 'gibbering' will be my new preferred adjective. When people pass me and they feel duty-bound to make some meaningless greeting (what is with that anyway? if i don't know you then why on the surface of the earth would i want to exchange a hollow, over-used phrase? "What's up," "How's it going," "Morning," -BAH!, i say. screw this. if i don't know you or you're not sincerly interested in 'what is up' or 'how i'm doing' then screw you pal. i'm not doing it anymore. your hollow, meaningless banality is wasting air - if i'm in a mood where i pity your weak attempt at getting me to realize your pathetic existence then perhaps i'll spare you a slight nod, an almost imperceptible movement of my head by which you can gauge my opinion of your worth.) I generally think, 'what an idiot--what a gibbering moron.' I should really start to vocalize it, though.
If I am feeling verbal when you pass me and make your meaningless throat grunt, then you may be lucky enough to have me shout, 'Gibbering Fool!' in your face. I'm sure that will get old. Anything overdone gets old (like your meaningless greetings!). So from time to time I might spice it up. I might just shout the word 'Gibbering!' point my finger right at your disgustingly glazed, uninterested eye and walk off. I might add other words or modify 'gibbering' into a new word. Gibberool. Hm. I like it. It's 'gibbering' and 'fool' combined. Nah, feels redundant -I'll have to get back to you on this...
[pre-edit] ---I just realized this seems familiar. It's true no matter how you look at it. (i do not recommend kicking people -unless i am there and get to point and laugh). Oh well, I didn't intentionally set out to rip off Maddox. I haven't read his archives (go read them. read them all. now. -they kick very much ass) in a while, but screw it. I'm feeling punchy and my headache is now on day three. [/pre-edit]
On a completely unrelated subject: I just ran half a mile in two minutes for a bag of candy. Don't ask me -I've gone mad. I was sitting here typing this (well that, you know, up there) and remembered I had candy back in my room. Before you know it, I'm back here with a half-eaten bag of gummies.
I was messing around with my site statistics earlier this morning and discovered something. I checked to see what people had been looking for when they found my site. There are some pretty funny searches that result in one of my pages:
Page: Home/Index (whatever you want to call it)
Engine Used: www.google.com
Most Popular Queries: "you can please some of the people all the time" -99.87%
"goofy stories to write" -0.13%
My Opinion: Sweet, connected with a classic quote and goofy stories -what could be better?
Page: BebopHP (the Cowboy Bebop/Harry Potter crossover)
Engine Used: www.google.com
Most Popular Queries: "frogwart school of craft wizardry" -73.53%
"bonsai severe bending" -18.42%
"ed the shoke" -8.05%
My Opinion: Ok, I can see the first. The second sounds dirty, but is in fact mentioned somewhere in there. The last is what? -what's a 'shoke'?
Page: Chapter Two (of the untitled space opera sort)
Engine Used: www.google.com
Most Popular Query: "why a loud sound can be distiguished from a soft whisper"
My Opinion: I like it. I don't know how it relates to the story, but I like it -I think I'll steal it...
Page: Intro to BebopHP
Engine Used: www.google.com
Most Popular Queries: "ron and hermonie fanfics" -99.89%
"the rock/wrestler porn" -0.11%
My Opinion: The first is a no-brainer. The second is... frightening. As frightening as my slim connection to 'wrestler porn' may be, I do take pride in the fact that I am the Number Two supplier of said wrestler porn -according to google, anyway.
Page: Chapter One (of the untitled space opera sort)
Engine Used: search.yahoo.com
Most Popular Query: "how old do u have to be to work at arbies"
My Opinion: Well, whatever the age, I'm sure u will be working there for a very long time...
Well that was fun. I always have a good time when you kids drop by -we'll have to be sure to do this again.
I have more to say, but I'll do that later. I feel like goofing around some more. (Wow, two updates in one day...)
--"I want you to notice
When I'm not around
You're so fuckin' special
I wish I was special
But I'm a creep...
I'm a weirdo..."
I'm not going to whine and try to dodge the fact that I haven't updated in a billion years. I'm just going to tell you the truth: I have not updated in the past serveral eras because of ...ninjas.... Yeah, that's right. I've been fighting off the ninja hordes for the last few months. Great big hairy ninjas with sharp pointy teeth and an unquenchable thirst for blood. -So now you know, it was ninjas.
-That has to be the lamest excuse I've come up with yet. Ugh, my brain still hurts. It began kicking its way out of my skull last night sometime. I'll refrain from thinking for the time being (what kind of saying is that? 'for the time being?' i'm sure i've heard it before. what the hell does it mean--for the time being what? time is what it is).
Despite the date, I'll refrain from saying anything. There's only so much anger you can piss out of your system before it leaves you weak and hollow.
What the hell should I write about? Why do I sound so pissed off? I'm not upset. I've got a headache and my internet is spotty. I'm not even sure this will upload -ha, joke's on me then...
Wow. I just read that last update. I must have been smoking ants.
I sound like some manic depressive psychopath ready to do something drastic... -or even less likely, like some psuedo-intelligent deep thinker. So, um, yeah. I'm not crazy. Or depressed.
At least as far as I know.
I've started to do a bit of site cleaning. It has been much too ugly for far too long. I've even begun to attempt some writing (that will be posted).
All the orphans out there can thank someone I have been talking to online recently. I don't know if I should mention her name--or even which name to mention--so I'll just say if you're quick and up Ohio way perhaps you might catch her in the rye... (sheese that was lame).
I had pretty thoughts to post and ramble about, but now my brain has betrayed me for the shadey promise of a Klondike Bar...
--"All I ever wanted
All I ever needed
Is here in my arms
Words are very unnecessary
They can only do harm"
I don't think I'm real anymore. I am... something else. Disconnected, maybe. You know the one being theory... where there is but one sentient being and all others are but daydreams created by that mind. But I doubt that mind is mine. I don't feel real. Outside sure. I feel hot, cold, pain, hunger... I feel an itch on my foot at this very moment... but inside? Hm. Searching for something that may or may not be there. I feel empty, and I wonder why. I apologize to any butterflies that may have dreamed me; sorry for wasting your time -but all the same, I am angry with said insects for dreaming such a poor illusion... they could have tried just a little harder.
Perhaps it is merely my situation that has brought this on. Maybe being so neatly cut off from human contact. A world away my friends continue their lives. A world away events take shape that I am not a part of. And surely I am not alone here... No, not completely. Under the sun lives move. Under the sun others create the world. Under the sun life goes on. Beneath the darkness I work. Under a pall of black I wait. In night I live. It has been scientificly proven that human type people require a specific band of light to maintain a healthy mental state. Manufacturers of lighting supplies have known this for a while and have included this wavelength in most commercial light uses. For office buildings, factories, and supermarkets -to name a few. We have such lights in our buildings. They do not work.
Or maybe it is the fact that I find myself in another bad position. Some things you want to work so badly, that you doom them before they begin. You create them in your mind and run them through their paces. You make them so beautiful that your mind rejects them and destroys them -knowing such beauty could never find its way to your hands. And so, you create excuses and justifications to prevent it from begining -to prevent it from ending. You immortalize a crystal of memory in your mind, a vision of what might have been, because you are too afraid of what might become...
Gomen, I apologise for bringing you down. I'll try to be more cheerful next time I update -maybe tomorrow night.
"Over-seas, there was another suicide bombing in..." CBS News...
I'm still here...
Because I feel like updating, but don't feel like being interesting or creative... I have decided to post an email that I sent to my friend a couple of weeks ago. When I wrote it I was feeling particularly plucky and jam packed with creative juices. And dang it, I was proud of it. So here it is complete and unabridged (except for the email addresses that have been modified to protect the innocent <and yes, i am geeky enough to quote my own story as my yahoo quote>) ::
-----Original Message-----
From: A F [mailto:[email protected]]
Sent: Wednesday, February 05, 2003 1:30 PM
To: am*** **mar; S*****[email protected]; A******[email protected]
Subject: ...I'm not dead yet......
Schroedinger posed the theory that the super-position
of particles in a qauntum state would be akin to
having a cat in a box along with a bottle of poison
that might, or might not, kill the cat. Until you
opened the box probability stated that the cat was
both alive and dead. A cloud of probability that would
resolve itself once it was observed.
That being said...
...When you are deployed they call the AO (Area of
Operations) "the box".
Imagine if you will, a soldier. Placed in a box. With
Several "issues" (annoyances) that might, or might
not, cause the soldier to go insane. Probability would
state that this soldier is both sane and insane. A
cloud of probable House out Maddness" exists until
said soldier is observed -observed by a 'control'
element; an individual with a baseline for how that
soldier normally reacts to his environment....
...Having said that, I would also like to state,
"AwahbooAwahboo yip, yip, woochu woo~chu!
lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala-poop."
Actually, I have another 'dinger linked theory...
...While in Bosnia we will carry live ammo. When
Carrying ammo you must clear (the chamber of) your
weapon before you enter a building -any building. We
are in the simulated field here in Hohenfelds. So
before we enter a building we must 'clear' our weapon.
We are not carrying ammo. We are not carrying blanks.
We are not even carrying magazines. So, the purpose of
clearing your weapon is to make sure nothing (a
bullet) is not in the chamber... So. Hmm, we are
simulating clearing our weapons -weapons that are
assumed to have a round chambered- of virtual ammo. So
the virtual ammo existes as a cloud of negative
probability until we check the chamber.
You take a box (the chamber) and verify that there is
no ammo in it (which means we have virtual ammo in it)
now as you progress throughout the day ammo may, or may
not, spontaneously generate inside your 'box'. Now you must
observe the inside of the box to insure that the cloud
of probabilities did not result in virtual ammo
becoming suddenly real inside. Go figure.
So anyway, sucks here but could be worse. It has
snowed everyday, and there is nothing for me to do.
This is the worse base are belong to Army by all accounts.
There is so much nothing to do that I am straining
myself to look occupied just to maintain the current
level of absence. -But it could be worse -instead of
eight to twelve inches of consistant snow it could be
sand dunes....
I miss you guys, and am all ready to kill everyone here.
Ammar, I bought a little cheap boot knife (a Gerber)
and am going to wear it until I come home. When I
return it will be one of your souveniers -a knife that
has done an actual overseas tour...
I want to get Steve an actual Balkan knife, but I
haven't even seen what they carry, so I'll have to
wait til I see one....
I still want to get Dad a Belguim flag, but I don't
know if I'll get the chance...
Everyone else will pretty much be a see and buy.
Well, I hope you All have fun, and I want to go to a
movie or twelve and then live in a Waffle House for a
week... ...maybe when I get back....
Send email, don't know my Bosnia address yet, but will
have it soon. I'm headed to the phone to try and call
some of you people....
-later
foster
P.S.-feel free to pass this email along to whoever I
don't have the address to, and give a copy to my Pop.
=====
"The future is undetermined. No one can say with definity what is to
come. No one can perceive what will happen. Or how. Predictions can be
made, and often are, but are the predictions the vision of the future? Or
the cause? Is not the soothing of prophecy merely the inspiration to
fufill a desire? A desire so prophesied become movtivation for it's
fufillment, until, eventually, it is?" -ATF, 'Untitled Space Opera'
So here I am in Bosnia and this is my job. Yup. I sit around and play on the computer. So, since I work the night shift, and it's legal to use the computer at night, and there is nothing else to do really -I will probably be updating the site like a site-updatey-person should.
THRILL! -to the possibility of more Space Opera!
CHILLS! -when is not updated nearly as regularly as you might expect!
OTHER THING! -insert another thing here!
Oh well, give me some time to get used to this and some time to formulate some witty statements to post...
--"I shall return!"
So here I am in this cybercafe in Hohenfels, Germany. Wow this place sucks.. you think it's bad living here -I wouldn't even want to visit. Yup, in Germany. That's me. Here. Not there. Hmm.
Anyway, since I don't have a laptop yet, I can't work on Space Opera. So instead I've been making a comic book version of Space Opera. What? Where's the logic in that? Don't ask me, it just seemed like the thing to do.
So, I think I'm going bowling tonight (and it really is that boring here -so boring, I'm almost looking forward to it).
I'm going to Munich tomorrow. Part of the package daytrip is that you have to go to Dachau. Yup. The concentration camp.. I was wanting to skip that whole mess and just go buy a jacket. Any way...
So, nothing new really, so I'll leave off here...
--*1320hrs back home.....
So I managed to get these pics burned to a cd-rw and guess what? -that's right, they won't let you use the cd-roms on these computers. COME ON! They'll let you use the floppy but not the cdrom?! You can put a virus on a floppy last time I checked, a lot of them are still pretty small.
Anyway, ever have a pipe-snake shoved down your throat? What? Oh, a pipe-snake is that whirly-bladed thing plumbers use to clear massive clogs (not the shoes). And yes, my throat does hurt that bad. It's all this walking around in cold, cold weather and then entering hot, hot buildings. Apparently the radiators have only two settings: 'off' and 'incinerate'.
Well, I am suppose to be walking the klick and a half back to the hospital, so later...
--"Fly me to the moon, let me play ~among the stars; a`let me see what spring is like on ~a`Jupiter an Mars..."
Ok, I'm in Germany and I finally get a chance to hop onto a computer, great. So I think, 'cool, i can uploads some pictures and everyone back in the world will see what's going on.' Well, no dice. The gestapo won't let you upload from the usb port. I'm pretty much locked out of everything, but I have a plan; Stetzer (SSG Stetzer, the NCOIC of the Commo section, a.k.a. Commo Chief) has a laptop. If I get my hands on a floppy, I can save the pics to disk, destroy the feeble security systems, ninja my way past the guards, macguyver my way into the system, take care of my business (uploading the pics), then a-team my way out again. Or I could eliminate the majority of those steps and just save to a floppy, and upload the pics, oh well.
Knocking around a German town would be more fun if they didn't all speak english. Just a thought, but I always have more fun trying to overcome language barriers.
Wow, so much to type, but I wasted my first fifteen minutes trying to upload those pics. Luckilly, I bought a memory card for my digicam and still have room for five hundred or so more pics. er, dang/.......gtg later.
--"...I can't stand here listening to you, and your racist friends..."
Wow, I'm actually updating more often than usual. No content though. I just wanted to let you know that I am leaving for Europe soon and probably won't be online until I get to Bosnia. Well, lot of crazy happening, this military-library computer sucks, and I'm running out of time. I will try to post some more pics before I leave the country.
--" ...and then I died. Sad story, really."
This is a picture of some of the Bosniacs going with me on my deployment -more to come. Probably won't be able to write for a while, but that's nothing new. Working off-line on Chapter Three, but it's hard what with all the training and all. Well, got to go shine me boots....
-THIS SPACE INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK-
