Friday, August 19, 2011
Moving
I've been in the middle of moving for the past couple years. It's been a real pain in the ass to have half of my shit in some place I actually have to transport myself to. The act of picking all of my belongings up, in order to put them into another bag, has become routine. The idea of a building being a home is completely foreign. A constant "anything" is a comfort that is romanticized. The days of sitting in a car for hours at a time has become my volunteerism. Waking up knowing where you are is a privilege. The drive in my life is usually two or four wheel. I am roaming looking for a place that feels right. The search for something that brings comfort. The journey to the unknown. Why take the trip? There's an old saying that says, "you never know what you have, until it's gone". If there is such a thing as a comfort zone, what draws us to stay inside? What draws us out? Why worry? Are we born with this absence of acceptance? Maybe as children growing, we grow accustomed to our guardians supposed love. Maybe it comes from more of a social aspect of wanting to be around people. Either way, this feeling does exist. This feeling of want of belonging is alive and well with many people. Though it seems to be found in adolescents more than any other age group, would an older age group feel empty without a sense of god? Is the purpose of someones life dictated by this want of belonging? Perhaps this does have more to do with people in general, as opposed to a simple stage of life. Though I may be young, and simply just not understand what adult hood is about, merely thinking of these questions directs me towards thoughts that can not be ignored. Perhaps there is really nothing to this little rant. I wish there were, but I suppose these are simply more mere thoughts from my head being passed onto you.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Interview with Christopher Sonzogni
Christopher Sonzogni: I began teaching myself about two years ago. I've always had an interest in the visual arts, and I've always entertained the idea of immortalizing moments in life. As F.W. Murnau said, "We are scientists engaged in the creation of memory... but our memory will neither blur nor fade".
DR: What are some of your major influences?
CS: All different things. Obsessions mainly - the occult, horror films, quasi-controversial subjects, different moments in history, books I read...
DR: Why do you feel as though these things call out to you?
CS: I find these things to be interesting, and full of mystery and wonder. I think if someone is too faint-hearted to face what they consider to be dark or "evil", that person more than likely fears and hates something within themselves. Knowledge is knowledge to me, and if I can pass on that knowledge through an image, then more power to me."
DR: Is there anything specifically that has been an influence, in the artwork that you are currently working on?
DR: What about the symbolism and fetishism that was used in this series. I notice a lot of BDSM play and use of Nazi imagery. Can you tell me about that?
Well, recognizing BDSM as a sort of "Abraxan act" you could say, I decided to have the situational bondage there to symbolize the balance that exists between a master and slave relationship, and how when combined produce natural order. Hence the role of the master and the role of the slave transcend one another. Insomuch as neither can exist without the other. Now, in concerning the symbols that were used. Already I've had a few people assume that the series is mere Nazi Fetishism, which is understandable on some level. However, the role they play in the series is actually not quite that simple. These symbols actually have a dual purpose. On one level, these symbols all, in some way, bear relevance to Abraxas. On another level, they were also used for their authoritarian significance in history, to represent the very natural polarity of masters and slaves, which is indeed what the world is truly made of..
DR: So how would you say, you are communicating this type of symbolism in your art?
CS: Well first of all, these symbols all have occult significance. Symbols in general bear much energy and meaning, and have the potential to have very strong effects on the human psyche. In having this understanding I decided to use the symbolism to possibly resonate certain emotional reactions in the viewer. This and there was also the intention of using them as a statement against the propaganda machine that has managed to mentally enslave the majority of the Western world to egalitarian thought; and basically knock it out of touch with natural law. As I stated before, the Sisters of Abraxas are intended to represent order in a period of complete and utter chaos. Albeit in a very subliminal way.
DR: How would you explain your creative process?
CS: It depends really. Sometimes I approach a project with a set of ideas. Other times ideas evolve as I begin shooting. There have been times where I've become overly excited about a creative revelation I'll have in the middle of a shoot - these moments can been very chaotic actually. But I always manage to make it through and get my vision across. I just make sure to limit my consumption of coffee to one cup on those days (laughs).
DR: Where are some exhibitions displaying your art, and when are some of the times that people should go out to see your work?
CS: I currently have two exhibits going on in the city of Philadelphia, both of which are of an erotic nature. The Sisters of Abraxas are being shown at a fetish fashion store called Passional Boutique, and another series is being shown, along with the work of ten other artists, at a small gallery called The Aphrodite Gallery.
At this point, my plan is to just keep exhibiting my work throughout the Philadelphia area, and perhaps gain a following of like-minded fans along the way. I am also looking into possibly booking a show in Iowa at a gallery called "Finders Creepers". There are quite a few projects in the works currently.
www.aphroditegallery.us
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Labels
Lately, I have been dealing with this issue of labeling. My personal reasons for this are more due to relationships, but if you look at anything, you could call everything a type of relationship. A relationship between man and machine, a relationship between parent and child, a relationship between government and citizen, but why do people label these relationships? Is it for their own comfort? Is it for society's? Is it for the relationship itself? I am an advocate for making the best of life, and some labels are not completely awful to use for peace of mind. For my dating relationships, I find that when I can label the relationship, it is easier for me to know how to treat the relationship itself. If I have a girlfriend or boyfriend, I will use my past relationships as a stepping stone on knowing how to treat the person as such. Of course, this is based on my own interpretation of how a couple should be, that gives me this launching pad. But, this does not limit what the relationship can become. Every person is different, and should be treated as such. So, what label do I put on for my spiritual beliefs. It may not be surprising to use the same type of logic in my relationships and translate that into my spiritual beliefs. But this still doesn't answer the original question, why label? A more clear question would be, why do I label? Yes, I am comforted by the fact that I know what something is, being that I gain confidence through knowledge. But, knowledge of what something is and knowing what to do with the knowledge, are two different things. So, wouldn't I be able to know what to do without knowing what I am doing? Possibly, it would make sense to simply live and learn, as we all do with so many other situations. But, this goes to a deeper level of philosophy that can translate into, work verses school. As a person in this world economy, is it better to go to school, learn about a subject, go out and put effort into the work based on knowledge of the work? Or, is it better to go out and learn from working in the field? The answer, is one each individual should think of for themselves. Either way, we should do what is best for each of us, or at least what makes most sense. So labeling me as a bisexual when it comes to my sexual orientation, doesn't really give me any more power than that of the knowledge of what I am. Putting this label on me also seems to put some type of limit on who I am as a person. Still, people may feel empowered by being able to call someone by some label that is agreed upon by society, but the real power comes when I decide what to do with that information of who I am. This is because labels do not come before they are needed. So, when it comes to my spirituality, I do not have a label for myself for the present, just a label for my past. I know what I have been, just as all who have religiously read this blog. But, what am I now? I can only be spiritually defined, by what my spiritual beliefs are. So, I am not going to give you, the reader, a label to call me. Don't call me anything, instead get to know what I believe. At that point, perhaps you will have a better label for me than I.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Spirit, Matriculated.
Religion seems to carry an extremely heavy burden these days. The subtle mind control factor of it all, has seem to turn off so many people who are even fairly logical. Much of this backlash to religion though, in my experience, for the most part seem to come from Atheist who argue against Christianity. Though this opinion may be biased, it is based on the fact that I myself was raised to be Christian. To give a brief biography on my religious upbringing, I have been to multiple churches of extremely different denominations. I have witnessed many, what would seem to be, insane rituals and beliefs; from speaking in tongues, to spiritual heeling's of physical problems, to infiltration of evil spirits, to ghost, to exorcisms, to prophecy visions, to free association prayer, to spiritual connections within the specific group of people I am with at a single moment. I have partaken in many of these religious and spiritual practices. And every single time, I have sincerely believed in these activities to be a real "God experience". I was a Christian, not of any denomination, but a Christian none the less. My Christian God and answered prayers were my pastor. And though, I did not start to really read the Bible until a few years ago, I had gained most of my knowledge on what the text of the Bible through sermons, and a few select times when I picked up the book and read through some of the verses. In fact, I had read the entire english translation of the Quoran, before I had even started to begin to read the Bible in its entirety. The first full book of the Bible I read was "Revelations". I do not claim, nor have I ever claimed, to have full knowledge on what the Bible has printed in it, let alone every translation of its text. This forced me to use my own logic to understand different ways the scriptures could be interpreted. Luckily enough, I had talked to many people about religion to know at least some of the ways The Bible is interpreted. At the same time, when I look at the amount of Biblical Scholars who argue on interpretations of the Bible, I begin to realize what I consider to be a very important truth when it comes to any religion. There is never going to be a single, clear, unanimous interpretation on what any religious text says and the way to become and live a spiritual life. Leaving people the individual right to find and have their own spiritual beliefs and connections. This conclusion came to me many years ago, and has since given me the basis of what my religious beliefs are from that time on. The basis of my spiritual belief is a factor I call, "I have absolutely no fucking clue".
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Plogging Postings
So obviously, I have been posting what seems to be a lot of school work. In fact, I have been. Currently I'm sitting here in American History class, and I was just browsing my blog here. Don't think I'm not doing any work, I'm more so occasionally writing a word or two here and there. And apart from this, I'm recording the lecture on my laptop so that I can review this class over and over again.
So the point at hand is, this is my last history class before the final exam. Meaning I wont post any more of those boring post about some point in History, and possibly no more English shit either. I guess I could say anyone is welcome to look into what I wrote for those classes, and that I have no reason to take those post down seeing that they really should have no reason to offend in anyway. And even if they do, why is that my problem? I'm simply writing my mind here. You are more than allowed to take it in anyway you wish.
And this brings us to the question at hand. I will soon have massive amounts of time to write about anything I want to post on here. So, what should I blog about? What am I going to blog about? Well I have many ideas, I am planning on blogging about my spiritual beliefs. This is not to reason with or convince anyone of them except myself. So if you are interested in seeing this struggle please let me know. I do plan on editing the short stories I posted earlier, along with writing some more short stories. Later this year, I will also plan on posting more of my schoolwork. I have found that posting my work has helped me in my classes, and I don't see how anyone wouldn't benefit from it.
In closing, I would like to thank everyone who has looked at my blog thus far, and I hope that you will continue to enjoy everything that is posted on here in days to come. Please let your friends know about this blog if you think that they will enjoy the work here as well. I hope to be able to communicate a mind to the world, and it will take more than me and my friends alone. I am sorry to inform people, I am not friends with everyone in the world. I am sorry.
Until I post/blog (plog) again, my name is Blu Lorn.
So the point at hand is, this is my last history class before the final exam. Meaning I wont post any more of those boring post about some point in History, and possibly no more English shit either. I guess I could say anyone is welcome to look into what I wrote for those classes, and that I have no reason to take those post down seeing that they really should have no reason to offend in anyway. And even if they do, why is that my problem? I'm simply writing my mind here. You are more than allowed to take it in anyway you wish.
And this brings us to the question at hand. I will soon have massive amounts of time to write about anything I want to post on here. So, what should I blog about? What am I going to blog about? Well I have many ideas, I am planning on blogging about my spiritual beliefs. This is not to reason with or convince anyone of them except myself. So if you are interested in seeing this struggle please let me know. I do plan on editing the short stories I posted earlier, along with writing some more short stories. Later this year, I will also plan on posting more of my schoolwork. I have found that posting my work has helped me in my classes, and I don't see how anyone wouldn't benefit from it.
In closing, I would like to thank everyone who has looked at my blog thus far, and I hope that you will continue to enjoy everything that is posted on here in days to come. Please let your friends know about this blog if you think that they will enjoy the work here as well. I hope to be able to communicate a mind to the world, and it will take more than me and my friends alone. I am sorry to inform people, I am not friends with everyone in the world. I am sorry.
Until I post/blog (plog) again, my name is Blu Lorn.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Early Colonial Settlement of Pennsylvania from 1660 to 1776
In 1660, Charles II became the king of England. At this time the Dutch were leaders in world trade. Because of this, England did all that it could in its power to gain control of world trade and commerce. Of course, this plan took 100 years to accomplish. This led the royal throne trying to take more of a strong hold on the American Colonies. One notable way of taking this action, was to establish what has been known as the Restoration Colonies. These were also monetary and political debts to eight loyal noblemen. These Colonies included the Carolinas, New Jersey, New York and Pennsylvania. Most of the proprietors of these new lands were allowed to rule the new land in any way they pleased. Most laws were set up similar to England's. However, the largest problem that the crown and colonies dealt with, was that of religion. One radical religious group, the Quakers, struggled for equality between the sexes as well as a pacifist view on disputes. Though many Quakers living throughout the colonies, would seem not to bother anyone, they made aggressive statements with passive actions, and led to many of the colonist dealing with problems between the Quakers and other religious groups.
In 1681, Charles II granted ownership of Pennsylvania to William Penn. This was in order to pay back a debt to Penn's father, Admiral Sir William Penn. Though Penn himself was born into a wealthy family, during his years at college, Penn became obsessed with the Quaker religion because of the plainness. Once given the settlement of Pennsylvania, which means Penn's Woods, William Penn set up the providence as a refuge for Quakers in England and the Colonies alike. Though Penn himself did not arrive in the colony until 1682, when he laid out the plans for the city of Philadelphia, Penn had made his cousin William Markham deputy governor of the province and sent him to take control in 1861. This pan of government, was due to the fact that in England, Quakers were persecuted for refusing to serve in military services or pay taxes which supported the Church of England. Even William Penn spent two years in jail due to his beliefs as a Quaker. Quakers wanted to restore Christianity to early simple spirituality, but did not agree with the Calvinistic documents that were considered too pessimistic. The two English leaders for the Quakers were, George Fox and Margaret Fell. These people argued that God has given both men and women an, "inner light" of grace and understanding. With this sex equality came 350 women who became Quaker ministers. This is along with the were 1,500 migrants who settled in Pennsylvania. Obviously Penn's religious beliefs dictated the government structure that was set up for Pennsylvania. Penn set up a state that would be tolerant of all religions, given that they were of Christian relation. Though Penn set up a legally established church, this gave political equality to all property-owning men. This was to allow all property-owning men the power to vote and hold office. Because of this decision, thousands of the Quakers, who were mostly yeomen families from the northwest midland region of England, were jubilant about this and flooded Pennsylvania, and originally settled along the Delaware River near Philadelphia.
William Penn was one of the most preferred rulers of any Colony. The king of England, more as a piece of pleasantry than otherwise, insisted upon naming the land that was being settled "Pennsylvania," in honor of the proprietor. Even later in the nations history, there were accounts of slaves who stated, "I hope that I become the slave of a Quaker." Though slavery was not outlawed, Quakers tended to treat their slaves much better than in owners in any other state. Absolute freedom of conscience was permitted. In all trials by jury of Native Americans, one-half of the jury were composed of Native Americans, and, although Penn allowed the death sentence for treason and murder, nobody was ever killed as execution while Penn was still in power. Penn in a way, gave the rest of the settlers a living example on how to act in manner of political matters, as well as treatment of Native Americans. Penn for the most part treated the Native Americans of the region, The Lenape (later named Delaware), with a lot more respect than most Colonies at the time. After his arrival in 1682 he called the Native American chiefs together at Shackamaxon, and paid them for the land that he had already received. In addition, he signed a treaty with the Native Americans, which was not broken for sixty years. It has been said that, this was the only treaty not sworn to, which was kept by English settelers.
Within a year of settlement, Quakers had began to started to use mix crop for economic growth and food produce. It had become one of the leaders in the world of farming and produce. Many of the crops that were harvested consisted of corn, wheat, oats, rye, hemp and tomatoes. On a separate note, tomatoes were not used in pizzas until around this time, when the queen of Italy had taken a liking to the taste. Imagine pizza without tomatoes. In 1683 Penn had met with others in Chester, to finally set out the plans in order to set up the city of Philadelphia. A year later, there was a population of 7,000 residents. In three years, the population grew faster than that of New Yorks in fifty years. Delaware, then called the "Three Lower Counties," was given a separate government in 1703. Delaware created their own deputy governor. But Pennsylvania and Delaware continued substantially under one government until the American Revolution. In 1692, the province was taken from Penn, because of his friendship to James II. And even after it was restored by Penn, in 1699 when he made his second visit he found the people had grown away from him and were against Penn exercising his former supervision. While absent, a steward stole all his property in England. Failing in health and mind, Penn died in 1718. His sons then became proprietors. However, the residents grew more discontented with the payments to the state. To end the disputes, the State abolished the rents during the Revolution, paying the proprietors the sum of $650,000 for the removal of their rights.
Pennsylvania had developed into a dynamic and growing colony, enriched by immigration of Germans and English. The Quakers, English, and Welsh settled mostly in Philadelphia and the eastern counties. Through foreign trade they gained commercial and financial power and reached a political dominance, which was held until the American Revolution. Philadelphia had become the largest city in the nation, and was third largest in the world next to London, and Paris. Philadelphia had also become known as a center of culture in the new world. The Germans, which became known as the Pennsylvania Dutch due to their pronunciation of the word Deutsch, (meaning German) largely of the religions of Mennonites, Moravians, Lutherans, and Amish settled in the farming areas of Southeast Pennsylvania as well as around Lancaster. While working the Germans kept their traditions and rituals and to a considerable extent their language, customs, architecture, and superstitions. Due to this large influx of German immigrants to the colony, there has been a section of the area called Germantown.
By 1776, Pennsylvania had become the third largest English colony in America, Philadelphia had become the second largest city in the America and was second largest next to London. Though there were only three counties initially, by 1773 there were eleven. West Moreland, the last new county created before the Revolution, was the first county located entirely west of the Allegheny Mountains. This expansion led to many fights with the Native Americans. This expansion also led to the first road, now called Route 30, which went from Lancaster to Philadelphia. The prominent resident Benjamin Franklin also made many of his inventions while living in Philadelphia. Some of these inventions were a postal service, a printing press along with the first newspaper, the Franklin Stove and the Glass Harmonica. On the eve of the American Revolution Philadelphia held the largest amounts of breweries, artisans and mechanics formed grassroots leadership, and Philadelphia as a city was a center of resistance to the Stamp Act in 1765. Many of the people opposed moved to support Boston in opposition to the Intolerable Acts in 1774.
Altogether, Pennsylvania was a fairly diverse Colony. With a stronghold for agriculture, political, artistic and trade, Pennsylvania became a very prominent position for the second constitutional congress as well as gave plenty of reason for Pennsylvania's nickname, The Keystone State. Though there were still slaves and disputes between the Native Americans and English settlers, Pennsylvania has come to be known as the most Democratic of all the Colonies.
In 1681, Charles II granted ownership of Pennsylvania to William Penn. This was in order to pay back a debt to Penn's father, Admiral Sir William Penn. Though Penn himself was born into a wealthy family, during his years at college, Penn became obsessed with the Quaker religion because of the plainness. Once given the settlement of Pennsylvania, which means Penn's Woods, William Penn set up the providence as a refuge for Quakers in England and the Colonies alike. Though Penn himself did not arrive in the colony until 1682, when he laid out the plans for the city of Philadelphia, Penn had made his cousin William Markham deputy governor of the province and sent him to take control in 1861. This pan of government, was due to the fact that in England, Quakers were persecuted for refusing to serve in military services or pay taxes which supported the Church of England. Even William Penn spent two years in jail due to his beliefs as a Quaker. Quakers wanted to restore Christianity to early simple spirituality, but did not agree with the Calvinistic documents that were considered too pessimistic. The two English leaders for the Quakers were, George Fox and Margaret Fell. These people argued that God has given both men and women an, "inner light" of grace and understanding. With this sex equality came 350 women who became Quaker ministers. This is along with the were 1,500 migrants who settled in Pennsylvania. Obviously Penn's religious beliefs dictated the government structure that was set up for Pennsylvania. Penn set up a state that would be tolerant of all religions, given that they were of Christian relation. Though Penn set up a legally established church, this gave political equality to all property-owning men. This was to allow all property-owning men the power to vote and hold office. Because of this decision, thousands of the Quakers, who were mostly yeomen families from the northwest midland region of England, were jubilant about this and flooded Pennsylvania, and originally settled along the Delaware River near Philadelphia.
William Penn was one of the most preferred rulers of any Colony. The king of England, more as a piece of pleasantry than otherwise, insisted upon naming the land that was being settled "Pennsylvania," in honor of the proprietor. Even later in the nations history, there were accounts of slaves who stated, "I hope that I become the slave of a Quaker." Though slavery was not outlawed, Quakers tended to treat their slaves much better than in owners in any other state. Absolute freedom of conscience was permitted. In all trials by jury of Native Americans, one-half of the jury were composed of Native Americans, and, although Penn allowed the death sentence for treason and murder, nobody was ever killed as execution while Penn was still in power. Penn in a way, gave the rest of the settlers a living example on how to act in manner of political matters, as well as treatment of Native Americans. Penn for the most part treated the Native Americans of the region, The Lenape (later named Delaware), with a lot more respect than most Colonies at the time. After his arrival in 1682 he called the Native American chiefs together at Shackamaxon, and paid them for the land that he had already received. In addition, he signed a treaty with the Native Americans, which was not broken for sixty years. It has been said that, this was the only treaty not sworn to, which was kept by English settelers.
Within a year of settlement, Quakers had began to started to use mix crop for economic growth and food produce. It had become one of the leaders in the world of farming and produce. Many of the crops that were harvested consisted of corn, wheat, oats, rye, hemp and tomatoes. On a separate note, tomatoes were not used in pizzas until around this time, when the queen of Italy had taken a liking to the taste. Imagine pizza without tomatoes. In 1683 Penn had met with others in Chester, to finally set out the plans in order to set up the city of Philadelphia. A year later, there was a population of 7,000 residents. In three years, the population grew faster than that of New Yorks in fifty years. Delaware, then called the "Three Lower Counties," was given a separate government in 1703. Delaware created their own deputy governor. But Pennsylvania and Delaware continued substantially under one government until the American Revolution. In 1692, the province was taken from Penn, because of his friendship to James II. And even after it was restored by Penn, in 1699 when he made his second visit he found the people had grown away from him and were against Penn exercising his former supervision. While absent, a steward stole all his property in England. Failing in health and mind, Penn died in 1718. His sons then became proprietors. However, the residents grew more discontented with the payments to the state. To end the disputes, the State abolished the rents during the Revolution, paying the proprietors the sum of $650,000 for the removal of their rights.
Pennsylvania had developed into a dynamic and growing colony, enriched by immigration of Germans and English. The Quakers, English, and Welsh settled mostly in Philadelphia and the eastern counties. Through foreign trade they gained commercial and financial power and reached a political dominance, which was held until the American Revolution. Philadelphia had become the largest city in the nation, and was third largest in the world next to London, and Paris. Philadelphia had also become known as a center of culture in the new world. The Germans, which became known as the Pennsylvania Dutch due to their pronunciation of the word Deutsch, (meaning German) largely of the religions of Mennonites, Moravians, Lutherans, and Amish settled in the farming areas of Southeast Pennsylvania as well as around Lancaster. While working the Germans kept their traditions and rituals and to a considerable extent their language, customs, architecture, and superstitions. Due to this large influx of German immigrants to the colony, there has been a section of the area called Germantown.
By 1776, Pennsylvania had become the third largest English colony in America, Philadelphia had become the second largest city in the America and was second largest next to London. Though there were only three counties initially, by 1773 there were eleven. West Moreland, the last new county created before the Revolution, was the first county located entirely west of the Allegheny Mountains. This expansion led to many fights with the Native Americans. This expansion also led to the first road, now called Route 30, which went from Lancaster to Philadelphia. The prominent resident Benjamin Franklin also made many of his inventions while living in Philadelphia. Some of these inventions were a postal service, a printing press along with the first newspaper, the Franklin Stove and the Glass Harmonica. On the eve of the American Revolution Philadelphia held the largest amounts of breweries, artisans and mechanics formed grassroots leadership, and Philadelphia as a city was a center of resistance to the Stamp Act in 1765. Many of the people opposed moved to support Boston in opposition to the Intolerable Acts in 1774.
Altogether, Pennsylvania was a fairly diverse Colony. With a stronghold for agriculture, political, artistic and trade, Pennsylvania became a very prominent position for the second constitutional congress as well as gave plenty of reason for Pennsylvania's nickname, The Keystone State. Though there were still slaves and disputes between the Native Americans and English settlers, Pennsylvania has come to be known as the most Democratic of all the Colonies.
Globalization Break Down
The United States of America's economics have based in capitolism for over 100 years. US foreign policy has become an outlet for the expansion of capitalism at extreme rates for over the past fifty years. One of the main forces behind this is probably due to World War II. Along with one of the key ideologies that comes from the American idea of Manifest destiny being related to the global village. Much of this type of expansion has been easier to accomplish through the internet.
After the end of World War II, the world was split between Communistic, and Democratic states. This created a very large division between people. One of the most obvious divisions being the Berlin Wall. America had entered in to the United Nations, along with many other countries, in order to keep peace in the world, and to produce trade. The biggest part of creating international trade was to have a free market. One which would not be regulated by restricting business of certain practices that would be considered to be anti-progressive. Though this idea was good in nature, there are always pros and cons to everything. Many countries such as the U.S.S.R. did not agree with this type of trade practice. But the push for a global economy was much stronger than any one nation. The push for this economy was made in hope for many, to have a better standard of life. Much of this meant to the majority of American corporations, that they would be able to utilize any part of the world in order to generate profits.
Once again, though this is good in idealology, globalization is beging to show in practice, a failing effort. The busness created for an American company in Idia, has caused many what would be American jobs to be outsourced, leading the companies to pay less in hourly wages. Many times, such as in the video, an American corporation will have part of their company in another part of the world, but will use immagrants from other parts of the world such as Asains for the work needed. This is in an effort to have the cheapest labor, in many cases creating a psuedo slavery system.
Another aspect is the shift to a twenty four hour day. Business all over are able to conduct business at any hour through the internet. This creates jobs through advertisment campaigns where an internet provider, such as google, can collect personal information from internet users, in order to sell to a third party. This is able to be used in many ways to persuade consumers to products that are specific to the persons interest, and financial status. And in many ways, is able to be used in order to discriminate certain consumers based off any factor the corporation so desires.
After the end of World War II, the world was split between Communistic, and Democratic states. This created a very large division between people. One of the most obvious divisions being the Berlin Wall. America had entered in to the United Nations, along with many other countries, in order to keep peace in the world, and to produce trade. The biggest part of creating international trade was to have a free market. One which would not be regulated by restricting business of certain practices that would be considered to be anti-progressive. Though this idea was good in nature, there are always pros and cons to everything. Many countries such as the U.S.S.R. did not agree with this type of trade practice. But the push for a global economy was much stronger than any one nation. The push for this economy was made in hope for many, to have a better standard of life. Much of this meant to the majority of American corporations, that they would be able to utilize any part of the world in order to generate profits.
Once again, though this is good in idealology, globalization is beging to show in practice, a failing effort. The busness created for an American company in Idia, has caused many what would be American jobs to be outsourced, leading the companies to pay less in hourly wages. Many times, such as in the video, an American corporation will have part of their company in another part of the world, but will use immagrants from other parts of the world such as Asains for the work needed. This is in an effort to have the cheapest labor, in many cases creating a psuedo slavery system.
Another aspect is the shift to a twenty four hour day. Business all over are able to conduct business at any hour through the internet. This creates jobs through advertisment campaigns where an internet provider, such as google, can collect personal information from internet users, in order to sell to a third party. This is able to be used in many ways to persuade consumers to products that are specific to the persons interest, and financial status. And in many ways, is able to be used in order to discriminate certain consumers based off any factor the corporation so desires.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Blood Stains
In letters, "Bleeding Kansas": A Southern View, by Axalla John Hoole, a man is writing to his family about life in the Midwest for a southerner. Reading his reaction to the events unfolding is actually comforting though. To think of slavery expanding into the Midwest, with territories such as Kansas, is nerve racking. Sadly though, this rational is quintessential of a typical American today. This type of manifest destiny still seems to exist in our present culture. The idea behind expanding and forcing our American beliefs on any people we encounter, and to have law of all lands abide by what we believe as opposed to what works. It's sad to know that any type of conflict the original westerners encountered ended up with violent conflict. The need to fight and kill something seemed to dictate their actions more so than their need to have their values. Its almost as if I'm reading about three year old boys fighting over who gets to own a shiny new toy. I just can't understand where all of this anger and rage stemmed from. I do not understand why there was like some kind of innate capacity for death of others in such a way that seems inhumane. The more I read about our nations history, the more enraged I seem to become. The problem is even after honestly trying to reason and rationalize the decisions that were made, I am still completely confused. I can't seem to wrap my head around this concept of, if someone opposes what you are trying to do with your life, that person should just die. It doesn't seem like any of these settlers even bothered with diplomatically working out their differences. This is exactly the type of behavior that seems to stick to all Americans when being perceived by other nations, and it's ridiculous that I am personally be judged by a standard that was apparent over one hundred years ago.
Monday, April 11, 2011
My Private Fight for Freedom
Always living in Spanish, by Marjorie Agosin is a story about the author holding on to her culture through difficulties in life. Trying to hold on to where I come from has been very difficult for me as well. From moving three times in a year to not having a roof over my head sometimes, Holding on to a part of my past is one of the most difficult things I have dealt with. Of course, the author talks more of tradition and values. The experience that is shared between her and me, is one of fighting to keep the past alive. The past for the author is her upbringing in Chile. The past for me is finding my freedom in writing. Each of our pasts have value to us. But from an outsider's point of view, poor English is more easily made fun of, than the constant feeling of incompleteness I felt from not being imprisoned by my circumstances.
Though the hardships experienced by the author are worse than anything I have ever had to deal with, my family and I moved multiple times due to hardships as well. The idea that I assumed my parents had, when finally deciding to move, was one of seeking a better situation. I have to confess. I do assume everyone in the entire world holds this very same optimistic idea. The idea of trying to find a better situation for myself became so strong for me once, that I had moved out of my parents house before graduation high school.And just as the author wrote, "that other America that looked with suspicion at those who did not speak English," I had experience many people's questioning about why I chose to mover out of my house. Of course, I could understand the simple curiosity at my predicament, the neighbors accusations of my parents' house being a "shit hole" still bothers me.I felt guilt I could not deal with my family like my peers dealt with theirs. I felt out of place that at one point I was living with another family from a different ethnicity. I felt lost in my situation. I felt as though I was learning how to live out in the real world without any kind of real guidance. I can understand how it must have felt for Agosin when she wrote, "not even the sky has the same constellations."
I think that as humans, we try to cope with our situations the best we can. Oddly enough, the author and I share one way of coping with hard times, writing. And though the author used writing as a tool to keep her language and culture alive, I used it to keep my sanity. While staying at a stranger's house for a year, I had found that writing could be a release (of everything that was inside my soul.) Writing had become my Christ. I had gone to writing not because I enjoyed reading, but because no one I knew would read and question my thoughts. It was almost as if text was an entirely separate language from what my peers spoke. I could access any part of my mind and freely work it into a storm of words. Although like all things, this freedom has faded from my life. But I have recently started to write again. And those old feelings of freedom are starting to come back.
-Yes I know this is a repost. But this is the revised version.
Enjoy.
Monday, April 4, 2011
The Road to Rebellion
An amazing amount of work can be accomplished over a seven year time period. When it comes to the American colonies in the years 1763 to 1776, amazing is not even come close to the description of rebellious progress that was made in those years. From the outright rebellion of British imposed taxes, the start of the American Revolutionary War, to the signing of the Declaration of Independence, the colonies moved faster than a "shot heard 'round the world."
When the English had finished fighting the French and Indian War, England had a tremendous debt. The way that the British parliament decided to take care of this debt was to impose many taxes on the subjects of the British Empire. At the time, a large amount of the colonist considered themselves to be a part of the British Empire despite the differences in opinions. One of these different opinions was the idea that England had the
authority to tax the colonies. Though there were many "loyalist" in the colonies, the opposition to British taxes in the colonies was extremely prominent in the New England colonies. One reason for this opposition came from Benjamin Franklin. When Franklin proposed to parliament, that if parliament is to levy taxes on the colonies, then there should be colonial representation in parliament, only one parliament member agreed with Franklin. This opposition is apparent in a multitude of rebellious acts by the colonist to the crown.
Many of these rebellions were led by Samuel Adams. One type of rebellion that sticks in most people's minds is the Boston Tea Party. This statement of rebellion was one way that rebel leader Samuel Adams gained support from the colonist. The Boston Tea Party was a reaction to the Tea Act, which was only one of many tax acts imposed by British parliament.
This type of rebellion, of course, put the English on the edge of their seats. The British had decided that they needed to end this type of outcry coming out of the colonies. Looking at the colonies almost as children who needed to be punished, Parliament had sent over British troops in order to immediately stop this type of behavior. This type of action by the British could only rally up the colonist even more at this point though. After The Boston Massacre, relations between the British and Colonist were far beyond on edge. From the second the Paul Revere called out "The British are coming!" it would only be logical to think of every colonist in the New England Colonies preparing to defend their freedoms that they felt entitled to. The battles at Lexington and Concord were only the beginning in a very long war, it was in my eyes a much more explosive moment in history than any length of war could ever be. Arguments in the New England Colonist eyes for this, was the idea that the British had directly imposed on their personal freedoms as British citizens, and were more than willing to fight to the death in order to gain that freedom back with or without English rule. Many legislatures in the Second Continental Congress felt the same way about the cause of "New England's war." Congress created the continental army, turning this into a war for all the colonies.
Though the Rebellion of taxes imposed on the colonies could be reason enough to spark an all out revolution through war, no rebellion was greater than that of the Declaration of Independence. Many things have been said about the Declaration of Independence. The numerous firework displays on July Fourth say plenty enough for me. The reasoning for this act of outright legal rebellion was because of the war, as well as Common Sense written by Thomas Paine. Thomas Pain had written a pamphlet that had caused two major effects on the colonies. The first being giving a large portion of the colonist, including congress members, the reasoning it took to look at themselves as people who needed to be free of England. The second effect was that it inspired all the colonies to join in the fight for freedom from England.
In closing, there are many events that took place in the American colonies, in only a matter of seven years. Rebellion, revolution, and declaration of freedom from an oppressor. Though these events have taken place over 200 years ago, the effects of these key events in history have effected every single human being ever to have breathed this earths air since.
When the English had finished fighting the French and Indian War, England had a tremendous debt. The way that the British parliament decided to take care of this debt was to impose many taxes on the subjects of the British Empire. At the time, a large amount of the colonist considered themselves to be a part of the British Empire despite the differences in opinions. One of these different opinions was the idea that England had the
authority to tax the colonies. Though there were many "loyalist" in the colonies, the opposition to British taxes in the colonies was extremely prominent in the New England colonies. One reason for this opposition came from Benjamin Franklin. When Franklin proposed to parliament, that if parliament is to levy taxes on the colonies, then there should be colonial representation in parliament, only one parliament member agreed with Franklin. This opposition is apparent in a multitude of rebellious acts by the colonist to the crown.
Many of these rebellions were led by Samuel Adams. One type of rebellion that sticks in most people's minds is the Boston Tea Party. This statement of rebellion was one way that rebel leader Samuel Adams gained support from the colonist. The Boston Tea Party was a reaction to the Tea Act, which was only one of many tax acts imposed by British parliament.
This type of rebellion, of course, put the English on the edge of their seats. The British had decided that they needed to end this type of outcry coming out of the colonies. Looking at the colonies almost as children who needed to be punished, Parliament had sent over British troops in order to immediately stop this type of behavior. This type of action by the British could only rally up the colonist even more at this point though. After The Boston Massacre, relations between the British and Colonist were far beyond on edge. From the second the Paul Revere called out "The British are coming!" it would only be logical to think of every colonist in the New England Colonies preparing to defend their freedoms that they felt entitled to. The battles at Lexington and Concord were only the beginning in a very long war, it was in my eyes a much more explosive moment in history than any length of war could ever be. Arguments in the New England Colonist eyes for this, was the idea that the British had directly imposed on their personal freedoms as British citizens, and were more than willing to fight to the death in order to gain that freedom back with or without English rule. Many legislatures in the Second Continental Congress felt the same way about the cause of "New England's war." Congress created the continental army, turning this into a war for all the colonies.
Though the Rebellion of taxes imposed on the colonies could be reason enough to spark an all out revolution through war, no rebellion was greater than that of the Declaration of Independence. Many things have been said about the Declaration of Independence. The numerous firework displays on July Fourth say plenty enough for me. The reasoning for this act of outright legal rebellion was because of the war, as well as Common Sense written by Thomas Paine. Thomas Pain had written a pamphlet that had caused two major effects on the colonies. The first being giving a large portion of the colonist, including congress members, the reasoning it took to look at themselves as people who needed to be free of England. The second effect was that it inspired all the colonies to join in the fight for freedom from England.
In closing, there are many events that took place in the American colonies, in only a matter of seven years. Rebellion, revolution, and declaration of freedom from an oppressor. Though these events have taken place over 200 years ago, the effects of these key events in history have effected every single human being ever to have breathed this earths air since.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
An American View of the Stamp Act
This letter from Samuel Adams to his friend John Smith is to me, almost like an editorial column in the Philadelphia Inquire. It takes the perspective of, the colonist are still trying to continue to be loyal British subjects. But, if England keeps treating the colonist as second-class citizens, then what is the point of even putting on a fake smile? Apart from this ridiculous tax, there was the fact that none of the colonist could have any say in political matters for england. The colonist were being pushed and pulled around by England, and Samuel Adams was getting sick and tired of it. I can slightly relate. Although I don't see a need for an extremely bloody revolution, the reasoning for charging college students for books of information, that for the most part is free online, seems ludicrous. Obviously publishers need to make a profit, but how is any book's actual value over $100? This is simply abuse by book publishers to keep their pockets over flooding with income, when we are currently in the middle of a national financial crisis. When the colonist were
starting to be treated as a countryside of mere merchants for the British Empire's financial gain, the colonist were at least willing to fight for their oppressed rights as British Citizens, if not human beings. Today, I find it hard to find any other student apart from myself as adamant about free education. But, perhaps mere annoyance of book and class fees are not enough to try and change an entire system, that has been in place since right around the time Samuel Adams wrote this letter. Perhaps part of the problem is, the only type of
job one could actually get hired for, that would pay for an actual living standard, is one that requires a college degree of any sort.
starting to be treated as a countryside of mere merchants for the British Empire's financial gain, the colonist were at least willing to fight for their oppressed rights as British Citizens, if not human beings. Today, I find it hard to find any other student apart from myself as adamant about free education. But, perhaps mere annoyance of book and class fees are not enough to try and change an entire system, that has been in place since right around the time Samuel Adams wrote this letter. Perhaps part of the problem is, the only type of
job one could actually get hired for, that would pay for an actual living standard, is one that requires a college degree of any sort.
English Homework March Thirtieth Two Thousand Eleven
Why post my English homework on here? Because this actually has spell check. So I'm probably going to do assignments on here anyway. Might as well publish these assignments. So here I go.
All assignments must be done in MLA guidelines. If you don't know what that is, you should look it up. You're going to need to know soon enough.
Always Living in Spanish by the author Marjorie Agosin is a story about the author holding on to her culture throughout difficulties in life. Trying to hold on to where I come from has been very difficult for me, from moving three times in a year to not having a roof over my head sometimes. Holding on to a part of my past is one of the most difficult things I've dealt with, while moving. Of course, the author talking more of tradition and values, the experience that is shared between her and I, is one of fighting to keep the past alive. The past for the author being, her upbring in Chile. The past for me would be, sentimental items collected over the years. Each of our past has value to ourselves. But from an outsiders point of view, "poor English" is more easily made fun of, then the constant feeling of incompleteness I felt from not having physical possessions.
Though the hardships experienced by the author are extremely more awful than anything I have ever had to deal with, my family and I moved multiple times due to hardships as well. The idea that I assumed my parents had, when finally deciding to move, was one of seeking a better situation. I have to confess. I do assume everyone in the entire world holds this very same optimistic idea. The idea of trying to find a better situation for myself became so strong for me once, that I had moved out of my parents house before graduating High School. And just as, "that other America that looked with suspicion at those who did not speak English," I had experienced many people's questioning about why I chose to move out of my house. Of course, I could understand the simple curiosity at my predicament, the accusations of my parent's house being a "shit hole" still bothered me. I felt guilt I could not deal with my family like the rest of my peers. I felt out of place living with another family from a different ethnicity. I felt lost in my situation. I felt as though I was learning how to live out in the real world without any kind of real guidance. I can understand how it must have felt for author when she wrote, "not even the sky has the same constellations."
I think that as humans, we try to cope with our situations the best we can. Oddly enough, the author and I share one way of coping with hard times, writing. And though the author used writing, as a tool to keep her language and culture alive, I used it to keep my psychological wellbeing alive.While staying with an entirely new set of characters than what I ever have been used to before, I had found that writing could be a release of everything that was inside my soul. Writing had become my Christ. I had gone to writing not because I enjoyed reading. But, because no one I knew would read and question my thoughts. It was almost as if text was an entirely separate language from what my peers spoke. I could access any part of my mind and freely work it into a storm of words. This is a feeling that I have from that point until quite recently, have long forgotten. But I have recently started to write again and those old feelings of freedom are starting to come back. Because, sometimes you have to fight, to keep the past alive.
All assignments must be done in MLA guidelines. If you don't know what that is, you should look it up. You're going to need to know soon enough.
Always Living in Spanish by the author Marjorie Agosin is a story about the author holding on to her culture throughout difficulties in life. Trying to hold on to where I come from has been very difficult for me, from moving three times in a year to not having a roof over my head sometimes. Holding on to a part of my past is one of the most difficult things I've dealt with, while moving. Of course, the author talking more of tradition and values, the experience that is shared between her and I, is one of fighting to keep the past alive. The past for the author being, her upbring in Chile. The past for me would be, sentimental items collected over the years. Each of our past has value to ourselves. But from an outsiders point of view, "poor English" is more easily made fun of, then the constant feeling of incompleteness I felt from not having physical possessions.
Though the hardships experienced by the author are extremely more awful than anything I have ever had to deal with, my family and I moved multiple times due to hardships as well. The idea that I assumed my parents had, when finally deciding to move, was one of seeking a better situation. I have to confess. I do assume everyone in the entire world holds this very same optimistic idea. The idea of trying to find a better situation for myself became so strong for me once, that I had moved out of my parents house before graduating High School. And just as, "that other America that looked with suspicion at those who did not speak English," I had experienced many people's questioning about why I chose to move out of my house. Of course, I could understand the simple curiosity at my predicament, the accusations of my parent's house being a "shit hole" still bothered me. I felt guilt I could not deal with my family like the rest of my peers. I felt out of place living with another family from a different ethnicity. I felt lost in my situation. I felt as though I was learning how to live out in the real world without any kind of real guidance. I can understand how it must have felt for author when she wrote, "not even the sky has the same constellations."
I think that as humans, we try to cope with our situations the best we can. Oddly enough, the author and I share one way of coping with hard times, writing. And though the author used writing, as a tool to keep her language and culture alive, I used it to keep my psychological wellbeing alive.While staying with an entirely new set of characters than what I ever have been used to before, I had found that writing could be a release of everything that was inside my soul. Writing had become my Christ. I had gone to writing not because I enjoyed reading. But, because no one I knew would read and question my thoughts. It was almost as if text was an entirely separate language from what my peers spoke. I could access any part of my mind and freely work it into a storm of words. This is a feeling that I have from that point until quite recently, have long forgotten. But I have recently started to write again and those old feelings of freedom are starting to come back. Because, sometimes you have to fight, to keep the past alive.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Love
Does it exist? I don’t know. I know that I really like: being around you, hearing your voice, receiving your text, kissing your lips, hearing what’s on your mind, drinking coffee with you, smoking cigarettes with you, holding you close, driving around with you, creating art with you and experiencing every single new day that comes with the sun, after staying up all night with you.
Person
So there's this person who I can't remember their name. I miss the shit out of her randomly for some reason. Yet, I haven't seen her in like five years. Jesus Christ I feel old, when I haven't seen someone in five fucking years. I think I remember the name now. Why is it that we think of random bullshit at the oddest of times? I just can't stop my mind from wondering for some reason. Kind of like this blog. So people killing themselves is on my mind right now for some reason. I think I should write something about that. Suicide is kind of serious. It's not like you have any proof you're going to be OK after it happens. Why do it? Depression. Some people think that life is really just not worth dealing with anymore. No hope is obvious. Well fuck, if we just die and don't go anywhere after life, I'd rather deal with pain. With life comes suffering. It builds your fucking character. So is there ever a point where you would be better off killing yourself? I suppose when the pain will outlast your life. That kind of situation does happen. But, how good of a judge are you going to be, when that time comes? I probably am the worst person to talk to about all of this. I only have my opinion, just like everybody else.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Am I a business?
So I just talked to this girl about writing for me. She seemed pretty interested. So, here's my question. If I actually publish her work, and she continues working for me, does that mean I'm like officially a business. Or, Was I always a publishing business? Hmmm.... There's a question for the strong hearted.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
hey ya
so theres this girl. She's pretty cute. I'd hit. but here's the situation. I take her around the county. Still no head, no nothing. Maybe this is just me, but I think I should be getting some kind of action out of this. Am I alone on this one? Oh! She's on drugs. That's why. Bleh...
Well, here's another one. I got this friend getting with everyone except me. Am I just one of those people that girls just do not want to fuck? I mean, how much money do I give her before I get even a hand job?
Fucking Girls.
'Nuf said.
Well, here's another one. I got this friend getting with everyone except me. Am I just one of those people that girls just do not want to fuck? I mean, how much money do I give her before I get even a hand job?
Fucking Girls.
'Nuf said.
Hey Webook Friends
So this is my blog. I know it's not a story book. I know it's not writing site. But here's the thing I really stopped writing stories cause of school and work and stuff. Give me a break I have a life. But this is going to be my thoughts. stories and whatever.
There's no rules on what this is supposed to be.
So love it or hate it
keep it or leave it
This is what I'm doing now for my writing.
But either way,
WELCOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
There's no rules on what this is supposed to be.
So love it or hate it
keep it or leave it
This is what I'm doing now for my writing.
But either way,
WELCOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
A Silent Scream
The woman paced down the aisle of the grassy hill lined by the graves of her loved ones. As she looked at the engravings on the stones, she remembered the days that each tomb was chiseled with it's eternal name. She continued walking along and paused at one particular head stone. It seemed familiar to her for some odd reason. She couldn't recall the name in any person she might have known though her long life. But somewhere in her frail and worn bones, the name echoed with some sort of power that seemed to almost overcome her.
Maybe it was the way the words were carved into the granite. Maybe it was the size and shape of the whole thing that seemed almost too plain for a grave site. Or maybe, just maybe it seemed to be beckoning her to the bones which peacefully lay beneath her feet as she stood there. But either way there was something. Something, she thought about it for quite sometime, repeating the haunting name over and over. As if it had some deeper meaning than when simply glanced at.
Dusk was coming, and a breeze blew. And as an awakening to the woman, she realized the meaning behind the name. She began to realize why it had been calling her. She began to turn white, the sun creeping behind the hill casting shadows on the weather worn stones. Which gave such a feeling of loneliness cast upon the woman's mind. Her eyes widened and she gave a shriek. Her heart was pounding, her pulse racing.
The name! It was him. The man who had so often stalked the woman in her youth, that even the fear of his spirit seemed to be crawling up to the woman. As a hand being reached out to grab this woman to posses her soul. Yet she could not move. Only her screams would be admitted to come out of this woman. She tried to step back and stumbled over a grave stone behind her.She fell six feet down into the cold dirt of the soil inside the hill. Trapped inside a newly dug grave.
She tried to move, but her bones were broken. She tried to scream, but her ribs had punctured her lungs. With the large hole in her lungs consuming her air supply, the grave seemed to be consuming her soul. The walls were enclosing around her. The sun's light was fading. And maybe because of her eminent passing soul into her unpredicted end, she could see the eyes of a man. That same man from the same grave.
"Don't scream. I knew I would have you from the first day I laid eyes on you... I knew you would be the victim who wouldn't scream."
Maybe it was the way the words were carved into the granite. Maybe it was the size and shape of the whole thing that seemed almost too plain for a grave site. Or maybe, just maybe it seemed to be beckoning her to the bones which peacefully lay beneath her feet as she stood there. But either way there was something. Something, she thought about it for quite sometime, repeating the haunting name over and over. As if it had some deeper meaning than when simply glanced at.
Dusk was coming, and a breeze blew. And as an awakening to the woman, she realized the meaning behind the name. She began to realize why it had been calling her. She began to turn white, the sun creeping behind the hill casting shadows on the weather worn stones. Which gave such a feeling of loneliness cast upon the woman's mind. Her eyes widened and she gave a shriek. Her heart was pounding, her pulse racing.
The name! It was him. The man who had so often stalked the woman in her youth, that even the fear of his spirit seemed to be crawling up to the woman. As a hand being reached out to grab this woman to posses her soul. Yet she could not move. Only her screams would be admitted to come out of this woman. She tried to step back and stumbled over a grave stone behind her.She fell six feet down into the cold dirt of the soil inside the hill. Trapped inside a newly dug grave.
She tried to move, but her bones were broken. She tried to scream, but her ribs had punctured her lungs. With the large hole in her lungs consuming her air supply, the grave seemed to be consuming her soul. The walls were enclosing around her. The sun's light was fading. And maybe because of her eminent passing soul into her unpredicted end, she could see the eyes of a man. That same man from the same grave.
"Don't scream. I knew I would have you from the first day I laid eyes on you... I knew you would be the victim who wouldn't scream."
Clocks
The sounds of clocks far off ticking away in my ear, match the beat of my heart. As I lay in my chambers along with my partner, a flash of light comes through a pair of eyes that i have sighted on the headboard mirror. the faint light grew and surrounded more and more of the room, and it soon blinded me so all that i could see was the purest white light.
And then as I focused, I could still hear the ticking of a distant clock. But it sounded distorted as if there were twenty clocks all ticking away at their own paces. And I could feel a pain at my heart, as if someone thought of it as a broken clock, had heard it and got so annoyed that it needed to be broken to keep the peace at a tolerable level.
The sounds of more clocks coming. But now the sound is heavier, deeper. And i see a pale face. Yet, it is a fair one. it looked as a frightened mouse, and sad as a dying deer. The eyes of this looked deep as an ocean. But at the very bottom, there was nothing. No life, cold as ice, and slowly i could see it's eye lids close round the globes of abyss.
More ticking, and I saw myself kneeling upon an open womb of a great size, with blood pouring out like a fountain. And I saw a naked women lying in front of me on a wooden floor, raped of all her beauty. Red hand marks all over her body, and as I stand up from the corpse, Three words come from my mouth.
"Goodbye, my love."
tick. tick. tock. tock. tock. Tock.
Heavier and heavier the sound starts to pump in my ear. And then there were lights flashing so brightly, I could feel my arm being raised over my eyes.
"Oh No!"
tock. Tock. TOCK. TOCK!
There were noises of the police cars. And I could hear the sirens catching the beat of the clock. And i felt something In my hand.
TOCK. TOCK. THUMP. THUMP.
Such an unbearable sound. Pounding. Pounding. And I could feel a liquid trickling from the sides of my lips ever so slowly. Almost ticklish. Then I see a man behind me. A tall man, who had a wet raincoat on. And a hat over his bald head. Underneath his coat I see what looks like a black pinstripe suite. And in his hand by his side, there was a piece of metal. A...A...A...
Thump. Thump. THUMP. tap. tap. tap. tap. tap. tap. THUMP.
Rain.
tap. tap. tap.
Pouring rain.
tap. tap. tap.
Hitting the windows.
THUMP. tap. tap. tap. CRACK.
Thunder breaking the window. And I feel a million pieces of glass cutting into my body.
THUMP. THUMP.
A GUN. He held a gun in his hand. And the look on his face was full of fear. Though not the same type of fear as was on the woman's face. The woman. The dead woman. The light.
Crack!
The lightning had shed enough light on the man's face. The man was surrounded by some wooden frame.
Tick. TOCK. TICK. TOCK.
Suddenly my hand had a burning sensation. And I could feel myself holding a piece of metal.
TI. TI. TI. TI.
The rain being poured on to my skin, as blood was pouring out of my wounds. And then I saw the man in the mirror. And as I pointed the gun to my head, I could see myself in that torn raincoat covering the pinstripe suite.
"Now, let's fix that clock."
BAM!
The End
And then as I focused, I could still hear the ticking of a distant clock. But it sounded distorted as if there were twenty clocks all ticking away at their own paces. And I could feel a pain at my heart, as if someone thought of it as a broken clock, had heard it and got so annoyed that it needed to be broken to keep the peace at a tolerable level.
The sounds of more clocks coming. But now the sound is heavier, deeper. And i see a pale face. Yet, it is a fair one. it looked as a frightened mouse, and sad as a dying deer. The eyes of this looked deep as an ocean. But at the very bottom, there was nothing. No life, cold as ice, and slowly i could see it's eye lids close round the globes of abyss.
More ticking, and I saw myself kneeling upon an open womb of a great size, with blood pouring out like a fountain. And I saw a naked women lying in front of me on a wooden floor, raped of all her beauty. Red hand marks all over her body, and as I stand up from the corpse, Three words come from my mouth.
"Goodbye, my love."
tick. tick. tock. tock. tock. Tock.
Heavier and heavier the sound starts to pump in my ear. And then there were lights flashing so brightly, I could feel my arm being raised over my eyes.
"Oh No!"
tock. Tock. TOCK. TOCK!
There were noises of the police cars. And I could hear the sirens catching the beat of the clock. And i felt something In my hand.
TOCK. TOCK. THUMP. THUMP.
Such an unbearable sound. Pounding. Pounding. And I could feel a liquid trickling from the sides of my lips ever so slowly. Almost ticklish. Then I see a man behind me. A tall man, who had a wet raincoat on. And a hat over his bald head. Underneath his coat I see what looks like a black pinstripe suite. And in his hand by his side, there was a piece of metal. A...A...A...
Thump. Thump. THUMP. tap. tap. tap. tap. tap. tap. THUMP.
Rain.
tap. tap. tap.
Pouring rain.
tap. tap. tap.
Hitting the windows.
THUMP. tap. tap. tap. CRACK.
Thunder breaking the window. And I feel a million pieces of glass cutting into my body.
THUMP. THUMP.
A GUN. He held a gun in his hand. And the look on his face was full of fear. Though not the same type of fear as was on the woman's face. The woman. The dead woman. The light.
Crack!
The lightning had shed enough light on the man's face. The man was surrounded by some wooden frame.
Tick. TOCK. TICK. TOCK.
Suddenly my hand had a burning sensation. And I could feel myself holding a piece of metal.
TI. TI. TI. TI.
The rain being poured on to my skin, as blood was pouring out of my wounds. And then I saw the man in the mirror. And as I pointed the gun to my head, I could see myself in that torn raincoat covering the pinstripe suite.
"Now, let's fix that clock."
BAM!
The End
The Field
Somewhere in the middle of a very large grassy field, in which flowers of every kind imaginable lay and grow, there is a small boy lying asleep under a clear dark sky. this boy's name is not quite so unimportant that is isn't worth mentioning. But rather that it is hard to say at the moment due to certain circumstances that are fully reliant on how well you, as the listener knows this story. On one hand you may not care for his name or his story. But are more worried of the one which is in you your ears. On the other hand, you may be knowledgeable enough that, you could pick and choose a name for this boy despite what I may say it is. And for those of you who also see a third option in these choices which i have supplied you with, you may already know his name and his story quite well. Of course as the one telling this story for you, it is up to me to decide whether or not I should tell you his name. Which i am not quite sure whether it is important enough to you as the listener to mention it yet. But I'm assuming we will find out soon enough.
So as i was saying, before I rudely interrupted your listen with important facts. This boy lay asleep under the sky. He slowly opened his eyes from a dream he was having. The dream was one of which I don't quite know at this time. Seeing that I am not sure who this boy is just yet. Because that still depends on how well you as the listener knows this story. On the one hand, you may be very familiar with premonitions and de'ja'vu and not believe any of that kind of thing has any value. leaving you with the most likely idea that whatever this boy dreams is very unimportant. Despite whether he has a name in yours or my mind. And on the other hand, you may believe that this boy's dream has some importance to his story. Due to the fact that I mentioned it. Much like the fact that I mentioned the boy's name. But have not said what the name is exactly. Seeing that I don't know yet how well you know this story. And therefore have no idea at the present moment if it is quite important to your current listening status at this point in the story. Which I seem to keep you from finishing. Due to my commentary, which is about a boy. And a small one at that.
So as I saying. The boy with no current name which I have supplied you with. Has slowly awaken from his dream, which I may or may not tell you about. And as he tried to look around with his half opened eyes, he spotted some object of some shape. Of which I am not quite sure whether I know of or not. Due to the fact that I don't quite know how well you know this story. On the one hand, you may be thinking of all kinds of objects from your knowledge of objects. Which you may have seen or imagined at some point in your life. And start placing some of your own objects in this story so far. And on the other hand, you may still be waiting on me to give you some description of this object. Which this boy, who still has not been given a name by me, has seen after waking up from his dream. Which i haven't told you about yet, due to the fact that i don't quite know how well you know this story. Which I don't quite know how prominent all these details may mean to you as the listener. Which I am assuming that I, as the story teller, am constantly getting in the way of you and this story. Which you may or may not know already.
So as I was saying, This boy who seems to have woken from a dream he was having, And has seen an object through his half open eyes looking across the very large field. And thought it seemed very familiar to him. And so he got up and went towards this object that seemed to be calling him in a voice. Which I'm not quite too sure what it sounded like. Due to the fact that I am not quite sure what a voice sounds like. Let alone what a name is. And whether or not it really has any importance. And I haven't quite had any real explanation of what a dream is, except by definition. And I haven't quite been able to pinpoint exactly what object this boy saw. Due to the fact that I hadn't any real eyes to see this object. But rather the feel of it on the grass of myself. Seeing that I am only a field, And could really only tell you a story about me, a boy, a dream, an object, and a voice. Which I'm sure I could let you know the details of . But on the other hand, I am sure that I have taken so much of your time as a weed takes life, that you have most likely filled out the details yourselves. And don't have any real need of a field's details for stories. When most the time I am being used for other thins. Such as for little boys to lay down and dream.
The End
So as i was saying, before I rudely interrupted your listen with important facts. This boy lay asleep under the sky. He slowly opened his eyes from a dream he was having. The dream was one of which I don't quite know at this time. Seeing that I am not sure who this boy is just yet. Because that still depends on how well you as the listener knows this story. On the one hand, you may be very familiar with premonitions and de'ja'vu and not believe any of that kind of thing has any value. leaving you with the most likely idea that whatever this boy dreams is very unimportant. Despite whether he has a name in yours or my mind. And on the other hand, you may believe that this boy's dream has some importance to his story. Due to the fact that I mentioned it. Much like the fact that I mentioned the boy's name. But have not said what the name is exactly. Seeing that I don't know yet how well you know this story. And therefore have no idea at the present moment if it is quite important to your current listening status at this point in the story. Which I seem to keep you from finishing. Due to my commentary, which is about a boy. And a small one at that.
So as I saying. The boy with no current name which I have supplied you with. Has slowly awaken from his dream, which I may or may not tell you about. And as he tried to look around with his half opened eyes, he spotted some object of some shape. Of which I am not quite sure whether I know of or not. Due to the fact that I don't quite know how well you know this story. On the one hand, you may be thinking of all kinds of objects from your knowledge of objects. Which you may have seen or imagined at some point in your life. And start placing some of your own objects in this story so far. And on the other hand, you may still be waiting on me to give you some description of this object. Which this boy, who still has not been given a name by me, has seen after waking up from his dream. Which i haven't told you about yet, due to the fact that i don't quite know how well you know this story. Which I don't quite know how prominent all these details may mean to you as the listener. Which I am assuming that I, as the story teller, am constantly getting in the way of you and this story. Which you may or may not know already.
So as I was saying, This boy who seems to have woken from a dream he was having, And has seen an object through his half open eyes looking across the very large field. And thought it seemed very familiar to him. And so he got up and went towards this object that seemed to be calling him in a voice. Which I'm not quite too sure what it sounded like. Due to the fact that I am not quite sure what a voice sounds like. Let alone what a name is. And whether or not it really has any importance. And I haven't quite had any real explanation of what a dream is, except by definition. And I haven't quite been able to pinpoint exactly what object this boy saw. Due to the fact that I hadn't any real eyes to see this object. But rather the feel of it on the grass of myself. Seeing that I am only a field, And could really only tell you a story about me, a boy, a dream, an object, and a voice. Which I'm sure I could let you know the details of . But on the other hand, I am sure that I have taken so much of your time as a weed takes life, that you have most likely filled out the details yourselves. And don't have any real need of a field's details for stories. When most the time I am being used for other thins. Such as for little boys to lay down and dream.
The End
Angel Number Five
They don’t make room in heaven for people like me, not for murderers. I’m not going to stand here and say, (sarcastically) "I never meant him any harm." He got what he had coming, a bullet right through his head. I can still see his veins bursting out blood all over my costume.
I was supposed to be "Mary" in my church’s Christmas play, and what does the director do? What does he do? He makes me "Angel Number Five." "Angel Number Five!" Who does he think I am? Some washed up talent who only performed once in my life? Well now who’s the one washed up? (Snort) "Angel Number Five." You know just for even thinking of giving me that part, I should of kicked him in the balls, then shot him in the head.
When the director gave us our roles I should have slapped him and said, "Give me another part." But no, I just smiled and accepted the role. I smiled and said, "Thank you, sir."
I can’t believe what a suck up I can be sometimes. It’s like kissing my father’s ass after beating me for doing the dishes. Like, here you go since I already know I’m a stupid bum, why don’t you just rub it in my face so everyone else can point and laugh. And I say, thank you, sir.
But, you know what, that’s not even what really set me off. That’s not even what set me off. What really got to me was that the director had the nerve to cut me from the production the rehearsal before performing night. After three months straight of working my ass off, being paid half my usual salary, barely being able to pay to eat or sleep since we worked at all hours of the night. On no schedule what so ever. And he thinks he can boot me off the cast right before the performance. Who does he think he is? Jesus Christ?
Well if I was "Angel Number Five", you might as well forget about me going to heaven. Because some bozo with a chair that got his name on the back of it, broke my wings and sent me to hell. Well like I said they don’t make places in heaven for people like me anyway. Not for people who murder their director on opening night, in front of a church congregation.
The End
I was supposed to be "Mary" in my church’s Christmas play, and what does the director do? What does he do? He makes me "Angel Number Five." "Angel Number Five!" Who does he think I am? Some washed up talent who only performed once in my life? Well now who’s the one washed up? (Snort) "Angel Number Five." You know just for even thinking of giving me that part, I should of kicked him in the balls, then shot him in the head.
When the director gave us our roles I should have slapped him and said, "Give me another part." But no, I just smiled and accepted the role. I smiled and said, "Thank you, sir."
I can’t believe what a suck up I can be sometimes. It’s like kissing my father’s ass after beating me for doing the dishes. Like, here you go since I already know I’m a stupid bum, why don’t you just rub it in my face so everyone else can point and laugh. And I say, thank you, sir.
But, you know what, that’s not even what really set me off. That’s not even what set me off. What really got to me was that the director had the nerve to cut me from the production the rehearsal before performing night. After three months straight of working my ass off, being paid half my usual salary, barely being able to pay to eat or sleep since we worked at all hours of the night. On no schedule what so ever. And he thinks he can boot me off the cast right before the performance. Who does he think he is? Jesus Christ?
Well if I was "Angel Number Five", you might as well forget about me going to heaven. Because some bozo with a chair that got his name on the back of it, broke my wings and sent me to hell. Well like I said they don’t make places in heaven for people like me anyway. Not for people who murder their director on opening night, in front of a church congregation.
The End
Take Your Time
"Take your time......................................
You. There. Yes, you. Take your time."
The voice came out of nowhere and fell onto the ears of the unsuspecting lover. As well he should be unsuspecting. Yet he is expecting a very important phone call. A call that should be prominent to his busy schedule. He has no idea that this phone call is a prominent one, but rather is an average everyday call that he receives from the stranger he has known from on-line chats.
"Take your time."
The voice spoke again. This time the man was sure that he heard it and looked up from his vast wasteland of cyberspace. There hadn't seemed to be anybody in his blue office which was full of large open windows with a summer breeze coming through.
"Anthony, your hearing things."
The man said this to himself in a queer voice. Not queer in the sense of homosexuality. But queer in the sense, that he sounded a bit more horse than usual, at least for Anthony. He felt odd. Anthony felt he never had much luck with communicating to anyone before. And then only last week,he created an account on one of the many social web sites his Internet service supplied him with. And today, there was a message for him. An intriguing one at that, one which could be only sent by someone who has such a way with words, that person could persuade a shaker. So there was some deep longing for Anthony to meet this mysterious stranger. Although he had some warning in him, his anxiousness overpowered in the end.
"Take your time."
The phone rang giving Anthony no time to calculate where the voice he kept hearing was coming from. But instead he ignored this seemingly unimportant thought, or voice, or whatever it was, and picked up the receiver which was beckoning him from his glass covered wooden desk. A strong deep voice answered.
"Hello, suga'."
"Is this Bubbles?" Replied Anthony.
"Sure is. How you doin' sweety?" Said the voice on the other end.
"I don't believe you have the correct number." Stated Anthony, with a strong urge to hang up on this intrusion. "I was waiting on a more, excuse my rudeness, feminine sounding bubbles. You seem to be led on to something that was not meant to be implied. I am sorry for your time waisted. And I wish you the best of luck finding another "suga'."
"Oh no, no, no! Sweety. I have the right number." Replied the heavily breathing voice. I see you right now.
Anthony looked around and on the balcony of the window behind him stood a heavy set man with a riffle in his hands.
"I definitely got the right number." Said Bubbles, dropping the cellular phone into the sky below the 50,000 feet above the ground. And let bullet out of the barrel strait into Anthony's head. "Freak! Thinking I'm a ten year old girl."
The End
You. There. Yes, you. Take your time."
The voice came out of nowhere and fell onto the ears of the unsuspecting lover. As well he should be unsuspecting. Yet he is expecting a very important phone call. A call that should be prominent to his busy schedule. He has no idea that this phone call is a prominent one, but rather is an average everyday call that he receives from the stranger he has known from on-line chats.
"Take your time."
The voice spoke again. This time the man was sure that he heard it and looked up from his vast wasteland of cyberspace. There hadn't seemed to be anybody in his blue office which was full of large open windows with a summer breeze coming through.
"Anthony, your hearing things."
The man said this to himself in a queer voice. Not queer in the sense of homosexuality. But queer in the sense, that he sounded a bit more horse than usual, at least for Anthony. He felt odd. Anthony felt he never had much luck with communicating to anyone before. And then only last week,he created an account on one of the many social web sites his Internet service supplied him with. And today, there was a message for him. An intriguing one at that, one which could be only sent by someone who has such a way with words, that person could persuade a shaker. So there was some deep longing for Anthony to meet this mysterious stranger. Although he had some warning in him, his anxiousness overpowered in the end.
"Take your time."
The phone rang giving Anthony no time to calculate where the voice he kept hearing was coming from. But instead he ignored this seemingly unimportant thought, or voice, or whatever it was, and picked up the receiver which was beckoning him from his glass covered wooden desk. A strong deep voice answered.
"Hello, suga'."
"Is this Bubbles?" Replied Anthony.
"Sure is. How you doin' sweety?" Said the voice on the other end.
"I don't believe you have the correct number." Stated Anthony, with a strong urge to hang up on this intrusion. "I was waiting on a more, excuse my rudeness, feminine sounding bubbles. You seem to be led on to something that was not meant to be implied. I am sorry for your time waisted. And I wish you the best of luck finding another "suga'."
"Oh no, no, no! Sweety. I have the right number." Replied the heavily breathing voice. I see you right now.
Anthony looked around and on the balcony of the window behind him stood a heavy set man with a riffle in his hands.
"I definitely got the right number." Said Bubbles, dropping the cellular phone into the sky below the 50,000 feet above the ground. And let bullet out of the barrel strait into Anthony's head. "Freak! Thinking I'm a ten year old girl."
The End
Open Your Eyes
Can't you see you in the mirror?
Can't you see what your addictions are doing to your health?
What can I possibly do to make this clearer?
Have another cigarette while taking an x-ray of yourself?
What am I supposed to act like?
Another pawn on the board?
Fuck that! What do I look like?
Just another pawn on the board?
Free yourself. Take everything you can grasp.
Run with it until youe out of breath and you can't gasp.
My life starts today with this breath that I take.
This path that I walk, This world that I make.
WAKE UP! OPEN YOUR EYES!
Can't you see what your addictions are doing to your health?
What can I possibly do to make this clearer?
Have another cigarette while taking an x-ray of yourself?
What am I supposed to act like?
Another pawn on the board?
Fuck that! What do I look like?
Just another pawn on the board?
Free yourself. Take everything you can grasp.
Run with it until youe out of breath and you can't gasp.
My life starts today with this breath that I take.
This path that I walk, This world that I make.
WAKE UP! OPEN YOUR EYES!
Sunday Morning Present
Sunday morning came quickly for the man lying down to sleep. Of course sleep had been creeping over his aching body for quite some time now. The work which required his assistance seemed almost painless now in the breaking light dawning onto the bed where his sweetest desire lie in peaceful dreams of golden slumbers. The soft skin seemed to perfectly cover her loving soul. her lips curling into a smile made his bones ache with a longing that might have been unbearable when all of a sudden a soft voice came into the back of his mind. He avoided what the voice was saying which could only obliterate the emotions fogging his reason.
"She loves me." He tried to convince himself.
He turned away and began to rise up out of the bed. The blanket which caught his naked body, tickled his leg hairs. He stretched off the ache of his body from the wild ride of the night and began to look for a bath towel. Mid-search he heard a muffled sweet morning groan. The kind that makes you think of such delightful thoughts of someone wanting you and not having to say it. The man felt a smile creep upon him. A rare gift for this man. A sweet sincere sadness followed.
He knew deep down that what happened last night was an empty promise. something that would haunt him for years to come. He turned on the hot water. Empty. He turned on cold water. Empty. He stepped into the chamber of pouring warm water and his tears were joined.
"How could I not know she never wanted anything more than just some short lived company."
He stood there in all his pain and false hope. Naked and alone. He took up the bar of soap and began to wash. He began to wash off his grief. Began to wash off his misery. Began to wash off his pain. And washed away all sense of wanting. And within that moment of time, he was more free than ever before.
He stepped out of the shower and was drying himself when the pain came back and fear flooded his whole being. he walked over to the side of the bed and looked down at the unopened package and he looked at the woman. She was smiling and opened her eyes, Saw the man's expression.
"No! Don't tell me I'm infected."
The End
"She loves me." He tried to convince himself.
He turned away and began to rise up out of the bed. The blanket which caught his naked body, tickled his leg hairs. He stretched off the ache of his body from the wild ride of the night and began to look for a bath towel. Mid-search he heard a muffled sweet morning groan. The kind that makes you think of such delightful thoughts of someone wanting you and not having to say it. The man felt a smile creep upon him. A rare gift for this man. A sweet sincere sadness followed.
He knew deep down that what happened last night was an empty promise. something that would haunt him for years to come. He turned on the hot water. Empty. He turned on cold water. Empty. He stepped into the chamber of pouring warm water and his tears were joined.
"How could I not know she never wanted anything more than just some short lived company."
He stood there in all his pain and false hope. Naked and alone. He took up the bar of soap and began to wash. He began to wash off his grief. Began to wash off his misery. Began to wash off his pain. And washed away all sense of wanting. And within that moment of time, he was more free than ever before.
He stepped out of the shower and was drying himself when the pain came back and fear flooded his whole being. he walked over to the side of the bed and looked down at the unopened package and he looked at the woman. She was smiling and opened her eyes, Saw the man's expression.
"No! Don't tell me I'm infected."
The End
Mute Dreams
"Hurry!" Said a cold dark voice "Before it's too late."
The two companions had been climbing up a steep hill in the windy night where there seemed to be a prize at the top where there destination lie.
"I thought you said no one would follow us." said the voice which seemed to grow darker by the second. The companion could not say anything due to the fact the companion had no tongue. As they ran up the slope they heard a noise coming from behind them which sounded like a rustle of leaves followed by what sounded like a very large door which creaked as it opened.
The companions of course knew better. They knew that which followed them. they knew they could not outrun it forever. Eventually it would outlast and overpower them. But they had no other choice but to pursue the goal which lie waiting for them.The only hope they ever had. Which they had known about but up until now had never went after.
"Why hadn't we figured out where it was before?" Asked the voice. "It's been right in front of us for years." Another ubiquitous voice came and asked,
"What is the voice? And who is the companion?"
The companion and the voice stood still. When more creaking came along. This time the creaking seemed to be shaking the ground. The two continued on-wards, with each step falling closer to the end. The voice came again, this time louder than before.
"What is the voice? And who is the companion? Why are they running away from something which is in front of them?"
There was a small light which could now be seen in front of them. And the companion's eyes widened. The voice came again.
"Doctor he's not responding."
The light grew and eventually lit up a white room where a man in a strait jacket lay on top of a table. The dream had gone from the man along with his voice.
"Damn it! How come he can only speak when he's in one of his daydreams!" Screamed the one doctor.
The man looked around the room of doctors and accepted the fact that he was trapped forever. His mind would play tricks on him for the rest of his life. No escape, none. Suddenly a nurse bursted in through the door.
"Doctor we have a major problem. Number 52 has gotten out." Everybody in the room turned around.
"How?" Asked the doctor.
"He overpowered his guard." Replied the nurse.
"Go get the tranquilizer!" Shouted the doctor, as he and the other nurses ran out of the room.
The man saw they forgot to close the door. Through the doorway he could see it. The hill in his dreams. The cure! He knew the cure for his illness was at the top of that hill. He got off the table and started to walk toward the door.
"Almost there." He thought.
He was two feet away from the door when a nurse came by and saw the man, and grabbed him.
"Don't worry the doctors can take care of it. But it's nap time now. Nighty night."
She took his arm and pulled the man back to the table, where she injected the man with a medical needle. The last thing the man saw through his tear filled eyes was the door closing on the view of the hill in his dreams.
The End
The two companions had been climbing up a steep hill in the windy night where there seemed to be a prize at the top where there destination lie.
"I thought you said no one would follow us." said the voice which seemed to grow darker by the second. The companion could not say anything due to the fact the companion had no tongue. As they ran up the slope they heard a noise coming from behind them which sounded like a rustle of leaves followed by what sounded like a very large door which creaked as it opened.
The companions of course knew better. They knew that which followed them. they knew they could not outrun it forever. Eventually it would outlast and overpower them. But they had no other choice but to pursue the goal which lie waiting for them.The only hope they ever had. Which they had known about but up until now had never went after.
"Why hadn't we figured out where it was before?" Asked the voice. "It's been right in front of us for years." Another ubiquitous voice came and asked,
"What is the voice? And who is the companion?"
The companion and the voice stood still. When more creaking came along. This time the creaking seemed to be shaking the ground. The two continued on-wards, with each step falling closer to the end. The voice came again, this time louder than before.
"What is the voice? And who is the companion? Why are they running away from something which is in front of them?"
There was a small light which could now be seen in front of them. And the companion's eyes widened. The voice came again.
"Doctor he's not responding."
The light grew and eventually lit up a white room where a man in a strait jacket lay on top of a table. The dream had gone from the man along with his voice.
"Damn it! How come he can only speak when he's in one of his daydreams!" Screamed the one doctor.
The man looked around the room of doctors and accepted the fact that he was trapped forever. His mind would play tricks on him for the rest of his life. No escape, none. Suddenly a nurse bursted in through the door.
"Doctor we have a major problem. Number 52 has gotten out." Everybody in the room turned around.
"How?" Asked the doctor.
"He overpowered his guard." Replied the nurse.
"Go get the tranquilizer!" Shouted the doctor, as he and the other nurses ran out of the room.
The man saw they forgot to close the door. Through the doorway he could see it. The hill in his dreams. The cure! He knew the cure for his illness was at the top of that hill. He got off the table and started to walk toward the door.
"Almost there." He thought.
He was two feet away from the door when a nurse came by and saw the man, and grabbed him.
"Don't worry the doctors can take care of it. But it's nap time now. Nighty night."
She took his arm and pulled the man back to the table, where she injected the man with a medical needle. The last thing the man saw through his tear filled eyes was the door closing on the view of the hill in his dreams.
The End
Grave Meetings
His pale face had an anxious expression to wear. His moonlit meeting by the old oak started to seem tainted from his original intentions. Of course no one gave him a reason to feel this way. But there was something about that beggar he passed along the way that seemed queer. The way his crippled hands were held, touched something inside the young man. So as the young man's Victorian tuxedo neck tie seemed to tighten around his throat, just as the darkness from the forest seemed to be closing in on him and his oak tree, He started to pace around the old oak.
Taking his third round, he stopped at the sight of a woman proceeding into the secluded clearing.
"Vincent." She whispered.
"Elizabeth." He Responded.
"Why did you ask me to meet you here?" Elizabeth asked.
"For this," said Vincent as he began to kneel and held out a dagger. "To ask you to join me and have death depart us from the trials and tribulations of this world, and descend together into an eternal peace of our love."
Eyes widened, Elizabeth replied.
"Of course I will follow you wherever our lives may lead us. But this is madness! Vincent we must think of our friends, our families."
"But Elizabeth," countered Vincent, "none of them will let us be together any other way. Your father strongly disagrees with with every decision I make. And he will not let us marry even if I owned the world and all of it's possessions. But I do love you more than all the world. And whatever I can do that will make you a happy woman, I am willing to comply. Even if that means I can never see or speak of you again."
"Why would I want that?" Asked Elizabeth.
"I hear the way in which you speak of me. I know you don't always consider my emotions, but must you confide in my mother in secrecy? Elizabeth, I wish you to love life. And I would love to enjoy life with you. So this is my ultimatum. Die with me, or leave me."
"And where will you go? Please Vincent, I wish only the best for you. That's why I did not come alone." As she said this, a man stepped forward out of the thicket.
"You came with the police? Elizabeth, don't you realize They'll imprison me?" And with tears in her eyes she replied.
"Yes." She turned back toward the woods, and began to walk away.
"Elizabeth." Vincent whispered. Turning around, Elizabeth caught sight of the last words uttered from his lips.
"You killed me. But if that's what you want, I'll accept." Elizabeth screamed out at the sight of her fiance bury the dagger into his chest.
The End
Taking his third round, he stopped at the sight of a woman proceeding into the secluded clearing.
"Vincent." She whispered.
"Elizabeth." He Responded.
"Why did you ask me to meet you here?" Elizabeth asked.
"For this," said Vincent as he began to kneel and held out a dagger. "To ask you to join me and have death depart us from the trials and tribulations of this world, and descend together into an eternal peace of our love."
Eyes widened, Elizabeth replied.
"Of course I will follow you wherever our lives may lead us. But this is madness! Vincent we must think of our friends, our families."
"But Elizabeth," countered Vincent, "none of them will let us be together any other way. Your father strongly disagrees with with every decision I make. And he will not let us marry even if I owned the world and all of it's possessions. But I do love you more than all the world. And whatever I can do that will make you a happy woman, I am willing to comply. Even if that means I can never see or speak of you again."
"Why would I want that?" Asked Elizabeth.
"I hear the way in which you speak of me. I know you don't always consider my emotions, but must you confide in my mother in secrecy? Elizabeth, I wish you to love life. And I would love to enjoy life with you. So this is my ultimatum. Die with me, or leave me."
"And where will you go? Please Vincent, I wish only the best for you. That's why I did not come alone." As she said this, a man stepped forward out of the thicket.
"You came with the police? Elizabeth, don't you realize They'll imprison me?" And with tears in her eyes she replied.
"Yes." She turned back toward the woods, and began to walk away.
"Elizabeth." Vincent whispered. Turning around, Elizabeth caught sight of the last words uttered from his lips.
"You killed me. But if that's what you want, I'll accept." Elizabeth screamed out at the sight of her fiance bury the dagger into his chest.
The End
Coffee on Pavement
It was a cold, and rainy night. I had just stepped out of the brightly lit local theater, when I received a text message from the lady who I had been previously conversing with that day.
"Hey. are you busy?" Was the text.
"Not really. Why, what's up?" I replied as I lit up a cigarette.
"Can we meet?" Asked the text from the woman.
I thought about it for a couple minutes. What could this woman want from someone who she had never met before in her life? Especially the first time talking to each other in years. See, she was a friend of my ex. Around two years ago, when I was talking to my ex over the phone, I was introduced to Sylvia. So to speak. We instantly clicked, Sylvia and I. Personally I think I preferred her voice to my ex's company. But a couple months later, Sylvia and my ex had gotten into an argument with each other. Then about a year later my ex and I split up, due to another one of our countless arguments.
"Where?" I replied. A couple minutes passed when Sylvia returned a text saying,
"Coffee house. Five Minutes." Something seemed wrong. Sylvia never drank coffee before. Then again, seeing that we just started talking again a week ago, she's probably picked up the habit.much like how I started smoking again about a week ago. Just around the same time Sylvia moved into this small town. Which is why we started talking again. It's a little odd. I moved here to get away from some problems I was having in the city as a detective about a year ago. That's when I moved out here.
A fine little town, with everything someone could ever really need. Except it was dead. Unless you worked in one of the local shops, there wasn't anything going on. Just day in, day out of the monotonous nothing. The first day I waked into the department there was one officer in the building. And the other on patrol. I should have forgotten about my transfer, and just picked another job. At least it pays enough though. Probably more reason why I was glad Sylvia moved into town. Although I had an abnormally busy week. Due to a bunch of drug bust that came from an investigation the county started back in the early nineties. A bunch of dealers moved up here from Tennessee with a new type of crop. And apparently they were farming it in this town the whole time. Makes sense. Not much competition. Not a good chance of getting caught.
When I got to the shop, it seemed to be slow for business. But was still packed enough to make it hard to see if Sylvia was inside or not. From the second I stepped in the door, the smell of nicotine and coffee hit my nostrils like a cannon blast. My kind of place. I went up to the clerk, who was luxuriously sitting behind the counter destroying some customer in a game of chess.
"Can I get a refill?" The voice behind me was shaky. The second I turned around, she threw her arms around me. Then she whispered in my ears.
"Help me. I'm being followed."
"Why don't we sit down and talk about it." I whispered back.
"No time. We have to leave now, before they notice."
"Who?" I asked, as we walked out of the door. But before she could answer back, there was gunfire.
Sylvia fell to the pavement. There was no sign of a shooter. And as I looked down at the body, Which was quickly losing heat. I noticed something in her hand. It was a card with the name of the drug dealers we just put behind bars. Sad thing seeing a beautiful girl, getting mixed up with scum.
The End.
"Hey. are you busy?" Was the text.
"Not really. Why, what's up?" I replied as I lit up a cigarette.
"Can we meet?" Asked the text from the woman.
I thought about it for a couple minutes. What could this woman want from someone who she had never met before in her life? Especially the first time talking to each other in years. See, she was a friend of my ex. Around two years ago, when I was talking to my ex over the phone, I was introduced to Sylvia. So to speak. We instantly clicked, Sylvia and I. Personally I think I preferred her voice to my ex's company. But a couple months later, Sylvia and my ex had gotten into an argument with each other. Then about a year later my ex and I split up, due to another one of our countless arguments.
"Where?" I replied. A couple minutes passed when Sylvia returned a text saying,
"Coffee house. Five Minutes." Something seemed wrong. Sylvia never drank coffee before. Then again, seeing that we just started talking again a week ago, she's probably picked up the habit.much like how I started smoking again about a week ago. Just around the same time Sylvia moved into this small town. Which is why we started talking again. It's a little odd. I moved here to get away from some problems I was having in the city as a detective about a year ago. That's when I moved out here.
A fine little town, with everything someone could ever really need. Except it was dead. Unless you worked in one of the local shops, there wasn't anything going on. Just day in, day out of the monotonous nothing. The first day I waked into the department there was one officer in the building. And the other on patrol. I should have forgotten about my transfer, and just picked another job. At least it pays enough though. Probably more reason why I was glad Sylvia moved into town. Although I had an abnormally busy week. Due to a bunch of drug bust that came from an investigation the county started back in the early nineties. A bunch of dealers moved up here from Tennessee with a new type of crop. And apparently they were farming it in this town the whole time. Makes sense. Not much competition. Not a good chance of getting caught.
When I got to the shop, it seemed to be slow for business. But was still packed enough to make it hard to see if Sylvia was inside or not. From the second I stepped in the door, the smell of nicotine and coffee hit my nostrils like a cannon blast. My kind of place. I went up to the clerk, who was luxuriously sitting behind the counter destroying some customer in a game of chess.
"Can I get a refill?" The voice behind me was shaky. The second I turned around, she threw her arms around me. Then she whispered in my ears.
"Help me. I'm being followed."
"Why don't we sit down and talk about it." I whispered back.
"No time. We have to leave now, before they notice."
"Who?" I asked, as we walked out of the door. But before she could answer back, there was gunfire.
Sylvia fell to the pavement. There was no sign of a shooter. And as I looked down at the body, Which was quickly losing heat. I noticed something in her hand. It was a card with the name of the drug dealers we just put behind bars. Sad thing seeing a beautiful girl, getting mixed up with scum.
The End.
Diner At Midnight
Somebody once told me, "The world and everything in it, is not worth claiming for yourself. That everything you see right now, will be changed by tomorrow." I'm remembering this now as I'm sitting by myself in a diner sipping non-decaf at midnight. The snow outside is coming down like it's trying out the situation before it makes its final decision. I had left my hotel room due to the neighbors who had felt the Friday night love bug. I was trying to simply get away from any form of communication, even if only for a short while. So here I am sitting in a diner on a Friday night by myself, thinking about how everything I've been doing so far with my life feels pointless. I don't even know why I rented out the hotel room in the first place. I should have stayed home. I guess I'm searching for something. Like the meaning of life or whatever. I don't even know anymore.
What am I here for? It's not like I'm getting anything to eat. But I don't feel like going back yet. At least not for another hour to be safe on the leaky noise. Part of me hopes I get snowed in, And I can't leave the diner for some ridiculous amount of time. I guess I better get going or something like that. I don't even know why. I guess it's for the same reason I'm still in this booth. God! Sometimes I wish people would just learn the value of silence. Of course the host had to seat the loud group of teenagers right behind me. Whatever, I'm leaving.
What am I here for? It's not like I'm getting anything to eat. But I don't feel like going back yet. At least not for another hour to be safe on the leaky noise. Part of me hopes I get snowed in, And I can't leave the diner for some ridiculous amount of time. I guess I better get going or something like that. I don't even know why. I guess it's for the same reason I'm still in this booth. God! Sometimes I wish people would just learn the value of silence. Of course the host had to seat the loud group of teenagers right behind me. Whatever, I'm leaving.
So, This Is Life?
So this is life. right here. right in front of you. what your seeing right now, what your feeling as your finger tips are touching your mouse and key pad, what your hearing in the back of the room your in, the taste of air on your tounge right now, yeah thats it. that is your life.
so im wondering what any of this has to do with a heaven or a hell or who ill vote for in the election or what i think about the current president, or what i think about the way that that one girl took my heart and threw it in a wood chipper, or what i thought about what that one guy said about his doctors appoinment to make sure he didn't get crabs from that stripper. and i dont understand what my life has to do with the way those two who are completely in love to the point that it makes me wish i had a person who could make me feel like im pricless every second of my concisness. and i dont understand what my life has to do with him who betrayed me by being himself and i dont understand what any of my life has to do with a God or Godess or higher being who may or may not have holy text written about him or her.
I don't understand what my life has to do with anything in my life when my life is being consumed by an object that seems to know exactly how to controll me using this tool called ADD.
so im wondering what any of this has to do with a heaven or a hell or who ill vote for in the election or what i think about the current president, or what i think about the way that that one girl took my heart and threw it in a wood chipper, or what i thought about what that one guy said about his doctors appoinment to make sure he didn't get crabs from that stripper. and i dont understand what my life has to do with the way those two who are completely in love to the point that it makes me wish i had a person who could make me feel like im pricless every second of my concisness. and i dont understand what my life has to do with him who betrayed me by being himself and i dont understand what any of my life has to do with a God or Godess or higher being who may or may not have holy text written about him or her.
I don't understand what my life has to do with anything in my life when my life is being consumed by an object that seems to know exactly how to controll me using this tool called ADD.
5% Right
A.S.S.W.I.P.E.: Arnold Schwarzenegger signed with idiotic politicians enthusiastically
D.D.R.O.O.C.F.C.: Dunkin Donuts Ran Out Of Coffee Flavored Coffee
Wi Love: Webook.com is lately the only vital energy.
B.R.A.I.N.: Boneheads running around in Niger.
C.O.O.P.: Coming On Out Pleasantly.
D.D.R.O.O.C.F.C.: Dunkin Donuts Ran Out Of Coffee Flavored Coffee
Wi Love: Webook.com is lately the only vital energy.
B.R.A.I.N.: Boneheads running around in Niger.
C.O.O.P.: Coming On Out Pleasantly.
I have too many titles with fuck in the fucking title
I want to get the fuck out of here. I want to move to a place where I can make fucking money. I'm tired of everything. I'm tired of living with other fucking people. I need my own place. I need my own fucking breathing space. I need a fucking living. Why the fuck can't I get one? Because of a lack of a fucking degree. Because It's impossible to make a fucking living out of music. I'm a fucking person who needs a real fucking job. I wish I could just write a fucking blog all day. But the fucking truth of the matter is, no one fucking reads blogs anymore. No body will fucking make it so my blog actually gets off the ground. What the fuck? OK so I guess try to blog something fucking interesting. I don't know! How about the word fuck? FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKFUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. Is that interesting? This is the reason why I never used profanity in my other shit.
Is this shit even entertaining to anyone?
Is this shit even entertaining to anyone?
Fuck Stephen Vincent Zimnoch
I need to be able to express myself for some reason. I fucking hate Stephen Vincent Zimnoch. I hate that I have to make sure I don't fucking curse. I hate how I have to make sure I don't offend. I fucking hate how I can't have a fucking opinion about anything without feeling like I'm going to lose my fucking job. I hate how I can't talk to any fucking girl without getting asked 5 billion fucking questions by their friend who thinks I'm an asshole when no one has any fucking proof, and in fact there is more fucking proof to me treating my previous girlfriends very decently. I fucking hate actions I have made in the past. I hate fucking things I can never take back. This is my fucking release. This is my voice. Because people cant get the fucking association of the fucking person out of the fucking idea. Apparentfuckingly I am known for what I think, and not what I've fucking done, or the fucking way around. I can't just be a fucking person.The ideas and actions can't be separate from who you think I am.I don't fucking understand humanity. I guess I can see why things are the way they are. I'm just kinda fucking sick of it.
Give Me A Fucking Reason
I have so many more days until I start school. I have no idea what the hell is going on with my mind. I cant think strait. I cant play music. I can't write. I can't talk to girls without thinking I'm a fucking creep. I don't fucking get it. I don't get stupidity. I can't get why people think of me as someone who is full of themselves. I never think I am any better than a fucking crack whore. I don't think of homeless people as and worse than I am. I think I have mental issues just like the fucking rest of this country. This goddamn weird guy that people think I am makes no sense to me. And I don't understand why. I would really wish that someone would just tell me what my fucking problem is so I could fucking fix it already. I really want to be a fucking normal person. I don't want fucking problems. I don't think I'm better than these people who talk about me behind my back. I try and point out my flaws. Yet for some idiotic asshole reason, there are these people who just say apparently the most fucked up shit about me. There are fucking snobs who refuse to talk to me, when I have never done any of them any fucking harm, or was mean, or fucking rude once to any of these people. I don't understand why people label me as a creep. That's one thing that really fucking bothers me. I get called a fucking creep. I DON'T DO FUCKING ANYTHING TO FUCKING DESERVE THIS! Please someone tell me what the hell to think about this. I mean really. I know that I could let this go, or just talk to the people directly. But they're fucking fake people I used to know, and they're fucking up my good name and talking shit on me with no basis because they fucking think they're better than me, cause they fucking over exaggerate a single fucking text message, and are fucking dishonest about it my fucking face. It's fucking immature. It's retarded. I'm fucking sick of illogical bastards that act like they're hot shit. Or fucking retards that get more attention, than someone who is somewhat intelligent, tries to be humble and is trying to make something of themselves.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Fuck You.
I'm taking a look at the world from a very small window. And I can only see a very small space of sky. But the sun is still beaming the same on me as the rest of the world. And honestly I can say that I fucking hate everyone everything. Just because I can only see a small portion of the world, what the hell is the difference between me and the rest of humanity? Tell me what the fuck makes you so much more goddamn special than any of the other 7 fucking billion people on this fucking planet. Really? Get the fuck over yourself. Seriously. I cannot fucking stand you, and how you think you are so much better than me. Just get the fuck off your high horse, and open your fucking eyes. I have the same fucking blood as you do. I breathe in the same fucking air. I eat, shit, piss, talk, and am fucking human just like the fucking rest of humanity. And you have the fucking nerves and audacity to act like you are fucking better than me? Fuck You! Fuck you, you fucking bitch, prick, asshole, and any other retarded obscenity you want to use your fucking piss of a brain to think of. I'm fucking tired of your shit. I'm fucking tired of how you walk around and fucking two face your fucking self into a bitch.
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