1. Ok...
2. Peanuts=good, grapes=bad therefore
Peanut butter=good, jelly=bad.
3. Peanuts grow from plants. What else grows from plants?
4. That's right, cocoa beans. So therefore since peanuts/peanut butter are good, and are also eatable plants, cocoa beans are also good (meaning chocolate is as well).
5. Now, since jelly mixed with another BAD food item (say... meatloaf) creates an even WORSE food (what one might call jellyloaf), the laws of inverses states that two GOOD items placed together create an even BETTER item (peanut butter + chocolate = Reeses = BETTER).
6. So Reeses, being amazing, are eaten by... yes, humans. Now what other animal is very closely related to the human? Yes, the pig (they can both get sunburn). Therefore, there is a strong relationship between Reeses and pigs (if searching for a shorter connection, see "pigs-eat-plants", leading you to statement 3).
7. Of course, what factor of a pig is most important to humans, therefore most closely related to Reeses? That's right, bacon.
8. Yet a clear relationship to another good food item doesn't immediately mean the initial food item (bacon) is exceptional (if you like bacon, and you are sure, proceed to statement 10).
9. This is proved through Darwin's theory of evolution, survival of the fittest. After a long period of idle use, certain body parts begin to shrink/disappear/fall off. Such appendages of the pig included: tiny third ear, extra long straight tail, dorsal fin and belly foot. All of these supplied the pig with little or no assistance in daily living, ergo their dysfunction. These were of no interest to early humans who saw no point to domesticate and raise such animals, as these parts were not particularly tasty. It wasn't until the discovery of the pig's back that we humans gained interest in the entire animal. It was savory and delicious, thus causing the pig to be chosen for neolithic life and breeding. Such a situation would not have, and still would not exist if the back (bacon part) of the pig was not delightful.
10. Therefore, bacon is GOOD
11. DISCLAIMER: Just because bacon is good, one cannot assume all other parts of the pig are as good or good at all, unless said pork is served "pulled", in which yes, assume that to be amazing.
12. Now, looking back on statement 5 and using simple logic (as I have for all previous statements) one can see that if two GOOD food items mixed together create a greater item, two EXCEPTIONAL items would create a mind blowing, out of this world taste unlike no other. Therefore the obvious solution is:
13. Bacon-wrapped Reeses.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Aha, The Cinema.
To him who in the love of film,
Holds communion with her easy expression.
Come forth the inquisitive minds.
Bring with you creativity and your strength,
Allow your mind to run freely.
You'll see there are endless possibilities.
Ignite the flames of your passion.
Your own unique quality for all to see.
Action, romance, comedy, fear.
Hundreds of hands and minds but only one goal.
Pull it together, edit, refine,
Come now and let us blow all their minds!
Holds communion with her easy expression.
Come forth the inquisitive minds.
Bring with you creativity and your strength,
Allow your mind to run freely.
You'll see there are endless possibilities.
Ignite the flames of your passion.
Your own unique quality for all to see.
Action, romance, comedy, fear.
Hundreds of hands and minds but only one goal.
Pull it together, edit, refine,
Come now and let us blow all their minds!
Friday, June 19, 2009
Epilogue
-This is another ending to, presumably, the same story. Maybe like the ending before that other ending. Don't expect it to make sense...
Epilogue
He stood there, alone. The city had seem to go silent in memoriam, and above the skies shone undisturbed; a gleam of blue on his face. There was no traffic on the roads or in the air, just quiet. Only the sounds of rustled wind and a crunching leaf beneath his boot spoke out into the silence. And yet he could hear voices. Voices of the men, the lost and the living all around him, as if he were back in the desert, in the fields, in the wastelands. Women cried out to him. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, but he understood. Help. Stop. Save us. Memories like these don’t fade.
Colors do though.
Green gave way to maroon and auburn, a sign of death, and rebirth. Like the colors of the unrelenting, repressive flag, which have been washed away in blood and soil. Yet while bare branches replace the cool greens, this symbol is replaced by hope.
By an idea.
A new enlightenment, reasoned thinking, thinking at all. Suddenly threatened minds felt a ping of anxiety and subtle acceptance into a society where they were no longer ignored. No longer forced to be quieted or shunned.
Eventually we would rebuild. He was sure of it. But for now the ruins remained. For now the remnants of isolation still hung in these crumbled streets beneath him. Healing takes time. But he had all the time in the world, they all did.
Ahead of him lay a clearing. A few scattered blades of grass lay strewn amidst the opening and on top of them stood a sheep. Its white coat gleamed with sunlight, something so strange to the utopian aftermath and the broken concrete. He walked towards it, possessed by its beauty, its simplicity, and the voices disappeared. The sights of the city vanished. No sound came to his ears. Everything seemed to fade around the white cloud, a symbol of good. And he kept walking.
The animal glanced up, its mouth full, and blinked. It had the eyes of a child. Big, glass pupils fixed on him and he froze. He kept his distance so as not the frighten it, but to his surprise, the sheep approached him. It trotted over the mangled urban floor and the grass began to wilt. The sun appeared to be sucking its light from the clearing and it began to take the shape of the usual lifeless city courtyard. But darkness avoided the little sheep as it strode towards him. It was spotlighted and so alive. The space between the two was evaporating and the brightness was beginning to engulf him. His complexion softened and his muscles relaxed. His eyes fell shut. He opened his mouth to inhale a breath and calming warmth settled in his throat and in his lungs. Then there was an explosion.
The noise rang out like a sonic boom, encroaching on his peace as it always did. His eyes shot open and he was looking at a blank landscape.
Healing takes time.
Epilogue
He stood there, alone. The city had seem to go silent in memoriam, and above the skies shone undisturbed; a gleam of blue on his face. There was no traffic on the roads or in the air, just quiet. Only the sounds of rustled wind and a crunching leaf beneath his boot spoke out into the silence. And yet he could hear voices. Voices of the men, the lost and the living all around him, as if he were back in the desert, in the fields, in the wastelands. Women cried out to him. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, but he understood. Help. Stop. Save us. Memories like these don’t fade.
Colors do though.
Green gave way to maroon and auburn, a sign of death, and rebirth. Like the colors of the unrelenting, repressive flag, which have been washed away in blood and soil. Yet while bare branches replace the cool greens, this symbol is replaced by hope.
By an idea.
A new enlightenment, reasoned thinking, thinking at all. Suddenly threatened minds felt a ping of anxiety and subtle acceptance into a society where they were no longer ignored. No longer forced to be quieted or shunned.
Eventually we would rebuild. He was sure of it. But for now the ruins remained. For now the remnants of isolation still hung in these crumbled streets beneath him. Healing takes time. But he had all the time in the world, they all did.
Ahead of him lay a clearing. A few scattered blades of grass lay strewn amidst the opening and on top of them stood a sheep. Its white coat gleamed with sunlight, something so strange to the utopian aftermath and the broken concrete. He walked towards it, possessed by its beauty, its simplicity, and the voices disappeared. The sights of the city vanished. No sound came to his ears. Everything seemed to fade around the white cloud, a symbol of good. And he kept walking.
The animal glanced up, its mouth full, and blinked. It had the eyes of a child. Big, glass pupils fixed on him and he froze. He kept his distance so as not the frighten it, but to his surprise, the sheep approached him. It trotted over the mangled urban floor and the grass began to wilt. The sun appeared to be sucking its light from the clearing and it began to take the shape of the usual lifeless city courtyard. But darkness avoided the little sheep as it strode towards him. It was spotlighted and so alive. The space between the two was evaporating and the brightness was beginning to engulf him. His complexion softened and his muscles relaxed. His eyes fell shut. He opened his mouth to inhale a breath and calming warmth settled in his throat and in his lungs. Then there was an explosion.
The noise rang out like a sonic boom, encroaching on his peace as it always did. His eyes shot open and he was looking at a blank landscape.
Healing takes time.
Ara Batur
-This was an ending i wrote awhile ago for a would be epic. If you want the full effect, go to groovesharklite.com and search for Ara Batur by Sigur Ros and listen to it while reading.
Ara Batur
The cemetery was hushed as the grasses dipped in the wind, pushing themselves up against the white tombstones. A bird sang over the lawn as it passed, calling to the solemn visitors beneath. Sarah is walking, hands crossing the small of her back. Her shoes are open toed and she feels that freshly cut grass, aware of the sun setting behind her. Her senses were clear and her eyes were crystal. The path she followed was empty save the men and women under it, but she never felt alone. She quickened her pace as she caught sight of it, and her blue sundress swayed against her body, which was thin in its now obvious outline, a symptom of stress and tire. No one saw her as she ran, arms mobile at her side, moving back and forth as she didn’t bother to hold up the hem of her dress, and she tripped.
She fell to her knees, head down in emotion, and began to weep. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked up, her gaze lost in what lay in front of her. White marble, with a fresh engraving that read: “ALBERT WILSON GENIS, AGE 33”. The epitaph was the same as every stone, “MAY YOU REST IN PEACE, IMMORTAL FOREVER FOR YOUR COURAGE AND SERVITUDE.” Standard stone, standard farewell.
No flag sat atop it, no reverence towards a nation worth fighting for, or one worth fighting against. Only a photograph, placed at its base. In it were three men, arms over each others soldiers as they smiled for the camera, clean uniforms signifying the beginning of their service, innocent faces signifying a child’s naive confidence. The same innocence she fell in love with.
“Now see where it has left you,” she whispered eyes wide and glistening.
Then, from behind her back, she withdrew a red rose. She cupped it in her hands, wetting it with her sorrow, thorns stabbing at her palms. Pain seemed irrelevant anymore, but she trembled as she brought the rose to her lips, a flourish of deep red together in harmony, grievance, and acceptance. Finally she pulled the flower from her face and set it down against the tombstone. She stared at it against the fine white background as the sun’s fading light shone upon it. She drew a deep, sad breath and threw herself at the grave, placing a kiss on it and embracing it with all her strength.
Suddenly a gust of wind flew through the field and picked up the rose from beneath her shadow. She looked up into the sky as it danced in the current, wave after wave carrying it up and up, into the blue abyss. By now the sun was nearly behind the hills and painted the stones and the rose a deep orange, its haze vanishing into night. The rose disappeared along with it, and Sarah watched its grace as it soared above the clouds, her blue eyes dauntingly beautiful. And then it was gone.
She stood up, wiped the dirt from her dress and looked out over the horizon for the first time. Her hair flowed across her face and she pulled it away, amazed. The field stretched on for as far as the eye could see, white stones still dignified in the failing light, mourners walking amidst them, paying their respects the only way they could. Most of their heads faced down, unaware of the revelation and finality that gripped Sarah as she gazed over them unblinkingly.
This was life, and these were the people who died to preserve it. For everyone, so that life may go on again.
And again…
Ara Batur
The cemetery was hushed as the grasses dipped in the wind, pushing themselves up against the white tombstones. A bird sang over the lawn as it passed, calling to the solemn visitors beneath. Sarah is walking, hands crossing the small of her back. Her shoes are open toed and she feels that freshly cut grass, aware of the sun setting behind her. Her senses were clear and her eyes were crystal. The path she followed was empty save the men and women under it, but she never felt alone. She quickened her pace as she caught sight of it, and her blue sundress swayed against her body, which was thin in its now obvious outline, a symptom of stress and tire. No one saw her as she ran, arms mobile at her side, moving back and forth as she didn’t bother to hold up the hem of her dress, and she tripped.
She fell to her knees, head down in emotion, and began to weep. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked up, her gaze lost in what lay in front of her. White marble, with a fresh engraving that read: “ALBERT WILSON GENIS, AGE 33”. The epitaph was the same as every stone, “MAY YOU REST IN PEACE, IMMORTAL FOREVER FOR YOUR COURAGE AND SERVITUDE.” Standard stone, standard farewell.
No flag sat atop it, no reverence towards a nation worth fighting for, or one worth fighting against. Only a photograph, placed at its base. In it were three men, arms over each others soldiers as they smiled for the camera, clean uniforms signifying the beginning of their service, innocent faces signifying a child’s naive confidence. The same innocence she fell in love with.
“Now see where it has left you,” she whispered eyes wide and glistening.
Then, from behind her back, she withdrew a red rose. She cupped it in her hands, wetting it with her sorrow, thorns stabbing at her palms. Pain seemed irrelevant anymore, but she trembled as she brought the rose to her lips, a flourish of deep red together in harmony, grievance, and acceptance. Finally she pulled the flower from her face and set it down against the tombstone. She stared at it against the fine white background as the sun’s fading light shone upon it. She drew a deep, sad breath and threw herself at the grave, placing a kiss on it and embracing it with all her strength.
Suddenly a gust of wind flew through the field and picked up the rose from beneath her shadow. She looked up into the sky as it danced in the current, wave after wave carrying it up and up, into the blue abyss. By now the sun was nearly behind the hills and painted the stones and the rose a deep orange, its haze vanishing into night. The rose disappeared along with it, and Sarah watched its grace as it soared above the clouds, her blue eyes dauntingly beautiful. And then it was gone.
She stood up, wiped the dirt from her dress and looked out over the horizon for the first time. Her hair flowed across her face and she pulled it away, amazed. The field stretched on for as far as the eye could see, white stones still dignified in the failing light, mourners walking amidst them, paying their respects the only way they could. Most of their heads faced down, unaware of the revelation and finality that gripped Sarah as she gazed over them unblinkingly.
This was life, and these were the people who died to preserve it. For everyone, so that life may go on again.
And again…
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Overgrown
Do you know?
I've got this intuition,
dreams and visions,
every night as I sleep
in the same place where you would be
by my side. Oh nights like these,
as I dream, this not for who you think.
It came like a heat wave,
burning up bodies like you chose,
oh you should know by now
You had changed it all for the chance
And I had been who I wanted
I did, I know I did.
What it was,
It had made us, and then it drove us.
As it came, lies died.
It was around us, not in us.
I know I did what you did not.
I did, I know I did.
What helped? Who knows?
Thank you for letting the winter come
My faith in us was overgrown,
like poison ivy in a garden.
I did, I know I did.
Your morning's frost killed the summer heat.
Now I know I wont miss out
on the love that came with spring.
I did not, I know.
I've got this intuition,
dreams and visions,
every night as I sleep
in the same place where you would be
by my side. Oh nights like these,
as I dream, this not for who you think.
It came like a heat wave,
burning up bodies like you chose,
oh you should know by now
You had changed it all for the chance
And I had been who I wanted
I did, I know I did.
What it was,
It had made us, and then it drove us.
As it came, lies died.
It was around us, not in us.
I know I did what you did not.
I did, I know I did.
What helped? Who knows?
Thank you for letting the winter come
My faith in us was overgrown,
like poison ivy in a garden.
I did, I know I did.
Your morning's frost killed the summer heat.
Now I know I wont miss out
on the love that came with spring.
I did not, I know.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
:O
Tomorrow is the last day of my high school career.
None of you guys can relate to this because I think you are all juniors,
so let me just try to relate to you exactly what is going through my mind:
This is exciting. Wait no, I'm actually terrified. No, maybe a little exciting though, right? Well, do I really know anything else besides waking up at any point between 6 and 7 every weekday? I have eaten lunch off of plastic trays more than any other material. Drank more milk through a small cardboard box than a glass. God. How the hell am I going to spend my summer? Is Katie really going to hang out with me as much as she says she will? What about everyone else? No, I don't think anyone else will. I think I'm about to have a sad realization of the fact that I have less than 5 people in my life who give a shit about me and how I spend my time. That's too bad, but I guess will make it easier when I leave in August. Shit. August. Shit. College. I'm moving hundreds of miles away to share a room with some chick I don't even know. Will we get along? Well, I don't really get along with anyone, huh. Am I going to miss the people I hated for four years? Probably not, but I don't know, maybe? Am I going to miss all those underclassmen with the lives that I envy because they made the decisions I wish I made? No, I'll probably just facebook stalk them. Am I really going to keep in touch with all those kids who told me to? And even if I do, how long is that going to last? A year? Two years? When will the point come where communication finally comes to its stopping point? WHY DO I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS AND WHO IS GOING TO ANSWER THEM.
I don't know if that is an appropriate sampling of what normal high school seniors think about the night before their last day, or if I am just very annoying and dramatic. Nonetheless, holy shit.
None of you guys can relate to this because I think you are all juniors,
so let me just try to relate to you exactly what is going through my mind:
This is exciting. Wait no, I'm actually terrified. No, maybe a little exciting though, right? Well, do I really know anything else besides waking up at any point between 6 and 7 every weekday? I have eaten lunch off of plastic trays more than any other material. Drank more milk through a small cardboard box than a glass. God. How the hell am I going to spend my summer? Is Katie really going to hang out with me as much as she says she will? What about everyone else? No, I don't think anyone else will. I think I'm about to have a sad realization of the fact that I have less than 5 people in my life who give a shit about me and how I spend my time. That's too bad, but I guess will make it easier when I leave in August. Shit. August. Shit. College. I'm moving hundreds of miles away to share a room with some chick I don't even know. Will we get along? Well, I don't really get along with anyone, huh. Am I going to miss the people I hated for four years? Probably not, but I don't know, maybe? Am I going to miss all those underclassmen with the lives that I envy because they made the decisions I wish I made? No, I'll probably just facebook stalk them. Am I really going to keep in touch with all those kids who told me to? And even if I do, how long is that going to last? A year? Two years? When will the point come where communication finally comes to its stopping point? WHY DO I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS AND WHO IS GOING TO ANSWER THEM.
I don't know if that is an appropriate sampling of what normal high school seniors think about the night before their last day, or if I am just very annoying and dramatic. Nonetheless, holy shit.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Salutations from the Summerdrome
Hey everybody. Welcome to my first post on this blog. I'm sure many of you can figure out who this is without much difficulty, and I don't care. Even if I don't have the luxury of one of the highlights of the internet - the esteemed veil of anonymity that's quickly becoming a staple of the human diet, I don't care. I'm here. To write. Some shit. It's exactly 11:30 PM according to my kitchen appliances, it's a Friday night in June, I'm home alone and I have nothing to do. Uh-oh, this must be a pseudo-depressed-half-assed-cry-for-help-sort-of-post, right? GOTCHA. I don't feel like bitching tonight. I don't feel like telling you about how my average smalltown whitemiddleclass life didn't go how I planned it today. Boo-fucking-hoo. Because let's face it, generation, bitching has been ruined by....well....bitches. To me, the only appropriate time to really bitch is when inebriated (preferably by alcoholic means) and in good company. So what would you like to talk about? Philosophy? God? Religion? Music? Art? Maybe we could have a "progressivism-off" in which we pretend to throw groundbreaking ideas at eachother, secretly waiting for that one (obviously ignorant) conservative fellow to come along (he always does), whereupon we berate him with our superior intellects. Sounds fucking cool. Maybe we could do it in a Starbucks or something. Or wait, I forgot, Starbucks isn't cool anymore. Now it's all about "independent" and "free-trade" coffeeshops. Coffee's coffee, dipshit. And don't give me that shit about kids in undeveloped countries. Because you and I both know that you don't really care. Not that you shouldn't care. But face it, you don't. You do it for your benefit, not theirs. How do I know? Fuck you. I just realized how stupid this post is. I'm no more of a non-conformist than you are. But I hope that by admitting that, somehow I am. I hate this post, I hate myself, and I hate all of you. I'm in love.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Consider This
A heartfelt letter, carefully inscribed
A seven second newsreel with scratches on the side
Fourteen paper clips and a green wooden table
Elevated, unpopulated, underneath a gable
Sheets of powdered loose leaf and a writing utensil
Left aside, a broken mind, an unused stencil
What's most, the host, a ray of sunshine
For the quint little character of forgotten rhyme
Still left without a present and a well-known past
Still steady and ready, its legs are steadfast
Next to all of this is an open window frame
Seven seconds in time, it will always be the same
A seven second newsreel with scratches on the side
Fourteen paper clips and a green wooden table
Elevated, unpopulated, underneath a gable
Sheets of powdered loose leaf and a writing utensil
Left aside, a broken mind, an unused stencil
What's most, the host, a ray of sunshine
For the quint little character of forgotten rhyme
Still left without a present and a well-known past
Still steady and ready, its legs are steadfast
Next to all of this is an open window frame
Seven seconds in time, it will always be the same
Society at it's best: making children's stories politically correct.
Politically Correct Peter Pan
In London there lived a family of five, mother, father, Wendy, John, and Michael. Their friend Peter Pan from The Netherlands would come and visit them during the summer. Tinker Bell, Peter’s 21 year old guardian had decided to allow Peter to bring his friends to their home in The Netherlands. When Peter arrived at Wendy’s house he told her about the fun trip they were allowed to go on, as long as it was ok by Wendy’s parents. Because Tinker Bell was a responsible adult, Wendy and the boys were allowed to go.
They packed all of their essentials and headed for the boat harbor. Tinker Bell decided that the gas prices were too high to take the drive, so the boat would be their method of transportation. When they got on the boat Peter introduced Wendy, John, and Michael to the orphaned children and then started to tell them all about The Netherlands. It was home to the Netherland people, when they arrived they would be able to take a tour with them. As they traveled through the sea, the children came across another boat, Peter Pan had told the children it was home to Captain James Hook and his crew.
Captain Hook always carried a candy cane in his left hand. He loved candy and always asked the kids very politely to have some candy. Peter Pan warned the children that eating candy was not healthy and although he knew Caption Hook very well and they were friends they shouldn’t give in to his persuasions.
“Hey Peter, I see you have some new friends over there.”
“Yes Captain, this is Wendy, John, and Michael.”
“So would they like some candy?” Hook waved a large king size chocolate bar in the air. The smell lingered over to the children’s noses.
Thinking on his feet Peter grabbed a tall orange carrot and put it in the view of all of them. He took a bite and then asked the children if they wanted to have one too.
“Oh boy, I love carrots” said one of the boys.
“Hey can I have a tomato?” One of the girls exclaimed.
Now that they had their mind off the candy they said goodbye to Hook and continued on their way. They reached the harbor and gathered all of their belongings. Tinker Bell counted all of the children and made sure that everyone was with her. They finally checked into the hotel and left their luggage in the room. They went down to the lobby and met their tour guide for the evening. There stood a man and a woman waiting for them down stairs.
“Hello, we will be showing our wonderful town to all of you beautiful children today. Did you know that the Netherlands are known for their discouragement against drugs? No one should take drugs because they are bad for you.” The woman said while she turned to guide us to the vehicle they were taking.
The children rode around for hours and taking in all the sights. They made it a point to stop and eat their vegetable packed lunches too. When they went back to the hotel Wendy started to get homesick and she asked Peter if they could go back home.
Peter told them, “as you wish,” and then the orphaned children asked Wendy if they all could go home with her to stay.
She told them very well, and that they should get their things and they will go. What they didn’t know was that while they were away Captain Hook planted a jaw breaker in Peter’s bedroom. It was disguised as a tomato. The children walked outside to get ready to go to the harbor. Wendy stopped and looked back at Peter.
“Aren’t you going to come home too?” She asked kindly.
“No, the Netherlands are my home and I want to stay here and eat my vegetables.”
“Oh, alright then.”
She walked outside with Tinker Bell and they started towards the boat. Looking around she saw that Hook was unusually happy and she asked him why for.
“I gave Peter a present that’s all.” He gave a smirk and turned away.
Tinker Bell dropped her bags and ran back into the hotel as fast as she could. Up the stairs to Peter’s room she fled. Inside he was just about to bite a tomato when she jumped in front of him and grabbed it.
“What are you doing that’s mine.” Pan complained.
“That is not a tomato.” She tried to catch her breath.
With a sour look on her face she took a bite of the “tomato”. There was a huge cracking noise and Pan saw that what he thought was a tomato was actually a jaw breaker.
“Oh wow, Tink, thank you so much, but now what are you going to do about your teeth?”
“Don’t worry I knew my insurance would cover it so it’s ok, I’ll go to the dentist and everything will be fine. But that’s a story for another time.”
They slowly walked to the boat. When they got there Peter confronted Captain Hook.
“That wasn’t a very nice gift.”
“I’m sorry Pan, but you know how much I love candy. Why can’t you just have one piece?”
“Because vegetables are better for you. But I suppose the only way to end this tension between our friendship is to make a compromise.”
“Like what, do you suppose?” Captain Hook looked confused.
“Like one day a year kids will be able to go out and eat candy all day. We will call it character day. They can even dress up like different people too.”
“Fine, I guess that will be ok, say are you all going somewhere?”
“Yes Captain, could you take us back to London?” Wendy asked politely.
Captain Hook agreed to take them. They arrived just in time before dark. When they went upstairs Wendy’s parents were so happy to see them. John asked mother if it was ok for the orphaned children to stay. They were asking him the whole way back if they could. The parents found that there was no problem and the orphaned children were all finally adopted. Peter said goodbye and told Wendy that he will still visit her. Tinker Bell took Peter down stairs and they boarded Hook’s boat and waved behind them as they sailed into the sunset.
In London there lived a family of five, mother, father, Wendy, John, and Michael. Their friend Peter Pan from The Netherlands would come and visit them during the summer. Tinker Bell, Peter’s 21 year old guardian had decided to allow Peter to bring his friends to their home in The Netherlands. When Peter arrived at Wendy’s house he told her about the fun trip they were allowed to go on, as long as it was ok by Wendy’s parents. Because Tinker Bell was a responsible adult, Wendy and the boys were allowed to go.
They packed all of their essentials and headed for the boat harbor. Tinker Bell decided that the gas prices were too high to take the drive, so the boat would be their method of transportation. When they got on the boat Peter introduced Wendy, John, and Michael to the orphaned children and then started to tell them all about The Netherlands. It was home to the Netherland people, when they arrived they would be able to take a tour with them. As they traveled through the sea, the children came across another boat, Peter Pan had told the children it was home to Captain James Hook and his crew.
Captain Hook always carried a candy cane in his left hand. He loved candy and always asked the kids very politely to have some candy. Peter Pan warned the children that eating candy was not healthy and although he knew Caption Hook very well and they were friends they shouldn’t give in to his persuasions.
“Hey Peter, I see you have some new friends over there.”
“Yes Captain, this is Wendy, John, and Michael.”
“So would they like some candy?” Hook waved a large king size chocolate bar in the air. The smell lingered over to the children’s noses.
Thinking on his feet Peter grabbed a tall orange carrot and put it in the view of all of them. He took a bite and then asked the children if they wanted to have one too.
“Oh boy, I love carrots” said one of the boys.
“Hey can I have a tomato?” One of the girls exclaimed.
Now that they had their mind off the candy they said goodbye to Hook and continued on their way. They reached the harbor and gathered all of their belongings. Tinker Bell counted all of the children and made sure that everyone was with her. They finally checked into the hotel and left their luggage in the room. They went down to the lobby and met their tour guide for the evening. There stood a man and a woman waiting for them down stairs.
“Hello, we will be showing our wonderful town to all of you beautiful children today. Did you know that the Netherlands are known for their discouragement against drugs? No one should take drugs because they are bad for you.” The woman said while she turned to guide us to the vehicle they were taking.
The children rode around for hours and taking in all the sights. They made it a point to stop and eat their vegetable packed lunches too. When they went back to the hotel Wendy started to get homesick and she asked Peter if they could go back home.
Peter told them, “as you wish,” and then the orphaned children asked Wendy if they all could go home with her to stay.
She told them very well, and that they should get their things and they will go. What they didn’t know was that while they were away Captain Hook planted a jaw breaker in Peter’s bedroom. It was disguised as a tomato. The children walked outside to get ready to go to the harbor. Wendy stopped and looked back at Peter.
“Aren’t you going to come home too?” She asked kindly.
“No, the Netherlands are my home and I want to stay here and eat my vegetables.”
“Oh, alright then.”
She walked outside with Tinker Bell and they started towards the boat. Looking around she saw that Hook was unusually happy and she asked him why for.
“I gave Peter a present that’s all.” He gave a smirk and turned away.
Tinker Bell dropped her bags and ran back into the hotel as fast as she could. Up the stairs to Peter’s room she fled. Inside he was just about to bite a tomato when she jumped in front of him and grabbed it.
“What are you doing that’s mine.” Pan complained.
“That is not a tomato.” She tried to catch her breath.
With a sour look on her face she took a bite of the “tomato”. There was a huge cracking noise and Pan saw that what he thought was a tomato was actually a jaw breaker.
“Oh wow, Tink, thank you so much, but now what are you going to do about your teeth?”
“Don’t worry I knew my insurance would cover it so it’s ok, I’ll go to the dentist and everything will be fine. But that’s a story for another time.”
They slowly walked to the boat. When they got there Peter confronted Captain Hook.
“That wasn’t a very nice gift.”
“I’m sorry Pan, but you know how much I love candy. Why can’t you just have one piece?”
“Because vegetables are better for you. But I suppose the only way to end this tension between our friendship is to make a compromise.”
“Like what, do you suppose?” Captain Hook looked confused.
“Like one day a year kids will be able to go out and eat candy all day. We will call it character day. They can even dress up like different people too.”
“Fine, I guess that will be ok, say are you all going somewhere?”
“Yes Captain, could you take us back to London?” Wendy asked politely.
Captain Hook agreed to take them. They arrived just in time before dark. When they went upstairs Wendy’s parents were so happy to see them. John asked mother if it was ok for the orphaned children to stay. They were asking him the whole way back if they could. The parents found that there was no problem and the orphaned children were all finally adopted. Peter said goodbye and told Wendy that he will still visit her. Tinker Bell took Peter down stairs and they boarded Hook’s boat and waved behind them as they sailed into the sunset.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
May 14
When i died, i felt nothing in that moment. No pain, no sorrow. I didn't have this revelation, nor did my life flash before my eyes. I didn't see this beam of angelic light, just the fluorescents, which needed to be changed. The lord above didn't come to speak with me and send some urgent message for the fate of man kind. In that moment i thought one thing, and one thing only. Where the hell was everyone? Where were the mourners who were to drop to my feet? Where were the witnesses who were to run and scream mercy? Where was the family who was to lose an important part of themselves? Where the hell was everyone? That crap about seeing all my passed loved ones? Yeah, well that was joke if i ever knew one. Bright red veins. My own flesh and blood. It's weird ya know, hearing yourself slowly go. Remember when your favorite battery operated toy was losing its life and the sound became this unknown demonic tone? Well thats all i heard in my last moments. Damn annoying. Now try and imagine my hostility at the pearly gates if i ever made it. Try and imagine losing the feeling at your fingertips, and the very tip of your toes. The numbing pain slowly rising through your blood, no longer pumping warm, but cold. Laying still, because although you may want to get up and go your body's got other plans for you. This warm, wet liquid lining your body puts you in a trans like state, frees your mind while its still just that. Quick, you have to say goodbye, Christ if you don't you'll never hear the end of it.
But where the hell is everyone?
Gone.
What is this? No, No i cant move my arm, now stop asking. Dark. Light. Red. I cant answer you, I'm trying, but i cant. Don't leave, not yet. Just wait. Give me a chance, Jesus even after death I'm rushed. Those voices, i know them. They make me love the dulling demonic tone of death. The ripping pain in my side makes me love the numbing feel of loss. Get the mourners off my back, tell the witnesses to pipe down. As for the family? Mellow dramatic. I don't think I'm ready to open my eyes, not unless I'm returning as a completely new soul. Not unless the skies are suddenly clear, the grass a new shade of green, and the faces with painted smiles. No, No i don't want to get up and walk, now stop asking. Red. Light.
Reborn.
But where the hell is everyone?
Gone.
What is this? No, No i cant move my arm, now stop asking. Dark. Light. Red. I cant answer you, I'm trying, but i cant. Don't leave, not yet. Just wait. Give me a chance, Jesus even after death I'm rushed. Those voices, i know them. They make me love the dulling demonic tone of death. The ripping pain in my side makes me love the numbing feel of loss. Get the mourners off my back, tell the witnesses to pipe down. As for the family? Mellow dramatic. I don't think I'm ready to open my eyes, not unless I'm returning as a completely new soul. Not unless the skies are suddenly clear, the grass a new shade of green, and the faces with painted smiles. No, No i don't want to get up and walk, now stop asking. Red. Light.
Reborn.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
i never gave this mofo a title
sleeping soundly through the sadness
dreams devour dire doubts
waking worried, walking wordless
undesired ups and downs
coming closer with each clock tick
another apprehensive hour
every evening less appealing
replacing prozac for my power
buried in the body is a beating battered ball
restless and resentful it retires each withdrawal
mindful of the morning, mentality's a mess
push it further down the pocket of the pants you wore to bed
tell it to the troubled that rely on tiny pills:
nurture never comes from neglecting your own will
haha i wrote that last year when i was heavily, heavily medicated.
dreams devour dire doubts
waking worried, walking wordless
undesired ups and downs
coming closer with each clock tick
another apprehensive hour
every evening less appealing
replacing prozac for my power
buried in the body is a beating battered ball
restless and resentful it retires each withdrawal
mindful of the morning, mentality's a mess
push it further down the pocket of the pants you wore to bed
tell it to the troubled that rely on tiny pills:
nurture never comes from neglecting your own will
haha i wrote that last year when i was heavily, heavily medicated.
Separation of Powers
People have everything down to a science. It's unfortunate. If you were to write a story, I could break out a predefined rubric and tell how you how good it is based on description, literary elements, prose and conventions. But does that really make it a good story? Can a standard be set for judging that? There are so many new and original styles of writing, what would happen if we had that same rubric set around music? Where would rock n roll be? To me, even content (within reason) is irrelevant. The only thing that matters if reader reaction; how a story makes us feel, if it is memorable, what it teaches you. I guess this is just a vent against this lame regents we have to take soon. Maybe I just like to argue >.<
Love
can change you, make you, break you
it's living, breathing, and perfect
like the unicorn, nearly impossible to find
that state of absolute euphoria
Love, however, can be treacherous
falling in love can mean your life
Be wary,
Love can be suicide
Monday, June 1, 2009
Where I'm From
I am from a place of insignificance
A pitt stop on the way to someplace better
I am from a place where true love
is something people can only dream of
I am from my parents
no matter where i go
I am still from my parents
who raised and prepared me for life in this world
I am from a place
where labels are not only put on soup cans
but on human beings as well
I am from a place where we are blinded from the truth
Censored from the "real" world
I am from a place where people are afraid
Afraid to stray away from the "norm"
A pitt stop on the way to someplace better
I am from a place where true love
is something people can only dream of
I am from my parents
no matter where i go
I am still from my parents
who raised and prepared me for life in this world
I am from a place
where labels are not only put on soup cans
but on human beings as well
I am from a place where we are blinded from the truth
Censored from the "real" world
I am from a place where people are afraid
Afraid to stray away from the "norm"
Fuck Conformity
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)