Why Not?

I spent some time looking at things I wrote 4 years ago.  It's really incredible.  Apparently, I used to have a random thought of the day.  So, why not do that again?  



Random Thought of the Day:  Isn't it a pleasure to reminisce? Well, not always, but I have been enjoying it recently.  To see what you were thinking as a Junior is High School is a treat.  I'm kind of amazed how little my thought process has changed.  Anyway, I like the idea of writing in this ancient thing again.  Maybe bring everything full circle. 

Writing on Here Again

My Creative Writing professor recently told the class that if any of us were seriously considering a writing based career we should make it a habit to write something every day. This got me thinking about the old livejournal, which has been rotting away for me and most other people. So, I think what's going to happen is I'm going to start writing things in here again. Take a look every now and then if the mood strikes. I'll work hard to keep the old gal interesting.

No summer mission statements this time around. I was briefly considering "Summer of Man" but it was pretty similar to last year's "Summer of Singularity". We'll see how this warm season plays out.

I have begun planning for a June cookout. It is too soon to set a specific date since my job status is not yet determined. If you express an interest I promise that it will increase the odds of realizing the dream.

The Gift Part 2

She had decided to jump long before standing on the ledge. The precise moment of choice occurred at the end of the phone conversation she had had with her mother. Her son wanted to have nothing to do with her. Apparently, he viewed her as a “terrible and worthless whore.” Did he even understand though? It didn’t matter. She had chosen herself over everyone else in every way that mattered. She stepped over the edge with the weight of a million sins pressing down without mercy.
Her life did not pass before her eyes in those moments of plummeting, instead she could think of nothing besides what came next. She did not want to consider the consequences of suicide because it was too late. But she knew that nothing could prevent her from falling through the earth into the flames. Life had been intentionally traded for death, and if there really were someone waiting in the wings to judge her, she could only hope for mercy. With the snow falling up she closed her eyes and quietly accepted her fate.
Chris maneuvered his craft below the falling woman. He could not catch her from a standstill because it would be no different than if she collided with the ground. With great care he descended until she rested on top. Slowly, he reduced the speed of the fall. They stopped a few feet from the ground. Thankfully no eyes witnessed this event. Chris pulled the shaking woman inside and took off above the city.
Alone together in the upper atmosphere she sat shivering in the passenger seat. Chris placed a soft warm blanket over her and decided to break the strange silence.
“I don’t know why you did it. I don’t even know who you are. My name is Chris. What’s your name?”
“Am I dead?”
“No. I caught you. But why did you do it? Why throw the greatest gift away?”
“What is this thing?”
“This is my ship. I’m Chris, although, you might know me as someone else.”
“How could I know you?”
“You didn’t see me?” She looked into his ancient blue eyes. Suddenly, she felt as if she were standing on that ledge again.
“I feel like I do know you. I’ve never met you, but I feel like…who are you really?” She asked.
“My full name is Chris Cringle. You may know me as Santa Claus.”
“Oh my God. I must be dead or in a coma. Ok Santa, why don’t you just take me to your toy shop and introduce me to some elves!”
“There are no elves. I don’t have a toy shop. But, I’ll take you to my home.”
“And where exactly is it?”
“North, but what is your name?”
“Why does it matter? I should be dead.”
“You matter more than you could ever imagine. I can’t explain it, but I saw you standing on that ledge from my home. It has never happened before. There are forces at work, and they mean for you to live. I was meant to catch you, and I think you were meant to see what I’m about to show you.”
“Mary. My name is Mary.” She looked away from him.
“Will you come with me tonight Mary?” She looked into the ancient and wise eyes again.
“You’re my savior. Why shouldn’t I trust you?”
Chris smiled and decided to take the long way home.

Santa: The Gift Part 1

Son, you must never reveal yourself to the people of the world. If they knew who you were there would be an endless outcry for help. You are not meant to save them. They already have a savior. Your purpose is to promote a spirit of good will. Your charity is to serve as an example. The children love you not for the gifts you bring, but for the warmth you radiate from your heart to theirs. Your life is a gift, and a blessing for mankind. Live on through the ages Chris. Live for those who need warmth. Your solitude will never be in vain. Guard yourself from the evils that befall all others. Your heart is meant to be shared with the world. Marriage and love bonds are for the ones you serve. I know this troubles you most of all your charges, but it would only lead to your fall. No woman can satisfy your heart because your heart belongs to every one. They call you Santa Claus. Your path is chosen.


Chris forcefully closed the ancient book. The sound echoed in the empty room made of cold gray stone. Blue flames shrunk in the fireplace as a cold breeze fought for domination. He took a cup of warm spiced cider in his hand and gulped it all down in a few seconds. The drink warmed him to the core, and reminded him of his days as a boy. The recipe came from his mother. She made it for him every time he came out of the cold.
His North Pole fortress stood against the bitter elements like a tortoise in the breaking waves. Like an iceberg, the visible portion composed only a small part of its total size. The lower chambers housed the Seeing Room, where he gazed into the hearts of all people. In recent times he visited the room infrequently. The visions had always left him with a lingering sadness, but the vast numbers of suffering souls were becoming almost too much to bear. Below the Seeing Room stood the Gift Room, which contained the most incredible magic device.
Given to Chris by his father, it produced any gift in an instant. While Chris scanned the desires of the people of the world, he sent commands to the device below. It deposited the presents into a dimensional portal that Chris later accessed through the great silk bag he carried every Christmas Eve. The bag, like the device, was connected to his heart and mind, and led his hand to the exact location of every gift. He never forgot a heart and a name. The imprint stayed in him forever.
He walked along the marble floor, through the large central room that radiated a deep blue. The lanterns, just as the fireplace, burnt with a blue flame. It was due to the fuel, which never diminished. Chris loathed the color blue. He viewed it as a mockery of his own feelings. They served as a great example of how the best intentions can cause the most undesirable results.
An eight foot mirror covered the wall at the end of the hall. Chris came within feet of it and looked at his image. Short black hair, messy and uncombed, dark bags under his eyes, and a poor posture made up the otherwise striking man of legend.
“You look awful. I know I do. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, is it? You’re Santa Claus. Everyone loves Santa Claus. What a delusion. Who can love what they know to be false? They don’t believe in you. You know their hearts. Some believe. The little ones have always believed. Think of the children. Children grow up though. You’ve seen millions grow up and lose their innocence. What’s the point? No! This line of thought is false. You may as well say why be born when you’re just going to die? Life is a gift, and there is good to be found and cultivated. There’s good. You’re alone. It’s my destiny.”

He decided to clean himself up because it might make him feel a little better. During the trip to his bedroom he stopped suddenly. A feeling overcame his senses. It felt as if he were in the Seeing Room connected to someone’s heart. Chris remained still as he tried to understand the apparently random sensation.
“A face. Who is she? Who is this woman? How is this possible?” He shook himself out of the frozen state and dashed toward the Seeing Room. One thing was very clear to him. He must find her at all costs.
Down the vast staircase he bolted with a speed otherwise reserved for that one special night out of the year. Her soft face with those deep blue eyes stared at him. Those eyes stood out above all else. They seemed to see him in the same way he saw her.
“But that’s impossible! She can’t see me.”
The Seeing Room is immense. At the center is the throne with the crown used to simultaneously read hearts, and send messages to the gift making device in the room below. The room is a giant sphere with each continent, country, city, and house represented in all areas. It is as if Chris sat in the middle of the earth and looked out in all directions.
He could not get to the throne fast enough. After placing the magic crown on his head he closed his eyes. The throne immediately lifted off of the ground and faced Chris toward the North Eastern part of the United States. His spirit hovered over the Atlantic Ocean until reaching the shores of Boston, Massachusetts. Thousands of voices filled his mind, but he blocked them out in order to search for that face and that feeling. Each one cried out. The usual complaints associated with daily life. Traffic jams, bad coffee, unrequited love, lack of sleep, too much work, boredom, and of course bathroom issues. He searched relentlessly, covering hundreds of people every second. Then he found her. She stood on the ledge of a sky scraper.
Tears fell from her cheeks. Chris felt his heart ache as her sad eyes pierced him. He knew she was looking at him. He just knew. This woman had somehow found a way to make a connection. Now she was about to throw away the greatest gift, her life. Without wasting another second, Chris tossed the crown and raced to his flying vessel. He had never left the North Pole at any other time besides Christmas Eve before, but this was a matter of life. He would tear the fabric of space and time to catch this mysterious and tragic woman. His vessel shot through the polar atmosphere as she stepped off the edge.

A gift passed into the dimensional portal. And for the first time ever, one present came into being out of the desire of two souls.

New Short Story "More Than the Sunset"

The book found a secure place within his bag, and it would accompany him for the duration of his walk home. Classes had come to an end, and he passed through the familiar corridors for the final time, believing he had received the most thorough education any boy should expect. Finding the main door held open by a green painted wedge, he exited the school to find everything shrouded in shadow. The sun was beginning to sink below the trees; John prepared to walk in twilight.
A biting breeze tumbled down the steep hill before him. Having no pockets to protect his hands, they moved through the frigid air as reluctant martyrs, and only John could appreciate their necessary sacrifice. Another victim of the cold, his ears, turned red with warm blood. He began to regret his choice to ignore Lady Wisdom. She had warned him to prepare for the chill.
John began his lone ascension with a strong determination to reach the top before sunset. The view would be beautiful, if only he could reach it in time. Thoughts of natural majesty disappeared when a young couple entered his field of vision. They were holding hands. The boy stood on the inside, and the girl stood close to the street. John heard their passionate banter, for they were proclaiming everlasting vows for all to hear.
“I knew from the moment we met that you were meant for me,” he said.
“You’re more than I could ever hope for. More than the most perfect dream I could conjure. I’ll love you forever,” she said. They kissed, and nearly tripped.
“How did you know I was the one sweetheart?” He asked.
“It’s more than knowing. I feel it. I’ve felt it all along,” she replied.
“You’re so beautiful! I can hardly hold myself back. I’d do anything for you. You know that right?” He said.
John became aware of their rapid slowing. They walked slower and slower after every step. He had to pass them if there was a chance of seeing the sunset. Besides, this sort of talk did not settle well with him. Never had he been in love. But was this love?
His decision to pass turned into a requirement when they finally stopped moving. John passed them on the right and heard more of their exchange as he marched onward.
“How much do you love me?” She asked.
“You know I love you more than anything.” He said.
“Will it be like this forever? This feeling?”
“As long as we love each other.”
The sun stops for no man. Fortunately for John, he did not consider himself a man. There were men much younger than him, and boys much older. If anyone ever asked him why he felt this way, he would respond with, “I just don’t feel like a man. There’s something missing still.” If a man could stop the sun, freeze frame a beautiful sunset just for himself, he would cover half of the world in darkness. One mans dawn is another mans twilight, and that is the way of all things.
The sinking sun vanished behind an immense dark cloud, and a frigid blast of air nearly forced John to the ground. On the opposite side of the street an elderly man named Charlie walked alone. He wore an old gray cap with a red feather stuck to the side. His eyes stared off into the dark horizon as he shuffled, ungracefully kicking pebbles. John’s heart sank to watch the withered man, because he understood the sadness which plagued his heart. Charlie had been married for fifty-seven years to his wife Helen. When John was a boy she always commented on his smile.
“Your smile just warms my heart child. You’re going to be a good man.” Years passed, and John grew into a teenager. He stopped visiting the old couple, except to rake leaves in the fall. Helen continued to comment on his smile, and insisted that he was growing into a fine young man. John always felt guilty for a short time, but quickly forgot about them when life became busy. This pattern continued until the fall of the previous year. When John knocked on their door, she answered holding a self made blue mitten, but did not know him.
“What do you want? Who are you?” John did not understand until Charlie sat him down and revealed that Helen had developed Alzheimer’s.
“She only knits. She’s made a scarf and some mittens. She knits as if it were the most important thing in the world.”
Helen died in the winter of that year. John would never forget the sight of Charlie crying over his wife at the funeral. When the time came for John to pay his respects, he looked upon the woman, and spoke softly.
“We’ll all smile again someday.”
John began to cross the street in order to talk with Charlie, but stopped when a small boy came running down the hill. He held a pair of blue mittens, and a blue scarf. The old man looked back at the child and smiled big. It warmed John’s heart.
“Grandpa, grandpa! Where you going? Mom said to wear grandma’s mittens.” Charlie leaned forward and hugged his grandson. He slid the mittens onto his wrinkled, cold hands, and wrapped the scarf around his wrinkled, cold neck. The moment they turned to walk back up the hill, the frigid breeze subsided and the sun shone clearer than ever, as if it knew its time were short.
For a few seconds John watched them, but when the sinking sun popped back into his conscious he grabbed the straps of his book bag and stormed the remainder of the hill. The book weighed him down quite a bit. He began to wish he did not have to carry the book, but that was foolishness. The book was dear to him, and more important than a million sunsets.
John was yards from the top, when a catastrophe befell him. He had removed his hands from the straps of the bag so that he could swing his arms back and forth in order to gain some stability and momentum. Unfortunately, the movement of his arms caused the strap on his left shoulder to slip off. The heavy bag swung to the right and caught John off balance. His head fell toward the sharp corner of the sidewalk. Miraculously, the bag fell on that spot and created a cushioned barrier between stone and skull.
Believing he was alone, John gathered himself for the final steps of his journey. After what seemed like a lifetime, he had reached the top of the hill. Dropping his bag to the side, he turned to view the sunset. In the midst of the visual feast, a mysterious and enchanting female voice spoke from behind.
“I’ve never seen something so beautiful.” This startled John. He saw no woman near the top of the hill. It was as if she came out of nowhere. When she spoke, it was as if she spoke directly to his soul. Searching for the source of the sound, John found something far superior in beauty than any sunset. He knew this girl. “Do you agree John? Isn’t it the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen?”
“I do.”
“I saw you trip. Are you ok?” She asked.
“My book saved me,” John said. He unzipped his bag and showed her.
“I’ve read most of it.”
“I didn’t once see you coming up the hill. Where did you come from Elizabeth?”
“I was near you the whole time John. I passed that arguing couple a minute after you did. I also saw Charlie walking with his grandson, Tim I think is his name.”
“But I looked behind me and you weren’t there,” John said.
“Oh, I know a path in the woods. It’s quite nice. That’s how I came up behind you,” Elizabeth said. “The colors are fading on the horizon.”
John turned to see the once awe inspiring sunset fade into darkness. Natural beauty cannot last forever.
“Can I have that book for a second John? I’m curious to see how it ends,” she said. Their hands touched for the briefest of moments during the exchange. “Your hands are freezing.”
“I’m ok. Besides, home is close.”
“I have some mittens. I made them myself so don’t laugh!” Elizabeth opened her bag and pulled out a pair of green mittens. She held them out for John to take. “Don’t be a martyr John. And don’t feel like any less of a man because I’m not wearing any.” She said it all with a smile, a smile that warmed his heart.
“Ha! Thank you, but you wear them. Chivalry isn’t dead yet.”
“But with no more dragons to slay, what ever is a knight to do?”
“Freeze in the dark, while the women find warmth I suppose,” John said.
“So be it.” She grabbed his hand. John felt as if his heart would stop. Warmth poured into his body. “Will you walk me home sir?” He smiled big.
“I’d love to Miss Elizabeth.” They walked hand in hand until reaching her doorstep.
“I gave you back the book before seeing how it ends. Tell me John, how does it end?” She asked.
“Good triumphs over evil. The boy becomes a man. They get married, and everything is as it should be.”
“I like that ending.”
“Me too Elizabeth.”
“Thank you for walking me home. I’d walk you home, but then you’d walk me home, and then we’d be in the same spot.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s not far,” John said.
“You’ll be more than fine. A man like you,” she said.
“I’m not a man.” She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the side. John knew exactly what that gaze meant. He smiled, looked up at the stars, and then turned to go home.
The next morning he awoke to the sunrise, and to a new feeling. For the first time in his life, John felt like a man. In no time at all, John prepared himself for a new day. As he went to turn the handle of his front door, he noticed the book lying open on the floor. He picked it up and read the last sentence.
“Sunrise to sunset, sunset to sunrise, they lived for each other and loved for all time.” He closed the book and opened his door to a new morning.

Sundae Bloody Sundae

McDonalds brings unparalleled bliss to billions upon billions of satisfied customers. We’ve all read the signs that seem to verify these stats, Over 99 Billion Served. Never do we question this impossible claim. Sure, it most likely means that they count repeat customers, but what if that were not the case? There are fewer than seven billion humans on the planet, and many of those do not consume fast food of any kind. So who are these others? Where are these others? And most importantly, what do they really want?

On a warm Sunday afternoon Mary felt a strong urge to consume a hot fudge sundae from her favorite fast food joint, McDonalds. She grabbed her keys, brushed her hair, and convinced her massively obese teenage brother to tag along. (It really didn’t take much convincing.) They hopped, well, she hopped, and he struggled into the minivan. Completely out of breath, Tim asked her the most important question of the day.
“Do you think…the…machine is…gonna work?”
“It damn well better be working, or there’s going to be a massacre.” She could not have known at this time that her statement would become prophetic.
They started on their journey with the best of intentions; simply two hungry, innocent siblings with a hankerin for some frosty deliciousness. Unbeknownst to them, and the rest of humanity, their craving would lead to a series of unprecedented events that would determine the fate of all peoples.
Mary pulled into the parking lot and asked her jovial brother if he wanted anything besides a sundae.
“Another sundae and a Big Mac stuffed with a fish sandwich.”
“A Big Mac stuffed with a fish sandwich. I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that and just get you one sundae.”
“Hello, welcome to McDonalds, would you like to try a value meal?” said the voice from the loudspeaker.
“No thank you. I’d like to have two hot fudge sundaes with nuts please.”
“Two nuts?”
“Yes please. And two sundaes.”
“Oh, I’m sorry our ice cream machine is broken.”
On a normal day this would have simply aggravated Mary, and she would have driven off without incident, but something was stirring inside of her that would not accept “no” for an answer.
“Can I ask why it is broken? It seems to break often,” she asked.
“I’m not at liberty to say. Would you like anything else?”
“No, but I do want to talk to your manager.”
“Oh boy, pull into the parking lot and come inside then.”
Mary parked the minivan and went inside with her brother close at hand. Nothing is more intimidating to a McDonald’s staff than an overweight teenager, and she planned to use him as leverage. The manager stood at the cash register completing an order for an elderly couple. They left him in a state of frustration after paying with nickels and dimes.
“Excuse me sir, are you the manager?” Mary asked.
“Yes I am Miss. Is there a problem?”
“I wanted to ask about the broken ice cream machine. Why is it so often broken?”
“I uhhhh, I don’t know why. It just breaks down from too much use once in a while,” he said nervously. Mary reached over the counter and grabbed his tie.
“I am so sick of this shit! Who are you? Who the hell are you? You’re no one!”
“Ma’am please.”
“Ma’am? What the f*&# is this garbage?”
“Mary, settle down,” Tim pleaded.
“No, I will not settle down!” She pulled out a Colt 45 and pushed it to the manager’s forehead.
“Oh My God she has a gun!” One of the pimpled face employees cried.
“Who wants to add Ed here to the menu? Who wants a side of Ed with a Big Mac stuffed with a fish sandwich? Now, let’s see just why this machine isn’t working.” Mary pushed Ed, the manager, toward the ice cream machine.
“I I I I I I ca ca ca ca can’t do this,” Ed said.
“What?!?” Mary shot Ed in the left knee. A female employee fainted. “Open it!”
Ed, writhing in agony, reluctantly inserted the key that would unlock the belly of the beast. As he slowly opened the door, Mary wiped the blood from her face. Then she beheld something terrible.
Inside the ice cream machine was a tiny goblin like creature with yellow eyes. It screamed louder than a jumbo jet, and made a mad dash for Mary. Her reaction was to shoot, and shoot she did. The creature blew into a million pieces.
“No! You madwoman! Do you know what you’ve done?” Mary did not reply, for she was still working out the recent unexplainable events in her head.
“What was that thing?” Tim asked.
“That was a Barlmarg from magic ice lands of Buttjig. His name was Crawkbar the Lenient,” Ed replied.
And then Dave decided to stop writing because the story had become too ridiculous.

THE END?

I am NOT a Girl Scout!

I feel that it is time to share with you all a bit of information about myself that, up to this point, has not left my email inbox. For nearly two years I have been recieving emails from a woman named Wendi Hale. I have gathered from the emails that she is a girl scout troop leader, and furthermore, she assumes that I am in fact one of her own. Now, this may come across as a shock. Those of you who know me have probably come to the conclusion that I am a male, which makes it nearly impossible to join the girl scouts. I say nearly because a lot of stuff flies these days. I'm telling you this now because I've finally reached the point where the emails have become a ridiculous occurence. Over a year ago I wrote to her pleading my case for not being a little girl in her troop, but apparently I didn't do a good job of convincing. So where does one go from here? We must first consider a number of questions. How did this mix up begin? Why does she continue to send me emails when I not only never respond, but do not exist in her troop? Why don't the other girls point out the fact that Lavdavallee@excite.com is none of their addresses? I'm afraid we'll never find the answers we're looking for. I will continue to recieve these letters about Powder Puff games and Knitting merit badges. So I dedicate this entry to Wendi Hale, the woman who loves me for what I'm not.

Flesh of My Flesh

“This is now bone of my bones
and flesh of my flesh;
she shall be called ‘woman,’
for she was taken out of man” - Genesis 2:23


The son completes the father, and the father completes the son. With each new generation, each boy born of men, comes the hope for a more prosperous human society; a society united by genetic similarity. Unlike the wild beasts that live by an uncontrollable sexual impulse to reproduce at any cost, men are outside the realm of hormonal influence. We are content with our fellow man. We are beyond the rules that govern nature. The flesh of our flesh is dearest to our hearts.


His father’s final words echoed inside his head. Hope lies with you and your unborn son. When those words were originally spoken he nodded in agreement, and with the truest intentions. Since he could first comprehend the world at the tender age of four, there had always been this constant message of hope. The next generation would always be superior to the one that preceded it, and this would inevitably lead mankind to a real world paradise. Each generation is gifted with more resistance to physical evils, such as disease, and psychological evils, such as depression. The son not only completes the father by filling in the gaps of his inadequacies, but also by offering him companionship in a world where the only deep bonds exist between those of the same blood. This all seems well and good to a healthy boy with a living father, but to a dieing boy with a dead father, and an eight month old dieing baby inside of his pregnant belly, this message of “hope” brings no more warmth and security than an ice pick.
Never before did the mood strike him to simply go for a walk. But there was something different in this day, a feeling. It is a known fact that men are most emotionally sensitive during their pregnancy, and it may be because of this that he dreamt the night before. The dream he experienced resembled nothing natural or comfortable, but even more troubling than the alien visuals was the alien feeling it invoked.
From an invisible spectator’s standpoint he watched two hands reach for each other until their fingertips touched. One hand clearly belonged to a man; the other looked as if it belonged to a child. It resembled a child’s appendage due to the softness of the palm, and smoothness of the skin, although the fingers were long and slender. He watched as the hands slowly became interlocked in a way that made them seem like two parts of a whole. It was this moment that affected him emotionally. Why would a man reach out for another? Who is this other? And why does this other seem to fit with the man? In a way it illustrates the bond between father and son, but there is another element beyond this symbol. The hands seemed to yearn for each other. This confounded him.
As he walked along a rocky path the boy observed two squirrels running up the trunk of a nearby tree. Why do they act in this manner? The boy thought to himself. They ran in little circles and squeaked as if they were actually communicating. One clearly was male, and the other female. Animals mate in their wild state. He called upon an old rhyme his father used to tell him. Acknowledging their futile dance with no more than a moment of consideration he continued his quest for answers in the realm of the natural.
His belly protruded from underneath the dull gray sweatshirt that he and all other expecting fathers wore in the latter stage of their pregnancy. The extra weight of the child within caused him to tire quickly, but a healthy and curious boy of fourteen always finds the energy to push on.
He stopped in his tracks to hear the song of a nearby bird. After a few moments of searching he found the red creature of the air roosting on a young tree with newly formed buds. The bird sang in seven second intervals for reasons initially unknown to the human onlooker. When the boy edged closer he became aware of another bird standing near a perfectly organized nest made of twigs. That must be his mate, he thought. Then, the bird near the nest called out to its partner.
The boy felt oddly touched by the response of the red bird on the branch. It flew over to the nest carrying a grub in its beak. As the boy came closer to the nest he began to hear higher pitched chirps. Three baby birds cried out for food. The boy gazed up at them while the father gave some food to the mother, who in turn fed each of her starving children. It was in this moment, this precise point in time, that the boy became aware of a terrifying truth. Men are outside of nature.
In one flash of clarity he saw the world around him as a testimony to some unseen order. He witnessed the bees gathering nectar for themselves and the colony, while simultaneously transporting pollen from flower to flower; the pollen fertilizing the seeds within the flower ensuring a new generation. He watched as the ants on the forest floor disassembled a butterfly carcass until nothing remained. He studied the ripe berries on a bush covered with spider webs. The design of each web seemed impossibly symmetrical. Both efficient and beautiful the webs pointed most noticeably at something beyond everything of this world.
Everything fits perfectly. Every plant, animal, and insect not only lives to create more life, but to proclaim something, something that is veiled from my eyes. Something is wrong. Why am I alive? I live to continue the never-ending chain. But what greater order does this answer to? There is no proclamation of life in anything of man. Nature is shouting at me, it is cursing me. What place does man have if not a place in the natural order? Where is our other half? Where is my hand to hold?
He began to have painful contractions that forced him down to the dirt floor. From the ground he gazed in horror at the birds, mocking him with their cries. All of the forest seemed to turn on him like a bloodthirsty mob without a conscience. Even the light of day turned to darkness under the impenetrable cover of the trees, which towered over the pitiful boy. He contorted his body into unnatural positions as each jolt of agony shot through him.
“Help me! Please help me! Somebody. Please.” The boy began to sob without restraint. He wept out of pain, yes, but he also wept out of a feeling of despair. In a life lacking any emotional extremes, the feeling itself would be enough to disable the mightiest man. The boy cried and cried, but no help came, only death incarnate.
The black bear, attracted by the cries for help, came out of the bushes ten feet in front of the boy. It wasted no time in attacking the pregnant human. The boy screamed while the beast’s claws tore through his mid section. Blood and flesh fell to his side as the behemoth tore his way to the unborn child within. The boy mercifully slipped out of consciousness before death’s hold grasped him and his son.
“Follow me. Come. Here, beside me,” a new creature called to him. He reached out his hand to touch it. The beautiful creature reached out with its hand and folded its fingers around his. He felt a warmth and softness that he could never have imagined. For the first time in his pointless existence he felt home, at peace with the world.
“Who are you?” He asked.
“I am the truth. I am yours.” Then the beautiful creature leaned toward the boy and kissed him. Never before had the boy witnessed such a thing, but the experience left him filled with unmatched happiness. “I love you,” it said softly.
“Love? I don’t understand,” the boy replied.
The creature smiled and faded into blinding light.

The bodies of the victims were found three days later by two men passing by.
“What should we do?”
“Just leave it.”
“But father...”
“A boy should never wander alone in the wilderness.”

The Myth of the Nice Guy

“He’s a good guy.” How many times have you heard this? I’m willing to bet somewhere between 5 Hundred and 1 Billion times. It’s just a really easy way to describe any guy who isn’t a complete A-hole. The phrase is being thrown around at an all time high level and losing its potency at a cataclysmic rate. History is going to start labeling Rasputin and Stalin as good guys if this keeps up. This sort of has to do with my point, but what I really want to write about is “The Myth of the Nice Guy.”
You’ve heard it I’m sure. Nice guys finish last, which is closely tied to them not getting “the girl.” I think this works along the same lines as Good and Evil. In every classic tale, the forces of evil are far more powerful than the forces of good. They gain more and more power until it seems nothing can stop them. Then, miraculously, good triumphs over evil in one final moment of desperation. For the vast majority of the story Good seems to be trailing evil, it seems to be losing. On the surface, in a very basic sense, bad boys have the upper hand, but not the victory.
Punks, jerks, scumbags, the list of names goes on and on for the modern day bad boy. You see them with their improperly fastened hats, their cocky struts, and that face which reveals an undeserved sense of accomplishment. Unfortunately, you also see them with beautiful women. But why, OH GOD WHY????
This is a little more difficult to figure out, but not impossible. Confidence. I’m pretty sure it all revolves around the C word. Bad boys portray confidence by sticking it to the man, society, and that old lady trying to walk across the street. Their realm is the surface, the front, the exterior, and for this reason easily detectable by women, but what kind of women?
I think it’s important to point out a paradox involving this issue of confidence before going on. By acting in the way previously described, bad boys have a deep confidence issue. Their internal inadequacies are remedied (temporarily) by external acts of dominance and control. If they really had a high level of confidence in themselves, they wouldn’t need to go out of their way to show how confident they were. The types of girls attracted to this false confidence often times have confidence issues of their own. So in a way you’ve got two broken pieces making one useless piece of nothing. Of course there are other issues here, but this is all about confidence.
My grandfather always said “Don’t go after the flashy women.” You know them, they’re like fishing lures and we’re all primed to strike without thinking about the consequences. They, like the bad boys, dwell in the exterior, making themselves visible to any and all horny fools. Unfortunately for the good guys, this type of female has an effect, although it would be much better if they didn’t.
So you’ve got the flashy (and shallow) women latching on to the bad boys. They are all over the place. There is no avoiding them. All over the planet hot girls are hooking up with evil men, and it would seem as if the nice guys are losing. They’re not.
You don’t see them as easily as the bad ones. They are standing behind the door, holding it open. They are holding their tongues when the urge to lash out fills their hearts. They are waiting patiently, for a sweet girl to notice them. Good guys, real good guys, are too few in number and easily overlooked. But they are confident in themselves and in the future. And they have every reason to be.
When a sweet girl notices the guy behind the door, when they say “I do” in front of their family and friends, when their child says “I love you,” good has overcome evil. The good guy has found his love, and she is no lure, but a prize catch. This is not very flashy. This is easily overlooked. This is what life is about.
So there is hope for the nice guy. There is a future for the simple man. Chivalry is alive through his actions, and evil is defeated by his quiet patience.

Summer of Singularity

Hello there

I have devoted a great amount of time thinking of the best way in which I can spend my Summer.
It can be broken down into three categories.
Physical
Mental
Spiritual

Physical- I plan to work the land. This may sound silly but what I mean is I plan to "spruce up" my yard and help my father in the garden. Working in the soil has always been a pleasure of mine so I look forward to return to my "roots" ha ha ha.
I also intend to jog. Yes, you did just read that. I am not telling jokes.
Also, I would like to hit the weights with Brendon.

Mental- Read many many books. Classics like The Divine Comedy and The Odyssey. I also want to read some more Stephen King as well as Angels and Demons. I'd also like to finish the nameless story I started a few months ago.

Spritual- I've got a new Bible on the way and intend to read a good amount of it over the summer. May have a study as well.

With all of this comes the time spent with family and friends.
A vacation at the Cape with my sister,brother in law,parents, and my nephew.
A cookout on June 11th. It should be a country bear jamberoo.
Numerous fishing trips with Brendon in The Hope Elizabeth.
New videos like x-hausted and The O'Reilly Factor.
Working at the R.V. place with a bunch of good old guys.
Watching crappy movies with John.
Getting in ridiculous arguments with Mike.
Getting intimate with Cavs haha.
Seeing Superman Returns with Nate and helping him save the world.
And hopefully making a few new friends as well.

I really have a good feeling about this Summer.
The Summer of Singularity, of Freedom.