In The Works
When I finished up school the school for the summer I really wanted to try some free style writing, maybe a novel. This is the first page of what I got, so don’t kill my self-esteem. But, I really want to know what you all think…
He woke up that morning with his face the texture of carpet fiber; he had fallen off the bed during the night. It couldn’t have been that long ago, his arm was still asleep from cuddling the previous night with his wife.
He peeled himself from the floor noting the fact that his legs had joined his arms, shuffling over to a chair he sat and waited for the feeling in his legs to return.
Getting up from the chair he continued his stagnant limp over to the bathroom—something that he had picked up far away in both distance and time.
His wife still slept heavily, he knew her—he knew every facet of her personality but he didn’t know her. Her face always seemed different, he assumed it stayed the same but he didn’t know for sure; he smiled at her always but he didn’t know why.
The man looked into the glass that made up the mirror in front of him; he had two eyes—which has normal I guess. He looked into his eyes, one was blue and made of ice the other was green and made of glass—he wiped a tear from that eye. It had always wept, ever since he lost. He wept, one-eyed, throughout most of his life he could never see plays or concerts because—that eyed bawled.
He wiped his eye and walked down the stairs; shivering he looked towards the basement, there was a breeze coming from under the door. Someone had left a window open, in the basement no less! Cowering from the cold Alaskan night he felt the cold brush his face, he looked to the only window in the room. One of the panes in the tiny two-pane window was broken; one was still glass but through the other the ice flowed in. The ice left frozen trails down cinderblocks that made up his damp dank basement; it made it look like the wall was crying cold frozen tears. Tears frozen in time.
The window was so clogged with ice he simply didn’t try to board the widow closed; he picked a wool blanket from the corner of the room and stuffed it until the small opening left in the window. The breeze finally stopped and he pulled himself up out of the dark; he shuffled into the kitchen and sat down with a glass of orange juice and vodka—it might have been far too early for that but he didn’t care.
He let the delightful warmth spread out to his fingers and he leaned back and closed his eyes.
***
“What do you mean he’s going to be here tomorrow?” I said exasperated. “Well,” she replied back her heart in her mouth “You asked him here! He is your friend not mine, so where are your memories again?” I knew my memories were not where I wanted them, “I locked them away and forgot where I put them!” I cried defiantly.
Silvia was not impressed. He could tell it in her face—her name! He remembered her name! He didn’t understand really but he felt that it was significant. His face must have given up some of his realization because Silvia’s face softened and in turn so did his.
They smiled and hugged as they whispered in each other’s ears, “Well no matter what he’s going to be here might as well get ready.” she coed. “High school right? Does he know, did I tell him, does he remember?” he pled—more to himself then anyone else. She replied in the softest tone she could, “Yes, and I guess we’ll find out when he gets here.”
The Death Machine
Review, read it and then the book or go to http://machineofdeath.net/ and read for free…
Death Machine
Some would say a book about a machine that could tell you how you were going to die would be slightly morbid—even to an excessive level. When I saw Machine of Death sitting on a bookshelf me thoughts were no different—but as it turn out I am rather fond of existentialism. So, picking that paperback book I looked at the front page and I realised just how strange and wondrous this book actually was. It took a while to read the premise and the introduction but without that crucial step the collected stories that makes up this book makes little to no sense. When I started reading the book I could not help but realise how brilliant this book really is; and I loved it.
The book Machine of Death edited by Ryan North, Matthew Bennard and David Malki; is a book up of short stories by various authors. All based around one single premise—what if a machine could tell, just from a sample of your blood, just how you were going to die? “It didn’t give you the date and it didn’t give you specifics. It just spat out a sliver of paper upon which were printed, in careful block letters, the words ‘DROWNED’ or ‘CANCER’ or ‘OLD AGE’ or ‘CHOKED ON A HANDFUL OF POPCORN.’ …[T]he machine was frustratingly vague in its predictions: dark, and seemingly delighting in the ambiguities of language. ‘OLD AGE,’ it had already turned out, could mean either dying of natural causes, or being shot by a bedridden man in a botched home invasion” — from the introduction. It started a comic and a bright green T-Rex who suggested just how fantastic a story written from that premise would be. Then a group of wonderful Internet people organized a book out stories people sent in, this is the result.
The stories themselves are interesting, and fun to read despite being from many authors—I expected that at least a few of them should bland or boring. Though strangely I liked every single one of them my favorite is only one sentence long! The story HIV INFECTION FROM MACHINE OF DEATH NEEDLE by Brian Quinlan goes like this, “‘WELL,’ I thought, ‘that sucks.’” When I read this I laughed, now you might think I’m a terrible person but I’m not—really I’m not. I laughed at the extreme irony, and that what this book is for; a chance to laugh at the ultimate irony, a chance to laugh in the face of death and have death laugh right back.
It’s true that other feel the same way about this book, Hannah Strom-Martin from STRANGE HORIZONS says “…This sort of Man vs. Fate dilemma has obsessed us since Sophocles, so it’s not shocking to report that Machine of Death hooks you from page one. But where this collection could have been a one joke wonder or merely skated by on its own cleverness, it turns out that it’s a lot deeper than that. A lot more intelligent. A lot less predictable than its theme of inevitability would have you suppose…” When I finished this book I felt a slight feeling of disappointment, I don’t get that a lot, and it has always been my sign of a good book. I really truly loved this book—it might not have any literary merit—yet I would recommend it to anyone who asked what my favorite book was.
Sources:
-Strom-Martin, Hannah. “Strange Horizons Reviews: Machine of Death: A Collection of Stories About People Who Know How They Will Die, Edited by Ryan North, Matthew Bennardo, and David Malki !, Reviewed by Hannah Strom-Martin.” Strange Horizons, a Weekly Speculative Fiction Magazine. 16 Mar. 2011. Web. 05 June 2011. .
-North, Ryan, Matthew Bennardo, and David Malki. Machine of Death. Web. 05 June 2011..
Essay thing
blahblahblahblah essay about Doctor Who…
[I had to redo this for English, I liked the new version better so this is it (with sources)]
What is the first thing that pops into your head when someone says ‘risk’? Do you think about financial risk? Maybe the Hasbro board game? You may think that personal loss and putting your life on the line define risk; but for me it matter not whether you risk your life or not, it’s what you risk it for—and whom. The Doctor, who has spent over 900 years traveling in his very own Police Call Box embodies risk. In his time he saved Earth far to many times to count and not just the Earth, he has fought back hoards of nightmares and saved more planets than he has controls on the console of his TARDIS.
He is a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey, and with his stolen time machine he travels around the universe; doing the best he can to turn bad situations into good. With many terrifying enemies—from the shrieky-voiced Daleks, to the mustache-twirling Master—almost as strange as the Doctor himself. It is hard to not get the feeling that he fights a forever losing battle. In an episode he materializes on board a space ship that has punched holes in time; the clockwork repair bots are fixated on Madame de Pompadour and had followed her throughout her life to find her at the age of 27. The Doctor, when confronted with this jumps back and forth through the holes in time stopping the ‘automatons’ from taking her while also confronting them back on the ship; he manages to keep his companions and Madame de Pompadour safe—but at a cost. In his last attempt he destroys his only way home, trapping the Doctor in 18th century France, he manages to find himself a way back—though he never expected it. He risked his life for a person he barely knew; knowing full-well that he may never be coming home. Alan Riquelmy, who wrote a review of the episode, explains; “A lonely angel, she calls him. … [The Doctors’] … not above the petty emotions of humans. He feels, he hurts, he loves.”
Others are quite familiar with The Doctor’s charismatic manner The Telegraph reports in an article published in July of 2008; “…[He] discovers some sinister plot, which he thwarts in the most entertaining and seemingly accidental manner possible.” The people he brings with him also add a bit trouble to the situation, having an inexperienced time traveler can sometimes complicate things more that simplify them. One companion Rose Tyler, accompanied the Doctor when earth was invaded by the grand armies of both Daleks and Cybermen; gets pulled into an alternate universe with no hope of ever returning. That is why the Doctor is always so alone even though he when surrounded by friends, he has to live with the weight of all of those who didn’t make it. He lived through the Time Wars and ended them as well, he killed his whole race to stop and endless war; the last of his kind he still wonders the universe keeping the universe in check.
He once broke the rules, laws of his people, and it nearly cost him his sanity; a mission to mars—the first really—had been there for months when the Doctor arrived. When he arrived he immediately figured out he shouldn’t even be there, these people’s futures were already set in stone, and when things went wrong; he broke his rules and saved those he could. There was a cost though, one crewman ended her life and changed the future so dramatically that brought about the end for that version of the space-age Macgyver. The alien from Gallifrey, a man with 11 different faces and two hearts; he embodies the true meaning of risk to me and while risk is something that means different things to different people I hope you can see that the Doctor does it in the truest sense. To borrow a line from one episode; “This song is ending, but the story never ends.” Ood Sigma explains that the Doctor will continue to do good no matter what happens.
“Dr Who Profile: Britain’s Favourite Alien – Telegraph.” Telegraph.co.uk – Telegraph Online, Daily Telegraph and Sunday Telegraph – Telegraph. The Telegraph, 03 July 2008. Web. 29 May 2011. <http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/profiles/2241353/Dr-Who-profile-Britains-favourite-alien.html>.
Smith, Dominic. “The Girl in the Fireplace.” Doctor Who. Web. 29 May 2011. <http://www.drwhoguide.com/who_tv15.htm>.
Smith, Dominic. “End of Time.” Doctor Who. Web. 30 May 2011. <http://www.drwhoguide.com/who_tv46.htm>.
Smith, Dominic. “The Waters of Mars.” Doctor Who. Web. 30 May 2011. <http://www.drwhoguide.com/who_tv45.htm>.
Riquelmy, Alan. “New Who Review: The Girl in the Fireplace.” Revolution Science Fiction. 03/06/2006. Web. 30 May 2011..
“Doctor Who?.” Who is Doctor Who?. Web. 30 May 2011..
King Lear
Shakespeare was a stunning writer and playwright for his time. Arguably one of the best of all time and like all the greats of literature Shakespeare is a master at analyzing life; he brings forth issues that a person would not normally think about and turns them into the driving force behind his characters. Actions that reflect the best and the worst of mankind through, the sometimes subtle contrasts between the two, actions that can be observed most clearly in one of his later plays, King Lear. Shakespeare uses his play King Lear to display the, at times, seemingly ridiculous contradictions that mankind possesses.
One of the ways Shakespeare does this is through the ironic wisdom of the Fool, who while a polar opposite to the king is one of the few characters that openly mock the King. For example after Lear fires Kent and banishes Cordelia; Lear hires back Kent while he is in disguise the Fool says “Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.” Kent replies “Why, fool?” and the Fool says back “Why, for taking one’s part that’s out of favour: nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou’lt catch cold shortly: there, take my coxcomb…” (1.4.96) Here the Fool is saying that Kent should take the hat of a fool because by coming back he is a fool himself and the way things stand he will be found out. This is ironic because the King is present the whole time making no comment and showing no recognition of the Fool’s riddle. It also shows that the Fool is far wiser than the King to see though this deception, though the King remains ignorant to it. Another example of how wise the Fool is, is when the King is talking to the Fool shortly after the King gives all his Kingly possessions away. He says the “Fools had ne’er less wit in a year; For wise men are grown foppish, They know not how their wits to wear, Their manners are so apish. (1.4.148) Here the Fool if talking about how the wise men have concerned themselves with things less important and how their manners are not very good, this turns out to be more foreshadowing on the part of Shakespeare. For Lear will soon lose his mind and become what the Fool is talking about here. From these points a point could be made that the Fool acts not as a fool at all but as a wise man.
The betrayed Edgar also shows this very well through his betrayal and the way he gets back to his position, requires admiration and pride for him. After Edgar leads his son to Dover disguised as a bedlam beggar leads him to the Cliffs of Dover though he really leads him to the middle of a field. Edgar says “Give me your hand: you are now within a foot Of the extreme verge: for all beneath the moon Would I not leap upright.”(4.5.25) Ironic considering they are I the middle of a field and the son he declared a traitor lead Gloucester there. Edgar then says (aside)“Why I do trifle thus with his despair Is done to cure it.”(4.5.33) He is asking himself why he worries with the woes of his father and how this despair on his part is done to cure the despair. How ironic that the father who would have his son killed would be lead to his place of death by that very thing, and even though the hated from his father his son would endeavor to save him.
The all-knowing, wise King the one who should have the most wisdom, yet showing the qualities of a man who has lost the ability to be wise. The King, we jump into the story sometime after his point of most power and we can see straight from the beginning that he has lost something of himself. After a speech by two of his three daughters his youngest says very eloquently, that she would not lie to her father about her love for him that “ [She] love[s] your majesty According to.. [her] ..bond; nor more nor less. That she would not lie to her father about how much she loves him even if it means to lose her take on the land her father is offering. Lear says” Here I disclaim all my paternal care, Propinquity and property of blood, And as a stranger to my heart and me” (1.1.93) He dissolves his parental care of Cordelia and then banishes her immediately from his kingdom. Even though he says at another point that he loved her most and even though Cordelia was right in her actions to follow in the steps of her sisters would have been to show no love at all. In act 4, scene 7 Cordelia finds the king and tends to him lovingly even though the king has gone mad and has shown that he wants nothing to do with her. She tends to him and is happy for him though his madness to be with him again. At this point an Insane King finally understands she was trying to say before and says” I know you do not love me; for your sisters Have, as I do remember, done me wrong: You have some cause, they have not.”(4.7.105) This is how he shows his remorse the king going back on his word to apologize to his dearest daughter, for he realizes he has done her wrong.
In King Lear Shakespeare displays the, at times, seemingly ridiculous contradictions that mankind possesses. From these points a fair case has been made that Shakespeare had far more in mind than just entertainment when he wrote his stories. The subtle influence of real life experiences must be what drove him to write the way he did and the way Shakespeare mirror opposites to contrast the change in the characters over the course of the play. The tiny hints he leave throughout the play on how the story will turn out can clue you in far before the point to which the clue refers. In this way the story leads itself to it’s own end in definite finality.
Stuff, and things
I feel so overwhelmed, again I am of the belief that none of you care all that much, but I do know that all of you have felt this way at one point or another. I have a weird way of dealing with stress and I’m sure that most of you just sit in your house/room and stay there trying to finish what you need to do. I however see that, that seems to be a self-perpetuating cycle you sit at home and when you emerge more and more is just piled on by the friends and others who have missed you. I feel like the best way to deal with this is just to ignore it, to let it just sit and fester like a poorly dressed wound in the back of your mind. This may seem to you as quiet counter-productive and indeed it is, but the point is that when you sit down to do what you need to do you are compelled to and don’t feel like the end of the world with come if you don’t finish. You feel like its natural and you should do it not that you need to. It’s sort of a way to create a stress free mind using the stress that you have. If that makes sense? Something to keep in mind is to not push things back too far because, the consequences could result in some very harsh feelings between you and yourself.
Some Thoughtful, Thoughts…
I’m not really one for deep thought-provoking lessons. I’m the kind of person that finds deep meaning in the tiniest and sometimes the stupidest of detail. Also I’m not the kind of person who walks around giving people advice either, Some would say that I’m the strong but silent type. But, I feel that this is the type of advice worth giving. NEVER EVER give up, don’t let yourself come up with any excuse to just give up, justified or other-wise. You need to remember to do right by you, and do whatever you can to reach your goals and crush whatever stands in way. You need to do this, even if it is just so that you can live long enough to see the repercussions of you actions, good or bad.
And now, for something completely different…
Two songs from my favorite band; Driftless Pony Club
Maps of Low Fidelity :
You swallow birds
I can hear them tearing at your throat
Songs start and stop
You’re trying to breathe between the notes
And if you’re good when your body dies
We’ll use your bones to salt the skies
And the vapor comes
And the vapor comes
And if you’re good in a black T-shirt
We’ll use your sweat to salt the Earth
And the vapor comes
And the vapor comes
You’re drawing lines
You’re trying to regain control
Maps of low fidelity
Streets and signs have abandoned their roles
And if you’re good when your body dies
We’ll use your bones to salt the skies
And the vapor comes
And the vapor comes
And if you’re good in an A-line skirt
We’ll use your sweat to salt the Earth
And the vapor comes
And the vapor comes
Imaginary Blood :
I lost my limb
I lost my limb
I was doused in gin
I don’t remember when
Maybe gangrene was setting in
Hand to elbow to shoulder to neck to chin
I can feel the wind
Needles and pins
Your hands dancing
Along my skin
You saw my arm and it falls off
Phantom limbs will tend to trim the cost
With fists I fought
To hold on a thought
Skin was melting
But not burning off
Imaginary blood coagulates
And keeps this phantom held in solid state
I can’t erase
I lost my limb
I lost my limb
I was doused in gin
I don’t remember when
I can feel the wind
Needles and pins
I can feel the wind
Needles and pins
Here’s the band’s website: http://www.driftlessponyclub.com/
So I leave you with this and hope you all sleep and live well, goodnight and farewell for all those who happen to pass by the little place I call my sanctuary.
Here let me ruin your night.
While my headaches cripple me from writing anything good, here is some of my previously written bad poetry.
I wish there was more to this little world,
More than just the constant spinning.
For the spinning makes me dizzy,
And of this I have become tired, so very tired.
Now I leave this place, never to return,
And I wish that there was more to say,
Other than goodbye, goodbye.
As this world turns once more I say farewell,
And goodbye one last time.
As I float away from there I wonder who will miss me?
For it was almost like I was never there at all…
Beauty is as beauty goes,
Listly through the shadows of old.
From wanting eyes doth it not stare.
Hidden away under thy darkest stair,
And crawls away from the brightest light.
For thou doth not want to point it bright,
True beauty hides and it hides well.
Far from you or me as well.
For if we saw true beauty bright,
Death and all would put it right,
And beauty’s face for which we can not see?
It drives as mad and makes our minds wild,
Following paths of wispy hues.
Our minds run flat though our reason runs true.
Our mind see what we know and want,
And rigs it up as beauty’s front,
And although we know something is not right,
It seems as though we turned out alright.
Though in defiance we stick out our nose,
Minds drifting away from what truly it knows.
Beauty is as beauty goes…
They have no choice, but to those who know; will always be.
So I leave you with this and hope you all sleep and live well, goodnight and farewell for all those who trodden here.
The Christening
On this, my christening post I would like to draw attention to other glorious things that are christened. The best example of this are boats; so for you a 3rd century narrative.
Openings to the water I stopped;
I searched for cracks and the wanting parts I fixed:
Three sari of bitumen I poured over the outside;
To the gods I caused oxen to be sacrificed.
It’s late at night and we all sleep
or at least we try,
yes we do until the day we die.
So I leave you with this and hope you all sleep and live well, goodnight and farewell for all those who trodden here.
Hear you sir;
therammblings
My Ramblings 