Samwise

Tue, 29 Aug 2006 01:38:02 GMT

Laptop = dead for a month. ARGH.

Sun, 30 Jul 2006 20:29:31 GMT

A survey for you all.
Answer these questions, and you will feel as though you are a renewed human being.

1) What is more useful, a sculpture of a suitcase, or a sculpture in a suitcase?
2) If you could ask Ponce de Leon one question about his life, what would it be?
3) If a genie promised you he would fulfill three wishes of one person in your literature textbook, who would you choose?
4) How many dice rolls do you guess it would take to add up to your age?
5) Genghis Khan is in your living room. What's the first thing he does?
6) You're trapped in your room with an angry rhinocerous wearing plaid. What do you feed the beast in an attempt to appease it?
7) You're trapped in the Louvre in a terrible blizzard and the only way to survive is to make fire from the paintings. What do you do?
8) Which country, if rocketed into orbit, would make the best space station?
9) Thirteen vegetables can be found in the attic of your neighbor's home. What are they?
10) A tornado made of polar bears is heading towards your house. How do you arm yourself?
11) Three elements of the periodic table have to be reacted to stop the earth from exploding! Choose quickly! Which will it be?
12) You wake up to find the Knights of the Round Table have set up headquarters in your basement. They think there's a dragon lurking somewhere nearby in your home. Where is it?
13) You're lost in a jungle with only 15 stalks of bamboo. What tools do you fashion?
14) What color of towel is the best?
15) You discover that Jaws was based on a true story in the future and you are a main character. What person are you?

Have fun evareebody. I wrote it myself.

Sat, 22 Jul 2006 00:25:15 GMT

The last things a soldier expects to need until the supply is gone are his boots. After his literally melted onto the top of a Matilda tank from the geographical stove of the Sahara Desert, Humphrey had to make sandals out of his uniform in slowly tearing cloth. With each passing day, he felt more and more heat crawling up from the sands towards his skin. It made him think of his American cousin in the Pacific, not as a moment of sentiment, but wondering if the coal-walking tribesman of those lands felt the way he did during every passing minute.
The sky was a morning blue sharper than any prism could focus, but the sun it perched above the earth at such an angle that no man dared look up to see its glory. Clouds were little more than a passing stranger on this soil foreign to those British warriors on patrol in their mechanical chariot racing on four wheels to the northeast. They were sculpted as new men by the sun, their skin and wardrobe distorted so much by the dunes that they appeared as Bedouins to the untrained eye.
The spare tire was already in use, as well as a miracle fix to the front left that nobody could really explain involving patchwork with used teabags. There were bullet holes in part of the rear from earlier engagements, but fewer than most vehicles already had. There were nine men to six seats in the vehicle, sometimes more depending on the day. Everybody felt damn lucky that there was still enough water and ammunition to last a week, and they knew this was probably the last time they would have that luxury of excess.
“Jack, how far’d command say we’d have to go to find the northern wing?” Humphrey kept his body turned as many inches as he could away from the direct sunlight on his side of the vehicle.
“We should’ve seen them by now.” Jack had cut special gloves so his hands wouldn‘t burn on the steering wheel. “They’re prolly still heading that way.”
Much palaver followed.
“Shoudn’t we head back ‘stead of wasting the petrol?”
“Command decided to have us rendezvous now that there’s petrol to waste, kid. This isn’t gonna turn around.”
“It’s not very frugal.”
“Neither is the bloody desert. Now somebody hand me my canteen.”
“Maybe we’ll find a genie if we’re lucky.”
“Maybe it’ll be a lady. I haven’t seen the shape of a woman in months…”
“A load of bullocks, Geoff. Everybody here has the magazines that Herschel smuggled in.”
“That’s what I mean. The commander found mine.”
“Oh bloody hell. What does he know?”
“Nothing about it. But like I said.”
The jeep’s engine made a sound that began to undulate when Humphrey focused on it more over the banter of the men. It seemed like the longer he listened to mechanical things, the less significant the sounds were. It was almost like the sound of a harmonica after a while, playing a single note continuously with an endless gasp of combustion. He knew every part of the engine and could compare the pulse of the pistons with his own. It was a soothing drone that occupied his mind against the unchanging landscape of the desert…
He thought about all the engine fixes the company had him do. At least five in the past week had been done, and two more would’ve been completed had there been enough screws and oil for all of them. The rendezvous crew was going to have enough to finish the mechanical work though, and then operations could be on the move again. They just kept their guns at the ready when ordered, as it was better than worrying about when the supplies would arrive. The calliope of an engine was all he thought of for now…
“Damnit Humphrey, get out of the way.”
He had fallen asleep, apparently, and the sun was shining from directly overhead. Soon the heat of the desert came back like a bad memory and the ragged feel of his clothing. He swung open the low metal door and threw himself out of the vehicle before he got a chance to look around. When his eyes adjusted, he was surrounded by blackened metal icebergs rising from the sandy sea, the remains of their rendezvous crew.

Wed, 12 Jul 2006 03:55:26 GMT

Oh no... what is that fellow up to THIS time? Is that a monistic universe?

Mon, 10 Jul 2006 05:21:40 GMT

Tell us a story!
Okay, okay. I shall tell you of the campaign that happened. As you will quickly discover, I was very evil.

So, I find myself as Fulcrum Makuna, Sharif of a district in a seaside Arabian city. I decide one day to start raising hell and imposing taxes on my citizens in order to buy myself a shiny new galley. With me is a half-orc shaman and a half-elven... something. Because of my noble upbringing, I wear a pair of shiny boots that let me run at ridiculous speeds, and I carry with me a giant mallet called "The Funeral Bell of Justice," because it has a hollow, open end that rings like a gong. I'm a deceitful, cunning bastard of a ruler, and all my subjects hold a bit of a grudge against me.

So, I bought nine mules, eight of which stayed at my manor. One of them pulled my sled through the sandy streets of town, while a shaman rode next to me on top of a rhinocerous. You heard me. I ordered a bunch of privates to start locking the doors of the town, and citizens could only break out if they agreed to my ten gold piece tax (a lot for a pseudo-oppressed working class). Privates start scurrying around locking doors, while my corporals are yelling at me that I don't have authority to do so, to which I replied, "Fuck you, I'm the Sharif motherfucking Fulcrum Makuna!"

I was trying to convince a bunch of ex-convict citizens to join me or else I would get them thrown in jail on sexual assault charges, when the town cataphracts charged through. Pretty much everybody tried to bluff them at once, and they got suspicious and placed the town area under martial law. I tried diplomacy on them for a bit, "Come on brothers, we're all working for the man here!" Of course, that didn't work. I was going to slip out, but the shaman decided to take action and make his rhinocerous charge.

These cataphracts meant business, and they pretty much destroyed the rhino with javelins. In order to help my friend escape, I rallied together my privates who were busy locking doors and convinced them to attack the cataphracts, as "The King has instructed me to do, for they are technologically behind and stuff." To which they replied, "Uh... okay." Of course, they were getting owned.

Another group of cataphracts came around the corner. I ran over to them quickly, and yelled "Brothers, something horrible has happened! These cataphracts have betrayed the citizens and are attacking their own men! They are opposed to the king!" Nobody believed me. "Just get out of the way, sir, and we'll figure this out."

Desperate, I ran around the corner after the mess grew more intense. I rang the hammer bell against the wall of a building to get the attention of the citizens. "Everyone, my friends and colleagues, look before you as the king has taken out his rage against the proletariat, and I, your benevolent Sharif, am trying to defend you!" No reaction, just a bunch of confused people. A group of orphans used the chaos as a chance to horde in a kiosk of fish where one of the convicts had just killed the owner.

I decided to be more wicked and pulled out my taxation papers. "The king has forced me to tax you all ten gold pieces for a new galley for personal use, while your children in the streets are starving! Think of what that money could buy them, and what will become of you!" "We'd rather be oppressed then get our asses kicked." I slammed the woman in the face with a mallet, killing her. "This is the voice of injustice! She may be a member of the proletariat, but her voice was that of the oppressor!" I gonged the hammer some more. "Knock that off!" someone yelled. "Does my bell toll as the sound of the bell of justice for the people, or will it be the funeral bell for your rights?"

That was my mother, you bastard!" He took it to the face and died also. The mob then turned against me, pulling knives and shards of glass and other horrible things. They stabbed me a few times, and I jumped away, fleeing the kingdom as a traitor. ^_^

Irrational Games

Wed, 07 Jun 2006 03:29:33 GMT

I've been doing some research on game theory for my Speech summer course, as I have to give an informational speech of a topic of my choice. What my research led me to was one of the most bizarre fields of mathematics ever, though, which was infinite game theory; taking preexisting games and removing parameters so that they never end. Imagine the possibilities in irrational games. Chaopoly would be my favorite. It would be played on a continuous where every point on the plane is a different property, so that no matter how many times each player passes go, they would never reach the same property twice, especially if the distance traveled was a chaotic value between 0 and 6, a spherical die :)

Pool in the universe of the physics of Zeno's paradox would also be an interesting occurence. Imagine a pool table where once a ball is hit, its speed is determined by the proportions of the distance traveled versus the distance to the hole. Because the speed is comparative as it was during the times of Zeno instead of accurate like it is in modern times, the ball would inversely deccelerate, and no matter how hard the ball was hit. It would never actually reach the hole.

This isn't really irrational math, but imagine parametric chess, where each piece is given a specialized velocity. Turns are not back and forth, but a continuous process, and as a result, all pieces are capable of moving at the same time provided they are not blocked. Imagine as knights mercilessly gallop down the queen of an opposing empire as she struggles to flee, while a horde of pawns overwhelm the rook attempting to horizontally escape. It would be glorious if chess worked in a real time situation.

I was having a good time with this one.

Thu, 04 May 2006 00:24:49 GMT

Dream complications, it seems my mind has created a bizarre loophole. When I've dreamed lately, it hasn't been direct, but rather dreams about myself recounting dreams to others or laying in bed remembering them. The dreams I remember in the dreams are in vivid detail, involving strange things like towers in the desert with torches at their zeniths or a frightening cloud-like beast that resembles my sweet old grandmother.

I'm trying to decide what sort of process would denote this due to the bizarre fact that none of the dreams I remember in my dreams occur, but I relate them. Perhaps this has only been a fluke, but the process of dreaming occurs in the rearrangement of mental data and the interpretations thereof. Somehow, the rearranged data accounts for another undergoing process, as if a seperate dream has occured while I am not dreaming and the processer is trying to rearrange previously rearranged data?

I can't think of any reason why this should happen. You may think I am making something large out of nothing, but this does not seem to match the format of a dream state at all. I'm rather curious as to what sort of importance it could have.

Tue, 28 Feb 2006 03:56:13 GMT

My bones really do ache... but that's supposed to be impossible, right?

Thu, 23 Feb 2006 04:29:25 GMT

Broadcasting to you live from the Omni Suites in Chicago, IL.

Is something wrong with the fact that I was able to pick up a wireless network at 4/5 conditions miles over rural Minnesota?

Mon, 30 Jan 2006 00:29:41 GMT

I found out that the Mona Lisa image was A) Leading people to believe I was a girl and B) Leading people to associate the way I look with Botero's painting. So, new userpic is up. Make what you will of it. :)

Fri, 27 Jan 2006 02:57:55 GMT

Yesterday, I ate a bowl of chili con queso illegally, and I could have been put in jail for it. Ah, but I suppose you are wondering how that is possible? Well, during our lunch break from the Jazz Festival, I went over to Bonzer's Pub to gather some lunch, but I only had about 20 minutes to eat because I had promised a friend I would meet her at 12:30. So I said to the waiter, "Is there anything here that I could eat in a very short period of time?"

"Sure, things are kind of slow right now anyways. Just say what you want." It was then that I ordered the con queso, and they gave me a colossal bowl that probably contained a gallon of the substance (which was quite delicious) with a plate of chips to rival it. I ate as much of it as I could very quickly, then left twelve dollars on the table and walked out the door.

When I told people where I ate, there were some very wide eyes.

What I did not realize is that Bonzer's, in order to keep their smoking customers in recent bans, had to qualify themselves as a bar by state standards, and as a result, they are now considered an official liquor vendor. In other words, any person under twenty-one can be prosecuted for being on their grounds. ^_^;; My guess is that because of the rush I was in, they didn't ask for ID because it distracted their focus.

Yeah, that law is very effective. I was such a threat to society, especially considering I was under 21. That means I can't handle being near alcohol no matter what, right?

Tue, 17 Jan 2006 22:51:31 GMT

Chapter Two
Songs of the Skyscrapers

When Nova Raymond played her gilded saxophone, something about her sound always reflected her surroundings, as though perhaps she was the daughter of the colossal steel giants that towered over the bumbling masses. Many passersby felt that she had stolen a piece of them in her music and the only way to fairly trade back was to leave a few bills in her instrument case. It may have been that aspect of her strange life that allowed her to begin anew.

When she played, the talented girl no longer felt the dire nature of the slum world beneath the urban heights, but she felt the glory of the city that lived in strangers all around her. She did not see her hair that was a mix of purple and black because she could not afford to dye it regularly or the rainbow-patterned sweater that was one of the few heirlooms left after her father abandoned her. All she felt was trancelike pulse that allowed her heartbeat to occur in sharps and flats and the saxophone’s clarion whispers against her careful hands.

Most street performers never find anything larger than a few spare notes in their cases at the end of a day, let alone a check. In clear ink across a blue slip of paper, however, Nova read a number with more zeros after at than she had ever seen before she dropped out of school to support her mother. She fell to her knees and nearly fainted altogether when she realized that it could as well have been Fate himself who signed the check.

There were two other things in her saxophone’s case that explained the entire occurrence. She found a business card belonging to a “Ms. Deirdre Parker, CEO Theomeny Enterprises.” Next to it was a printed letter with the Theomeny logo, a giant hammer swinging downwards in red ink, and Times New Roman font that read as follows:

Dear Ms. Nova Raymond,

You have been cordially invited to perform at the opening night for the new hotel complex, the Theomeny Suites, in the downtown area. We hope you will be able to arrive and play the lovely jazz music that has greeted Ms. Parker on her stroll to work each morning. If you choose to make a premier of this joyous occasion, we will provide you with more funds and have you recommended for future projects with our business endeavors. If you have any questions, feel free to call Ms. Parker at the number provided.

Sincerely,
The Theomeny Enterprises Board of Directors

It was signed by an illegible signature, but given all the clarity of a children’s fairy tale. Nova could not believe that all of this was not some delusion she was suffering at the hands of playing for too many hours on that day. Yet, there it was in as clear of language as any ink could place it. She looked around her to make sure nobody had seen her; such money on the lawless streets was nearly a curse if others had laid eyes upon it.

She folded the paper quickly and thrust it into her pocket, packed up the saxophone, and ran home with indescribable glimmer in her smoke-gray eyes. Her legs carried her small frame across the sidewalks with such avian agility that she puzzled everyone who saw her. Here was a street performer in a mundanely knit sweater torn in several places with cheaply dyed hair charging through the urban world with no cares and only a childish glee.

Nova hadn’t carried such a bright look on her face since days of infancy, and as soon as she fell through the apartment door, dropped the wrinkled saxophone case and embraced her mother in a hug that brightened the room’s one light bulb by several watts. “Oh mama, the most wonderful thing ever has happened!” she said in her strange tone.

The sturdy, middle aged woman with a pale look about her complexion just smiled quietly. “And what might that be, my little glitter child?”

Nova began to cry and pulled the papers out of her pocket while speaking in choked intervals, “Isn’t this the most glorious thing you’ve ever seen?”

The paper unfolded into a curious geometric tangle that curved in all sorts of directions, yet there was the Theomeny Enterprises check, signed vaguely by a fellow whose name was nearly illegible but appeared to start with an “S.” Nova would have to find out who he was and make sure to thank him.

For now however, she and her mother just sat their on a broken mattress and cried for at least an hour in each other’s arms. They could get a new mattress now, possibly a new home, and it could be that they would never have to suffer again for another day of their lives. There would be no more days with over twelve hours of work or wondering what the world would be like if Jack hadn’t left them there for dead… it didn’t matter suddenly. The city had released its chains on them.

Millicent (as Nova’s mother had been named forty-eight years before) called the number left on the business card to make certain there hand been no mistake. The secretary at the desk reassured her that the plans had been in order, and that Nova was scheduled to play at 8’o clock the next day at the new Theomeny Suites in the city’s downtown district. She was invited to come to the festivities if she felt it desirable to arrive as well and enjoy the good show.

They thought about all the good things that could be done with the money, but first came practice. After all, she only had one day to prepare herself for the show ahead of her.

Nova couldn’t remember if she slept that night, but the parts of it that she remembered placed her on a street corner just outside her apartment. The city skyline appeared as a steel volcano spewing neon lava down its prismic slope. It was not that far away from where she was, but from the hill her apartment stood on, the colors seemed to be in another world altogether. Nevertheless, she would be there tomorrow, in one of those electric castles where she would be crowned as royalty.

She began to play the saxophone while focused deeply on the structures that seemed almost within her reach. Her exhaustion blurred her vision, and she began to meditate while concentrating on the beauty of mankind’s world. This was the secret to her skill with the instrument that none were allowed to see. It was at this exact moment that her senses changed shape entirely. What she had was no longer sight, or hearing, or even touch; instead, the world became a magical vision, a place that gave her faith in the incredible power of the city.

The frames of the skyscrapers melted and their colors twisted into lines that clearly separated into sets of five. The lights that shone from the windows turned into a form of luminescent ink that branded the hazy midnight air. The entire skyline had converged into a giant musical score with notes conducted by the towers themselves. The city was teaching her jazz in a way that no other force could possibly rival.

Then the notes began to fall out of her instrument in that ambrosial whistle a saxophone makes. She loved the city so much, even when the world around felt no such thing towards her. It was these moments in the quiet when it was just herself and the skyline that made her happiest. Every night it was a different glorious melody that it taught her, and over the years she had memorized hundreds. The buildings themselves seemed to watch over her like guardian angels clothed in luminescent steel robes. It was a beautiful thing.

Nova played for great lengths that night, incapable of discerning any hour from the last. After the moon had traveled several perceived inches through the night sky, however, the melody changed.

The notes the city was teaching her suddenly become, discordant and terrifying. The score was still there like it always for her, but the sound became something like a scream as the notes ascended higher and higher. Nova followed them for a while in terror as they made minors, majors, and nameless chords between them all with terrifying discordance. The sound from her saxophone made a horrible noise like a semi-truck’s horn that should not have even occurred.

She stopped playing for a moment and almost cried. She had heard such song from her saxophone only once, and that was the night of the great construction accident several years before. The screams from her saxophone yielded, and she was almost certain she heard a whisper in a nameless tongue echo from its bell as the sound resided. The skyline seemed to stand as stoical as ever, but there was pain in it all. The city had used her as a medium to weep and mourn. Something sad was about to happen.

Then, Nova felt a terrible exhaustion come over her when she realized how long she had been playing. The sun began to rise again, and she quickly fell asleep outside next to the road. In her dreams, Nova saw herself as a mighty skyscraper who made friends with the clouds and the buildings around her. Then the clouds betrayed her, and in a great storm, she and her friends tumbled to the ground. She wondered what it was like for a city to feel pain, if such a thing were possible. The city loved her, and she couldn’t bear to think of anything like that happening. The skyscrapers were the father she never had.

Thu, 12 Jan 2006 04:16:53 GMT

I'm going to Chicago in a month :o :o :o

Sun, 08 Jan 2006 22:30:36 GMT

“The end of the human race will be that it will eventually die of civilization.”
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

It was a lovely November evening in the city, and the motors of the passing automobiles seemed to sing a folk song as old as the fossil fuels in their tanks. Electricity filed through power lines in a microscopic pulse that filled the urban environment’s veins. As the sun began to set, the false lights generated within the windows of skyscrapers took its place. At the place where nature ended, the work of mankind began.

During this particular dusk, a beautiful woman named Vivienne Crane could be seen walking along the geometrically precise sidewalks. She had a golden color of hair that could almost be described as ivory from its paleness, and her pair of rose-tinted glasses hid the natural obsidian hue of her eyes from others. It was a cold night, and she wore an unusual jacket to celebrate the advent of winter, made entirely out of dark crocodile skin with toggles composed of their bony, sharp teeth.

She was traveling across the miles of urbanite territory towards the celebration of a new building’s birthday. After a year of vigorous buying and selling, Vivienne, a prolific art broker, had managed to equip the lobby of the Convolvulus Suites with canvases of eras ranging from the early romantic to the late postmodern. It was time for her to celebrate her labors and the end of difficult negotiations for quite some time.

As much as she anticipated the occasion, she was still far from her destination. Vivienne stepped into an amber taxi cab that screamed yellow back at the darkening night sky. The back seat was made with a comfortable leather, but the wrinkles in the fabric showed that this taxi cab had been ridden thousands of times before. “Where are you going, young lady?” asked the driver in a heavy voice.

Vivienne relaxed in her seat and stared upwards tiredly. “The new hotel, the Convolvulus Suites. It’s downtown over by-”

“I know where it is, lady.” interrupted the driver, a strange looking fellow with stark white hair contrasting his dark skin and a patch over what remained of his right eye. “I’ve been driving this cab for forty years and I know these streets better than I do my own family half the time. You’ll never have to tell ol’ Reuben Jenkins where someplace is in this city.”

Vivienne raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like a strange life to be leading, spending one’s time behind the same wheel for years.”

“I’ve grown attached to this machine,” he replied with a laugh that made him far less intimidating. “Some people say I might turn into a taxi cab myself one of these days. I suppose I start to feel safer if I don’t change my surroundings much, especially with the way this city is changing.”

“Of course.” the young woman smiled. “Every day in a place like this is an adventure. Nothing ever stays the same, and for some, it could almost be seen as threatening.”

“Is that the way you see it?” the driver asked.

“Every day of my life,” Vivienne replied. “I see the wilderness of the city.”

“Then you don’t have a damn clue,” Reuben replied as he pulled towards a stoplight and pointed at its electronic frame. “Do you see that? The stoplights always go from green, to yellow, to red, to green again like some kind of Technicolor clock. This city never changes at all, and that’s what makes it a scary place. Everything makes sense, and when it doesn’t… well, that’s another story.”

“That’s a story I’d like to hear. Have time?” She looked at her silver-plated watch. “I certainly do.”

“Not many people have time for an old taxi driver’s philosophizing. They turn this cab into a bedroom if I start blathering on.” He chuckled in a way that seemed far more light hearted than his intimidating features implied. “I’m not sure I should subject you to that.”

“Please, do.” Vivienne was intrigued and was not satisfied with the minimum she had been told. “I enjoy an evening’s enlightening.”

“Well, I’ll start talkin’ if you absolutely insist.” As the car ended its halt, he continued his speaking. “I’ve been wandering through this same city for a long, long time, and my hair’s been collecting silver all the while. The city though, it never ages. The same people drive along the same routes every day to and from work every day, including myself. The streets have kept their names for nearly a hundred years, and maybe even before that sometimes.

“Then, however, there’s the other half of it all, the parts that aren’t staying the same. I’ve spent so long behind this wheel that I’ve started to feel every little thing that isn’t right. It started with watching the stoplights, when I’d memorize how long they would take to change between colors. Then I moved into other things, mapping how long it takes to travel between different roads and how long I can expect to take going between here and there.”

“Sounds like you were starting to get lonely,” Vivienne commented while adjusting her lenses. This fellow’s story was interesting for her, though she could not begin to understand why. He had a certain spiritual aura about him, as though

“That could be, but it was only the beginning of it all. As I watched the traffic patterns, I started to see more combinations, with stories passengers told me, the colors of vehicles, even the years of there make. It was undeniable. I was able to see things before they happened in the traffic itself. Everything in this town is interconnected by the roads, cables, and all that other modern stuff, and I can read into all of it just by my days on the road.”

“So you mean to tell me,” Vivienne was baffled. “That you can actually… divine by traffic?”

“Something along those lines.” Reuben replied. “It’s the patterns that I see, and they can mean a lot of different things. But something happens to a man when he spends too long in a place like this, where everything starts to blend together like ice and tequila in a cheap cantina. It really starts to take a toll on a man when he can’t help but imply things from his surroundings, when he can‘t discern from what he sees and what he can‘t possibly be seeing.”

“Well then,” Vivienne was legitimately curious about just what she could expect of this taxicab oracle. “What do you know about tonight, judging by what you’ve been seeing?”

“Nothing good,” Reuben banked a turn left across an intersection. “I’m seeing a lot of distortion in the patterns. The stoplights have been ticking unusually at several of the intersections, like the electrical lines have been misfiring. A lot of static’s been showing through in the car radios too. There’s way too much discord in the area, and I don’t like it at all. I think something big is about to happen.”

“I don’t know if I believe you,” Vivienne explained. “That’s way too vague for me to find any verisimilitude in it.”

“That’s because I’m not done preachin’ yet!” Reuben shook his head. “I told you, everyone gets tired of my talk after a while. Nobody wants to listen to Reuben Jenkins when he’s-”

“If there’s more to say, go ahead.” she brushed her hair off to one side. “I’m listening, but I haven’t heard enough. Go on.”

“Well if you insist that I keep trying to explain myself, I will.” Reuben’s thick city accent came with almost a sage-like tone. “The last time this form of discord happened, the whole of the city seemed to come apart as if it had been wounded. That was the day the Jubilarian Tower fell a couple years ago. My last passenger of the day was heading there for a meeting, and he never walked out of the wreckage.” He paused. “You’re my last passenger today.”

Vivienne wasn’t sure if she believed this man at all, but an electrical fear pulsed through her limbs. “You’ve certainly turned my night into an adventure,” she smiled with a certain charisma, but incapable of masking her disturbed nature. “I’ll keep a watchful eye out for danger. I’m a gourmet for excitement.”

“Yeah, well, just be careful.” Reuben pulled the taxi along the curbside. “Sometimes a person never really knows when they’re going to run into trouble. I recommend keeping a watchful eye tonight. If not for fear of yourself, for my sake. I don’t want a repeat of the last time this happened.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.” She noted, handing him his fare.

“That’ll do you no good,” Reuben pointed at his eye patch. “Keep it where it belongs, you’ll need both of them to watch yourself.”

She thanked him and left the taxi cab with a smile, though the memory of his words made her heart beat just slightly faster. A light gust of wind seemed to push Vivienne forward towards the glass doors of the hotel complex as the cab drove away behind her. At that moment, she began to wonder if she felt it too. She wondered if she had felt the breath of the city.

Sun, 01 Jan 2006 06:51:48 GMT

I just spent a whole New Years party talking quantum mechanics and philosophy. It was the greatest New Years I've had in quite some time. :)

Wed, 14 Dec 2005 00:19:28 GMT

It was within a deep, wild Norwewgian jungle that I first encountered the castle that would thrust fear deep within me. Between clusters of palm trees and ferns scattered about the landscape was a large stone edifice designed for the sheer purpose of defending a treasure countless years old. In the fifth century AD, this place was a battleground for the greatest of Viking warriors who dared to face each other in combat. After global warming struck, however, Norway sank deep beneath sea level, and only the mountains remained, becoming tropical havens for tourists and adventurers alike.

Here, it was rumored that the norse god Odin had hidden a turkey baster made out of the purest steel forged by Thor. It was designed to defeat a horrible demon found by the Vikings in the Westward travels across the ocean, a half turkey, half dragon (dragurkey, to the educated amongst us). The creature was conquered by Leif Erikson, and cooked for a group of freeloading Americans with the magical baster. The day was celebrated for years to come as "Thanksgiving."

After miles and miles of seeing nothing but chlorophyll, I stopped to rest on a fallen log near my destination. It was then I began to hear a distinct pulse coming towards my general direction as if nature had plagiarized directly from Jurassic Park. I stood up cautiously, my eyes panning about to find the unseen threat that may be nearing. I prepared my machete that had carved through this terrible Norwegian dismal, waiting for the threat to arrive. At last the trees parted and revealed the gruesome beast therein.

The behemoth had a reptilian frame the size of at least fifteen men with giant incisors barred between the edges of its beak. Brown scales and feathers intermingled about its skin, giving it the look of a bird, yet the ferocity of a dinosaur. Red, bulbous growths hung from its twelve foot long neck, and a large, peacock-like billow of feathers shot out from the end of its torso. The creature leaned forward upon its obsidian talons and let out a screeching gobble that filled me with terror.

Yes, my friends, it was the first time I ever faced the wild dragurkey.

Sun, 04 Dec 2005 04:15:16 GMT

My birthday is on Tuesday. Sacrifice goats in my honor. Or just leave comments claiming you did, and I'll give you benefit of the doubt.

Sun, 27 Nov 2005 19:22:34 GMT

I just got what is easily the most awesome spam message ever. Basically, its stereotypical "Get Windows Software for cheap!" etc. junk, but the name of the sender floored me.

"Shiva V. Hologram."

...wow.

On a further note, if you haven't seen the Chuck Norris list, definitely look at it.

http://www.4q.cc/chuck/index.php?topthirty

"Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs."

"Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits."

"If you can see Chuck Norris, he can see you. If you can't see Chuck Norris you may be only seconds away from death."

"Chuck Norris built a time machine and went back in time to stop the JFK assassination. As Oswald shot, Chuck met all three bullets with his beard, deflecting them. JFK's head exploded out of sheer amazement."

Mon, 21 Nov 2005 01:23:42 GMT

A recipe

4 liters of Mountain dew
3 packages of gummi worms
4 Tbsp. sugar (for good measure)
5 small packages of blue raspberry kool aid
5 cups marshmallows

Dice the gummi worms, them mix everything together. Everything. Serve as a soup.

---------

I don't know what to name it. What do you think?
Nor have I ever made it. Any souls brave enough to make it with me?

Wed, 16 Nov 2005 05:06:52 GMT

Bloody dopplegangers.

Wed, 09 Nov 2005 02:14:25 GMT

It was in those days that, in the nation the people called Deutschland, engineers decided to make a needle that would go straight to the stars. The people had forgotten their mistake during the times of Tower of Babel, and once again decided to move towards the heavens. The scientists gathered in an abandoned field and used their principles of combustion to make their “rocket” climb skyward. In a symphony of dust and smoke fluttering about the Earth below, their invention shot towards the stars. It climbed so high that none could distinguish it from the surroundings any longer.

Then, a black line appeared in the sky streaking by the clouds, and it began to expand. More like it formed, and soon much of the heavens above appeared to turn into pure obsidian. The scientists watched in horror as large masses of cerulean-tinted glass fell to the ground and shattered with piercingly loud sound. A black liquid streamed down from this place in a giant waterfall that appeared to extend upwards forever… and it was apparent in the last moments of those men what they had done. They had broken the sky.

-------

And now, your turn... what happens next?

Tue, 08 Nov 2005 02:56:49 GMT

http://cuppycake.ytmnd.com/

Listen to this, or else thy life shalt be incomplete.

Fri, 21 Oct 2005 15:10:52 GMT

http://puzzlepirates.com

My latest addiction.

Sat, 01 Oct 2005 22:19:30 GMT

For English, I had to write a Native American legend. I thought I would go for a mixture of cultures and decided to write the physics of the Big Bang as a form of mythology. :) The result was rather satisfying, it shows how in the end, there is so much likeness in spiritualities that it is overwhelming. I hardly had to change the ideas on either side to make the document. Here you go!
---

The Big Bang
Samuel Thompson, Period Two.

At the time before the mountains and rivers, all things had been made into one with the Spirit Twine. The weave bound all rocks, trees, lakes, and even the Great Tidewater together as one peaceful entity. The Manitou wove all this together with lightning and life, and between them all was held together in great unity. At this time all was one stone and one lake and one air in the One Smallest Everything. With these forces there was simple perfection and nothing more.

Then came the Evil Magician, who was wandering through Space with the Manitou. He saw that the world of the Manitou was missing a final element, and threw a burning stone towards the universe. It was then that Chaos was introduced to the world, and it became called the Fire. The air was consumed by the fire, the fire consumed by the water, the water consumed by the earth, and the earth blown away by the air. The universe had lost its Peace as the Cycle began.

The Manitou saw the chaos, and saw that the forces of the universe needed to be pulled apart to survive. There was much tension in the Spirit Twine and more knots were necessary each day in order to hold the great weaving together. After many days, he saw that the universe was unstable and the four elements had broken into almost a hundred. He knew that the instability would continue to rise unless he pulled the spirit twine apart.

Once the last knot was undone, the universe exploded outwards, and the chaos began to slow. Out of the One Smallest Everything came All Things, and after that it was known as the “Big Bang.” In the expanded world, the inevitable collapse of the universe was prevented by forcing the universe outward towards the Four Winds. He gave the new elements their names, starting with “Hydrogen,” then “Helium,” then “Lithium,” and so on. Everything was made so complicated that only the Manitou could understand it all.

Out of the many pieces of the Everything was the Earth, and it was given to the wisest of creatures, Mankind. They were given Spirit, and through this miracle they became life. They were given jurisdiction over the elements, to watch over them and to maintain the world that they had been given until the Spirit Twine was some day rewoven, and all would be brought together again.

Mon, 26 Sep 2005 23:04:16 GMT

New Image. Do you like it? It's a Botero.