Friday, March 13, 2009

Free
He loosened his hands from the bruised throat, and took a back to look at the thing he had done.

It was not a pretty sight. Though he had to owe it to himself that there was something attractive about the face. He found himself wondering what it was. Not the mouth, certainly, with its loathsome droop of passive suffering, that was still there, even though the lips were parted in one last automatic effort to sob in breath to the bursting lungs. Nor could it be the eyes, wide open and smudged with grimy marks of tears. The nose was snub and the chin was weak...

'Ah! That is it!' he said to himself at last. 'It is not the picture... it is the frame. The hair, the way it clings to the face, the way it is playing around the neck. 'Oh, the neck!'

He looked thoughtfully at the dull blue and black marks along the neck. 'I have strong fingers' he said softly, looking at his fingers and saw that they remained unstained. 'And I didn't let go, either. Yes, I have strong hands'
He felt a little proud of his work. In his life he had missed the triumph of making things, but now, he had the strong joy of having broken something.

'I have crushed you, m'dear,' he said amiably to the body. 'You will not torture me with your wet eyes and sad mouth ever more. You will not smile weakly when I curse at you, you will not sob softly to yourself when I hit you, you're dead!'

And pleased with his conceit he dealt a blow to the face of the corpse with his fist. It was cold to the touch, but the chest didn't heave, the eyes didn't soften and glisten over and drop tears around the cheeks. He was satisfied.

'Dead' he sad. 'Dead, m'dear.' And as he turned his back contemptuously on the corpse and went across the room to the window.

It was a lovely spring morning with a cloudless sky of blue, and a glorious sun was climbing its way up. Among the trees in the square the birds were singing joyfully, he could see the white pinafores of children playing on the grass in the gardens. Something of the joy of spring seized the man, bringing with it a mingled feeling of hope and regret.
'Damn!' he cried. 'the years I have wasted- utterly wasted. Well, I'm free now.. Free!' He laughed lightly and happily.

What it meant! No longer bound to a weakling, but now a strong free man. Free to laugh, free to enjoy the spring, free to marry, if he wanted to. But he would not do that. He would- what's the word?- philander, that's it. Flower to flower, like a butterfly. His spirit was free, and it was the time of spring.

He looked cheerfully at the body.
'The first thing I'll do is clear away this... this mess' he said, and strode back to the bedside.

Yes, it was the hair. There was no doubt about it. It would have been awkward if it had been the mouth or eyes. The thought made him shudder. But that was all nonsense. It was the hair, most certainly. The way it clung to the face.

And yet....


It was a fine spring morning. And he was free, free to do what he wanted, the whole world through. The best thing to do would be to get away and leave it all. The rooms were taken by the cadaver's name. Everything was in it's name. That was lucky. Of course, there would be a fuss when it was found, but he would be far away by that time. 'Over the hills and far away' He laughed aloud. Far from those eyes and mouth and everything. Oh, but he had already forgotten those, anyhow, and the whole matter was dead. They would trouble him no more, for it was merely the hair that had caught his attention. And now he was free.

He opened his bag on the floor by the bed, and began putting his things in neatly. His packing was one of the little things that he was proud of, and as he bustled about the room he sang a song, a nursery rhyme, that the had given back to his memory. Oh, he would be young again. It was the spring, and a very happy day.

Presently he remembered his pajamas which were on the pillow under the corpse's head. He lifted it not unkindly and dropped the head hastily and took refuge in his packing. There was room for his brown shoes here. Oh, there was a collar on the floor in the corner and his sponge. It would not do to forget them. He cast a glance around the room to make sure that he hadn't missed anything, But all of his things seemed to be safely packed away. His glance finally fell back in the corpse.

'poor thing!' he say with contemptuous pity. 'So dead and it is springtime. Can't even hear it,' and he paused to listen to the birds, and the children singing together out in the square. He found himself saying absently:
'I wonder whether the dead people always have such wet eyes,' and he flung himself viciously on his knees, and fastened his bag.

He got up from the ground with his spirits a little dashed, and put of his coat, looking angrily at the body.

'If you haunt me...' he cried, shaking his fist at it.
But in a minute he knew this was folly, because it was the hair, and he had forgotten.
So he lit a cigarette and picking up his bag and hat, he stepped firmly to the door.
'Good-bye m'dear! he said scornfully over his shoulder with his hand on the handle of the door.

'Good-bye~ My-dear'

And a minute later he walked out of the house, as one who is free does.

Certainly... He had forgotten.


~No real reason for the story. I just got a fancy to write it. Took me an hour to write, ten minutes to check over. I like the story, even though it has no meaning to it.

I wonder why I've only gotten books so far. not that I don't appreciate them or anything, but really... The books could at least be of a variety... lol. I let someone borrow a book. Apparently he says I gave it to him. whatever. School is too crowded, people talk too much during study hall. I wonder if I can get a job? Probably not.

My stomach hurts so much. I took Advil, but it's not helping. Nobody's here right now, it's not that bad anyhow, I'll just lay down and hope it goes away with some time. Maybe it's from that piece of chocolate I ate
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Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Story time Story time Story time Story time
In the very olden time there lived a semi-barbaric king, whose ideas, though somewhat polished and sharpened by the progressiveness of distant Latin neighbors, were still large, florid, and untrammeled, as became the half of him which was barbaric. He was a man of exuberant fancy, and, withal, of an authority so irresistible that, at his will, he turned his varied fancies into facts. He was greatly given to self-communing, and, when he and himself agreed upon anything, the thing was done. When every member of his domestic and political systems moved smoothly in its appointed course, his nature was bland and genial; but, whenever there was a little hitch, and some of his orbs got out of their orbits, he was blander and more genial still, for nothing pleased him so much as to make the crooked straight and crush down uneven places.
Among the borrowed notions by which his barbarism had become semified was that of the public arena, in which, by exhibitions of manly and beastly valor, the minds of his subjects were refined and cultured.
But even here the exuberant and barbaric fancy asserted itself. The arena of the king was built, not to give the people an opportunity of hearing the rhapsodies of dying gladiators, nor to enable them to view the inevitable conclusion of a conflict between religious opinions and hungry jaws, but for purposes far better adapted to widen and develop the mental energies of the people. This vast amphitheater, with its encircling galleries, its mysterious vaults, and its unseen passages, was an agent of poetic justice, in which crime was punished, or virtue rewarded, by the decrees of an impartial and incorruptible chance.
When a subject was accused of a crime of sufficient importance to interest the king, public notice was given that on an appointed day the fate of the accused person would be decided in the king's arena, a structure which well deserved its name, for, although its form and plan were borrowed from afar, its purpose emanated solely from the brain of this man, who, every barleycorn a king, knew no tradition to which he owed more allegiance than pleased his fancy, and who ingrafted on every adopted form of human thought and action the rich growth of his barbaric idealism.
When all the people had assembled in the galleries, and the king, surrounded by his court, sat high up on his throne of royal state on one side of the arena, he gave a signal, a door beneath him opened, and the accused subject stepped out into the amphitheater. Directly opposite him, on the other side of the enclosed space, were two doors, exactly alike and side by side. It was the duty and the privilege of the person on trial to walk directly to these doors and open one of them. He could open either door he pleased; he was subject to no guidance or influence but that of the aforementioned impartial and incorruptible chance. If he opened the one, there came out of it a hungry tiger, the fiercest and most cruel that could be procured, which immediately sprang upon him and tore him to pieces as a punishment for his guilt. The moment that the case of the criminal was thus decided, doleful iron bells were clanged, great wails went up from the hired mourners posted on the outer rim of the arena, and the vast audience, with bowed heads and downcast hearts, wended slowly their homeward way, mourning greatly that one so young and fair, or so old and respected, should have merited so dire a fate.
But, if the accused person opened the other door, there came forth from it a lady, the most suitable to his years and station that his majesty could select among his fair subjects, and to this lady he was immediately married, as a reward of his innocence. It mattered not that he might already possess a wife and family, or that his affections might be engaged upon an object of his own selection; the king allowed no such subordinate arrangements to interfere with his great scheme of retribution and reward. The exercises, as in the other instance, took place immediately, and in the arena. Another door opened beneath the king, and a priest, followed by a band of choristers, and dancing maidens blowing joyous airs on golden horns and treading an epithalamic measure, advanced to where the pair stood, side by side, and the wedding was promptly and cheerily solemnized. Then the gay brass bells rang forth their merry peals, the people shouted glad hurrahs, and the innocent man, preceded by children strewing flowers on his path, led his bride to his home.
This was the king's semi-barbaric method of administering justice. Its perfect fairness is obvious. The criminal could not know out of which door would come the lady; he opened either he pleased, without having the slightest idea whether, in the next instant, he was to be devoured or married. On some occasions the tiger came out of one door, and on some out of the other. The decisions of this tribunal were not only fair, they were positively determinate: the accused person was instantly punished if he found himself guilty, and, if innocent, he was rewarded on the spot, whether he liked it or not. There was no escape from the judgments of the king's arena.
The institution was a very popular one. When the people gathered together on one of the great trial days, they never knew whether they were to witness a bloody slaughter or a hilarious wedding. This element of uncertainty lent an interest to the occasion which it could not otherwise have attained. Thus, the masses were entertained and pleased, and the thinking part of the community could bring no charge of unfairness against this plan, for did not the accused person have the whole matter in his own hands?
This semi-barbaric king had a daughter as blooming as his most florid fancies, and with a soul as fervent and imperious as his own. As is usual in such cases, she was the apple of his eye, and was loved by him above all humanity. Among his courtiers was a young man of that fineness of blood and lowness of station common to the conventional heroes of romance who love royal maidens. This royal maiden was well satisfied with her lover, for he was handsome and brave to a degree unsurpassed in all this kingdom, and she loved him with an ardor that had enough of barbarism in it to make it exceedingly warm and strong. This love affair moved on happily for many months, until one day the king happened to discover its existence. He did not hesitate nor waver in regard to his duty in the premises. The youth was immediately cast into prison, and a day was appointed for his trial in the king's arena. This, of course, was an especially important occasion, and his majesty, as well as all the people, was greatly interested in the workings and development of this trial. Never before had such a case occurred; never before had a subject dared to love the daughter of the king. In after years such things became commonplace enough, but then they were in no slight degree novel and startling.
The tiger-cages of the kingdom were searched for the most savage and relentless beasts, from which the fiercest monster might be selected for the arena; and the ranks of maiden youth and beauty throughout the land were carefully surveyed by competent judges in order that the young man might have a fitting bride in case fate did not determine for him a different destiny. Of course, everybody knew that the deed with which the accused was charged had been done. He had loved the princess, and neither he, she, nor any one else, thought of denying the fact; but the king would not think of allowing any fact of this kind to interfere with the workings of the tribunal, in which he took such great delight and satisfaction. No matter how the affair turned out, the youth would be disposed of, and the king would take an aesthetic pleasure in watching the course of events, which would determine whether or not the young man had done wrong in allowing himself to love the princess.
The appointed day arrived. From far and near the people gathered, and thronged the great galleries of the arena, and crowds, unable to gain admittance, massed themselves against its outside walls. The king and his court were in their places, opposite the twin doors, those fateful portals, so terrible in their similarity.
All was ready. The signal was given. A door beneath the royal party opened, and the lover of the princess walked into the arena. Tall, beautiful, fair, his appearance was greeted with a low hum of admiration and anxiety. Half the audience had not known so grand a youth had lived among them. No wonder the princess loved him! What a terrible thing for him to be there!
As the youth advanced into the arena he turned, as the custom was, to bow to the king, but he did not think at all of that royal personage. His eyes were fixed upon the princess, who sat to the right of her father. Had it not been for the moiety of barbarism in her nature it is probable that lady would not have been there, but her intense and fervid soul would not allow her to be absent on an occasion in which she was so terribly interested. From the moment that the decree had gone forth that her lover should decide his fate in the king's arena, she had thought of nothing, night or day, but this great event and the various subjects connected with it. Possessed of more power, influence, and force of character than any one who had ever before been interested in such a case, she had done what no other person had done - she had possessed herself of the secret of the doors. She knew in which of the two rooms, that lay behind those doors, stood the cage of the tiger, with its open front, and in which waited the lady. Through these thick doors, heavily curtained with skins on the inside, it was impossible that any noise or suggestion should come from within to the person who should approach to raise the latch of one of them. But gold, and the power of a woman's will, had brought the secret to the princess.
And not only did she know in which room stood the lady ready to emerge, all blushing and radiant, should her door be opened, but she knew who the lady was. It was one of the fairest and loveliest of the damsels of the court who had been selected as the reward of the accused youth, should he be proved innocent of the crime of aspiring to one so far above him; and the princess hated her. Often had she seen, or imagined that she had seen, this fair creature throwing glances of admiration upon the person of her lover, and sometimes she thought these glances were perceived, and even returned. Now and then she had seen them talking together; it was but for a moment or two, but much can be said in a brief space; it may have been on most unimportant topics, but how could she know that? The girl was lovely, but she had dared to raise her eyes to the loved one of the princess; and, with all the intensity of the savage blood transmitted to her through long lines of wholly barbaric ancestors, she hated the woman who blushed and trembled behind that silent door.
When her lover turned and looked at her, and his eye met hers as she sat there, paler and whiter than any one in the vast ocean of anxious faces about her, he saw, by that power of quick perception which is given to those whose souls are one, that she knew behind which door crouched the tiger, and behind which stood the lady. He had expected her to know it. He understood her nature, and his soul was assured that she would never rest until she had made plain to herself this thing, hidden to all other lookers-on, even to the king. The only hope for the youth in which there was any element of certainty was based upon the success of the princess in discovering this mystery; and the moment he looked upon her, he saw she had succeeded, as in his soul he knew she would succeed.
Then it was that his quick and anxious glance asked the question: "Which?" It was as plain to her as if he shouted it from where he stood. There was not an instant to be lost. The question was asked in a flash; it must be answered in another.
Her right arm lay on the cushioned parapet before her. She raised her hand, and made a slight, quick movement toward the right. No one but her lover saw her. Every eye but his was fixed on the man in the arena.
He turned, and with a firm and rapid step he walked across the empty space. Every heart stopped beating, every breath was held, every eye was fixed immovably upon that man. Without the slightest hesitation, he went to the door on the right, and opened it.







Now, the point of the story is: Did the tiger come out of that door, or did the lady ?
The more we think of this question, the harder it is to answer. It involves a study of the human heart and mind... it leads us through devious mazes of passion, out of which it is difficult to find our way. Think of it not as if the decision of the question depended upon yourself, but upon that hot-blooded, semi-barbaric princess, her soul at a white heat beneath the combined fires of despair and jealousy. She had lost him, but who should have him?
How often, in her waking hours and in her dreams, had she started in wild horror, and covered her face with her hands as she thought of her lover opening the door on the other side of which waited the cruel fangs of the tiger!
But how much oftener had she seen him at the other door! How in her grievous reveries had she gnashed her teeth, and torn her hair, when she saw his start of rapturous delight as he opened the door of the lady! How her soul had burned in agony when she had seen him rush to meet that woman, with her flushing cheek and sparkling eye of triumph; when she had seen him lead her forth, his whole frame kindled with the joy of recovered life; when she had heard the glad shouts from the multitude, and the wild ringing of the happy bells; when she had seen the priest, with his joyous followers, advance to the couple, and make them man and wife before her very eyes; and when she had seen them walk away together upon their path of flowers, followed by the tremendous shouts of the hilarious multitude, in which her one despairing shriek was lost and drowned!
Would it not be better for him to die at once, and go to wait for her in the blessed regions of semi-barbaric futurity?
And yet, that awful tiger, those shrieks, that blood!
Her decision had been indicated in an instant, but it had been made after days and nights of anguished deliberation. She had known she would be asked, she had decided what she would answer, and, without the slightest hesitation, she had moved her hand to the right.
The question of her decision is one not to be lightly considered, and it is not for me to presume to set myself up as the one person able to answer it. And so I leave it with you: Which came out of the opened door... the lady, or the tiger?



~~~Story made up of influence. A question that really got me thinking sort of inspired
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Monday, March 9, 2009

A gift?
Well, yesterday I got a weird gift. It's a dictionary.... Oh, but not just ANY dictionary, it is "Partridge's Concise Dictionary of SLANG and Unconventional English". Why do I want a slang dictionary?? I don't even USE slang... Either he thinks I want to use slang or just thinks I'm clueless at it. Anyway, yesterday I was planning on going out on a hike, but the weather sucked so whatever. I don't want to get my shoes all gross and muddy. Tina asked me to go to the movies, but I'm broke and didn't feel like it. The library is so crowded... It's not even quiet, it's more of a study hall thing. I need the quiet so that I can think for my Histopry project!!! I haven't gotten the powerpoint started yet and I go up with my partner Kyle on Thursday. Kyle is doing almost NOTHING and I don't even want to bother telling him to do something. I wish I could have worked on my own. I still can't think up of a story to put on here. Actually, I just don't want to type it up.. I have some in my notebook. I wrote them once, why do it again.

I'm home right now. Got back from Tennis practice..
Apparently Rj says he got the Dictionary because of my music and he thinks I'd like to know what the words mean!!!
D:< He doesn't even KNOW what I listen to.
Ehh... I'll calm down, it's not like it matters anyway. I guess it's funny if I think about it long enough.

Story... Story... When I write one... It will be long and take up most of the posts... yes, that is right... good.... good.... It should be about something.... yeah... something cool.... I'm going to get some people eaten! O__O And then the world will be destroyed.....

haha, ok, that's it for me being weird. Ugh, intestines.. ~__~
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Saturday, February 28, 2009

terrible
Well I left the party. It started off alright, but then everything went into a sort of a dead period. Then this one idiot tried to pick a fight with someone just to have something to do. I mean, what the hell? So I left. My friend liked the bag and pikachu plushy that I got her though. As I thought, Rj and Alex didn't go to the parent teacher thing. They actually haven't been around most of the day. It's 12-something P.M. right now and they're not back, even now. I'm going to jog in the park tomorrow, and I finally got a new iTunes card, yey for me! I have an assignment due monday that I'm finishing up right now. I think I will come up with a story for whenever I get on next time. that IS what I intended all of my posts to be in the first place
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Friday, February 27, 2009

A party
There is going to be a birthday party tomorrow and I'm going to it.. I don't know how long it's going to last, but it starts at one. There isn't any school tomorrow because of the dumb parent-teacher conferences... Of course Rj or Alex aren't going to go, but I wouldn't expect them to anyway it's not like they're my parents. Back to the party... Yeah, i got her a Hello Kitty book bag because she's in love with Hello Kitty. Maybe I'll get her something else tomorrow before going :D hip hip hooray...
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Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Anger
What is anger, other than a destructive emotion that causes the demise of so much? petty. Anger is nothing without those whom fuel it. It grows beyond the size necessary and exaggerates every small detail in its wake. Senseless. It is a misunderstood emotion that people could use for their own benefit as a drive for inspiration but is mostly used in corrupt situations...
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Friday, February 13, 2009

LOVE:
1. A feeling of strong attachment induced by that which delights or commands admiration; preeminent kindness or devotion to another; affection; tenderness; as, the love of brothers and sisters. 2. Especially, devoted attachment to, or tender or passionate affection for one 3. Courtship; -- chiefly in the phrase to make love, i. e., to court, to woo, to solicit union in marriage. 4. Affection; kind feeling; friendship; strong liking or desire; fondness; good will; -- opposed to hate; often with of and an object. 5. Due gratitude and reverence to God. 6. The object of affection; -- often employed in endearing address. 7.Cupid, the god of love; sometimes, Venus. 8. A thin silk stuff. 9. A climbing species of Clematis (C. Vitalba). 10. Nothing; no points scored on one side; -- used in counting score at tennis, etc. 11. To have a feeling of love for; to regard with affection or good will; as, to love one's children and friends; to love one's country; to love one's God. 12. To regard with passionate and devoted affection, as that of one sex for the other. 13. To take delight or pleasure in; to have a strong liking or desire for, or interest in; to be pleased with; to like; as, to love books; to love adventures. 14. To have the feeling of love; to be in love.

................................................

I don't think anyone can really 'define' love. It's different for every single person, isn't it?
And for some, it can even be the equivalent as is love in the game of tennis. Nothing.
I don't understand why some people are so desperate for 'love'.. If you don't need it to live, why go after it? Just a waste of time.. That's my definition for it. A lot of times you even end up in a worse condition than what you started with, and get hurt; emotionally, mentally, and what have you. Some say they aren't willing to live their lives 'alone', but is there really anyone out there that there is an exact perfect match for any single person? No, not at all. People live to change. people change in their own separate ways, they lose interest in what may have been their obsession at one point of life. They move on. Love never lasts against time. If it does, who is to say that it is actually love, and not just commitment? Commitment with no love seems like such a morbid confinement to me. Love binds one to another, yet how would you know if it's love you're feeling at all, and not something else?

Saint Valentine's day is pretty pointless once you get to the root of it. Just another way for big corporations to make some easy cash out from frantic gift-givers. (Even though I say this, I can't wait for the ''after'' sales... I'm going to buy a horde of good. cheap. chocolate. One of the reasons I can bare Valentine's day, lol.)
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Saturday, January 31, 2009

Music
I like the Artist J Bigga. I don't know why... I think it's the style of music he plays, don't know. I should get another iTunes card, the one I have is running out of money :( It's sad, really.. I'm just about dying to get a Velvet Underground CD ^_^ I wonder if there are still even any around? That band is pretty old...

heh, I'm rooting for Pittsburgh tomorrow :P It's cool if Arizona wins though.. not like I'm betting anything... (Go Steelers) ^_^

It's weird, I feel better than I have in sooo long.. I wonder why?
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Sunday, January 11, 2009

perfection?
Okay now, so this WHOLE thing may make me seem a bit hypocrite and I may be contradicting myself but whatever. Now, what is "perfection"? To be totally honest I have NO idea. There is no such thing as being "perfect" nor looking "perfect". Perfection DOES NOT EXIST, and NEVER WILL!!! Nobody is "perfect" nor will anyone ever be perfect...

Some people like to think of themselves as being perfect. That, I believe, is fine because they want to boost their confidence and make them think high of themselves AKA thinking positive. Thinking positive is the best way to live. I feel if you are someone who thinks negative, then in result negative things will occur in your life. Vice Versa; If you think postive then that will result in positive enegy which will then have a positive. Now this is where I come into the whole 'point'.

When people apply for these so-called "perfection" groups I want you to think of one thing and ONE thing only. In the back of your head just remember these words: "Who are we to tell you if you're perfect or beautiful or not? Nobody is to tell you if you're "perfect" or not. Each and EVERY person is beautiful in their very own way." With that said just know and realize that nobody in this world is perfect. Even if millions upon billions of people think that someone is perfect, just know that they are ALL wrong. Those millions upon billions of people only find that person highly attractive. The person who people 'claim' to be "perfect" knows that he/she even obtain imperfections. Everyone in this world has at least one imperfection even if they don't want to fess up to it, they know they do.

nobody in this world is perfect... And nobody should tell you if you're perfect or not.

The word "perfect" and "perfection" is just a term used to describe something/someone and it's ONLY AN OPINION. When someone uses the word "perfect" to describe someone I believe the word then has NO meaning. EX. "Sally, everything about you is PERFECT. You are so pretty and perfect you're like flawless." In a sentence such as that, is when I feel the word has no meaning because the word perfect, when describing someone, is non-existent. NO ONE IS PERFECT even if that person heard it thousands of times still doesn't classify them as being "perfect".
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Monday, December 1, 2008

It's been so long since I updated. Too long? maybe. I actually forgot... I've got nothing to do right now, while on the computer here. Why even bother coming on?
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