Melded much

Oedipus Renamed

2011-02-04T11:23:00.000-08:00

Greetings everyone. This play goes out to all who have read Greek tragedies. I got the idea to write a sequel to Oedipus the King from researching the references that Aeschylus makes throughout the play. As with all Greek drama, there is a great deal of back-story that the audience knew about but we do not. Thus, the play I wrote was meant to bring in the most relevant parts of the back-story into the foreground while at the same time giving some real resolution to the cycle. At any rate, if you haven't read Oedipus the King it isn't a very long play (about 1200 lines) and it'll take you around an hour to two hours to do so. I suggest you read that before you read how I responded to it or you won't get as much out of the experience.

At any rate, here's the play.

Character list (in order of appearance)

Hermes – Dressed in his classic style. He has a toga, wand, helmet, and winged sandals. Son of Maia and messenger god of Olympus.

Oedipus – Make-up to look the part of a shade. Wearing bleached out clothes which are also grimy. The actor may choose to wear some sort of eye-covering to aid the fact that he is “blind”. The director must put

actual shackles on the legs of Oedipus.

Helicon – A taller actor he must have some history in singing in order to keep up the musical tones throughout. A mountain and god located west of Thebes.

Cithaeron – A shorter actor and able to keep a deep voice and still project his lines. A mountain and god where the Thebes was built.

Cyllene – Good friend of Hermes and the place of Hermes’ birth. Wearing a sheepskin and carrying a shepherd’s staff. A mountain and god located near the western shore of Greece.

Olympus – Need only be grand and noble sounding. Gold clothes, snowy hair but young looking. A mountain and god located far to the west and North from Thebes.

Parnassus – Played by an elderly man wearing a drab hooded cloak. A mountain and god located near Delphi, west of Thebes between Olympus and Helicon.

Scene: the foothills of Mount Cithaeron where the cairn of Oedipus was built for his burial. It is morning but there is a haze in the sky which casts the land in a pallid shade.

(Manent Hermes and Oedipus a spirit, they rise out of the floor of the stage)

HERMES: Keep hold of me, blind and lame king, we are arriving at the place of your burial.

OEDIPUS: Long years did I dwell in shame and tears, eking out my life upon these hills. The family of those woeful shepherds, being near to kin, saw to my care in the shadow of Cithaeron. My cairn views the city of Thebes from the hill nearby. Why have you, leader of the dead, brought me up from the depths of the underworld to this place?

HERMES: Lame of foot in life, lamer of hope in death! Will you continue to despair of any goodness even after you have been dredged out of the waters of the underworld itself? Quiet your questions and believe the messages that your gods speak for once in your existence. Do not repeat the mistake you made while king by acting before thinking of what consequences may come.

OEDIPUS: As you say.

HERMES: On account of a long string of favors was I able to remove you for a time from the grasp of Hades, for he is loath to release his charges, and return you to the place of your death. The origin of this plot began with the god, Mount Parnassus. Parnassus had previously made me privy of certain prophecies of the Delphic oracle that Apollo had meant not to reach other divine ears and in return for that favor Parnassus asked me to ensure that you would be here from sunrise to sunset on this day. It is he who wishes to speak to you but not he alone... as Parnassus told me of some of his comrades of rock who are also coming.

OEDIPUS: For what purpose has this great mountain called for an audience?

HERMES: An audience with you? It is you who has an audience with them, shade! He did not inform me as to the details but said that it was good news to a troubled soul.

OEDIPUS: Few have been the mortals with a more pitiful life than mine. Now in my death I hold no hope at all of redemption or a better state. I would rather continue in the loneliness of Persephone’s government than be offered false hope again. The gods have offered healing before at the cost of my life.

HERMES: You are not hopeless in truth though you may be hopeless in your mind. Here come some of the other visitors. Take care to show your respect for these are elder gods birthed of the earth spirit Gaia into great mountains. Because you are blind take care to remember what their voices sound like, in no other way will you be able to remember them. Cithaeron is short but strong and wears a laurel crown; his voice is deep and pulls at your ears. Helicon is tall and has a more musical voice.

(Manent Cithaeron and Helicon)

HELICON: I still can’t believe I was asked to come at the same time as you, Cithaeron! You still wear the crown you won at my humiliation.

CITHAERON: Stop your incessant complaints, Oh Mountain of muses. Five hundred seasons have passed since that time

HELICON: If it was so long ago as to forget then why do you persist to wear the symbol of your victory?

CITHAERON: Because you persist to call yourself the musical Mountain.

HERMES: May I remind you, esteemed gods that you are not here to bicker.

OEDIPUS: Yes, please relate to me the purpose of your visit.

HELICON: Ever since Gaia birthed my greatness, I was known as gifted in song. Over the ages I inspired many poets and even became a home to three of the nine muses! I was chief among my brothers in this until Cithaeron upstaged me. It was I who made the challenge to all of my brothers, “best me in song and I will call your mountain greater.” None but Cithaeron took up the call. We held the competition and he was declared the victor by votes. I wouldn’t be vengeful at his triumph if it weren’t for the means by which he secured it. Many years before I issued the challenge Cithaeron helped Zeus and Hera reunite after one of their petty arguments. Both Zeus and Hera were present to vote at the singing challenge and Cithaeron won over me by exactly two points.

CITHAERON: He still maintains I cheated when he has the word of all three gods in question against the fact that it happened. You must understand Oedipus that ever since he lost Helicon has plotted revenge against me. At his defeat he dashed a great rock on the ground as evidence of his lingering malice and curse. But he could never do me direct harm; so when a human who resembled me enough and who was under my protection appeared, he hatched a plot to secure the man’s absolute misery. Wounds against you were wounds against me.

HELICON: It seemed like a good idea at the time.

CITHAERON: You mean before or after you had five hundred years to change your mind? (Helicon takes a defiant stance in response)

OEDIPUS (Taking has hand off of Hermes): I knew it was the hand of some malevolent force which must have orchestrated my downfall! I had always thought the gods so pure and noble... above such base revenge. All my life Fate and divinity were plotting my destruction and I, like my legs, were shackled to them.

HELICON: Yes it’s true! Rage, rage at Fate and curse your birth. It is only Fate which could have secured Cithaeron’s victory over me. I am the better singer, the better artist. I will not bow down and call his mountain greater.

HERMES (Catching Oedipus’ hand): Peace brothers! Was it your mission to upset your charge? This shade has suffered enough.

OEDIPUS: No, shepherd’s guard, do not tell them to stop. Whether or not they set out to torture me they have done so... and it was indeed Fate that twisted their gentleness to pain. Who would have thought the musical Helicon could hold a grudge so long? It is beyond the thoughts of even the gods and into the realm of Fate.

HERMES: How many times will I need to tell you to take courage? Your name is not mistaken, all is known about you now. Your current state is not like your life when no man knew the nature of your lineage. But now, you stand here fully known and yet we still say that there is great hope for you. The Mountains have chosen you for some blessing, now you must endure but a little longer to see what it is. Now here arrives my birth Mountain to give you his tale, dressed in sheepskin and wielding a staff of guidance.

(Manet Cyllene)

OEDIPUS: I mean no disrespect to you honored gods, but this audience has become tiresome to me. How long, messenger of the gods, must I gain hope in the face of such a long procession of mountains?

CYLLENE (smiling at Oedipus): I have glad news for your ears to enjoy. We mountains each have a hand in your downfall, either by direction or inaction. For this reason we have searched for a remedy to your affliction, to preserve our honor. Cithaeron and Helicon had nothing to offer but their tale – for they can only sing... never act. But I have found a possibility of your ascension from Hades.

OEDIPUS (Downcast): Guide me then Cyllene, mountain of shepherds.

CYLLENE: As you well know, there are few places for spirits to call home in the afterlife. You found your lot with the common in the land of Hades. But there is a chance that you could seize a better home. If you were to eat of the Amaranth[1] from the Elysian Fields then you would be granted access to the land which brought forth that divine celery. Then you would call yourself contented to dwell with the heroes and enjoy the blessing of all the gods in peace.

OEDIPUS: How can I obtain such a sacred plant? For all of your good will, you have none of the flower never fading to give me to eat.

(There is a moment of silence)

HELICON: It is true, no god but Zeus himself could give to you that plant. To gain access to the Elysian Fields you must eat of that which you cannot get, to eat you must gain access to where you cannot go. I find your position even worse than that of Tantalus’, for he at least had tasted of the forbidden substance but you are caught between the water and the tree with no taste of ambrosia on your lips.

HERMES: Let your words be as careful as your songs are divine, Helicon.

CITHAERON: Do not grieve overmuch, Oedipus. The time of a shade in the house of Hades is not over-burdensome. Despite your blindness and your chains-

OEDIPUS (Interrupting him): Console not me, noble Cithaeron, for you do not know the bare substance of a shade in the hands of the stern caretakers. Slowly we forget the energy of every joy we experienced in life and the drain of grey upon grey leaches your memories out of us. One by one we spirits lose all knowledge and sink into sleep at the bottom of the Lethe[2]- never to rise. Come Hermes, lead on my spirit back to the doom of forgetting and across the black rivers.

HERMES: I cannot do so, my charge, for the sun has yet to set... though the time to evening is not so far away. There still remain two who might have a good message to carry. Remember the amount of work these mountains did in order to even secure a conversation with you. They did not come only to satisfy the questions you may have about your life.

CITHAERON: We also have our names at stake by rectifying your own. Put aside your stubborn doubts and smile on the mere chance of betterment.

(Manent Olympus and Parnassus)

HERMES (Embracing him): Olympus, dear friend, how did you find time to come away with all of the activities of the gods at your peaks?

OLYMPUS: The task itself was simple but required a painful audience with the king of heaven and queen of lives. Cyllene had told me of his plan to gain the virtuous flower so that the celery would grant its virtue to the shade king. I grasped their knees and recalled the many favors I had done for them. I pleaded that they grant this exception to enter the Fields but... Zeus did not for a moment entertain the request.

OEDIPUS (In a weak voice): What was it... that he said?

OLYMPUS: He said that no man can change his fate. And even if that were possible Zeus himself would forbid any man unworthy of the rank hero to enter the Fields. Lest he dishonor all dwelt there who had maintained honor and fought for the gods.

OEDIPUS: There is no hope then. Here at last the truth is uncovered from the stones of your stories. I feel like the man who heard of a great treasure buried underneath the guard of weighty stones and upon uncovering the chamber found only his tomb.

HELICON: You are more right than you know, mortal, the many corpses of shame our channels hold.

OEDIPUS: I thank you for answering the questions that lingered in my mind. But it is all to no avail for I will still slip into the Lethe and remember nothing.

(He turns towards his grave and begins to sink into the earth)

OLYMPUS (Grabbing his shoulder): You shall remain! Though you blame fate I tell you the truth, there is no decider of your actions but yourself. You need not have killed your father at the crossroads for blocking the way. You assumed that he was a dishonorable man and judged him. It would have been a small thing to wait a few moments for him to pass. You could have shown him mercy and left the matter lie. This had you done so you may have indeed escaped the curse Helicon laid out. Do not take the easy road to escape your pains. If indeed you are guilty show more honor now than you did in life and spurn the forgetting waters of Lethe.

OEDIPUS (Weeping): Let it be as you say, great one.

PARNUSSUS: Hermes, psycho-pomp[3], carry him before us. The sun is not yet to set.

(Hermes picks up the weightless shade and sets him down among the mountains. They make a semi-circle around him)

PARNASSUS: Before I speak, I must ask you. Are you content now to accept your lot?

OEDIPUS: It is as Olympus said, I have no right of complaint - no pride or strength. I the king am now a

simple shade and only just.

PARNASSUS: It is good. Much of what I wished to accomplish has come to pass. When Pan taught Apollo the mystery to prophecy, he did so while upon my mountain. A single facet from the many is that all prophecies are dependent upon executors and without a vessel to carry forth, the ideas there is no fulfillment. My first gift to you, Oedipus, is this; prophecy and Fate are only true so far as they are made.

(Oedipus is unable to speak, but clutches his hair in shock)

PARNASSUS: Why is it that you think the gods always tell of the prophecies and then keep a very close watch on the progress of their predictions? If it were inevitable then they need only speak the prophecy in order to have the desired effect on the faith of their followers.

(Oedipus starts to get up)

HERMES: Stay calm man.

(Oedipus remains on the ground)

PARNASSUS: There is another, greater, gift I would give you... when you are collected.

(A moment passes, Oedipus dries his tears and takes a deep breath – then nods)

PARNASSUS: I began this process because I had the chance to divert your path from slaying your father at my crossroad. Two out of three of the roads there lead to my mountain by different routes. One goes first to Delphi and then on to the mountain. The road to Daulia also winds its way to my mountain. The prophetic element was meant to trap you on your course to ruin. I only needed to send a slight impulse along the roads and you would have had visions of what that future held for you. But, I refrained out of fear of Apollo.

HERMES: These Mountains even now risk much by uncovering the secrets of the gods. I for one am not in favor of what they do but I swore I would help Parnassus in his need. It is better for the mortals to continue in fear of what we might be able to do rather than to know how they might act out their own plans.

PARNASSUS: I will not challenge your thoughts beyond this, what good are servants ill educated? It is better to tell all to those who you would have love you and risk their loss, than to keep them ignorant and secure no love at all. Listen to me, Oedipus. Though your very name is about to change, we have decided to bestow upon you the highest honor the Mountains have power to grant.

(The five Mountains take hold of Oedipus)

PARNASSUS: We are going to transport your cairn to an empty place far from the shadows of Olympus. There, in a foreign land, your burial will find its stones enlarged and multiplied. We are making you into a Mountain.

(Oedipus is hidden from the sight of the audience by the pressing bodies of the Mountains for a few moments. When he emerges his sight is restored and the shackles are removed from his legs)

PARNASUS: There you will lie in rest and peace. Once your Mountain is made your spirit will take on a form more suitable for your newness. After a great amount of time there will come many artists and travelers to admire and enhance the beauty of your landscape.

OEDIPUS: This is boon beyond my ability to express thanks.

CITHAERON: Thank us as you might but we also will thank you for receiving our gifts and freeing us from our shame.

(Oedipus nods unable to speak once again)

CYLLENE: The sun has come to setting and soon you must return to the place from which Hermes brought you. Endure your loneliness there for only five more days. A day for each of us to add to the height and beauty of the Mountain we are making for you.

HELICON: Its form and color shall surely inspire songs and poetry.

OLYMPUS: Its prominence and location shall also lend it more fame.

OEDIPUS: I trust in your hands, ancient Stones, the making of another as you already are. I find myself

fortunate to call such as you future brothers – closer than birth can make it.

HERMES: Come now; take my hand. We must descend again. And as you go I’ll tell you some of the legends you will make. But first of all, your new name. They shall call you Rushmore.

[1] Amaranth is a special species of celery which grows in Greece. Its flower once plucked does not wilt but will maintain the blossom and color for a long time. Because of this it is called the never fading flower and was thought to be eaten by the heroes in the Elysian Fields in order to protect their immortality.

[2] One of the five rivers of the underworld, the spirits of the dead drink from it in order to forget their earthly lives. The others are the Styx, Phlegethon, Acheron, and Cocytus.

[3] Greek, meaning “procession of spirits”. It is one of the many names of Hermes.

And there was Much Rejoicing

2011-01-04T16:10:00.000-08:00

Dear all, my laptop has been repaired! Let the jubilation commence henceforth. *Jubilates*

Now that we've got that out of the way, allow me to get down to business. Soon, my friends, I will be returning to the foreign land of education. All in all I've been satisfied with the amount of time I've been able to spend with each of you but... still it is not enough to make the departure any easier. I love you all. I know that I'm not the best with keeping in touch with anyone whilst I apply myself to studies but send me an e-mail and I'll make it a point to turn it around.

*Sigh* I miss the days of summer as they were when we were young. Yet, we did not value them much in our youth and squandered many hours with fruitless play or idleness. Imagine what our forever summer will be like when we are remade...

Let us not be ashamed of the way we have spent the time when we arrive in a place where time is a free commodity.

Of Romance

2010-12-22T20:16:00.000-08:00

So many words and a great deal of sweat has been spilled on this topic. Let's face it, humans are obsessed with romance. We like to see it in others, we want to experience it ourselves, and just about every great story has a good one in it. For those of us who have never been in one we have sometimes asked ourselves, "Ok, so what's the big deal anyway? Yes, happiness apparently results from this sort of thing but still... people completely change because of this?" And it did really seem incredulous at the time. But with age and understanding and maybe even a brush with romance itself we come to know the truth. Romance doesn't change people, love does.

Before I'm assaulted by a screaming horde of women I should define what I'm saying. "Romance" is good, desirable and necessary in order for a certain love to prosper and continue. But it is not an end, rather a journey which reaches that end. Meaning, the purpose of romance isn't more romance. The purpose of romance is love. It IS true that love and romance feed each other in a way but that can only confuse the issue, not clarify it. Let's not kid ourselves into making the two synonymous or even co-dependent. You love people who have never once given you flowers or chocolate, or done any number of things which may be considered "romantic".

There is obviously a difference in loves, let's call them eros and agape. I could defend only two names for this complicated subject but I won't go farther than to say that these are more like categories than specifics. I'll challenge you to deny that all love falls under either "romantic" or "best-seeking". Each of these loves is specific in that you can't love someone you don't know about. It's impossible, love requires action and familiarity thus, to love someone you must at least know about them. For example, I can see someone loving a boy in Kenya who they give money to even if they have never once talked to him or received a letter from him. If you search the Bible for this kind of love you'd be hard pressed to find it because most people were attached to their community and rarely encountered anyone outside of it. But we can find the principle of the matter in the book of Ruth, since the two main characters of the book do not even see each other until after the agreement was made.

Agape is adaptable. It is possible, and we are even commanded, to love everyone you have met. You can even love people you have only heard about but never met. That means you can literally love your hostibus, referring to the enemies of the nation, as well as your inimicus (or your fellow citizen enemies). Agape always acts for the best of its object, the question which you must decide is what best entails.

For how many things, which for our own sake we should never do, do we perform for the sake of our friends. Cicero

Agape is specific but eros is unique. This is what tempts the bards to sing and poets to put pen on paper. Artists can't get enough of the special. Since love, in general, is already specific it is special. Now add special UPON special and you really have a recipe for a song. Now before I pretend to try and satisfy your curiosity as to what I think of this district of love I'll have to disappoint you by saying - I can't speak of what I haven't tasted. That's right I'm ignorant in experience even if I have theoretical knowledge. Eros is unique because it requires full unity in order to blossom. I don't know what that means because I haven't been there. Moving on then.

Back to romance. This is something I am familiar with, to an extent. In my situation romance must be tempered because it absolutely LEADS to eros and its just to that place I can't go. So what does it mean to be in the balance? How can I walk the line between too hot and too cold? Agape. Agape enables me to deny the strength of eros, and don't get me wrong I have felt it. It's that feeling of a sun coming up through your chest into your head, it's the bending of all space to focus on her, it's the pouring of light through your eyes, it's... But it would not be best, no. What greater love has man than this? How many times have I crucified myself to protect her? Indeed, how many times has she done the same?

Sacrificial love is better than romantic love because it should and must be prior. Ask yourself this question friends, have I confused my loves? Have I mixed romance with agape or with eros? Have I forgotten what is of most importance? Unity with Christ is prior to unity with one another, unity with one another is ordered according to the loves, therefore order directs love according to unity. So order your love that Christ is considered first, neighbor then as self (for you are also counted worthy to die for), and for the unique occasion of eros let it be tempered with agape. In the end, it is a better declaration of love to feel the full weight of romantic love upon you and to deny it for another's sake than to give way to the disordered desire for unity.

If you pursue good with labor, the labor passes away but the good remains; if you pursue evil with pleasure, the pleasure passes away and the evil remains. Cicero

The Sleep Thief

2010-12-14T10:00:00.000-08:00

Greetings friends, I the Stranger am almost a free man. There is only one, very short, assignment left for me to do and after that... the sweet sweet sound of a not busy type-writer. At any rate, the newest addition to my "friends" list is a blog that I administrate. It has been created in light of my fiction writing class. The idea behind it is a giant, cooperative story in which a very, very large portion of land has been set aside to the sole use of an amusement park. Not just any amusement park either, this park has sections within which is an independent nation of people who are typed into a specific genre. These people are, like in the Truman show, without knowledge that they are in fact NOT free. That's the context, now we just need a story and characters.

This is where some of you can come in. If you're interested in participating then leave a comment saying which genre of fiction you would like to do. Example, Science fiction. Sounds like fun huh?

At any rate, here's a VERSION of a story that I'll be turning into a book sometime. Enjoy. It's called

The Sleep Thief

“Your hormone levels are normal, none of the abnormalities that are sometimes present in women, and we’ve run every test we can think of and made up a few others. There is no abnormal activity in your brain, nor are any of your organs malfunctioning. From a purely biological standpoint you’re healthy, except of course the lack of sleep.” Dr. Avignon, his annoying, chipper voice rang in my ears like a tambourine. Normal, healthy... hah. “I’m going to recommend you get a psyche evaluation. I know you’re opposed but... we’ve got to cover all the bases. If we can’t find anything at all unusual about you then... well we’re going to have to experiment.”

Please sit down, he said, please have a cookie, he said. Don’t worry, I’m a professional, he smiled through his hot tea. Then came the childhood, normal really – except the part where I had to force myself to lie still when I felt my body growing. After that came the hallucinations, yes I see things – no I don’t listen to the hallucinations... I told you already they’re because I don’t sleep so the dreams just barge right into reality. You’ve never daydreamed before? Around and around we go if we’ll stop we don’t know!

After three months and countless questions the psychiatrist was stumped. Dr. Ricardo’s smooth Latino voice continued, “Your mental health is phenomenal. Really, you should be in a corner rocking back and forth giggling like a maniac. This kind of insomnia is unheard of and theoretically you should be stark raving mad from the sheer pressure of it. But you aren’t... it goes against everything we know about the human body and our need to rest. It’s almost as if...” As if what my dear doctor? “As if you were made specifically to never sleep.” I almost slapped him.

Their spectacled heads floated beside me, talking of just how unique I was, when I decided to continue on the mountain path I was on. It was a clear night but my tired eyes couldn’t see much of the stars or the blurry road. Not far in the distance lay city lights. I had taken a few hours to rest my legs when the hallucinations came again. “Look! She’s getting up already. Marvelous, her stamina is astonishing really! Dr. Ricardo, don’t you think that any normal girl would have given up already?” “Why yes Dr. Avignon! Her tenacity is almost super-human. I wonder if she’s an alien who’s been engineered to appear human to every test...” At this point the floating heads turned green and sprouted antennae and they spoke in unison, “It is time Joan. We have sent you this message to tell you to resume your awesome alien form!” The two doctors began to cackle as I walked down the mountain slope, happy that I was finally going downhill.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Briarpatch City was aptly named by the colonial settlers who first discovered the valley. There was a lazy river the town had grown around which had cultivated a rather belligerent briar bush affectionately referred to as the “border fence” by locals. The city had evicted most of the prickly pests but a few were kept in a sort of briar garden in the central plaza of the city, as if to say, “We’re stickin’ through this!” And so, I was a little surprised when I saw no one at all from the time it took me to walk from the city entrance to the center of the city.

Sky scrapers surrounded me like brooding giants, a statue of a military commander stood amid the briars in the square. Underneath the nearby City Bank there was a quarter machine for the Briarpatch Thorn, their city newspaper. I did need information...

EXTRA – THE SLEEP THIEF HAS STRUCK AGAIN

This just in from our crack reporter john r. Johnson

The sleep thief has finally done it and pulled the ultimate heist. Over the past few months there have been 200 reported cases of stolen rest-discs and it has been speculated by authorities during this time that the thief was only able to keep up the rapid pace of burglaries due to the fact that he no longer needed to sleep at all. We thought that with all the accumulated sleep, estimated at about 40 years, the thief would be satisfied and leave everyone alone. However, our hopes were too high and this uncanny and nigh prescient burglar did the unthinkable. He waited until everyone had been panicked enough to deposit their precious rest-disks at the maximum security Bank of Dreams where neither the guards nor the cameras sleep. Then, when all thought their precious stored hours of sleep safe he managed to disarm the security system of the bank, sneak around the highly trained guards, and make away with every single rest-disc in the city with one pass! It’s unbelievable but to our horror it is true. With the amount of rest the black-hearted thief now has he could go 20 lifetimes – 2000 years – without ever needing to sleep. Now the city will literally sleep, myself included, as everyone is totally bankrupt of their rest-disc and will need to catch up on the sleep they have been taking for granted all these years...

“I had heard of the mind-boggling technology that the Bank of Dreams had come up with about twelve years ago.” Commented the voice of my father, “It was a breakthrough for humanity; we could now theoretically live every moment of our lives awake... if we were willing to pay the price.” His face came into view on top of the newspaper. “There were two ways to get sleep stored on your personal rest-disc.” He droned on. “One was to sleep extra hours when you could and program the machine to siphon that energy from you while you slept so that when you awoke having slept twelve hours of real time you could feel like you do when you sleep seven.” I began to look for mention of food in the newspaper. “The other was to buy hours from the Bank of Dreams. They held a machine that could convert other types of energy into rest-units, but the conversion process is expensive because no one has found a way to make it efficient.”

One ad said, “Come to Begel’s hometown restaurant where our fresh-made meals will chase your nightmares away! 45 West Market Street.” I’m sure that the ad was at least being clever, if not downright sarcastic. Begel’s was anything but homey, the building was tiny and squished like so many downtown businesses are and it looked like a man with the imagination of a box had designed the interior with its cube tables, stools, and salt-shakers. If this is homey then I had to wonder who the proprietor’s mother was. Like the rest of the town it was deserted, the door unlocked. There were two levels, but the upper one had a sign in front of it which said, “Staff only” and the lower one quickly transformed into an open kitchen.

I rang the service bell, which was the size of a coconut, and a loud dinging resulted. “What have we here?” Said an unfamiliar, deep, male voice. I waited, listening and the door closed. One, two, three steps louder than the bell sounded on the wooden floor. He wore nice shoes and I thought he was probably taller than I was. Four footsteps – they stop and I felt my hackles rise as the sound of fabric moving filled my ears. I catch the smell of Old Spice and then I ducked, turned sideways, and tackled him at the waist. “Atta girl! I knew I taught you how to tackle like a pro!” Encouraged my father’s floating face.

For whatever reason, he was wearing an expensive suit. In his suit jacket’s chest-pocket was a business card, and before he got his breath back I picked it and leaned against a cube-table while he climbed up to his feet again. “Why on earth did you do that for?” Irritated voice, cultured city tones, not a threat. I ignored him, “John R. Johnson” I muttered, “That’s the second time I’ve read that name.” He looked at me, befuddled. “John, didn’t you say that everybody was going to be sleeping? Now why would an honest crack reporter like you be up and about when everyone else - and I mean everyone - is in their house asleep?” He didn’t answer, blood left the face, lips firm, nostrils wide open. “Are you the sleep thief?”

He blinked. Oh, how telling that blink was. It was like the blink of a thousand nods. Slow, inexorable, the lashes descended across his eyes. I could tell he didn’t want to blink, tried his best not to blink, and was so disappointed when he did blink. In that space of time I knew beyond doubt that this man could answer all of my questions. My father’s voice laughed grimly and I smiled a little, cruel smile like the way the moon looks when it’s at its thinnest silver crescent. “You have no proof.” There was barely enough air in his voice to warrant a sound, much less a whisper to his words. I smiled a little bigger than before, leaned forward, and cowed him with my eyes... I the skyscraper and he the briar-patch general.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A large dull clock droned on and on somewhere hidden on the floor, tick, the sunlight fell in from the west windows, tock, the sound of something sizzling on the stove, tick, water pooled around my glass on the table, tock, and an air vent moaned its pitiful chore. I sipped the cold, sweet water and listened to the sound of expensive shoes clop around upstairs. The dining room was separated from the stairs by a living room around the corner, and the stairs wound up with more than half of it out of sight. “I never would have thought my daughter would sit so calmly in the house of strange man.” Mother’s voice, silken, low, disappointed. “I really thought I taught you better than that.” Her voice faded as the shoes came down the stairs. They stopped halfway; I heard rapid breaths, a muffled click, and a deeper breath.

I slipped away from the table, leaving the condensation on my glass, and waited at the back of the stairs where a wall covered the guts of the steps. The shoes began, more quickly this time. “I have a disc for you to try.” Said his voice, he tried to mask the fear with a triumphant tone. He did not even look as he walked directly past me, his gaze so focused on the room around the corner. He held a bird gun, double barrel, and two shots only. My shoes matched the sound of his shoes as I shadowed him to the next room. He stopped in shock when my glass spilled its secret, still crying from the loneliness. I saw his hackles rise and before he could react further I clobbered him at the back of his neck.

The expensively dressed potato sack drooled on the floor while I sipped my glass of water, bird gun across my lap. On the table the promised rest-disc was winking at me with its throbbing lights. I pressed the button labeled, “take rest” and held it down. “So this is what it feels like to wake up.” I said with the wonder of a child. I felt my eyes relaxing, shoulders falling, breath deepening. Waking up is like being loved, the body responds with love and the spirit quickens. The potato sack rolled on its back and the expensive shoes didn’t remember how to get off their sides for a while. “I really dislike you.” Said John R. Johnson.

“Mr. Shoes,” I began, “a few of my more pressing questions have already been answered. But there are a few more things you will tell me.” My voice took the edge that men associated with strong women. “How does this work?” He didn’t even acknowledge my question. I aimed the bird gun at his head, the trigger was heavily wound and thereby you could pull it back quite a ways before it actually went off. I eased the trigger back a bit and watched his face rain with sweat. “Ask – the Bank.” He forced it out of his mouth like vomit. “No one knows but the inventors, I’ve only just been able to start studying them but... so far the only thing I’ve learned is that they are designed to resist curious minds.” His eyes had the look of someone telling something very close to the truth. I stood and used the gun’s stock to club his chest. “Try that again.” It wasn’t a request.

He coughed a bit and his lungs took their time getting over the blow. After his body was over the shock he raised his head and looked at me with terror in his eyes. “Listen, I don’t know that much about the system. It absorbs thermal and electric energy in a way natural to the human body. It’s almost as if these things were tiny people made to swap around our lives... it’s less like a machine than you would think.” He stunk of fear, eyes were wide and honest, and his breath was paced now. “Next question.” He heaved a sigh of relief. “This machine was designed for people who sleep. They trade times when they are sleeping for times they are awake and vice versa. If, in theory, there was a person who did not have the ability to sleep would that individual still be able to give rest to the machine as well as take it? Even to the point where their incapacity was overcome by overwhelming exhaustion?”

He thought about it. The clock struck eleven and whatever food had been cooking was long burnt. I emptied my glass. “I’m not sure. The machine would almost certainly be able to take rest from those who can do likewise. The question is whether or not the person is truly incapable of sleep. If he simply cannot sleep then the machine would continue to take rest from him until he collapsed. But he wouldn’t fall asleep, he would just be so exhausted that he might as well be asleep even though his eyes don’t close and he never enters REM.” This time, I blinked. “He’s probably right about that.” Chimed in the chipper Dr. Avignon. “You should just take a bunch of these discs, leave town, and be happy with what rest you have been given.” “You shouldn’t listen to him!” My father’s voice, as well as head, flew to my ears. “Not only did this man do a terrible crime but he tried to kill you! You should tie him up, go to the police station to figure out where a few of the officers are, and give them some rest discs so they can get this city moving again.”

I stared at Mr. Potato Johnson. He studied his expensive shoes. So many options... but when the clock hit the half-hour I finally said, “Take me to the Bank of Dreams.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Perhaps the architect of the Bank had been given strict instructions to keep the building as dignified as possible. I had expected something other-worldly, science-fiction even. In the end a bank is still a bank, no matter what currency it holds. We entered the simple, but elegant, glass doors and his shoes made glorious echoes on the marble floor. “Which way to the office of the President?” He pointed to a nearby elevator. “You’ll need a key card to access that floor.” He said with laughter behind his voice. I smiled at him and fingered the barrel of the gun.

Soon I was at the top floor and the reporter had returned to his potato ways – giving the marble floor on the first level a bath while he remained unconscious. The President’s office was locked and the card I had didn’t open it. Fortunately, wood still couldn’t stand up to buck shot. The door, newly withat a handle, opened to my gentle touch. There sat the most valuable thing in the whole world, a PC. Envious, I woke up the sleeping computer and waited for it to get out of bed. Password protected. I inspected the office. There were no pictures of family, no calendars, no books or bookshelves, and all of the drawers in the desk were locked – by different keys. It was almost like the President intentionally kept his office free of any clues or hints. I sank back into the only luxury, a plush captain’s chair and suddenly knew where to look. The chair was constructed so you would normally need to use screwdrivers to pull up the cushion, but the cushion was already loose enough to be moved. On the underside of the cushion was a factory tag upon which a note in sharpie read, “artificial sleep before my dream.” Smiling, I entered, “Coffee.” Success.

Search-box, C:/Userdoc – search field “rest theory”. No hits. “Blueprint”. No hits. “My dream” 1 hit. It was a text document. I read it like the bloodhound reads the scent of a wounded deer. The President wanted to take back what the industrial revolution had stolen from the world – our pleasant sleep. He rambled on with high rhetoric and deep philosophical ideals for a few pages. Finally, he wrote something of interest. “After many years of toil and on the verge of insanity through failure and the lack of that which I most sought for... I found the engineer. Not just any neo-physicist no, he was truly the smartest man who ever lived. No puzzle could contain his fervor, no problem withstand his pencil! Once I told him my dream it also became his, the biggest puzzle since the breaking of the atom. He had the intelligence, wit, imagination, and energy of the entire Manhattan project rolled into a single man and he solved this enigma in only two years. His name is Chris Glanco and he now lives as a multi-millionaire in Foxfield, Colorado. Spending his money on more puzzles to solve and sell. May he crack a bigger problem yet than the sleep cycle.”

“Road trip!” The chorus of disembodied heads swirled around me like a parade as I glowed in the discovery. I was a step closer to meeting the man who could change my life. “Erik Mantel.” I tried the name on my tongue and for the first time in my life, I think I had a crush.

To be continued

A Devilish Play

2010-12-01T12:02:00.000-08:00

Greetings all. I'll make sure to get to your comments at another date, as I'm in the throws of much work at the end of the semester. You should enjoy this play I wrote (and revised, for those who read it before). It is far from perfect, but it was good enough to get an A. There's just a lot of potential for more. Anyway, enjoy.

Characters in order of appearance:

Roger – The main character, a man 58 years of age. He is wearing a nice but comfortable black outfit, he is of average height. There are to be no distinguishing attributes about the actor cast for this role.

Scissortick – An imp, he constantly changes forms throughout the play. Depending on the circumstances must be played by either gender but the actors must keep in mind to not seem evil. It is important that all the actors be about the same height. Main attributes: charismatic, mysterious, friendly, helpful, and innocent. When he first appears Scissortick looks like a classic imp, short, red, bald head and horns except that he is wearing a pin-striped suit and hat.

Elizabeth – A regular at Roger’s bar she’s 35 and a bit of a flirt. She’s wearing a lavender blouse, has her hair down (but brought pins and ties) and the longer the actor’s hair the better, and she does not have jewelry on. Her slacks and shoes must match with the blouse’s color and style, but be sure to choose something that looks nice but is also obviously not high quality. She’s of average height.

Herald – Another regular at Roger’s bar, he’s 24 and young to be a drunk. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt but make sure he’s taller than the other actors.

Setting: A small but tastefully decorated bar with pictures on the walls, two booths on the stage right and stage left walls near to the front of the stage, 3 tables in the center each with 4 chairs around them, and a U shaped bar with 3 stools on each side of the bar, though the director may alter this setup for ease. The entrance to the bar comes from the stage-left center and to the left of the bar is the women’s restroom, to the right the men’s. In the far north-east corner is a jukebox set catty-corner to the center of the room. Behind the bar are many shelves full of different kinds of liquor, some taps, an ice machine, glasses, towels, and other various things (like advertisement signs) that one normally sees behind the bar.

Scene – The stage lights are not on, sound of a door opening and the soft patter of footfalls is made. After a few steps the click of a switch being thrown is heard, but no lights respond.

Roger – Great, the fuse box decided to try and take the day off without even calling in sick.

(He mutters incoherently and the footfalls are louder due to his stomping around. He bangs into a table and yells in pain. As Roger tries to open the fuse-box you hear the sound of keys jingling and scraping on metal, after a few moments he succeeds.)

Roger – Now then, none of my employee’s are taking leave today so get back to work! (The lights come on; he walks over to the door, flips the closed sign to open, unlocks it, and goes behind the counter to prepare some of the more popular mixed drinks)

(As soon as he gets behind the counter the door chimes to alert the bartender to a patron. Scissortick saunters in and stands near to the bar.)

Roger – Hey there (he doesn’t look up at the customer), I just opened up so I don’t have any drinks up yet but you can sit here at the bar and I’ll poor you something straight if you want.

Scissortick – (Try to give him a smooth, city slicker voice) Well, I would thank you for the courtesy, my good man, but I regret to tell you that I really don’t take any pleasure at all from alcohol.

Roger – There’s an ice-cream shop just down the street.

Scissortick – (He smiles with a big grin) You see, I’m here to offer you my services for as long as you need them.

(At this Roger turns to look at him.)

Roger – Now what... Oh, it’s you.

Scissortick – (He chuckles and puts his hands on his hips) Been a while!

Roger – I’m not exactly thrilled that you came back. What do you want this time?

Scissortick – Well, I’m not here for myself. I have come to offer you my must humble services. (He flourishes a bow)

Roger – Uhuh, and you’ll want my soul or something like that in exchange right?

Scissortick – Here’s the deal, I won’t ever ask you for anything. I won’t ask you for your soul. The price of my help is completely free, no charge.

Roger – Assuming that I can trust your word, which I don’t, can I also at any time discontinue your services?

Scissortick – When the time comes you’ll understand how to do that. As for trust, let’s just say that “higher powers” (Hands do quotes for emphasis) will make sure that I don’t go back on my word.

Roger – Alright, fine. What are you offering?

Scissortick – Well let’s start out with a gift that keeps on giving. See this cup? (Scissortick produce a cup from inside his coat and Roger, after a pause, nods) Well, it’s the legendary never empty wine cup. But here’s the kick, it’s like a drug. All your senses will be enhanced in a nice pleasant fashion.

Roger – Oookay... Let’s try it then. (Quaffs, a moment passes - the lights will reflect the effect of the wine by becoming brighter as he speaks for the next few minutes) Are you sure this works?

Scissortick – Give it a minute to reach full potency, it doesn’t last too long so you don’t have these effects permanently. Oh, by the way if you need me just say my name, you’re about to get some customers. You could... you know... share the love. (Scissortick strolls out the back and whistles the battle hymn of the republic placidly)

Roger – I’ll never understand him.

(Door chimes ring)

Elizabeth – Roger, buddy, I keep telling myself that one of these days I’ll stop coming. That’s not today though; could you whip me up a daiquiri? (She takes a seat at a table, sitting catty-corner to the audience.)

Roger – Anything for you Elizabeth. (Starts concocting a strawberry daiquiri) I gotta say you’re looking very bright and winning tonight.

Elizabeth – Funny, I don’t feel bright and winning – (Door chimes again) I’ll take a guess. Is that Herald back there? (She turns to look, and Roger puts some of the wine into the drink)

Herald – (Genuinely) How’d you know? Roger... let’s not waste any time give me something off of the top shelf.

Roger – No.

Herald – Oh c’mon!

Roger – No, you can’t hold your liquor. You can have anything that’s below 20 and that’s it.

Herald – Whatever... (He approaches the table and sits a bit away from Elizabeth)

Roger – Here, try this wine. Maybe you’ll get a little culture in ya.

Herald – Wine!?

Roger – That’s right. (He pours from the magic cup into another cup below the counter)

Herald – Alright alright (Drinks), that’s not so bad.

Elizabeth – Hey! I ordered first!

Roger – Oh yeah, bad move here first one is on the house.

Elizabeth – That’s more like it. (She begins drinking) Ugh so, I really was going to quit today but then my boyfriend left me for some “feisty minx“ and didn’t even take the courtesy to call and tell me himself. No, instead his new dear love wrote me a letter and slipped is under my door! As soon as I read it I called his phone, but the line was no longer in service. Roger (simpering) why does this happen to me?

Roger – It’s life kid.

Elizabeth – Yeah... I guess. Does this room look brighter to either of you?

Herald – You’re right it does!

Roger – Hey don’t shout! Great now I did it.

Elizabeth – Roger did you slip something into our drinks?

Roger – Kind of... That new wine is supposed to have these effects.

Herald – It’s kind of weird but cool. (He starts looking around the room with awe; he gets up and starts feeling the seat cushions) Even the leather feels more.... leathery! You know, I want to hear some music with this feeling.

Elizabeth – Yes please! Make it something smooth... (He plays “What a wonderful world”)

Roger – Yeah.... Hey I’ll be right back. (Goes to the hallway of the men’s restroom, the lights in the main room fade and the lights in the hallway brighten)

Scissortick – (When Roger opens the bathroom door Scissortick walks out and closes it behind him. In his charming imp voice) Really Roger, when are you going to enjoy the gift?

Roger – (Startled, but doesn’t yell) Don’t sneak up on me like that!

Scissortick – I apologize, I just wanted to have a little heart to heart with you. Don’t you want fresh experiences?

Roger – No not really. I’m no Doctor Faust, I don’t want carnal experiences, or to know it all, or to be so smart. I mean, I’ve lived a while now and there just isn’t anything worth it. I guess you could call me apathetic or pessimistic if you wanted but, life just doesn’t have anything in it that’s actually worth living for.

Scissortick – Nothing at all? There’s nothing that would help you ‘find the way’ as it were? I have some gifts of knowledge as well, a thinking cap and a magic 8 ball.

Roger – I don’t have the patience for them, besides I don’t even think I know the right questions to ask. Where do you start when life doesn’t have any ups or downs? When there isn’t a keystone or a center piece or a star to revolve around? (He chokes up) And then there’s you! I already thought life was a mystery but you’re just a quirky little unsolvable maze. How can something like you exist? Are you just an alien pretending to be an imp and all of this has been some great “experiment”? Or are you really an evil spirit from hell? I’m pretty sure I didn’t believe in hell before, and accepting that it’s actually there now will really mess up my paradigm. (At this point he is white knuckled, and close to crying) I mean, that’s a definite “down”, if you know what I mean and ain’t nobody who wants to go there. And another thing! It’d be just the way this world works if there was a hell but no heaven! Or, if there was a heaven it stands empty and colder than the black between the stars. And you thought it was strange that I found work to do or somewhere to be when those two baboons were playing around, I couldn’t stand the implications! I DON’T KNOW what I prefer, no answers and no hope of them or no answers with elusive threads promising ways out of this labyrinth! (He pants and looks at the demon with a frenzied glance, so much more is on his heart to say but his passions outran his tongue and he can’t speak)

Scissortick – Well then, I could say, “Oh wow, I never saw it coming that’s a pretty hard nut to crack buddy!” But I’d be lying about it. Do you think I just waltzed in here never having seen you before or without knowing what sort of man you were? That’s not right. No, I’ve known you your entire life. When you were 10 you liked bikes more than cars cause you would rather be at the helm than in the back-seat. When you were 15 you found it strange how the other guys acted around girls your age and it wasn’t till you were 16 that it dawned on you that you were the strange one. When you were 27, having found your latent passion, you survived your first break-up with a lady named Carmen and you began to think real seriously about the meaning of life and you tried and tried to find the answer to it all. When you were... are now you finally agree with this strange creature named Scissortick who promises you the world – but you’re not interested. I am the wine, the ball, the hat, and... this mirror. (He holds up a hand mirror. It’s blue and it looks like a normal mirror)

Roger – So that’s your answer! Another toy! (He starts to laugh but instead he chokes his tears)

Scissortick – I’m afraid you were the one who wasn’t listening. I know you, through and through. You have never had a more faithful companion than me. Get it? This mirror is what you really want.

Roger – Oh yeah, and what’s it supposed to do?

Scissortick – It’s a truth window.

Roger – I thought you just called it a mirror, you better explain - I’m in no mood for games.

Scissortick – Yes well, it’s a paradox in a way. It’s both a mirror AND a window. Wherever the face is pointing it will reveal on the back side the truth about the scene, or person, or whatever.

Roger – Funny, you say you are the mirror but if it really only tells the truth then how could you wear costumes?

Scissortick – Because all those... skins you could call them are really just another part of me.

Roger – If you say so, I’m used to disappointing answers though so don’t sweat it. (The demon shrugs)

Scissortick – Why don’t you just try it? It can’t hurt right? Go out there and, view the baboons with new eyes.

(Lights dim in the hallway and brighten in the main room)

Elizabeth – Herald I never noticed how strong you look. I mean, umm... (She blushes) It’s the wine, definitely the wine.

Herald – I’m sure you’d want it to be... or would you? (He smiles and walks slowly toward Elizabeth)

Elizabeth – (shakily) Now... just stay right over there till this stuff wears off.

Herald – (Sighs) Sure, I wouldn’t want it that way anyhow. (Elizabeth sighs in relief, they both laugh) Sorry about your boyfriend.

Elizabeth – It’s alright, but thanks, I guess if he could do that I didn’t want him anyway. (By this time the lights should slowly go back to a normal setting)

Herald – Sure shootin’. But, at least you had someone. See me? It is the wine talking that made you say that cause even though I’m a plumber I don’t look strong enough to appeal. Never even had a girlfriend (laughs bitterly), it’s all because I couldn’t do well in school. No matter how hard I tried.

Elizabeth – Herald... Uhm. Where’s Roger?

Roger – I’m comin’ I’m comin’. (He’s holding a pin stripe hat in his right hand, and a magic 8 ball in his left. A mirror is tucked under his arm)

Elizabeth – There he is! What is that you’re carrying?

Roger – This (He holds it up) is a hat.

Elizabeth – I can see that, what else? They wouldn’t happen to be special like the wine now would it?

Roger – Who said the wine was special? (They look at him incredulously) Ok fine, it was special, happy? And yes these are too. The 8 ball is supposed to be able to answer your questions, the hat... well it doesn’t just look smart.

Herald – I like how it looks, lemme put it on.

Roger – Yeah, just call it my thinking cap.

Herald – You mean intellect provocation artifact? (He looks startled)

Roger – I guess. I’ve got to get some things from storage; don’t do anything... right well you know.

Elizabeth – And here I thought the wine was wearing off.

Herald – You are correct, our senses have returned to normal.

Elizabeth - Well I’m not going to waste any time... (She takes the 8-ball) First let’s start off with basic stuff. Is my favorite color blue? (Shakes it up vigorously) It says no.

Herald – Is that not the correct answer? It seems we might have a judicious ball.

Elizabeth – Uhuh, maybe. Let’s try something harder. Do I have to only ask yes or no questions? (She shakes it impulsively)

Herald – It says yes doesn’t it? (She nods)

Elizabeth – Do I know how to drive stick-shift? (Shake, less emphasis) It says no, and it’s right again. I think this might be legit.

Roger – (Panting) Big help you two are, I was calling for you. Didn’t you hear me?

Herald – Negative.

Roger – Yeah, maybe. Anyway this is a bar so if you are going to hang around you have to drink something.

Elizabeth – Roger that! Pour us a bunch of shot glasses full of that wine you’ve got.

Roger – Unless you want me to call you Liz don’t use my name as an affirmative missy! (She hisses and Roger looks at her with an amused expression, Herald raises a single eyebrow)

Herald - I have realized that though I do not need to speak with such verbal erudition it brings me great consolation from my previous life. If it bothers you I can certainly return to the vernacular.

Elizabeth – Please do! You were starting to live up to your name! (Roger starts looking at the face of the mirror at objects looks thoughtful and scratches his head at times at what he discovers)

Herald – I’ll see what I can do. (They both take a shot) Hey, let me ask a question. (She hands the ball over to him reluctantly) Will I ever find my soul-mate?

Elizabeth – Whoa now! You aren’t messing around are you? What’s it say?

Herald – It gave a strange response. (Elizabeth shoots him a withering look) Right, sorry. It says, “Ask those with you.” That’s not a typical response. Perhaps it means that my soul-mate is in this room... (He glances wide-eyed at Elizabeth)

Elizabeth – Uhhh... (Afraid and not sure what to say, she takes another shot of the wine) I don’t know Herald, you are pretty smart with that hat on but that’s not you.

Herald – You’re right, I could never be good enough for you. (Depressed, he drinks several more shots in quick succession, he is stopped by Elizabeth)

Elizabeth – Take it easy! Roger... Help!

Roger – Well, I have one more thing that might help.

Elizabeth – What’s that?

Roger – This mirror can help me decide if you two are compatible.

Herald – Use it! (Elizabeth is uncertain and looks nervously from Herald to Roger, she doesn’t speak but nods slowly)

Roger – Well here goes nothing (He holds the back of the mirror toward Elizabeth. Roger’s face goes through contortions of wonder, concern, anger, sympathy, and finally is left without emotion)

Elizabeth - You ok there Rick? (He is speechless) Did it work?

Roger – Yeah sorry Bethy... that was something else.

Elizabeth – (She snaps at him) Who told you that you could call me that? (He says nothing) Sorry, it’s just been ages since anyone called me that, not since Dad...

Herald – Elizabeth...

Elizabeth – Don’t say anything Herald, no matter how smart you are you can’t console a woman sometimes.

(Both men are stunned as Elizabeth fades and shrinks into her chair, she picks up a shot glass and fiddles with it as memories overwhelm her, the door chimes)

Roger - We’re closed!

Scissortick – (In the guise of a woman in her 50’s, he’s playing the part of a woman who is desperate for acceptance and even though she can’t pull it off she still wears short-shorts and a tank-top, he speaks in a pouting voice) The sign says you’re open till 2 AM and it’s only midnight!

Roger – Listen lady – (He looks at her closely, and then holds up the mirror, Scissortick ducks into the lady’s room) My my, have we found a silver bullet at last? (Roger follows him to the door)

Scissortick – Easy for you to say! You haven’t turned the mirror on yourself yet!

Roger – I thought you said you would obey my directions. Now get out here and let me take a look at you.

Herald – Roger what’s happening? (Roger ignores him)

Scissortick – I’d rather get hit by a lightning bolt.

Roger – Get out here, or I’ll start asking the 8 ball how I should go about exorcising you. (The door opens slowly and out crawls Scissortick in his original form) I might as well explain to you two that this guy is the reason that we have all these, “gifts”. Anyhow, I don’t have time to go through all the details cause I’ve about had it with these things.

Scissortick – Roger, didn’t the mirror show you what you’ve always wanted to know?

Roger – It did, but it was not the answer I needed.

Scissortick – Then turn it on yourself and see.

Roger – You first fiend.

(He turns the mirror on Scissortick and the lights in the room brighten to a blinding level, the director should use all the lighting he has. Then Roger undergoes violent spasms and soon begins to scream. At first the scream is weak and then begins to get louder and more haunted, the actor should try to make this scream last as long as they can and that the final last seconds of it should be as chilling as possible, then when Roger has no more breath he will remain frozen in a screaming pose for a few moments before collapsing. Make the pose he strikes as like the World War II painting, “The Scream” as possible. When he collapses the lights will go out and come back on slowly as Elizabeth speaks.)

Elizabeth – (Both Herald and Elizabeth get up from their chairs and rush to Roger’s side) Roger! What have you done to him?

Scissortick – I didn’t do anything. He was the one who looked at me in the mirror. Would you go behind the bar, count three shelves to the left, and pick up the first wooden cup you see on that shelf and bring it to me please? (She hurries to do so)

Herald – How will that help him?

Scissortick – Think of it like jumper cables. (Elizabeth returns with the cup) Thanks, take a drink you big fool.

Elizabeth – How long will it take to cure him?

Scissortick – An eternity - this won’t cure him. But it will bring his mind back.

Herald – He can’t take it back can he, no one can. He’s seen hell through your eyes.

Scissortick – More like he was with me the whole time. (Scissortick seems contemplative and sad; the other two are completely thunderstruck and seem to be having a paradigm shift, Elizabeth begins to hold her head and moan while Herald paces feverishly – during Scissortick’s speech Elizabeth begins to sob.)

Scissortick – You’d think you would get used to it you know. I mean, a couple thousand years can make someone get used to anything. But you don’t. You see, it’s like you’re always losing yourself to the edge of some voiding sword and it always threatens to bleed your soul on the floor but it never does, no matter how many times it hits you. At first you rail against it and scream, like he did, but we devils don’t need air to scream so we can do it forever if we wanted. But after an eon or so you begin to cheer for the sword, it comes in for another hit and you say, “Atta boy! You swing just a bit harder and you can really cut me this time.” And that’s when you realize that all those sword swings were really just getting you to want the sword to win... and it starts swinging in at you in new ways that send your soul through levels of torment you couldn’t fathom. And then, you scream. (He chuckles grimly) But don’t mind me, I’m just an old devil what do I know?

Herald – The same thing Roger knows. (Roger begins to stir and moan)

Elizabeth – Roger, buddy c’mon you can get up.

Roger – (His eyes like fury, and voice that would break the world if it could) Never!

Herald – Roger... you’re still alive and now that you’ve seen hell you’ve got to find a way to get away from it.

Roger – (The strength suddenly gone, he slides into despair) It wouldn’t stop the sword from cutting. It’s the same sword that is always cutting everybody - we just don’t feel it as much on this side.

Scissortick – Well, you humans don’t anyway.

Roger – (Like an afterthought) Do you really hate us so much? Giving us gifts that could lead us here...

Scissortick – Yes, I do. You’re the reason I go through this hell of mine, and not to beat a dead Russian horse or leave you clutching straws but – misery loves company.

Roger – Give me the mirror Scissortick.

Scissortick – You say my name! (He hands him the mirror, Roger takes a looks at himself in it for a moment, laughs bitterly, and smashes it. As soon as he breaks the mirror Scissortick cries in pain, gets on his belly and crawls like a snake out of the door. The door chime rings.)

Elizabeth – There goes that freak.

Roger – There goes that tortured spirit.

Herald – And where are you going now?

Roger – I’m going to grab a bottle of scotch, my coat and my car and drive to the nearest cliff. You can come with me if you want.

Elizabeth – Roger!

Roger – You didn’t see it, that’s all I have to say about that.

Herald – No I didn’t (He takes off the hat). But I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t get you somewhere safe and try to find a way out. (He grabs the 8 ball) Is there a way to escape hell? (He drops the ball, and it lands on Roger’s stomach) Well Roger?

Roger – It says maybe.

Elizabeth – Well, it’s not “no”. After what you’ve seen and all this magic and mystery... You can’t deny that there is hope to go somewhere where there is no sword anymore.

Herald – Yeah, what that thing meant to mess your head up could help you find the way... Did you see something else?

Roger – Only for a moment (His voice more peaceful now). A white place, full of music and a sense of being hugged...

Elizabeth – C’mon Rick (Soft and tender voice), let’s try and get to that place. Maybe there’s a bar up in heaven for you to run. So people can be... full of the spirit. (She grins) Maybe you won’t have to search for long, after all it’s already Sunday morning.

Fin

An overdue return

2010-11-21T19:39:00.000-08:00

Greetings friends, I the Stranger have long been absent. Yes, you are aware of this fact. I'm sure that the excuse of, "Oh, I just happened to be doing so well in school because of extra hours put into it that I am in the 3.8-4.0 range for the semester" wouldn't satisfy your wrath. At any rate, have a poem. I'll be putting here some works I did for school but I also think are safe for the internet (because they've already been graded). If any think that you could use them for your own assignment, think again. Be warned, copyright law DOES in fact protect my creative content automatically (for 75 years btw). At any rate, enjoy the poem and I'll actually give you all an update on life soon. It's about the day I heard Christopher died. This poem is a sestina, if you have questions about the form just read the wikipedia article about it, that's what I did. :)

A Hanger or a Rose

Times pass as I went to his house,

Never could heat cancel the lasting chill

My best friend grew up there. Silence of heart

Tied by the years we spent playing with ropes,

I remembered our fleet feet and his arm.

My family still tended that white rose.

A tree had died where grew vine of rose

Feral fungus next to that red brick house.

The dogwood was touched by Yew’s arm

Giving leaves to ready reverse chill

With flames. Mom made the lattice-rope

Which let the new flower grow head and heart.

His wooden stairs and white home made my heart

Settle from happy memories of rose;

And so I snuck past the caution ropes

Into his room to see if in the house

There was a hanger in the empty chill,

But nothing is kept by a broken arm.

Five times cursed body but healthy arm

Until came the thrill of attack on the heart.

Frozen now because of a killing chill.

The medics came and then from death he rose,

For then he was brought to healing house

His body alive but brain cut rope.

A naked iron hanger is like rope

Its broken neck and triangle bent arm

Can easily be found in every house

And while they hang there without hint of heart

All wait in icy deeps alone, no rose.

The bars for hangers freeze with hating chill.

And I realize in the closet chilled

That I don’t know if he’s tied up in rope

Or if he plucked some tonic rose.

I can’t say if God healed the cold arm

But I know he’s been pulled to both in heart.

Can I be glad not knowing to which house

He was carried to; chilled in my own arm?

Though I doubt hanging rope, know I my heart?

Do I still trust the Rose and His high house?

Thoughts on Music

2010-06-09T15:58:00.000-07:00

Greetings all. Yes I have been a little more "Stranger" than usual. Here are some musings I had on what sort of sounds the sky would play for us... if it could. Enjoy.

Even the clouds have music. The loom of Amphitrite is born from the sea. If you listen to the winter wind, or the whisper of a warmer zephyr, you can hear the quiet sound. Her noise, the moans of the waters, commands the tune of every storm; a somber song for the stern sea god. The lowing of the tempest winds stream from the same source. It is her desire to expand the dominion of her lord, through foul weather. Yet the keen of her voice is not the music of the clouds.

The vapors in the heavens often blot out his shining face. Though we know he is there still while the darkness hangs between. The heroic songs which pour ever from the light are lyric and golden. Your skin knows his song better than your ears, but each creature responds to his song as if they were parts of it. Those beams compel us with velvet strains to smile at the sound of joy and victory. The clouds turn his gold into silver, or block his ministry in full. Though the white clouds shout an aria with Apollo’s strings, they only sometimes accompany the cosmic melody.

What then, is their solo? The winds carry their sounds, and the sun captures their verse. In all the heavens only clouds die, and fade. Their children are the rain, hail, snow, and sleet. But the patter or the drumming of their offspring is but the percussion to their orchestra. If a storm has many parts, a wind for a choir, the sun for the strings, and the rain as the percussion, then what remains for the clouds to inhabit? They are not brass, for their sound does not conquer, and they are not wood. Lightning and thunder, their rage and glory, brings a hint to the search. Like Eol and his mountain drum the clouds are the drummer and their children the sticks. The earth responds to their strikes and resounds to the music of the clouds. Like Apollo, and Amphitrite the clouds are not notes but rather musicians.

Dt

I'm a Couple

2010-02-11T19:45:00.000-08:00

Yes, I am in a relationship. Rejoice with me. <-(^)v(^)->

Dt

The Reaping

2010-02-01T10:58:00.000-08:00

I would like to first say that this story is the only in the first step and that it will look vastly different in the (hopefully) near future. But I promised you a story, and it is long overdue. Enjoy.

Heads of grain danced like so many seething strands. A dull, silvered pre-dawn light tricked the field to resemble an ocean in the eyes of the farmer and his friend. The two of them stood beside the black barn, great doors unfolded. The men stepped into the pitch belly of the warehouse as the sun turned silver into gold. Seven minutes passed. The farmer returned, with a scarecrow propped on his right shoulder. The plants waited, still, for their protector to arrive; a certain rush of relief greeted the scarecrow when he was raised amongst them – while a raven slowly skated down the skies and navigated the autumn winds to perch on the scarecrow’s crown.

Then the farmer, sickle keen, waded into the field the ears to reap. The wheat swam away from that bitter blade and then with a sad shuffle the stalks sank off the guillotine onto the earth. As the edge ate the grains a mob of men traversed the plains and struck toward the scarecrow with weary steps and rowing arms. “Scarecrow,” they asked, “how is it that you keep away the black birds?” “Why do they pass over the grain, but land on you?” “Our crops are being eaten, we cannot stop them.” “Are you dead, or are you living?” “Scarecrow, do you feel or are you thinking?” The scarecrow hung. And with rasping sounds a parched voice was heard.

“There was a farmer’s son, a boy, and he tended the gardens for their sup. With spade and shear he cultivated and encouraged the plants to grow. In struggle and striving those domestic vines ascended the stakes and on account of the spade there were plants and on account of the shear the family had fruit. One day, the servants of the father grew jealous of the son’s success and left the gates open for the swine to ruin the garden. The wild boar came upon the boy as he was shearing and gored him there. The father later commanded those servants to be brought into judgment for the blood they had spilled but the garden freshly pruned and now fed – grew.”

Even more somber now a few of the men sat near the scarecrow while the rest with either anger or despair ambled away. A deep silence ruled for one unbreaking moment. Then on a gust of wind they were returned from the deep and forgetful pools of reverie. Far off in the field the farmer was singing and the shift and slap of the wheat on the ground provided a regular cadence. “An’ who can say if they’ll walk around. Fo’ those who pay shall fall to the ground. Raise yo’ hands and shout the found, cuz oh mama they’ll fall to the ground, fall to the ground – yeah mama you’ll fall to the ground.”

“Scarecrow,” said an aged cooper, “my barrels once could hold the waters back and tame them in its trunk. Yet even my well loved oak planks can no longer bear the secret rage of that blue beast and burst soon after the filling. How can we endure under a curse so bitter?” The others murmured agreement. “We came to you because you hang perpetually affixed in a silent agony. You speak to us in riddles for you understand us... will you not give us a plain answer? We each of us are hanged as well.” Tears fell from the men and dust from the scarecrow. “Behold the raven.” It whispered.

The wanderers had deterred fresh pilgrims from their course and many more were avoiding the scarecrow. With piercing accuracy the raven sped toward each of the discouraged townsmen. Their bowed heads were suddenly boxed by black wings and their faces scoured with angry talons. They each tried to deflect it or hide their faces from its terror. Some it seemed to herd to the scarecrow and others were driven away. Each of the men who did not join the contingent eventually tried to placate the wrath of the raven with seeds and when it had eaten from their hands it flew back and perched again on the scarecrow’s crown, contented.

The number of idle followers had grown again to what they had been prior. The light upon the field had long since turned clear and now was causing the wheat to shift in its lazy glow. After the wounded had been given handkerchiefs and the men discussed the bird’s frightening behavior they quieted. Each considered the scarecrow, with the sun setting behind it, and each desired the same prosperity the farmer had. He was gathering the bundles of wheat, the reap of the day was accomplished. The field was now largely empty but there was still grain standing in patches.

From the flock of men a bleeding face came forward. “Hanging-one. Sojourned have I from lands in squalor now forgotten. Blasted were the skies from before the time of my father and falling from the heavens was not water but poisoned drink. Making war upon my people were the stars themselves and lingering in the pools is death. How shall I my people save?” As the foreigner was so speaking the farmer had completed the gathering of the grains and was among the followers. When that black bird had spied the farmer she vanished into the dark sky. He plucked up his wretched guardian and returned again into the cavernous black barn. Only the foreigner followed them.

Starlight alone showed the scene. The soft air hushed the wild into sleep and the earth waited for the sun to rise again. It seemed as if the raven shrouded all of the land under her grim wings. The mouth of the barn had light pouring from it and also smoke. Soon three men exited and the building and all the grain within was consumed. “We shall build a new grain-house tomorrow.” Said the farmer, “and it shall be white."

Dt

PS

When I finish the next version (which may not as soon as I would like) I will certainly post it and you can compare the two to see which is better.

Sailing

2010-01-14T20:55:00.000-08:00

"So saying she bound on her glittering golden sandals, imperishable, with which she can fly like the wind over land or sea; she grasped the redoubtable bronze-shod spear, so stout and sturdy and strong, wherewith she quells the ranks of heroes who have displeased her, and down she darted from the topmost summits of Olympus..." The Odyssey

Greetings, my friends. All is well on the college front, and more than well in fact. All of my classes look to be in order and I'm excited about this semester.(I feel as if it is going to be an excellent one!) Not too much to report other than general glee at returning to new friends and fresh studies. However, one of my wing-mates has moved off campus due to financial issues and as such his bookshelf was confiscated by me (and my previous bookshelf was taken by my roommate), after a little bit of round-robin we ended up in our respective positions and all is well. I think I have made permanent roommates in some of my wing-mates, once the room relocations begin we shall request to be in the same room together. (a couple of us are also applying to become Resident's Assistants and if that happens who knows where we shall end up) But, that's for later in the semester. For now we laugh and study and smile on the future. Expect a more highly refined short story than I have produced in some time to appear sometime by Monday...

Dt

PS

Do you know why they call the two shortest night watches dog-watches?

Welcome Home

2009-12-18T08:59:00.000-08:00

"Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear

The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear." -- The Wasteland by T. S. Eliot

Good afternoon my chummy chums, I sit in my house again. I have a lot of plans for this winter break, among which are shopping (which must be accomplished soon, I think). I'm sure you'll agree that when you hear from me my plans you'll say something like, "Great Scott!" or "You crazy man!" I digress, I'm home again and you shall soon find yourself in my friendly embrace. Shantih.

Dt

The Metamorphosis

2009-11-21T16:43:00.000-08:00

"But that's the whole root of the evil. Words. Each of us has, inside him, a world of things, to everyone, his world of things. And how can we understand each other, sir, if, in the words I speak, I put the sense and value of things as they are inside me, whereas the man who hears them inevitably receives them in the sense and with the value they have for him, the sense and value of the world inside him?" Six Characters in Search of an Author by Luigi Pirandello

Well everyone, Thanksgiving break starts Wednesday and I plan on being back in my hometown that very day. It's hard to express my joy. I shall be less of a Stranger in proximity, yet perhaps more in my manner. I look forward to hearing your reflections on the ways I have subtly shifted. I miss my friends.

In response to popular demand I am going to post MORE PICTURES. So, here you go. I was going to upload a video, until it didn't work.

These were taken at my birthday party, held at my sister's new place. First photo features Joe Cheatwood and Amy Kucks, the second photo is of course Bek and Meg, the third photo has Katie Roberts on the left and Abigail Maricle on the right, and the last photo has Amy and John Adams (I call him Grr). Had plenty of fun at said event.

This will have to tide everyone over until I return on Wednesday, I'm off to write a paper!

Oranges

2009-11-03T16:07:00.000-08:00

"He went to the study, lay down, and once again was left alone with It. Face to face with It, unable to do anything with It. Simply look at It and grow numb with horror." The Death of Ivan Ilyich

Ello chums. The Stranger has again made a rare appearance on the web, although not so rare as Sonic. *cough* I have enjoyed a break this weekend and have been sleeping and resting my poor study addled brain. The days have been sunny and peaceful. There really isn't too much to report from the South but I'll try to make it interesting.

So far my midterms have returned good grades, one example; Physics = A+. I wait on bated breath for most of the others. I'm thoroughly glad my midterms are over, they were the most difficult two weeks I've had scholastically in some time but the arduousness has so far paid off - by the Grace of God! My coming weeks are less busy but have greater potential evils as I'll be reaping what I sowed in grades. Let it be that I sowed adequately!

Other news, other news... Oh right, Guy Fawkes' night is coming soon. In two days I'll achieve the double deuce. Yeah yeah, we're getting rather advanced in age folks. XD

Rebekah moved, her new place is nice. Meg is not crawling she's "scooting". I'm not sure if we can dice those terms so finely but I'm not going to contradict the mother majority. She scoots fast and it's rather cute.

I saw Where the Wild Things Are in theater on Sunday. I am a Wild Thing. As if you didn't already know, hehe. Anywho, I GREATLY enjoyed the movie. So much so that I could barely contain myself within the seat while the drama was being played out. Afterward I was skipping about with great energy and joy. That movie so well depicted one of the core facets of my personality that I was astounded and delighted to find I was not alone in this Wild mode of life. *Howls*

That's about it for now folks.

Dt

PS

I have an orange on my desk.

An installment

2009-10-25T21:46:00.000-07:00

Hey everybody. My left hand is injured from a football game so I have to keep this update short or else. Things are going pretty well right now, besides my gympy left hand. I think I did really well on my bio and freedom's midterms, my freedom's paper is written (just needs proofing and revision), and the weekend was exactly what I needed. Now all I have to do is finish the paper, study for my western literature exam (minimal time), study for my timed physics midterm (more time), and study for my Latin III midterm (most time). Pray for me! This week is intense but after it the school year winds down till finals.

Peace!

Dt

Hammer and Anvil (see; Sword)

2009-10-12T02:36:00.000-07:00

"Raskolnikov went into the passage and pulled the bell. The same bell, the same cracked note. He rang it a second and a third time; he listened and remembered. The hideous and agonizingly fearful sensation he had felt then began to come back more and more vividly. He shuddered at every ring and it gave him more and more satisfaction." Crime and Punishment

Hello everyone. The time is 5:41 in the AM and here I sit to update my friends. This morning I was awoken at 3:50 by the Spirit of God, telling me to get in some quality time before beginning my day. Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, Holy, Holy, is He.

There is quite a bit to update everyone on, this campus is very fast paced and politically dramatic. It's hard for an undiplomatic person like myself to find much sympathy here but this fact is slowly changing. I've come to an epiphany one that I've had before as a realization only... but this time it seems strong and deep and real. I need to change. My very character needs to change.

It's hard for a strongly set individual like myself to fully accept this fact (which is why it has taken a couple years for me to surrender). So. I have found that the very people I want to help mend and bring to the Truth with love I often hurt with my ungentle (although true) observations and comments. This tendency points back to my formative years when my few friends were extremely troubled individuals who really needed to be kept grounded in reality. There is nothing wrong with being concerned and wanting to help but there are some things wrong with the way in which I proceed with it. My peers are not kids so I can't just correct them like I did those young versions of my friends in the past, they need to be respected. For this, and some other reasons that I'll keep to myself for now, I have been heavily convicted. God's solution, submit my very soul in humility to Him knowing full well that He is the only one capable of changing this hard set personality of mine. How far will He go? I'm not sure, and it's a little scary. But... I can promise you that He will only make me more like He wanted me to be from the beginning, I will be even more myself after than I am now. Now to less serious news.

This video is of Jeremy Siblrud's birthday bash (we called him the birthday beast). It was really, really fun. We played empire and some twisted version of musical chairs wherein the players sit on various couches with one in the center. This person in the center sets a condition, if you have ever done or been this condition then you must stand and find a seat somewhere else lest you be stuck yourself in the middle. Some of the best conditions, "Whoever would like to be abducted by the person you like." Jeremy; "Whoever has been in someone else's dream before." Me; "Whoever liked the the other things on the merry go round better than the horses." Amy. Glad I went, a good time had by all.

Making apple cider at the custodial party. It was yummy. Also, my mortal enemy attended (who also happens to be my supervisor) Derek. We watched Flushed Away (that's not rice!). Quite a few people attended, and I had a good time gallivanting around.

I also attended a Fusion Dance last night. I was originally not intending to go for various reasons (some of them pretty good reasons) but when it got close to beginning several friends of mine were quite surprised to find that I wasn't going. Their genuine advise made me reconsider my position. I had fun, although I was mad that the beat was harder to distinguish in the modern music. I say that classic ballroom dance should have music after the style it was intended to be in. But I did get to practice waltzing, a lot. Which is good. I also apparently made Ashley's night. I only danced once with her but one of her friends had some upsetting news of some sort or another and she had needed the pick me up. If this was the whole reason for me to have gone, then it was worth every minute I could have been reading Crime and Punishment.

Lest you think that it's all play and no work down here at the college, think again. We just dedicated the Barbara Hodel Center and opened it totally to the students to peruse (and to clean). It's huge. It has seven bathrooms two of which are also locker rooms. Instead of doing homework I worked for custodial for around twenty hours last week, more than half of which were on Friday and Saturday. It was worth it. We have a coffee house. I got to meet a lot of the parents and siblings. The highlight of the week, hearing Mrs. Hodel try to speak to us. She's a quadriplegic because two years ago she fell down the stairs and broke her spine. Dr. Farris decided that it would be a good idea to name the building after her because her faith was astronomical. Her voice was broken and she was emotional and she sounded like someone with down syndrome. I think every student wept inside. She set a fire burning in us, that building is a lightning rod now, and a generator besides. Every day I walk past it I am going to remember all the giving and all the symbolism behind it, and it is going to steel (as in harden!) my resolve.

Oh, and there was homecoming. But I never got to attend anything because I was cleaning. But I'm not bitter about it, after all there is always next year. This coming week I have a buffer, a breath. Before the BIG plunge of the last two weeks of October when everything happens at once. I like to say that my Midterms aren't really midterms. It's funny, only the freshman actually have midterms during midterms. The rest of us, well, we're special. ^__^

I now have to go read for Western Literature II. Until later!

Dt

PS

I want an update too!

I Arise

2009-09-27T13:59:00.000-07:00

"Unable to endure the aspect of the being I had created, I rushed out of the room, and continued a long time traversing my bed-chamber, unable to compose my mind to sleep." --Frankenstein

Greetings my friends. Time passes fast here on campus, I trust time will pass like a blitzing tunnel and the moment we see one another again be closer than it now seems. I took my first exam of the year on Thursday in Latin III, I think it went well but we shall see if I am a lover of opinion or knowledge when the grade is returned. I am slated to do a Physics exam this coming week as well at least it's take home.

This was taken at The Awakening. The event was originally advertised to me as an all day worship event, as you may very well suspect my excitement was quite high. When I arrived and heard the first band began to play I realized something, this was a Christian carnival not a worship event. My initial response was dismay but eventually I decided that there was a place for such activities, by any means let them come to the Truth. The gospel was preached by Disciple in a very clear and passionate way and I am thankful.

I had a headache there several times during the day, that atmosphere was difficult to discern with its mixture of ardor and apathy. Much to my delight I found the prayer tent, plopped down, and prayed for a long while for friends and family, and my headache. In the middle of praying for my headache to disperse I fell headlong into a nap. Yes, I know, spirit = willing, body = weak. And yet, when I awoke I was well rested and my head hurt no longer. Hallelujah.

I attended a Freshman Appreciation Swing dance. I danced every single dance save 3 and almost every dance was with someone I hadn't danced with before. I'll quote some comments made about my "skills". Jeff Weinmeister, "I saw you dancin' and I said, 'Dang that kid can cut a rug!'", Dan Levesque, "I think that your reputation as being just crazy is changed a little bit, you're still crazy but you do it in skillful ways." Bart Gingerich, "You're a brute when you dance. I'm bruter than you but still, you're a brute." Tanner Lovette, "I didn't expect any of the freshman to know how to dance, and you danced really well."

You may have noticed I didn't include female comments on my dancing skills. I can summarize them all in a single sentence. 'Thank you for the dance, you dance well, I had fun.' In the end a good time was had by most. (excluding those who must not be named, the ones who spurned the swing)

Here's a video of our victory tunnel after our girls won a game 5-1, and that's with many injured players. In fact, we have so many injured athletes that Dr. Farris said, "We could have an All American crutch fleet." Yeah, thanks.

There's not too much else to report. I have made a good friend in "someone like Laedelas", she even has an elfin name. With this friendship I have begun building my PHC family, as I do wherever I go. Dt the Christian mob boss. If any of you visit I'll make sure to introduce you to the new sister, Abbi. No brothers besides those I already had previous, Brian and Jacob. I think that perhaps my cube-mate Jeremy could fit that bill, he doesn't mind "the crazies" and he goes to fight club... We shall see! With that I leave you to attend to dinner, pax dei vobiscum.

Dt

Shock of all Shocks!

2009-09-02T18:08:00.000-07:00

Greetings all from Virginia! I, the Stranger, have found a place where there are few(er) ways in which I stick out! O_O It's rather odd (and on account of its oddness more correct)! I've only been down here a few weeks but I already have labels here are a few (for some kicks), Social Butterfly, Energizer Bunny, Absolutely Insane (footnote, but still loved), and the Man with No Shame. All of these nicknames come to my unending delight which only further aggravate the desires of the other students to SO name me. My sister wasn't kidding when she said that the College wouldn't know what hit them when I arrived, mwaha.

Despite the rigorous student honor code, statement of faith, and other various beliefs and regulations all students must conform to there are a LOT of differences among the believers here. There has been a "major" upset in the student government on account of a highly controversial act of the Student President. Jeff, our President, spoke at our first chapel. He said some VERY moving words... the only thing is he ALSO used an expletive as a Rhetorical device (an extremely effective one) to prove a point. Well, incredibly long story short Dr. Walker, the President of the College, has removed Jeff's powers as Student President but not his title. Neither of those actions are (technically) within Dr. Walker's authority to do. In a nut shell, it has turned into what just about every somewhat controversial affair can turn into in a highly political and intellectually charged area. It has turned into a political war between (most) of the students and Dr. Walker. Just today an underground journal "The Eggplant" was dropped in the dinning hall which satirically lambasted Dr. Walker (along with other issues) to the laughter of the students. My question, why does it have to be so potentially divisive? The general sage answer, because the College is what it is, Christian, political, and a beacon. Who is in the right? No one is entirely sure, all everyone knows is that both Jeff and Dr. Walker want desperately to do what is right.

This is after a guys soccer game against some school (we lost). Apparently we still have school spirit, *ra ra shish boom ba*
Lake Bob and one of the weeping willows that I like to sit near.
The SEAL.

The sky down here in VA is just... so gorgeous. I rarely want to go inside around sunset, much to the amusement of just about any passing student. They watch me quizzically as I make strange noises like "nenne! MMmmm! Bu- Sun! AH! Class bu- *grumble*"

All is more than less well, devotions are like gold, fellowship silver, and just about every moment becomes cherished in one way or another. I only hope that what seems difficult but possible now doesn't change to flailing later, but I shall hope in God for I will again praise Him. Rejoice my friends! I feel like Anne of Green Gables, this whole college is more or less like my kindred spirit and the presence of God is strong with me. What can man (or homework) do to me?

Dt

PS.

SHOCK OF ALL SHOCKS! I posted!

Happy Trails

2009-08-15T13:40:00.000-07:00

And smile upon a friend. My former boss, Tony (great man of God), once drew a half of an oval on a piece of paper. He said, "Can you finish this figure for me?" I drew the other half of the oval. He said, "Ah but you forgot this." And he drew the tail of the fish. "Christians meet paths and share joy, and then they continue on. That's the meaning of the fish." I was pretty touched by the sentiment, and still remember that figure when saying goodbye even today (this was.... four years ago I think).

I go to college in Virginia. And I cherish these memories and relationships, these friends and family... these stalwart brothers. I wish to say, clearly, loudly, strongly this simple fact. I love you all, I love you all very much. Keep safe, be strong, watch over one another, be kind to one another, show the love of Christ in all things, and spur one another on in love to be united with Christ. I pray that in my absence all of you would grow and find peace, joy, and strength in your times of need. Happy trails, to you, until we meet again. For meet again we shall, either here or beyond gates more celestial.

Dt

CRASH

2009-07-21T17:29:00.000-07:00

A violin was telling a sad tale and I lived it. Do you hear the cricket's cry their sad lament? They sing, you find me not, you find me not! My love finds me not! Yet a lonesome cricket still chirps, still hopes somehow. The sun was just rising but I had risen long before it, the sun rises in joy and strength but I... I rise to spread the stain of salt and water down my checks. Play, play on my violin and make the clamor of my soul reality to my ears so that I might understand it. I slowly danced to the tune which beat inside my heart, singing softly, "Relax, take your time... Trust me and you will see... infinity." How long had I been promised that now?

I remembered... My father was laughing at the time, and mother was hiding somewhere. My big sister, her brave soul protected me, she was shrieking. Thwack! Thwack! Crack! CRASH! Stop, my child brain had demanded, stop it! You can't love us, you can't... not like this. And he didn't and doesn't. I'm just glad my sister escaped the hell of that house, I escaped to a different hell altogether. My friends were druggies, my family alcoholics, and my mentors criminals. There was no childlike innocence within me, no spark of hope divine or life care-free. Infinity? I'd forgotten the definition.

My sad dance of memories and sorrow led me to the bathroom. Ah, my strongest enemy, the with the sharpest tongue. My father had not been a kind man, nor my mother an encouraging woman, my friends had placed me at their feet to appear larger in their own eyes, and... all the world threw me to ashes. But no one compared to the sheer belief of a mirror. I stared in scorn and hate and contempt. Dash away violin! Scream out your vile anger in twisted cords and snap your bow upon the shredded strings! What was it I saw in the mirror? An abomination of a girl, hardly deserving the to bear the female sign. Gaunt and gangly, uncouth and ungraceful, and above all else altogether unlovely. The mirror also hated me, for it had not shattered from my visage out of spite. Oh yes, infinity was real but only as a negative reality. Infinite putrescence!

I wiped my mouth from the vomit and dared not to remember how many pills I had taken to get a hold of myself. I couldn't stop moving, couldn't stop for a moment breathing. But I had a semblance of control at the least. The violin was distant, like I was dead and buried already and it played on the other side of the casket for my passing. Hello world, let's pretend life again. I remembered how to smile and say, "Good morning." They actually meant their well wishes. I made an attempt to eat in order to make them feel like I was being a "good girl", I made my cricket cry in my heart and said nothing of my pain. Find me my love, find me my infinity. Come softly, my violin and speak to me of poison and a slow death of the dead already.

I took a walk in the park and thought about my many imperfections. I wanted and deserved death, I lied, I cheated, I drank and smoked and cut. And life punished me for it, I was beaten and betrayed by everyone to the most foul of degrees. Them I forgave already, because I knew I deserved all those and worse. And made my life amount to a slow torturous punishment. The sun was warm and the wind cool and the day perfect around me. I wanted to cry, why cannot you agree with me? I've made my infinity already, I diligently crafted it over time and with care and thought. Why didn't you let me drink the cup of sorrows I so arduously mixed?! Shriek, violin! Wake infinity for me and bid Him answer me!

"Cold hearted orb that rules the night!" I crowed at the sunny sky, "Let me decide what is right!" Silence replied my tantrum. Silence and I could stand no more. Not the silence, please. Where are you my violin? My cricket's cry for love? I wept in frustration, my muse, my music. My heart still had a song to sing, but no instrument to vent the song with. No more self deception, no more illusions. That's what the silence was to me. "Mercy!" I begged, though I wanted justice more than mercy. Every time I had cried for mercy in the past...

The mirror again, in my brain this time. Why the mirror?

*Little facets that there be, little crannies hard to see. Mirrors only see by light and light by life of power and might. Mirrors slice more keenly than swords and rebuke more potent than kingly words. Yet they make more beautiful than otherwise could be and bring a truth to the lies of the unseeing.*

Who spoke? Can it be? "What would you have of me my mirror? What can I offer to satisfy your unswerving gaze?"

*A perfect mirror always demands to reflect that which it is in all that stands. The world itself is not enough to match the silvered sight, but one who lived within below did live to be that light.*

Must I always be so humbled? To accept the beauty of another and not create my own, to let another drink a cup so perfectly mixed with sufferings in my place. To nail all imperfections and curses, all addictions and habits, and every other dark beast which resides within my heart upon him, must I always stay so contrite? Yet I have been in ashes already, I have been in squalor and humiliation... What difference is it to me that I finally become what I am? But a mere girl fashioned for the beauty of another. For years I lived like one who listens to the keening cry of death upon his laughing and pale mount. I could not but weep at the sound of the fires of Hades rising so hastily to my feet! I flew away, sinner that I was, for it was not then death that scared me half so much as life!

*Life again springs to you, do you dare to then renew? Accept this beauty for your own and ascend only to kneel at a throne.*

I, did and accepted fully and cried your pardon for me and requested your beauty on me! It was then that the image in the mirror went through many changes, showing a life and a death and a life eternal. Then, when it hung in the air of my mind like an everlasting symbol, it crashed and shattered.

*No more mirrors of judgment be, merely mirrors for refinement of thee. Laugh and dance and sing and grow for to you this mercy has been known.*

Dt

Friday Morning to Monday Morning

2009-07-20T19:07:00.000-07:00

Greetings Gents! There are two primary reasons to my more absent postings of late. First, I've been working on a story and it hasn't been progressing well. Second, I was out of town! I visited a city three hours SSW of where I live currently, to my great delight. Enjoyed Mangolian style food, good fellowship, and new friendships. All in all a worthwhile trip. I also learned that at an illegal cruising speed of 75 MPH my 94 Honda Civic CX gets 61.79 miles to the gallon. MWAHA! This pleased my poor college student pockets to no end, I can almost one shot it to the college from just the numbers. It is only about 650 some miles away, and I did make it 590 before refilling. I digress, I want an opinion from you, my audience. Should I continue to try to make this current (sub-par imho) story work? OR should I abandon it in the hopes that I shall have some other concoction in the mixing? Up to you.

Dt

Under my Skin

2009-07-01T13:00:00.000-07:00

I was awake as I lay in my bed, enveloped in the darkness. I glanced around at the room for the hundredth time. I had long given up trying to remember when I had last actually slept. Time was a slippery thing to me and clocks only told me numbers, too many numbers. My eyes ran over the desk in the corner with its useless piles of papers that hadn’t been touched in a month. I saw the large dresser with its menagerie of trinkets and baubles that lay in a random pattern of chaos across the top. My eyes began to scale the walls. I found myself fixed upon the eyes of the miscellaneous people in the pictures that stared ahead with long-dead, leering eyes. Those pictures had meant something to someone who had once lived here. Had that someone been me before? I couldn’t remember. I had left them there simply because they held meaning. It was something real, to someone, somewhere, once upon a time. Then, I saw the large mirror where I was reflected, even in this dim light. My pale frail frame and my fair hair offered stark contrast to the dark camisole I wore but it was my eyes that caught me. Who was this staring back at me? A question that taunted me until I turned away; I couldn’t bear to hold the awful gaze.

I rolled out of bed and went to get a drink. The light in the hallway was such a stark contrast to the dimness of my room that for a moment I couldn’t see. I stood there blinded, feeling much like a deer, caught and frightened by the headlights of a car. Blinded. Trapped. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the light of the room, I began to see the details of the room: the open window allowing a cold breeze to stream in uninvited; the now dusty collage I had painted a year ago, a riot of color in a gloomy world; the golden pothos that sat on the table next to the window, wilting slowly from neglect, its beautiful vines still struggling to snake upwards. I knew how it felt as I tentatively began walking down the stairs. They were cold and smooth as glass against my bare feet. When I reached the bottom I stood there, holding to the banister as if I might fall when I let go. I focused only on breathing until finally I was able to release it. How pathetic I am I thought to myself, how frail. I moved my focus away from me and back to my surroundings.

The kitchen had faded ivy wallpaper that seemed as old as the house itself. The years had left their marks on the walls. A miscellaneous tale of scuffs, scratches and dust that I could not understand, but I liked it nonetheless. It wasn’t pretending to be something it wasn’t; it was honest. I scurried over to the fridge ignoring the fear creeping slowly across my bones as best I could. It had always been like this. A memory assaulted me unasked and unwanted. The hospital that day had been fairly empty. They had taken me to a room and set my wrist while I sat there silent and chilled. It must have been odd for the nurse that I remained so quiet as she cracked the bones back into place. Had she noticed the shadows in the room I think she would have been quiet too. The shadows swarmed and swirled in a slow macabre dance surrounding us, occasionally brushing past me. That day, when I heard the cries of what seemed thousands, I feared I was either dying or losing my mind entirely. I had only later learned that the hospital had been in use as a sanitarium when I was there. So then the nurses had at least heard the voices.

The coldness of the refrigerator brought me back into the present and eased the constant pounding in my head. I stood in the open door letting the chill wash over me for several minutes as more time slipped away; I longed to follow into that black oblivion. Where does time go when it passes us by? My heart clenched suddenly along with my lungs, and my stomach was troubled by a strange sensation of sliding... slipping. I ran to the sink emptying my stomach of the water I had just consumed. I wiped my mouth and shuddered, seeing a red light reflecting off the window over the sink. I turned.

He stood there, smiling, his sharp teeth a stark contrast to this house of darkness. I backed away only to bump into him behind me...no in front of me. Where are you? I tried to run but I was paralyzed, frozen like a stone to my spot. He lifted a pale hand adorned by long black claws and moved my hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear, a strange act of gentleness. I shivered as I felt the same weakness that I always had as his presence invaded me.
The memory came with the weakness, with the cold. It had been a winter night then, a dark winter night. I had snuck out of the house, I never did know why. He stood in the snow staring at me as I skulked around in the snow like some sort of small criminal. At first I took him to be a criminal. But then his pale blue eyes caught my dark ones, holding me prisoner with a petrifying gaze like the basilisks of old. I knew true fear for the first time in my life and understood that he was no criminal: he was far worse. I came out of the memory suddenly, instinctively shrinking back from his freezing touch and accidentally slamming my head into a hanging light. As the world tipped at an impossible angle he began to whisper something, almost inaudible. A song came to mind, “cause you know babe that I can't get you out from my in...you're under my skin, under my skin...” I screamed then, screamed and screamed until I lost consciousness.

It was the knocking that woke me I think. I didn’t know what it was at first. I was too lost; my mind remained disconnected from life. I tried to focus on the noise, muddled as it was, tried to force myself to listen. There it was again. It was familiar somehow, like a melody on the radio, a song whose name you’ve forgotten. Then, as if I had suddenly awakened, I realized what the noise was. It must have been the neighbors who called them I thought—screams in the middle of the night do tend to alarm people I supposed.

She found me curled into a tiny ball in a corner in my closet. How had I gotten there? I didn’t remember moving from the kitchen. She asked me how I was, I looked at her...through her, don’t really see her do we my pet? his voice whispered to me. “No, she isn’t real enough” I answered. I felt him smile inside me, a slithering, sickening motion that nauseated me. My muscles spasmed, responding on their own to him. I tried to crawl away from him, from the sickness he caused. He grabbed me pulling me towards him. The woman stared at me as he dragged me across the floor, his crushing form enveloping me, or I was I enveloping him? I grabbed my head as the pressure on my lungs increased and screamed dragging my sharp fingernails down my face babbling “Death would be kinder, the mind slipping away into the void, the endless wheel spinning in the darkness. We’re all tied to it, bound by the hands and legs. Oh get it off, get it off, off!” I screamed as I clawed myself, collapsing in a fit but remaining conscious somehow.

The woman spoke and fire seemed to fall from her tongue upon me. I jerked away from her hard, slamming my body into the ironwork of the bed. I turned and clung to it, to the chill of it. Stop I tried to scream, but she had begun again. I was useless to prevent her when I could barely see her. I could only burrow deep into myself. Run, run, run...run, run, run...it played over and over in my head, a demented mantra consuming my thoughts. Suddenly I felt a hand that was like an inferno. I tried to wrench away from her as my mind was slammed back into my body. I opened my eyes and clawed at my face, rising.

“Get away!” I shrieked. She smiled at me, asked me if I wanted to be myself again, without him. I panicked, “YES! I said then yelped “NO!” She simply watched me as I struggled inside myself. I began to pace frantically. “Stop...don't...yes...please...No I....help me!” I cried in broken sentences as I felt him slam me to the ground and hold me there. Still she watched in silence. I was able to stand again after what must have been an eternity and tried to run only to sit back down and curl my body into a tight ball. I sang to her, or me, or even him, that song in my head...“He's under my skin...he’s under my skin...he’ll always be in...oh gods!” I cried becoming more and more frantic. Her eyes continued to watch me, their intelligent kindness suddenly infuriating me. I rose and stepped towards her, suddenly every inch the arrogant powerful villain instead of the writhing cowering victim. She narrowed her eyes at me and spoke with that tongue of flames. I fell again and lay flat staring at the world as if I was an observer and not part of it. He held me down (or was it that he had fallen on me?) his oppressive weight making it impossible to move. My breath came in quick gasps, my lungs fighting to do their job, fighting his interference. “Help...me...oh god...please...I...PLEASE!” I begged, screamed, and cried, not even sure what I was asking as the tears ran down my face, mixing with the blood in my cuts, scrapes and scratches. She came to me and laid her now cool hand on my head. Everything in me screamed, spit, howled, hissed and jumped while I lay as if dead. Her clear eyes were the last thing I saw before I blacked out.

When I awoke, I felt as if I run a marathon. I was sore and tired, my head was heavy and my body was bruised, but I could breathe. I tried to open my eyes but they refused to obey, as if they knew what was best. I gave up, too tired to resist, and let sleep capture me once more. It was the best sleep I had had in years. When I finally rose, I was able to eat without my body rejecting it. I went outside—she said it would be good for me. (She was right as usual.) The sun was shining, the birds singing, a warm breeze blowing softly. I stared at the world as if for the first time. Had the sun always been this bright? Had the flowers always smelled like this?? I suddenly realized as I bent to pick a lily that I felt no foreign presence in my mind, no force on my chest, no pain...anywhere. At first I felt fear at the absence, but as I stood there able to breathe freely I forgot to be afraid. I smiled then laughed for the first time in over a decade. A different song was playing now, I sang merging my music with the rest of the world “it's gonna be a bright...bright...sunshiny day. And everything's gonna be ok, yeah everything's gonna be ok...”

Dt + MS

Mind Game

2009-06-19T19:40:00.000-07:00

Flames. Searing fire rolled across the vast wasteland like grass, an inferno savanna. In stark contrast to the flames I saw there was an equally expansive chasm of frost adjoining the flames. A wind alive and savage made a tornado of ice and screams in the midst of the abyss. I was hanging suspended between fire and ice, half my body shrieked for warmth and the other half died indeed for lack of cold. Agony, torment. I don't think I had stopped making some strange noise between a yell and a sob since being hung there. A blade was approaching me slowly, swinging for my neck. Please, let me die!

I awoke. My pillows were torn, the sheets ripped and my mattress soaked with tears and sweat. My breath came ragged to me and my ears pounded with the distress of my heart. No burns, no blackness of the bite of frost nor of the ravages of fire on my body. Hale, sound, whole. Shaking I stood and went to take a shower. Afterward I felt a little better, a little more real and stable. This house centered me, I had lived in it since childhood and every floor board, every swirl of ceiling paint was as familiar to me as the feel of the razor on my cheek. Home, safe.

I got ready for my workday and sighed, I had forgotten about my divorce papers. They were lying on the bedside table, waiting for my signature. Oh sweet Hannah, why? Depressed, I drove to work. What had I done to deserve divorce? I'd been faithful, diligent to work and support her and the kids, and gone the extra mile to stay connected to her and the kids... even after those trying days of making my boss see that my division was making profit. Nothing made sense. Until that letter about a hotshot named Rick and a bunch of convenient excuses about true love.

Before I knew it I had arrived at my designated parking spot. I must have driven on auto pilot, because I didn't remember the trip. Disturbed, I entered the building and said hello to those along the path to my office. "Well lo and behold here's Micky." Said my boss John. Sitting in my chair, drinking a cup of coffee and looking calm, John was never calm. "Good morning John." I said, trying to keep the caution out of my voice. "Sit down Mick." There it was, he only called me Mick when he was about to let a bomb drop. I sat.

An hour later I left the building stripped of my work ID card, building keys, and future. I took some deep breaths so I could resist the urge to scream or cry. No job, no family... What makes a man? What makes a life? Living the American dream... yet now the dream is over and the nightmare has come. Even more depressed I went home. I felt like a robot signing that divorce document, I felt like a dead man already signing my last will and testament. I took a walk.

The sky was dark and promising rain. The wind, like a harbinger of doom cried its banshee howl and pushed against me. My heart was a broken clock, my brain sludge. I was a hollow man. The time was 8:47 PM on Thursday, August the 23rd in the year 2008. My mind was clear, my heart stilled. Dry palms, clean forehead and steady knees accompanied me. I looked at the bottles of pills I had purchased, now all of them empty.

I woke up and the realization dawned on me like an undeniable horror. I was being baked and frozen and cut and the true nightmare hadn't been my suspension amid a fury of elements but the replay of my last moments in life. I looked to my left and another hanging figure said, "Yeah, welcome back. I think it must be the third year you have been here. You are new, it is obvious because you are still a dreamer. That will pass in time. Oh right, forgot to mention this but you can call me Lenin." I keened and wailed, and Lenin laughed and sobbed. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

Dt

Fear Times Two

2009-05-19T08:04:00.000-07:00

I didn't think it would be this way, seeing the world like I do now. A grandfather clock was ticking out the minutes with his slow dreadful swing, like a scythe that cuts the time he counts. Death the clock... Death of time. I smiled, death was everywhere I looked. A mirror stood beside the clock giving the pendulum a double image and a different mirror behind the swinging scythe expanded the images beyond the eye. Infinite death... infinite animated death. I laughed, how novel! Death for eternity! Still laughing, I interposed my body among the images of decapitation and looked at myself.

Aaaah, now here is something worse than death perhaps. That freckle two/thirds of one millimeter to the left of my nose was as annoying as ever, if only there were another freckle two/thirds on the other side as well... then maybe the balance would be more bearable. At least my eyes were the exact same shade of blue and even the lines shooting out from my pupils were in the same places. Good good, I muttered, it's bearable at least. I can suffer with this body, ah but what I wouldn't give to be like the grandfather clock or maybe even a spirit! Always perfect that way. I went to the kitchen and looked for something to eat.

Food, it always looked so strange. My body demands it but everything shouts at me, I am ugly! Chicken looks like the skin of a man, beef the blood of him... Vegetables make me feel like a cow and fish like a bear. I suppose I might as well be a cannibal today and eat a steak, at least I'll still be human. Or am I even now? I looked up at the ceiling tiles, good. Still fifty-six whole tiles and seven half tiles in the ceiling. I sat down at the table and started eating the steak... memories.

So many memories here. I heard laughter echo down the halls of time, no no no! Memories are dead! Time killed you, time kills everything! Betake yourselves into the middle! I punched myself on the jaw and threw the chair to the floor. Leave me in peace, can I have peace? Does peace exist? Maybe... The real question is, if I met peace would I know it? I laughed, no I wouldn't. If I met peace I think I might run away just because I wouldn't understand it. I approached the table again with disdain and contempt, like picking up a dead rat. Time to leave the house.

Goodbye house, goodbye yard. The sun was making the sky bright but clouds were making the ground dark in shadows. It was fall and the leaves were turning. The great change of nature, the slow march to a cold grave of snow. Death in nature! I laughed and the neighbors saw me out. They quietly slipped into their houses. My town, a ghost town... A ghost man. I walked down the streets, a ghastly breeze spreading the chill of my mood before me. Beware children! I smirked at the thought as I arrived at my destination. The house, her house... Here again.

Memories threatened to engulf me and swallow me whole, no no can't yet... later I'll remember. I knocked. The sound, that mournful sound, that hollow house, my hollow heart. I laughed at the thought, ding dong here comes the chariot of flames. The door opened. I smiled, seeing my kin. Hello sister, I said politely, have you seen the sun today? It seems to have gone out at last! She looked at me, her eyes were far, far away. Hello brother, she said softly, yes.... perhaps the night will come for us at last? I entered the house.

Darkness was there... The darkness of our hearts, perhaps of our minds? Who knows, maybe this house is as it should be the only place that matches us. Burn world! Become charcoal and a wasteland, so that I can wander it and feel like we know each other, you are too blue and light world... I must be an alien. We danced, she and I, we danced. No music playing but the one in our head, the only tune we know. Do you realize... that everyone you know... someday... will die? Ahh, perfection! This is truth, this is right! I laughed and the floor creaked. Time to go sister, I said. Yes, it is time... perhaps like the Phoenix we will rise again from the ashes? I think not though, and it would be such a shame to disturb our well earned nothingness. Maybe memories stop once I die? Heh, probably not. It would be just my life for death to be the same as life.

I chuckled, no hope anyways. No, no hope, my sister muttered. We stood there, holding each other as we pondered death. Is it just the insanity of our minds which push us here? Does the world reject us... or do we reject it? Impossible to know, she said. Someone knocked on the door. I opened it and saw something I didn't think existed. A young man stood there, golden hair, golden eyes, bronze of skin. In his eyes I saw life, and light, and hope. I was like a helpless mouse, paralyzed by the eyes of a hawk. I couldn't move away, or look away. He smiled, a true, real smile. Would you like to know the sun? He asked me. The sun... is it possible for darkness to know light? Or for insanity to regain what it once lost? He laughed, knowing my thoughts. Yes! He said, it is possible for a creature such as you to become new! You will be reborn.

Reborn... Sounds nice.

Dt

A return, and a new revelation

2009-05-16T14:36:00.000-07:00

Hello faithful readers, I the Stranger have come back from finals week death (special case of resurrection, for another example please see Glorifindel) but with gusto and a whole slew of new ideas and stories for you all to enjoy (or at least read and consider). I hope to post some of these soon but the ideas I have are just too good to write in a hurried manner so it may be some time before my better ones come forth for your viewing pleasure. However, I would like to whet your appetite with a little something that I've been mulling over.

This is my latest apology for the defense of theism (in general) which is meant to appeal to the logic of scientists and atheists everywhere. I thought of this when in the final few weeks of my apologetics class and upon reading Dawkins The God Delusion had it solidified in my mind as a potential candidate for philosophy (I kid you not, I'm really considering putting a lot of time into this argument, quantifying it logically, making a prose version, researching it, and writing it into a dissertation). I'm so excited about it that I might even make it my thesis for my senior year depending on what people think of its validity and strength. So, without further adieu I'll introduce you to the concept (if you haven't had your ear talked off already).

Scientists in general are in agreement with the theory of the one-bounce big bang as the origination of the universe (I, personally, do not know if this is a proper interpretation of the evidence but it is at the very least possible). Our universe is governed by necessary physical and chemical laws which act and react to their fullest necessary extent. In other words, when sodium and chloride react to make table salt (NaCl) they can't help themselves, they just do. Their electron clouds have just enough space to fill each other out and become stable so they are unalterably attracted to each other. If you pour a bucket full of chloride into a vat of sodium of equal amount, given enough time to fully integrate, every single one of those elements will compound to make molecules without exception. This is the definition of the phrase, "fullest necessary extent" the elements react to each other and bond with each other until they no longer have the capability of bonding any more.

Now, the source from which our universe originated (for it is a logical anathema to think we came from nothing at all) is either another universe like ours (except much more complex and more energetic to an extreme degree) or it is an essential, infinite in matter and energy, coherent, and energetic (that is acting and reacting chemically and physically with itself). If it is another finite universe which gave cause to ours then that universe must also have had a source to its own creation. This therefore makes an infinite chain until we finally break down and admit that there is indeed an essential and infinite source.

Yet, why must the source be infinite in matter and energy, coherent and energetic as well? If this ultimate source was essential (having the property of always existing and of always being in existence) then it would run out of energy if it did not have infinite matter AND energy (energy converts into matter, and matter into energy constantly). Also, we have matter and energy in our universe and the source from which this universe comes must also have had at least as many elements as we see in our universe (otherwise none of them would exist). Coherence is just my fancy way of saying it's not utterly random and that it is located in a single mass (albeit, infinite). If this source did not have the coherence of necessary laws then it would never have created a universe such as ours which does have necessary and coherent laws we would, again, be rather different than we are. I use the word "energetic" to convey that the source is acting, doing things. Basically, a source may be essential and indeed infinite in every conceivable way but made of a noble gas or of some other inert substance which would ultimately cause it to do nothing at all. If this were the case, once more, our own universe would not even exist.

So, it is necessary to accept that this source of which scientists postulate must indeed be infinite in energy and matter, coherent, essential and eternal, and energetic. Alright! Here comes my major premise, hold on to your seats.

If we apply the law of necessary full extent of physical and chemical reaction as dictated by the different laws that must indeed govern this source then that source will always act and react to the fullest extent of its power. What is this sources ability and energy? Infinity! If sodium and chloride reacted to each other in this source they absolutely must continue to do so for eternity and with infinite energy and matter. Why? Because of two reasons, this source has to be infinite in both energy and matter. Everything about it cannot help but be infinite in energy and matter, infinity doesn't just apply to the limitless number of items but to each individual item itself. For example, in this source if we were to examine just one atom of pure energy (which must also exist in this source) we would never be able to quantify just how much energy it really has in there. It would just keep on going, and going, and going for eternity. Each individual "atom" (if there is such a thing in the source) must by extension of the word infinite be unlimited. If we somehow created a giant space window to see the source we would not be able to look at it because of the infinite light coming out which would (by necessity) illuminate our entire universe with unstoppable light. So much for being able to see ever again...

That's just how powerful, and scary, infinity is. Now, if the natural reactions inside this source really did cause it to spontaneously "overflow" and create the universe in which we now live then there are two necessary results. Number one, our universe must be infinite in energy and matter and number two our universe would not be a closed system because the source would still be continuing to send in energy and matter, for eternity. Here is where I call upon the German astronomer Olber. Olber created a paradox which basically states this, if we lived in a universe of infinite age with an infinite amount of stars distributed equally across the sky (as infinity would indeed demand) then we would not have a nighttime! We see the void of space and if nothing else in all of our understandings of thermodynamics and science lead us to believe that we will one day experience entropic death (if something else doesn't happen before then) then the very fact of voids in space should tell us we live in a finite universe. Also, the relative stability of the universe should tell us we live in a closed system. If we didn't live in a closed system our world (and other worlds or stars) would be randomly sucked into alternative universes or have other stars, galaxies, or even universes, randomly pop into our own! In order for any life to have existed on our world from the atheist scientist perspective this is necessary, we must have a closed system, otherwise there would never have been enough stability to foster life.

So the scientist is left with a dilemma because of the source's necessary full application of all of the actions and reactions which occur in it. They must therefore accept one of the two following options, either the source really did cause the universe like they postulate but had one more attribute to its list and that of intelligence or all of their scientific knowledge, all their laws and theorems, everything man currently accepts as chemistry, physics, quantum mechanics, and etc. is absurdly incorrect and must be rejected as untrue.

I have to make a name for this argument (which is an argument from cosmology) so I'd appreciate some suggestions. I know that it assumes that the scientists are right about how the universe came to be but I'm alright with this assumption if it furthers the cause of Christ. Also, if you see any inconsistencies or illogical steps please inform me because everyone I've shared this with has so far been unable to make any objection to the argument once they understand what it's claiming. If you have any questions about it or don't understand it please tell me. Here's a numbered format of the argument which is much shorter but by itself is hard to understand, that's why I wanted you to read the prose version (because I could explain things in simpler terms).

Given: The science of physics as true as well as the theory of the big bang.

1. The universe appeared as a singularity.

2. The source of the universe’s appearance is

a. Essential

b. Eternal

c. Infinite in energy

d. Infinite in matter

e. Coherent

3. If the types of physical laws which govern the un-intelligent source of all things are like the physical laws in our universe then they apply to the fullest necessary extent of power.

4. If they do apply to the fullest necessary extent then all the actions of the source will be infinite in energy, matter, and time.

5. If the source truly did create the universe then the universe would be infinite in energy and matter and would still be gaining energy from the source.

6. The universe is a closed system because of stability

7. The universe is a finite system because infinite energy or infinite matter would necessitate no void of space.

8. There is a void.

9. Therefore, either the source was an intelligent force intentionally limiting the amount of matter and energy He used to create the universe or all of the laws of physics as we understand them are completely false.

The Great Wager

2009-03-26T15:54:00.000-07:00

Strangely enough, the class that I'm not doing so hot in is the one I'm learning quite a bit from. Welcome to another discussion of philosophy the topic this time is Blaise Pascal. Pascal created the calculator, wrote the Pensees (and other books), and pioneered what is known today as computer logic. Without his contributions to the theory of mechanical logic, we would not have computers as we know them today. I'm no computer expert so I won't be treating his mathematics (phew) but his famous argument for the existence of God and the necessity of following Him.

The Great Wager! I really like this proof because it doesn't stop at God's existence but also proves that it is the Christian God and not some other *deity*. While the Pensees themselves are rather disorganized it's pretty easy to explain the logic to the Great Wager, which I'm thankful for. So here we go.

What's with life? What's with nature? What's with man? They are each of them self-contradictory, both affirming and denying God in the same breath with more or less of equal measure. Man is both noble and depraved, having his heart inclined to God but spurning Him with the intellect because nature both acclaims and obscures the very existence of its Creator. Man hopes in God but cannot seem to affirm Him mentally. Pascal calls this evidence a chaotic dilemma and man himself to be a "great chimera" (# 471) of the heart and the head.

Because both man and nature seem to affirm and deny God equally and constantly man himself is left with a terrible dilemma which forces him to choose, this is the Great Wager. If God does not exist and man not follow Him, then what benefit is that to man? He has no hope in life nor in death and lives his life resigned to the inevitability of nothingness. If God does exist and man not follow Him, then he gains but a short time to do his own will while living and loses eternity to the flames and the exquisite pains of separation in Hades. Therefore, if God does indeed exist then the infinite gain of eternal life with an infinite Being is, of course, of incomprehensibly more value than whatever amount of finite years you give in following Him. The possible gain makes the loss as dust on the scales, there is no comparison. Pascal loves this and he belabors his point just a little to draw out this distinction, what are the years you have lost if God does not exist since eternity is nothingness in that case and again what are those same years if God does exist since eternity is ever increasing bliss!

Now, a lot of people would at this point have a few objections. Namely, "I don't seem to have a choice in the matter!" or, "Well, sure fine but that still doesn't mean it's the Christian God specifically." Pascal pretty much rips these to pieces, to my delight. As for choice, why would you choose the desert over the oasis? The frozen tundra to the tropical paradise? As for not the Christian God, Pascal provides a short defense of the faith over others. 1. Christianity addresses both God's perfection and man's falleness and reconciles them together (no other religion offers this). 2. Christianity has fulfilled prophecy and evidence to back up it's claims to your heart. 3. Other religions have essential falsities in them (polytheism with the nature of piety and other monotheisms with fatalism).

To sum up, Pascal's Great Wager is pretty effective if the non-believer has not researched ways to combat it specifically (because it does have some weak points). The only thing I don't like about it is that it will cause a fight or flight response in the hearer, they'll see they don't have a choice and stay to duke it out (and lose) or choose to remain neutral (choose themselves over God). Such is the nature of inescapable dilemmas.

Care for a wager?

Dt

St. Anselm and Circles

2009-02-26T18:59:00.000-08:00

Greetings and welcome to my attempt to explain a very complicated man, Anselm. Some of you have already been the butt of my teaching methods and I thank you for your practice and patience. Anselm was a monk who lived in the 1100's and who fashioned the first ontological argument of God, ontology being an argument for existence based on the effects of that existence. An example would be Descartes famous self proclaiming ontology, "I think therefore I am." This kind of logic is usually hard to fathom but it is also brief. I wrote one of my papers for my Philosophy class on him so I hope you'll appreciate what I learned.

Anselm basically made an argument from definition and his definition is, "something greater than which we can conceive of nothing." He breaks his argument into three basic parts, but before I state these it is very important for you to remember that his audience was a primarily Christian one. He didn't make his argument for the existence of God for atheists or agnostics but for believers. What that means is, basically, a Buddhist could take his reasoning and apply it to Buddha quite easily and it would be convincing, to Buddhists but to no one else.

He opens up his dialog stating, "Now we believe you to be something greater than which we can conceive of nothing." If you do not understand this sentence the rest of my explanation will be totally lost on you. The very fact that we can conceive of Him is important as well as that we can conceive of nothing greater. In His essence God is infinite (and beyond) to being the Being which nothing greater can be conceived. Anselm makes this statement then goes on to prove it, in order to use it as evidence later. His proof is simple, we have a concept of this being in our minds, if He existed only in our minds then he would not be the greatest being, if He existed in reality he would not be the greatest being, He must therefore by definition exist in both reality and in our conception in order to be the being which nothing great can be conceived. If He did not, then the definition of, "greater than which we can conceive of nothing" would not be applicable to Him and He would not be this Being.

Anselm then goes on to prove that it is literally impossible to think of this Being as not existing. Now, imagine if you will, two circles. One circle is "things it is possible to imagine as not existing" or more plainly, things that you can think of life without. The other circle is the Being, what Anselm says is that in order for this Being to be what He is there can be no other idea or thing which is greater than He. If you can put the Being circle inside the things that you can think of life without circle then the Being is not actually the Being, he's some other thing. If he really was that which nothing greater can be conceived then we couldn't imagine Him as non-existent. Because then that circle would be greater and the definition would be inapplicable.

The definition of this Being is the cornerstone, strength, and structure of Anselm's argument. Well, what about the non-believers? How can they then consider God as non-existent if it is impossible. Anselm started off by calling them fools (yeah... great way to win an audience) and then proceeds to say how the conception of a man can be different than reality. If they do not rightly understand the definition of this Being then they, of course, do not believe Him to exist because He is not "that which nothing greater can be conceived" in their minds. If He was that Being in their conception then they would believe (which goes back to his opening statement, "if I do not believe I will not understand").

My take on Anselm's ontology. Ok, this guy is way smarter than I am in just about every way you look at it. His goal was to make a self-sufficient argument which was sufficient for Christians and in this he was successful. But his argument would not, by any stretch of the imagination, be able to convince a non-believer of God's existence (or an agnostic that this God is the God of the Bible) but beyond that he never stretched his argument beyond the metaphysical into reality. Don't get me wrong, he didn't want to make his argument evidential beyond the area of the mind and the nature of an infinite spirit but because of his lack of the effects of the metaphysical upon the physical he can't prove anything. He can only say there is strong evidence for the existence of God because we have a conception of this Being. To me this basically means that his argument will continue to be a true inspiration in philosophy and logic but not much of a force in apologetics.

Dt

The Threshold

2009-02-18T11:29:00.000-08:00

How fare ye scriptomaniacs? This is (probably) the Stranger. Don't forget to try a Little Calculation below. It's both funny and sad, and sad that its funny. I recently made a few more discoveries in Latin - English similarities which just about made me run around in glee. Hope you also enjoy them.

So, there's this word in Latin, Limen; Liminis neuter noun meaning threshold. It doesn't have any other meanings and only a few uses in Latin. If I were a Roman who just learned English I might use the word threshold like this, "I was standing in the threshold of the gate..." or "We took him up to the threshold..." and even "The threshold was guarded by many men against the enemy." But when we converted this word into our language we pretty much ignored these uses.

The most direct root is found in the word limit which obviously means, "having an end, boundary, or threshold." But there are other more subtle words, subliminal (under the threshold), preliminary (before the threshold), and my personal favorite eliminate (out to the threshold). Now whenever I say the word "eliminate" I know I'm really saying, "take blank out to the threshold" or preliminary "now, before we cross the threshold let's blank." But don't worry, I'm not trying to get some message under your threshold. ^_^

Dt

A Little Calculation

2009-02-17T10:33:00.000-08:00

New(est) Layout

2009-02-08T14:46:00.000-08:00

Well, apparently the layout of my blog has once again changed. Yo people, tis the Stranger, and make yourself welcome. Do you like the Melding theme? Frost and Fire meet as one upon the Stranger's wondering eyes... Yet he seems caught in a heaven sent light amidst the fury of the elements. I like it very much. The thing is, as you may well know, I don't do html encoding. This art was performed by a kitty Kat. Little did I know, on Sunday morn, that she had completed this work upon my site. A pleasant surprise. Let me (and her) know what you think of the new(est) layout. Perhaps it shall stay? *shrug* I dunno but for now it is inspiring.

A Little Stranger

2009-02-05T07:00:00.000-08:00

The cry was stifled as soon as it was heard. The boy bit his lip ignoring the rush of pain his nerves were registering. He refused to give his tormentor any pleasure in his pain.

The man shook his head, the memory falling away from him like water from a ducks back. He walked carefully, blue eyes interrogating the ground, searching for signs of disturbance. He was tall with shaggy brown hair cut just above his shoulders and his face would have been handsome but the scowl he wore gave him a desperate look. He bent down and felt the ground for a moment, considering. The ground was cold in the winter afternoon air, but he decided the tracks were fresh rising as he pulled his coat closed around him to keep out the wind. His coat was the closes thing he had to a companion. It was faithful as no one in his life had been.

"What, aren't you gonna cry?" The raven haired boy demanded sounding close to tears himself as he kicked his smaller brother again. "C'mon cry you little brat. CRY!" The brother remained silent, lips refusing to quiver. The raven haired boy screeched as he rushed at him.

The tracks became harder to follow by degrees. Soon they were further apart, further away. You won't lose me so easy the man thought quickening his pace to keep up. He soon broke into a run following furiously, heart racing. The sun was setting and soon the forest would be blanketed in darkness. He would find his prey before then. Yes, this time he would catch them.

The boy stood staring at the setting sun, tears streaming down his face. His raven haired brother had left him alone finally and so he stood, alone with the trees, the sky and the earth. He had never noticed before how comforting silence could be.

I will catch you, the man repeated like a mantra in his mind ignoring the darkening skies above. I will catch you this time. I will. Nothing will stop me. Nothing. "Do you hear me?" He suddenly shouted to the silent forest around him. "NOTHING!" Lightning cracked the sky as if in retort and thunder crashed in reply. Whether it was to him or the lightning he was unsure. Rain began one drop at a time, like a dance just beginning.

The rain fell softly at first then harder and harder. The boy stood letting it cover him completely. In a few moments he was soaked, his tear strained face hidden by a mask of rain. He smiled as he heard his name being called, but he did not reply. "Give me more time" he pleaded silently. "Please give me more time..."

The rain fell in torrents freezing the man. He ignored the warning signs his nerves were sending and bit his lips defiantly against the cold. Evening was coming but he did not care. This time he would keep going. He would follow the tracks to the end even if it killed him. His life had never seemed worth much anyway.

The boy sat in his room staring at the rain through his window. It didn't matter that it was he and not his brother who had been punished. It did not matter that his parents lectured him about wandering the woods alone. It did not matter that his brother gloated at him behind their parents back the whole way home. All that mattered was that he was finally alone. He was finally free, with only himself to be his judge.

The man finally broke through the thicket but in his fervor he lost his footing. He slipped swiftly down the hill, the ice adding speed dangerously. He refused to cry out as he tumbled head over feet down the side of the hill. His mind ceased dissecting his predicament as his body began responding instinctively. After several minutes of struggle he landed in a brown heap at the bottom, breathing hard.

"You think you're so special? You're just a useless pile of muscles, organs and bones. And those you can't even use well..." said the raven haired boy. His brother stared at him, eyes beginning to water. Friends of the raven haired boy surrounded him, watching, waiting, breath held as one. In the silence voices from all over the playground could be heard. Laughter, shrieks of delight, the sound of balls against pavement. The boy blinked.

It had taken him some time but he had found the tracks again. The sun was barely visible above the darkened edge of the earth. The moon had begun to shine overhead, claiming her dominion. Just a little longer, the man begged silently, just a little bit longer. His path had less twists and turns, as if his prey was getting tired. That makes two of us the man thought to himself. But as soon as I catch you I can stop searching. I can stop being afraid of your ever watchful eyes. The man had first become aware of his prey when he heard it taunting him, a disembodied voice replying to his. It was then that he began to notice the tracks following his own. Never one for expected responses, he had turned the tables, hunted had become hunter.

The boy laughed instead. He laughed harder and harder almost going into a manic frenzy. The raven haired boy stared at him in disbelief. His friends mumbled and backed away from the disconcerting laughter. The boy stared at his brother and kept laughing as hard as he could until his brother stalked, or was it fled, away. The boy's laughter became genuine, he had won. He had finally won. He kept laughing as the bell rang, commanding with a tone.

He burst through the pine trees and his triumphant smile faded. He collapsed, landing on his knees as he stared in disbelief. His knife slipped uselessly through his fingers becoming buried in the freezing mud. He had finally followed the tracks all the way. For the first time in his life he saw the home of his prey. A tent sat pitched haphazardly next to a small fire pit. Miscellaneous pots and pans surrounded the fire pit in a random pattern leading to the lake in the middle of the clearing. It was, in fact, the man's own encampment. He stared unable to deny the truth of it with any of his arguments. He had been tracking himself for three years. It was his own voice he had heard, echoing back to him through the trees, off the cliff faces and around the lakes. He was his own hunter, taunting himself, his own worst enemy. The stranger, even to himself.

--Madison Skye--

Dt

PS

How do you like the ghost written bio? It is a metaphor, but rather accurate in many ways. Also there are some hidden messages in the story itself, good luck to you in finding them.

A Debriefing

2009-02-03T19:05:00.000-08:00

Hello faithful readers. This is the Stranger and I wish to announce to you my first ever guest story. That's right, a close friend of mine (you might say one of my best friends, if "best friend" were a category) is even now in the process of planning and writing a story. I will wait to inform you as to the nature and content of the story, as well as its meaning. Until then, in suspense...

NEXT!?!

2009-01-29T06:54:00.000-08:00

Good morn all, this is the Stranger and I am quite aghast. When I heard that Josh was going to change the name of New Attitude I thought, "Oh no! Well, I will withhold judgement until the new name is announced." Here it is, NEXT. Yeah. Next is next apparently, and it couldn't be much more lame. I mean, ok I can chill with the message intended by this word but it doesn't have much power in the shadow of ten years of New Attitude. *SIGH* This is where someone would say, oh let's just be all meek and follow the leadership (yadayadayada) and I will however this does not change my slight outrage. We will see what comes next.

Cold Snap

2009-01-19T07:00:00.000-08:00

It was the Dead of Winter and he was whiter than snow. In the lonely mountain ranges which spread across the Eastern world two men slumbered within a warm cabin. The equipment stored close by said they were going to ski cross country, and the thick blanket of snow in the mountain ranges said it would be a good skiing trip. The sky was changing its coat slowly as the rays of the sun reached into the frigid sky. Black heavens receded unto a frosty blue and the harsh klaxon of a cheap alarm rudely roused the travelers from their bunks.

"Remind me again why we set the alarm for 7 in the morning when we have all day to travel to the bottom?" Said a groggy skier. The other man without reply escaped his bunk and warmed up some coffee. Soon thereafter he was joined by his stumbling companion and they shared a simple breakfast of oatmeal, eggs, and coffee. Still mum they put on their suits and sticks and glided out of the cabin into the winter morning.

The trail in the mountains sloped upwards forcing the men to rely on their sticks to propel them to the trail's end. They planned to take this trail until they reached a fairly high altitude and then to simply ski down the mountainside. "Man, I wish my life looked this good all the time." Said the now not groggy man. The view was breathtaking; the sun had just ascended over the peak and was illuminating the forests and valleys in the roots of the mountain. The other man paused to survey the splendor, and then proceeded on without comment.

They eventually began to notice their breathing becoming strained in thin air and decided they had climbed far enough. They hydrated themselves and rested for a few minutes before taking what the talkative one thought of as the big plunge. "Yeeehaaaw!" Said the only man in apparent use of his tongue. The other man was smiling. They raced each other down the snowy scene for a time and then slackened their pace to something a little less hellbent. Still silent he took out his compass and pointed to the east of them, alongside the slope instead of down.

The first time that day the other man replied in actions instead of words and followed him. They travel east until the meet with what skiers call the spines of the mountain. The rocky formations caused by some great upheaval of earth blocked their way east for as far north and south as they could see. Their only option was to travel even farther down the slope. "Figures, we'll probably get lost." Piped up Mr. Talkative. Mr. Silent made a mute sigh.

For the first time that day Mr. Talkative guessed right, they did get lost. The dazzling light began to fade and the snow blurred the differences between rock and tree. In the failing sun they at last spotted a shallow cave in the side of the spine. Fortunately they had some trail mix left to eat and enough water to survive for another day. But the night did not pass with much rest for either of them, for the air was continuously pierced by the cry of the wolves and the roar of bears. They both greatly feared they were squatting in the den of some beast and would soon enjoy claws and teeth as their reward.

Before light had fully taken hold they left the cave. The slope before them was barely discernible and they traveled cautiously towards the bottom. They had almost passed a gap in the spine when Mr. Silent spotted it and made towards it without warning. "Hey, wait! What?" Cried out Mr. Talkative, soon followed by a soft "Ooooh." They headed east desperate to reach the town where their all terrain vehicles were parked with supplies. In the night the sky had sent down a short rain which made the trek more slippery and as a result Mr. Talkative was complaining. "Ahhh, gosh. It had to be freezing rain. The snow was perfect only yesterday and..." Mr. Silent didn't hear any other words and turned his head to see Mr. Talkative sliding backwards down the mountain.

His panicked yells only increased when he lost his sticks and all the while Mr. Silent sped after him. Farther and faster he hurled down the slope but not as quickly as Mr. Silent. Soon enough they were side by side, one in control and one out of it, and Mr. Silent grabbed the arm of Mr. Talkative. They began to slow down, bit by bit, as Mr. Silent shed momentum with well placed movements. Yet he saw the cliff side too late. Suddenly Mr. Talkative was hanging off the edge of the cliff and Mr. Silent somehow had managed to stay on the slope while keeping his companion's arm in a firm hold.

"Richard! Oh Lord, oh Lord!" Stammered Mr. Talkative gripped by fear. "Calm down Mark, you're doing nobody a favor by panicking." Replied Richard with the strain obvious in his voice. "I, I've been headstrong Richard. I've stopped being an example of love and light, and I've allowed my pride to blind me. Oh God, forgive me for wasting so many years and backsliding faster than my ride down this mountain!" "Mark, what are you doing?!"

The air was fast, sliding past him with its frigid knives. The side of the spine had been lifted quite high off the mountain floor and the landscape flashed before Mark's eyes just as fast as his life. Soon he began to hear a high and sweet sound as he fell faster and faster. He looked up to see Richard looking down at him, just a small figure now, and he felt like he was flying instead of falling. In the death of winter he was whiter than the snows of his grave.

Dt

Ps. This story is a little rough around the edges, so I'm sure you will all have comments about how I can improve it. But I still like it.

A Somewhat Haunting Scene

2009-01-13T11:39:00.000-08:00

Allow me to spin to you the tale of an actual current event. My co worker's (codenamed Sali) mother passed beyond the rain a few days ago. Sali is a bright and cheerful young lady with an Arabic and eastern orthodox lineage. From her character and life I have seen much fruit and have little doubt as to her salvation. She has often told me how her mom has been an inspiration in her life and based on what I've seen in her I wouldn't be surprised to find the Mrs. in heaven one day. I never met Sali's mother but by all accounts she was a beautiful person, how similar her wake was to this.

There was still large amounts of snow on the ground from the big storm only two days prior to the wake. It took me about a quarter of an hour to dig out my car and another to arrive at my destination. Rose Hill Cemetery is not a quiet and secluded place, it is not nestled behind green hills beside a forest, and it is not tiny or quaint. In fact it is just off of Main street, immediately after the Mall, and before another large shopping complex. Despite this odd geographical placement the church by the Cemetery was all the things a grave-side church should be, simple, ambiguous, and beautiful.

I noticed it didn't have any icons or statues right off the bat, it was white on the outside and a softer dim off-white inside. People in dark colors were spread out in clumps of two or three in the receiving area. They were talking in low voices some in English, but most in Arabic or some other foreign language. Many were richly dressed wearing Mink or expensive Italian suits, some were obviously college students with their cargoes or jeans, but everyone was mindful of their current purpose. Death, it seemed, had gathered this conglomerate of tongues in one place.

I eased past the early wave of mourners and signed in, leaving my name and address, and entered into the sanctuary. It was of moderate size following the form of a catholic church (with the nave and focal) minus the statues, pillars, and icons. There were dark wood pews to sit on and I noticed a few friends of mine from work closer to the front where Sali and her family were standing, greeting, crying, and huddling together for protection from some unseen cold.

In the sanctuary guests and families were seated sporadically some were whispering to each other but most were in silent contemplation. The casket was open revealing a middle aged red headed woman with a kind face, an old style eastern cross, a picture of the same woman when she was younger, and a white cloth settled around her. A stool was placed in front of the coffin for those who practiced by any form of the Catholic faith, twenty flower baskets were spread out to the right and left, and a small piano was nestled in the corner. The ceiling, mostly grey, turned white then a majestic looking indigo (representing the Holy See) which melded into a stained glass window of what was probably paradise.

A large family was greeting Sali and her family, they looked to be fast friends. For they kissed each other on the cheeks three times and hugged each other, right before dissolving into tears and sobs as they spoke something in incoherent Arabic. Their meeting was passionate, but brief and they soon had moved on. Round the bend another family came, and another, some with little children, others slowly with canes, and still more in the spring of life. I watched as a family member to Sali brought her new born baby boy for them to hold. Mourning gave way to smiles of delight as they passed the little one to and fro. His giggles and cries of delight melted so many more hearts and they cried more, this time for the joy of life.

Soon enough I went forward with my friend and coworker to offer our condolences, there wasn't much to say so I hugged her and went to pay my respects to her mother. All I could think of as I stood there was this woman's legacy, all of the people in that room may not have cared for her much in life but they were there for her death. Many were suffering the signs of many tears, others of boredom, but they had come to show to Sali and their family that her life was not in vain that she had gained friends and left a big pattern in the fabric of society which would continue to affect it for generations. As I commented to someone while standing in line at the local Barns and Noble (don't ask how we got on the topic) death may be a part of life but so many forget that life is a part of death.

Here's to you, mother to Sali and dear to the hearts of many, I at least am convinced of your life after death. See you there.

Dt

Sana

2009-01-08T20:03:00.000-08:00

Good news everyone, this semester I enjoyed my introduction into Latin. I knew English was steeped in the language of Rome but I never realized just how many words we outright steal from them. For example, as the title suggests, sana. Sana means safe or sound (sound as in whole, uncorrupted, etc.) which English uses in the word sane (within one's right mind) so that if we say, "I am a sane man." We really mean, "I am a sound man (or a safe man)." Inversely insanity (non sana) would be likened unto, "I am not a sound man (not a whole, complete, or safe man)."

I'll give a fairly interesting example (which has also changed the way I look at English). After many years of anxious toil and frustration I have solved the mystery between the words dexterity and sinister. In Latin these two words are often found close to each other even though we would hardly think to put them in the same sentence in English. Dextra means right (often combined with hand, road, foot, etc. right as in the direction not the correction) sinister (same spelling!) means left. This made me really think about the history of English and the culture surrounding it. Back way back in time when English was still being formed these words were used and had other connotation besides right and left (it wasn't all black and white). Because most people were right handed they probably connected being nimble with your hands with being right handed. Ergo, dexterous. Left handedness was more rare and you typically do not assume someone to be left handed, and therefore are surprised when they give you a left hook instead of a right cross. This surprise put a pallor of disrespect upon the word "left" and we began to associate sinister with evil tendencies.

Amazing! There are hundreds of examples in Latin of words with the same or a similar meaning to the one English now gives it or of words with the same or similar spelling but completely different meanings! The etymologist in me shrieks with pleasure at the unravelling of often pondered questions like, "Why do we spell words the way we do?" or "How did it come to be that this words means this when it seems to indicate something else?" As my Latin tutor would say, I am a Latin nerd. Well, I proudly hike up my over sized pants and tighten my suspenders because I indeed am a Latin nerd and intend to stay so.

Dt

God make you Mighty

2008-12-25T09:00:00.000-08:00

How are you Gentlemen? Perhaps merry? Perhaps joyful? Mayhaps cheery? At times peaceful? Tis Christmas day, for some this day is full of light and life, for others it is lonely and dark, and for yet more just a reason to party and get completely innebriated. I find it sad when I see many who I know and care for spend a Christmas poorly either in themselves or in their actions and if I had a prayer granted unto me it would be that all I love (the love which Christ gave to me) would pass this Holyday with joy and peace. Each of them knowing the truth of salvation, all of them sharing in the race that I run, and every one God blessed and blessing others. This is the Stranger's cry, all of you who read here, God make you mighty, God make you well, God make you holy, and God make you rebel. Rebel from conforming to the darkness in this world, and make you an heir with Christ himself for eternity.

Mighty Christ, merry Christmas.

Dt

Honor Among Thieves

2008-12-23T09:00:00.000-08:00

Some say there are only two absolutes in this world, death and taxes. This is fairly same as saying there is only one absolute of many eventualities, sin and the consequences thereof. Now, you might be saying to yourself just now, taxes? Sin? Where's bad? Well, wonder no more my fine friend. I, the Stranger, shall make apparent to you the connections using economic principles combined with biblical truth.

When sin entered into the world it carried with it certain partners in crime. Death, first among them, followed directly on sin's heels with it's big, scary scythe. Also with it came a world of scarcity and hardship. This scarcity was coupled with something we humans had even before the fall, which was infinite desire. This is how we now understand economics as the decisions made by individuals in a world of scarce resources and infinite desires.

If there were no scarcity there would be no need for economics for all would have just what they wanted. This is the proposition upon which my reasoning shall rest, before the fall of man there was no lack of anything for man and therefore little or no reason for an economy. Thereby economics, while not evil or sinful, is a product of a sinful world.

Economics as an idea has no sin within it. It simply states a truth, people act the way they do because they want something in a world with a limited number of things. People can use either good or bad economics for evil purposes to do things which would normally be illegal. For instance, some taxes do what is called redistribution. That is, take from one group of people and give to another group. It could be the group receiving the money is in legitimate crises and without the money provided by the tax would either disburse or suffer. Yet, as Bastiat once said, what special immunity does the government have which protect them from prosecution of simple burglary? If a man were to go to the houses of the rich, plunder them for their jewels and money, and spread the resources among the poor and needy then he would still be prosecuted for committing an illegal act.

Some would argue that this is indeed not illegal yet perhaps it is merely convenient to do so when you appear to be in the altruistic position and you are not harmed by the transaction. It seems a bit funny that many of the people who argue this way are by no means rich or simply have constituents who are not rich. I digress, back to the point. An office of government which has legitimate use and purpose in a society of rarity and sin is by no means immune from corruption. Many of them cause actions like unto the example previously given.

It is in this way that taxes, which have many useful purposes, can be twisted to the purpose of those who claim to protect the interests of the people yet are in actuality merely using popular ideas to promote their own position. For sin is common to men and with sin come greed, pride, and deceit. As in every field of this world full of conflict politics and taxes is filled with goodness and evil alike. And just as in every situation when power and influence are injected in the people within the situation tend to show their pride by craving more and abusing what they have been given. As a famous saying describes, power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

The question which remains is, is there not a better way in which to have a government of accountability and of effectiveness within the society by which it stands?

Dt

Prelude

2008-12-16T18:17:00.000-08:00

Salud fellow cyber surfers! Tis I, the Stranger, who bids thee welcome here. This is a prelude and nothing more, but a messenger for things to come. Soon I shall be on winter break and I aim to do some serious logging. I have thought and experienced much this past semester, much which needs telling. Among these experiences I have found I lack the formal skills I once had, my papers this semester were good but more difficult to write than usual. To remedy this I will post more commentaries than stories (or at least, that's the plan). If the mood for a story strikes I will simply store it and use it later during the school year so as to keep on my formal writing plan. Some may be rejoicing at my return from the lucid eccentricities of my mind and into more logical and real things. Although I would contest my stories to be just as real in their own way as my commentaries are, but that is another matter.

To get back to the point, I will be posting again soon and you may expect it to be as strange and out of the ordinary as it tends to be just without the scintillating imagery. Until then,

BLOOD

2008-11-22T17:35:00.000-08:00

Alright! Finally I, the Stranger, present to you the conclusion to the Marie experiment. I hope to hear from you, Marie, and from you others who have held your comments until now. I eagerly await them, please enjoy the end of From Everlasting to Everlasting.

Sparks and lightning filled the nebulous void of earth that was, specters and shades swirled through the high and keening winds, whilst the spheres vied in battle. Superiority, or the position of highest influence was the goal of each and every one. Some claimed to be better in their beings, some in their weaponry, and still others by their ideals. Yet each sphere was filled with beings hell-bent on the fulfillment of their own goals no matter the cost.

The space of the land of none was charged in hostile energy. Chaotic energies were siphoned and stored for fiendish uses while all plotted their way to become the Princeps, the one whose influence caused all others to servitude. The word in its essence meant the beginning and those who chose it full well knew what title they really were taking.

Electric currents from the skies were being allured as if by siren's song to differing spheres, wafting downwards to earth like a lazy serpent. The hideous chimera's and unspeakable mutants of the earth that was were being tamed and trained for the kill, and every being whether visible or not eagerly awaited for the destruction to come. Every being, including Peter and those with him.

More had joined their causes to his and the size of their combined influence seemed as a mountain. A mountain perhaps, yet a mountain in full battle readiness. Sections of the sphere were filled with rods of light, others with wyverns or other flying beasts, and yet more with various elemental powers or mechanized structures. Each and all of them deadly, every one of them ready. The imPure there had constructed all of them from the substance of chaos in the void, all of the death dealing devices were the stuff of dreams and imagination. Just as they had thought it, then it was.

The imPure in the sphere where Peter was sat at council to discuss the hardest portion of their battle plan. "We are agreed then, upon the giving of surrender that we accept it only if they fight with us." Said Peter. Those there all nodded sagely. "I propose that in order to greatly increase our degree of success we must have a command center and with it a general." The wyvern master said and all agreed to this as well, it could not but make sense. Yet all the common sense and logic in the world did not triumph over the problem which caused them and every other war machine sphere to pop like an overfilled balloon. None would agree to any but themselves.

Havoc ensued. Each one left with their means of destruction and left Peter in his sphere alone once more. Peter had not created any weapon because his role had been to maintain the unity of the sphere and to strengthen the shield of its influence. He was reasonably confident he could defend himself adequately from any weapon but to make war now was impossible for him. So he watched as the void of the earth, already full of pandemonium, became a land fit only for devils.

All the others wasted no time in claiming the title of Princeps and launching what attack they could against all others. Lightning seared and cut through many spheres, the beasts mauled and rampaged across the void, fire, swords, mortars, and things of an unspeakable nature decimated the remaining imPure. Few indeed survived, when the abominations had all lost the wills of their masters, the elements their stock, and they had no more weapons to command was the time when the blood ceased to flow.

Spheres with broken husks were slowly fading and all the survivors came to meet. Peter was among them including some he had known but most of them he had only spoken to once or twice before. In total 325 had survived the carnage in one way or another. "Shall we agree to speak?" Peter asked them, and they all agreed. "In this manner is it not clear to all that none shall be the Princeps? Truly, it is impossible to conceive of the way. We live in this null zone, this place of suffering and torment. Yet once we lived in the Holy City, among the Pure. If only there were some one, some mediator to place one hand upon me and one upon..." Peter's speech could not continue when he tried to say that name. Yet all there saw his words to be true.

"We cannot change and we are doomed to struggle for eternity against each other. For though we desire a better way our selfishness will push us to malice. What we need more than anything else is for our very selves to change." Articulated Peter. One by one, all those still living voiced their consent. The shriek of the air, the lightning in the skies, and the turbulence in the foundations of the earth stilled. The shadows fled and every sphere suddenly popped. A door appeared in the air and all around it the ground was solid allowing the imPure to stand.

The door itself was for them to look upon but it obviously had a use. So Peter went forth from them and grasped the knob. It was locked. He tried knocking but received a fist full of splinters as a reward. He had not noticed there was an iron knocker so he lifted it from the door frame and pounded powerfully on the door. At each peal of the iron on the plate beneath it the door shuddered and their expectations were filled with some secret knowledge they could not identify. The imPure waited and Peter bled.

After a time or an eternity the sound of agony could be discerned. The closer it sounded the more they retreated from the door and when it seemed to come from their very throats the door swung gently open. They all witnessed the history and life of a single man through the portal. It sped past them in a coherent but swift stream. Perfection, miracles, kindness, torment, and death. The life and death of a man was witnessed by them as well as something still better.

Those who killed the man, for it was the imPure themselves, had buried him and walked off to rejoice together. Yet the scene did not fade, a day passed and a night, again it passed, and then it seemed as if they had caught up with time and were watching it now in the present. Two beings, who looked like what the imPure had once been, appeared and dug out the dirt covering the man. He then stood up from the grave and came towards the door and walked through it. From then on not all followed, but all knew that from everlasting to everlasting YHWH is God.

Dt

CHAOS

2008-11-10T21:50:00.000-08:00

Now for part two of the Marie experiment...

Darkness appeared as surely as when a light has gone out, and for a while it remained dark. A heavy wind drew in and out and the air was filled with the sound of labored breath. A hissing sound started in the background, while the sensation of vertigo descended on all who yet lived, and the dismal earth was filled with sounds of agony and insanity. Then, slowly, as flowers blooming in the morn, the spheres began appearing.

Peter had been laughing all the while. Too full of shadows and shades, too many thoughts and emotions to process, too much... He could not handle it and remain even remotely sane, so he abandoned sanity and began to laugh as the condition worsened steadily. Then all at once every shadow save one shot out of him as so many rockets, ready to do ill. Finding himself almost alone, Peter could actually think for a moment. "Peter needs to consider and remember, he does." Peter began to recite to himself, "We promise you influence and control, Peter. That's what they said to Peter when he talked to them first." Peter no longer recognized his own persona, but still he was smart.

"Influence, Peter has influence now over the earth." So Peter thought, since there was darkness, and there was vertigo, as well as the strange feeling like nothing around him was all there, and he imagined. Peter thought a sphere would do nicely, something with light in it and gravity, something that causes substance to form around it, and something he can see and hear through and past. Just as he visualized it, it was. A transparent sphere with a unidentifiable source of light illuminating about 30 yards of space around it with semi-clarity. Peter was in the center of the ten foot diameter sphere, his sphere of influence.

As soon as the others who were still conscious saw Peter's sphere, they immediately made their own, some exactly as his was but many with variations. Some emitted a different color light, or had a larger sphere, or a different shape, some made flying spheres or spheres that varied constantly in shape and color. Yet even if it was a square everyone still called it a sphere, because they merely made their actual sphere appear to be something other than what it was.

In this manner many were able to survive the beginning of the period of pandemonium. People began moving about and exploring, although there was never anything new to see. The Holy City had turned into a wasteland and no animal had retained its original form. They had all become chimera, many creatures merging into one, and by so doing formed an abomination. The lions now had talons instead of claws, wings as well, some of them had snakes or scorpions where their tales once were, and in the same manner all the animals had become more deadly and aggressive.

Yet even more hideous were those in their spherical prisons, all of the impure. It was not their appearance which deterred interaction but rather their self serving nature. For from the moment you met one you wanted to leave because of their conceitedness. Many could be seen forming mirrors of their spheres and fixing their appearance, others could be seen using their sphere to increase their physical strength, and others still studied the ways in which they could manipulate matter or perception by the power of the sphere. All they did was to serve themselves and Peter was no exception.

"The world flees from the touch of my sphere." Peter murmured, now that he had time to become reacquainted with himself Peter no longer referred to himself in the third person. "All things around me are shadows and dust and influence is as nothing in the face of the void. It is true, I have control over the way of things around me but if I am the king of infinite space and everything within it is but myself, a thousand other kings, and the nothingness why I think I'd rather find a better way." So Peter pondered on the issue, how could he expand the influence to the extent by which he could enjoy the power he theoretically had.

"Perhaps, if I convince another that it is in their best interest to join their influence with mine, then perhaps we shall change the nature of the void." So Peter propelled himself from sphere to sphere, from one self serving individual to another, and somehow managed to convince two others to join themselves to his cause. James and Mary were their names and they looked eager to grow their power. "Do we agree with one another?" Peter asked them both, they responded, "Yes, we agree."

With that Peter imagined their spheres merging and expanding to create a much larger sphere, covering perhaps 500 yards, and in the center of the sphere they stood upon ground with trees, light, water, and other plants. No matter which direction the sphere swam the gravity and centrality of the land remained, and others around them saw the land and it appeared to them as an island floating in the sky. Just as he thought it, it was. But could he and they continue to agree?

Find out next time in the Stranger's (hopefully) final installment in the serious, From Everlasting to Everlasting. ^_^

ORDER

2008-10-20T21:47:00.000-07:00

My good friend, sister to Sonic (she shall be known as... Marie) had an incredibly good idea as to a central plot to a novel. You must have patience with my, what is planned to be, three part series. Please enjoy, and Marie don't be angry with my experimentation... hopefully if you plan to execute your idea my shorts shall help guide you as to what and what not to do. Now to the first part, ORDER.

The black clothed ones watched over the city of YHWH and light burst forth like the sun from its center. Even in the midst of the Rest song could be heard being raised. Speckled across the fields like so many stars were the Pure glorifying YHWH even by their slumber. The melodies of various choirs intermingled in harmony of purpose and of melody. In the midst of it all, the center of attention, and the focal point of all the universe, stood the court of the Almighty. The Spirit was heaviest there and the fragrance like unto vanilla and lavender mixed in some sublime manner. Smoke always obscured it and to go there was to be prostrate before the throne in worship.

The holy city surpassed explanation in its glory and majesty though the Pure have eternity they shall never exhaust its depths. It was then, when the Rest was full of slumber, that those in black melted like shadows into the ground and sped across the ground. One of the Pure stood at the gate of the city, watching the Shades gather. Thousands of them, small and great, thickened the darkness in front of the Pure to a level beyond pitch. Finally one last shadow of enormous size and hideous in shape joined the abysmal conglomerate.

Then the Pure one laughed, his white robes changed to black, and he stepped into the black mass. At first he tried to move and could not, but then some more powerful will asserted itself and he, they, it, moved towards the court of the Almighty with a deliberate step. Around him the city watched in silence, all the choirs lost their voice in astonishment, and to the imPure everything looked like an unfulfilled promise. The brilliant jewels and awesome skies were like beggars change and clouded twilight.

He, they, it, reached the center and stood outside the smoke for a moment. The sweet fragrance like rank death, and the glorious texture as a hideous shape to him. "Part in my path." He said calmly. The smoke was separated by an unseen force and He, they, it, cracked a sinister smile. Confident he walked towards the throne but try as he might he could not keep his head raised when he drew near. There, YHWH, looked at him, them, it, and spoke, "Ah, Peter, do you not enjoy the perfection that is my creation?" YHWH sounded like something incomparable, deeper than the waters, higher than the skies, his voice came from everywhere at once and from YHWH alone. Along with its mysterious quality the voice carried with it a whole range of emotions, Love, sadness, longing, knowing... So that Peter knew exactly what YHWH wanted him to hear.

Even so, he, they, it, did not change the plan. They said, "Remember when you gave to me dominion of this earth?" YHWH kept silent, and he said, "Because I am ready to make use of that dominion now, if you would keep your promise." YHWH made no sound, and it said, "I would like for you to remove your influence completely from this earth." YHWH responded, "Is it Peter who asks me this?" The awesome voice once again conveyed more than mere words, even though it was a question the tone said YHWH already knew, and had always known. Peter replied, "Of course."

"It is done." Said YHWH, and even while the voice faded all the luster from every thing of beauty faded to ashes, him, they, it, spoke, "Finally brothers, chaos is ours to rule and discord shall be from now to till the end of all things! Pandemonium for eternity!"

To be continued...

Dt

P.s.

Endure through this part and the next till the end, and know why the title is as it is.

Not up to 50!

2008-10-20T16:55:00.000-07:00

Yes, that's right. My blog may not be an otherworldly torture device which sucks away the years of one's life, but we have just passed the 50th mark in blog posts. Congratulations, readers, on sticking with me so long. I am working on some interesting shorts, which I hope you enjoy, but they may or may not end up causing you to shriek in ultimate suffering. But if it pans out as planned then may actually cause you delight.

Dt

New layout

2008-10-18T21:48:00.001-07:00

As if you already did not notice, but just in case. This is my new layout (to be modified in the future) now as some of you know, I know nothing about the fine art of coding. This layout was graciously done for me by a good friend of mine who shall for now remain anonymous. That besides, please enjoy and tell me what you think. Likes? Dislikes?

Dt

Light of the World

2008-09-23T19:11:00.000-07:00

Salutations fellow cyber nomads. Tis I, the Stranger, and welcome to the blue oasis of my words. I hope you may find no poisonous insects or venomous snakes among my beach like denizens, except those already defanged and made examples to the determent of their fellows. This next short story is great in length, so please do not be deterred by its size. I've decided I shall attempt to fight the fatigue which threatens to engulf me so completely by singing the breath in my soul to all of you. It might be a faint wind, but even the faintest winds bring refreshment and stir the branches from their...

Silvan sleep, the majestic trees crowned the dark forest floor. Nighttime hung like a sheet along the way and every resting thing sighed in unison with the breeze. Many a sloth rocked as so many hammocks and the great bird of flames itself slumbered amidst its dancing ashes whilst the retarded flames in its feathers twinkled and sparked with a madness peculiar to fire.

As the Sun hid his face and the Moon, that love struck maiden, chased after him a native traversed the hushed woods with reverence. For he feared to stir some ill spirit or awaken those yellow eyes which spare none. So he walked softly and let his eyes look for patterns and shapes instead of colors or movement. If he was being stalked at any time looking for movement was sure to get one killed. With only his thin but sharp spear as his defense he would have but one sure strike at any large predator before it would kill him.

He rested against a giant tree and opened his ears for the sounds of the night. The deep resonant tone of river frogs could be heard nearby, the occasional night bird sounded its voice at the stars, and the snap of a twig nearby was what he heard. The twig, such a small branch but by its sound has saved many lives. The huntsman was high in the tree only seconds later and he peered into the depths of the darkness for any fellow hunter. He saw only shadows, he heard only the restless wind, but the hairs on his neck said something lurked upon the earth.

He continued to travel, more like an arboreal creature now, leaping among the trees with the ease of long practice. Often he stopped to look and listen and just as often did he see and hear nothing. Finally he approached a break in the trees, a small river and one which must needs be crossed. The water was gray in the moonlight and by its property acted like a vanity for the lunar face. The jungle bred warrior hid himself in the leaves and listened long. Only the usual sounds of the soft water met his sharp ears. Quickly he left the protection of his tree and faster still he forded the waters.

As he climbed his next fortress he checked behind him for his pursuer, because it must show itself in order to cross as well. Some bushes parted and into the silver light stepped a proud tiger. His eyes were clearly locked onto the traveler, while a deep rumble emanated from his throat, and he began to gingerly attempt the river. Apparently the big cat was not overfond of water and he decided there was easier prey in the massive jungle. For the woods were his water, and as he slipped past the surface of the greenery no trace of his presence remained.

Feeling much safer now the quester traveled swiftly upon the ground, he had lost precious time to being stalked but now he must do his own stalking. The faint predawn ghost-light began to make all colors equal in their blur, and the time for spying was finally upon him. He located a particularly tall tree and practically ran up it. When he reached the top his eyes began their search, flames, where are the flames? In a nearby valley he spotted a dim flicker and he smiled. Finally, perhaps he may touch his destiny.

He traveled quickly towards his mark and the scenery itself joined the blend of its colors. When the tale of fire's light began to tell against the night he slowed and stole his way to it. And in the recess of the darkness the grim eve was pierced by the living light. Sparks rose with joyous dance, flame brightened and softened in a rhythm, and the mystical creature of feathers and spirit breathed in slumber. Its feathers all glowed in an awesome light, so purely, and the peace of its security was evident in the choice of its bed. On the ground, in the night, in the jungle of predators. The phoenix feared not any of those things.

The native's final task was to somehow master this great bird. Yet how could he? It smoldered and he could feel the heat from thirty yards away. It was massive in form and he perceived when it would awaken its strength and size would only increase. It seemed like such a beast suffered not to be mastered, but try he must or die at the hands of his own tribe. He approached its head, gingerly stepping so as not to make a sound, and when he was close enough to touch it he did so.

In a flurry of bright and sudden movements he found himself on his back, and a burning talon pinning him there, between earth and flames. The glory of the awakened phoenix was mesmerizing, fire of so many colors chased across its wings, and the morning itself was hidden by the light which tore it. Then the tribesman looked into its eyes, and was met by a scrutinizing stare. The massive depths he found there froze his soul even as his body was burning, already burning. Then their meeting was truly inaugurated by the heavens themselves, for the moon had caught up to the sun and the world was thrown into shadows.

Now, the man thought, now perhaps its strength will wane. But instead the creature cocked its head as though listening and in its talons he grasped the sweltering man. Into the sky it dived, and ascended beyond any mark or boundary. It was there the phoenix gave life to its call and the beauty of it made the man weep, the beauty he wanted for himself. They flew for a time and the firebird increased its flame to become the sole light of the world and its brilliance surpassed the Sun.

The man was let down inside his own village and the magnificent thing suffered itself to stay. The chieftain cried in delight, and a sort of mania. "Now our great sacrifice is arrived!" He shouted into the seeming day. He motioned for him and told him because he had brought it he had the honor to kill it. Yet how, why, should it be sacrificed to appease our village god, thought the man. He stood there torn, gazing into the eyes of all his fellows pleading and begging them with his thoughts. A cold wall they seemed to him, urging him on with their existence.

Then he took his spear, raised it to the heavens, and drove it into the phoenix. They danced around its black corpse while the Sun left the Moon's shadowed embrace and in the sunlight he saw a white object underneath the bird. An egg, great and lovely to behold like a gem of many colors, and also like a frozen flame. He took it and ran from his homeland, and lost himself in the trees. He spent his days hiding from his former family and soon from the egg burst a bird, small, but with its life his own was replenished, and by its flames he felt the coal in his heart be replaced with jewels.

Dt

Brilliant Aprisal Begins Yon

2008-09-17T19:19:00.000-07:00

Dear readers, I the Stranger have an announcement of enormous proportions to share with you. I am an uncle, an uncle to a yet unborn child. This child carried by my beloved and beautiful sister shall be nurtured and cared for by loving and wonderful parents, as well as an oddball uncle. This update is simply to huge to not be cataloged here, so here it is. In accordance with my sister's wishes I have not used certain electronic means of notification (such as facebook or myspace etc.) to communicate this joyous news and I would ask you to refrain from doing the same. But nevertheless, I must proclaim, I am an uncle and an uncle I shall remain.

Dt

Unclean

2008-08-31T14:05:00.000-07:00

A small, iron bell was ringing and the market square emptied rapidly, as a band of men shuffled dejectedly through the town. They moved like convicts, even though they wore the free man's garb. Every time I see them, I am disgusted, every time I see myself, I simply cannot believe it. "Unclean! Unclean! Do not touch, do not walk on tainted ground before the priest comes! Unclean! Unclean!" Called the town crier, and the folk were not slow to obey his directions. The pack of the unclean ambled through the town, and I with them.

"Don't be such a bitter herb!" My brother's voice came calling me to a memory. Years ago, before winter fell onto my skin forever, I had happiness of a sort. My brother and I would wander the countryside in search of game or fun. We would... talk for days at a time, or so it seemed. Golden days, languid days, far gone days. A shriek of terror brought me back to the present, only to see the face of a cowering woman rejecting my presence with her fear.

Why, why did we have to go to town? Why must we be revealed for all to see, for all our memories of goodness and life to be squashed and tainted in the greedy flames of hatred. I could smell their fear, and I could see the question in their eyes as well, why, why must we bear the presence of the unclean? Better to die than to be infected with the winter skin, with the ice burning away all feeling and mobility.

True, all true. Many times I had contemplated the knife, or simply wandering into the wilderness where the bear lived, and wolves prowled. Yet still, somehow, I held on. Not to hope, but to the slim chance of some cure or a reverse of my malady. It was known to happen rare, as it was, but I never dwelt on these thoughts of escape or rescue. For as soon as I looked upon the scales on my skin I knew, all the way down to my bones, I knew I was stuck. Stuck to live the thrice cursed life, with no feeling in my body, no feeling in my heart, and no feeling in my soul. I was numb, frozen to the core.

Every friend I had in life, for I had died even though I live, was now a sworn enemy, every cherished memory or treasured gift was turned into ashes in my mouth. I was useless, and worse, my only use was to be reviled and rejected. While the group of lepers were lingering in the town a stranger approached the place where we were gathered. He wore tattered clothes and walked with a sure stride. It seemed to me he looked only at me, even as he scrutinized someone else.

My eyes betrayed me and followed his every movement. I heard someone whisper a name, Jeshua, and then my own legs had no more strength in them. I wept, I had not the slightest strength in me except for sadness. I knew I had no right to even look at him, to even think or hope he would heal me. What was I but an abomination of hate? What was I but someone degrading into a living corpse? I had no right to ask... but I could mention. "Lord, if you will you can make me clean." I said, sounding dejected and forlorn.

"I will, be clean."

Dt

Being Truly Numb

2008-08-31T13:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday my pinkie and ring finger on my left hand went completely numb on the third joint. Whenever I use them it feels like they are "asleep". I have retained the dexterity inherent in them but not the ability to feel much heat or cold. I can tell when something is touching the tip by the way it travels like a wave up my finger. Because of this I can sympathize with people who live with numb appendages or paralyzation, or even leprosy. I don't believe the numbness will last very long but I intend to write a short story on the subject from the point of view of someone who suffers a condition similar to this. It is not ready yet, so be patient.

Until then,

The Stranger

Reset

2008-08-14T19:18:00.000-07:00

Greetings, this is the Stranger and hopefully the following will not cause you to flee and come again no more. Poetry for me is... like standing underneath a waterfall and causing some of the water to flow in a certain direction using your arms and shoulders pointed in a uniform direction and angle. In other words, it comes when it wants and it rarely meets the emotion that spawned it. This short story is a free style poem who met a biography. Guess who it's about and I'll tell you if you're right! So enjoy the fruits of what the Gaelic would call the "awen" or the breath of the soul.

Green symbols danced randomly in the screen while a strange and rhythmic synthesized sound repeated on the speakers placed around the desk. The room was dimly lit by the half moon lazily sending its rays through the only window. One door led in, it was shut and had many locks placed upon it. All else was vague in the semi-darkness which covered everything with an obscuring haze. All else, except for a sleeping figure collapsed half on the desk and half in an office chair.

The teen aged boy had greatly unkempt hair, an old and well worn shirt, and long slightly baggy jeans on. He looked like he had been sleeping for a great while because dust had settled on his shirt. The haunting sound on the speakers changed its tune to something more akin to an Indian settar and the tempo became random and quick. The inscrutable green letters reduced in their haste to appear at various places and times and to just as quickly vanish; and upon the completion of their total banishment and the descent of a blank screen these words became evident in a white text.

Server reboot system online... Please wait... Please wait... Server reboot complete, Server self diagnostic initialized, running... Server self diagnostic complete. The Server is ready to operate the System, Server contacting System. Please wait...

When the Server was contacting the System the boy awoke and was coherent in time to read the words. What he saw next was this, Server System link initialized, transmitting data at 800 mbps, Server System link stable at 800 mbps. After a few more moments the boy stretched and turned on the light. Only one of the bulbs in the ceiling fan was working and the light produced was only slightly more powerful than the moonlight but the dark haze did draw back from the obscure objects and the boy quickly categorized them into their proper place in his brain. The box full of keepsakes, a chair with a bin of cds on it, a cabinet full of various useless items, and a tiny fridge and microwave.

He foraged in the fridge and salvaged some food from what may or may not be safe to eat. When he sat back down the following words were awaiting him on the screen.

Server System ready for operation: Command?

He began to dialog with the system.

Enter subnet drive number 6, run self diagnostic program 3. Execute.

Server System diagnosing subnet drive number 6. Please wait...

The boy had been having trouble getting online lately and because of the unresponsiveness of the computer he had been running diagnostic programs on every function of the computer. He ate his unidentified food as he waited and just as he finished the computer signalled its completion.

Subnet drive number 6 has a malfunction in .dll file number 777. Warning, if you attempt to repair the file the subnet drive may totally fail. Do you wish to run repair? Y/N.

Y.

Server System running repair program on subnet drive number 6. Running...

There was at this point no music from the speakers and the only sound was a rapid succession of high toned clicks. The screen blanked out for a moment and then reinitialized. When it did these red words appeared on the screen.

Server System repair of subnet drive number 6 a failure, the subnet drive has been scrambled. Server System recommends tech support. Server System will reinitialize Safe Mode in 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1... Goodbye.

The boy, having finally run out of other options went to his door, unlocked every one of his many locks and called for tech support. Who also happened to be his father. From then on out the Server and the System were in repair and the boy could e-mail his invisible friend who was now so close even though he was so far away.

Dt

Romanticism

2008-07-31T17:23:00.000-07:00

Hile, Stranger here, and make yourself comfortable for what may be one of the more interesting commentaries I have yet posted. Upon post-modernism A.K.A. Romanticism. Bon apetite.

The truth is constant, always valid, and unable to change or fluctuate. If a truth is accepted then necessarily it becomes a foundation for thought. Yet if truth be only partially rejected then no idea or thought, no argument or construction, nothing will be completely true or even mostly true. This is merely the first phase of whit is now known as post-modernism. The relentless dismantling of any absolute has a plethora of consequences in society at large.

The fatal and first stroke of post-modernism is taking objective truth and making it subjective from a first person view. Or, in other words, denying any absolute and accepting truth to be a personal quest in which all differ in what fact they discover and accept. This places the acquisition and substantiation of any verity solely on the choice of the individual. Meaning everyone is their own god making for themselves their own purposes.

A society founded on this principle shall surely degrade into anarchic chaos. For all ideas would be equally invalid as well as equally valued. Only the amount of people accepting an idea as more or less fact would differ. It seems post-modernism's primary goal is to remove error by quietly killing any standard. The saving of pride done by this act is tremendous, simply because one might hold an opinion opposite to my own does not subtract any credence to what I hold to. If by some chance I adopt their viewpoint then my idea was more of an experiment than a rule.

By removing the possibility of wrong this world view adds into society a general feeling of "why bother?" Few shall see the need for rigor, or hard work for non can, in the end, succeed. There is now no longer any goal other than a sort of self propelling. A slothful tendency will pervade those who believe in nothing and anything.

What seems to be on of the main reasons for accepting such a mindset is the denial of God. It becomes an ultimate atheism, there being now no absolute there is necessarily no prime being. There is now no final judgment, no accountability for deeds or thoughts, and no life after death. They shall become their own law and accept their ultimate fate.

Having accepted their end they shall descend into hopelessness. What in the beginning was an attempt to substantiate whatever lifestyle they wished to lead shall be what they wished to avoid all along. All pursue happiness, those who do so through post-modernism will realize they are chasing only sorrow, and gaining it.

Romantics, this is what they are. Post-modernism emphasizes the experience, the emotion, and the journey over the truth, the logic, and the destination. Thinking if they travel wide enough, and experience many cultures and ideas humanity will gain a peace and balance. In its search, society will embrace countless radical and possibly dangerous ideas to reach this purpose.

My sister composed with this theme, "What you feel isn't what is real." Many would disagree. In fact, the denial of truth must place faith in the subjective and the emotional. This makes the experiential and the transient a temporary truth. People will take an action for as long as they 'feel like it' and then they shall move on to another area in hopes of a more fulfilling experience.

This lifestyle denies logic at its core and when confronted by either truth or logic will simply exercise the authority of self. Their main defense will be along the lines of, that may work for you but it doesn't mean it's true for me as well. In the face of this defiance no arguing shall prevail for they have hardened their hearts to change.

Proceeding hand in hand with the denial of logic is the assertion truth can only be personal. A truth you hold to is simply that, and my truth does not have to spread any further than me to be valid. Creating within society millions of tiny bastions, broadcasting their own ideas while ignoring whatever does not fit with their perception.

Already knowing life to be short as well as final the shall endeavor to live every moment for their own pleasure. Why should they waste time on others? Society will surely become steeped in greed as well as perverse and wild deeds. People will go to extra-ordinary lengths to enjoy every moment and they shall also become bitter or even violent when they cannot.

In the end post-modernism is a world view constructed to distract entire nations from God for as long as possible.

Dt

Quiet Tears

2008-07-24T17:08:00.000-07:00

In the land where all is shadows and mist, where a bird's song is ne'er heard, and where there are no rainbows when a storm passes. In this land, the Heartland it was called, journeyed a wanderer across the barrenness of the frigid plains. The moon is always shining there and sunlight stays hidden behind great mountains. In order to survive the nomad killed all creatures he encountered and hastily ate them. It was always best to keep moving, to ever be escaping unperceived danger.

A frosty wind cut along the vales and dales penetrating all defense against its slow death. Shelter was nearly impossible to find and nearly as hard to make, for every cave was constantly filled and guarded by ferocious beasts. The landscape itself was full of treacherous pitfalls as well as thin ice over water. It was constantly precipitating, snow, rain, sleet, hail all would fall on a normal day and seemingly hail would fall the most often of all.

The wild and savage wilderness was dangerous beyond all compare yet it held a beauty for the traveler. The moonlight was as many silver threads glistening pale upon the ice capped fields. It was as cold and pale as a dead man yet enchanting despite all association with the grave. The man journeyed away from sunlight, ever to the north and away from other men. Somehow he survived alone, at least for then.

He could not be any more alone in the void and the night than he was in a city of men in the southern latitudes. Each of them was consumed with their own quests and would not deign to share bread with a friend. The pariah had embraced the hinter lands and could better endure the frozen tundra than the frozen smiles of so many men. He adored the places none had been for no where else had he found a place he identified with.

It was there, on the day of unceasing sleet, on the day when the wind howled louder than any train, when no shelter could endure nor comfort made. It was then he made it to the center of the wasteland, the north most point of all the earth. At the core of cold he pitched his tent and waited. He waited for the equinox, the time when sun would overtake moon. He sat for the time when the rim of the earth no longer swam away from the celestial body of heat and light. He waited for two months and ten days but who can tell time in the shadow of the moon? It seemed to be eternity and a lifetime he held his ground.

Yet the sun did rise and when the sun rose it stayed. The athlete no longer would remain only in shadows and moonlight but to be made warm in the full light of day. The wanderer had found a place to be home at, at least while the sun shone. He would now journey only west to remain in sunlight all the longer. For he had enough of being full of an icy soul and now that the thaw had come he yearned for warmth to be his only lot; never more to weep frozen tears in silence, but to run his course with joy.

Dt

Heartfelt apologies

2008-07-23T20:23:00.000-07:00

Hello. This is the Stranger and I have written this to you on account of some very... peculiar circumstances in my life which force me to make my posts a little more spaced out. I know the month of June had almost no posts and I apologize for the lapse, but I must cry your pardon once again and ask you to be patient. Thank you, and please don't ask me to explain any further it's rather complicated.

Dt

Broken

2008-07-19T12:26:00.000-07:00

He was a guardian, and he did protect.

There stood a Soldier among the crowd of trinkets, to reason with them about the purpose they should aspire to. He had placed himself upon a stage and delivered the speech he had rehearsed over and again. "We are men of few words, but many deeds. Swift to do and quick to deliver we stand in the gap. We are so many princes, with so many steeds charging to victory. We are the guardians and we will protect."

Silence met his passionate words and once more the Soldier walked away hearing only cheers and trumpets. "Reporting for duty!" the Soldier stated with a crisp salute. "At ease Private." responded the Sergeant, with a somehow better salute.

"Is all of your gear checked and double checked?" "Yes sir!" "Have you memorized the map layout of your mission area?" "Yes sir!" "Do you know by instinct the requirements of your mission, and shall you abide and do those requirement and only them?" "Yes sir, and yes again sir!"

The Sergeant nodded and his former official demeanor fell away as a genuine smile lit his face, "God speed private." said the Sergeant. Salutes, departure, and the Soldier fell in with his squad for their mission. The mission for the next five months was survive the first semester of freshman year at a public high school, and his squad was a group of students he didn't know all piled in a giant yellow bus.

Dt

To be continued...

One Standard Day

2008-07-17T10:27:00.000-07:00

The fresh scent of pine had won over her senses long ago. She felt the green and knew all of her mute yet weighty desires to be answered. The heaviness of the city she itself from her like water as she danced among the trees. She existed off of the aroma while her spirit rose to heights anew and soared there. She would have been content then, but there was still more in that forest of glory and the morn had only just shed soft light.

The living air sighed past her like so many threads of silk. With every step and every breath her laugh became more wild. Zephyrs which were the foundations for eagles' wings dove down from heaven to grace the forest. The delight she found from them poured form her lips in song. How could it be any better, she asked entranced by the gift, but she knew more than the caress of the sky and more still then the perfume of the earth.

The stillness in the thrushes spoke poetry to her even as water trickled reverently in its stream. The wind's breath stirred the trees to their whispering life and they shared sweet secrets with her. The soft call of the mourning dove enhanced the feeling, welling in her spirit. Then the joy of the morning burst forth coupled with his companion, who is peace like a river. My cup is full, she declared, I cannot take any more in. Yet more there was for creation is no so empty to make known Him part way.

The trumpet of the dawn lit upon the forest there and revealed greater greens and deeper blues like so many gems to her awed eyes. Sparkling in the lake was a treasury made for her, and in the leaves and blades of grass stood captured a beauty beyond knowledge. The great blueness above joined with the earth beneath in their dance of light and dark to remind her of the dew. Just as the dew refreshed all the animals and brought life to so many plants, so did all creation fall like dew to her tired soul. For her there was nothing left but to cry and the tears were lovelier than all the blazes of the sun to He who did for her all this and more.

It was then she asked in her relief, gratefulness, and confusion... Why, why for one as I? For what reason would you create knowing we would deny? How come you toiled and spun with the knowledge of our treason? And all the answer she ever got and all the answer there ever was also happened to be in the great big sky.

Why? Because, and love.

Dt

The Daily Struggle

2008-07-16T18:48:00.000-07:00

The long awaited (and hopefully anticipated) second part to my commentary on warfare has come. I pray you benefit.

4 For we know, brothers loved by God, that he has chosen you, 5 because our gospel came to you not simply with words, but also with power, with the Holy Spirit and with deep conviction. You know how we lived among you for your sake.

-- I Thes. 1:4-5

Before going forth into warfare for the sake of others make sure of your own status. Remaining in a good status requires two aspects, these being humility and devotion. For the root problem has been and shall always be sin. Without sin there would be no fallen angels, no entropy, and no war either against the flesh within or the world without. When sin is paid for a person is taken out of the darkness, enslavement, and freed from a mindset for the work of the devil. This does not necessarily mean they are scotch free from hard work (it simply means without the grace provided by the gospel, hard work would never pan out...). This is mostly a recap of what I said earlier in a different form.

What needs to be added is the following, sin led to fallen angels and fallen man, sin can attract the fallen or enticement can be produced by the fallen. Yet with resistance to sin the spirits flee. No matter how you look at the issue the main problem is sin and the only solution is the gospel. This is the essence of humility, with confession humility grows and dependence on God becomes increasingly tangible. Doing so will soak in deeper reliance on God and this stunning realization; if we are faithful in "small" things, He is faithful in big things. Of course remaining pure is no small matter but I propose the "big" area is when we try to expand to helping others. James 4:5-7, 1 Peter 5:4-6, Luke 16:9-11.

Humility keeps us dependant and suppresses pride (like the desire to grab our own glory in deliverance). Devotion to God is very specific to fighting one particular struggle, faithlessness. Unbelief is, in essence, thinking God not big enough, the gospel not good enough, nor the Word effective enough to actually deliver from sin. This mindset can either be veiled in a habitual pattern of sin, because if we had the faith repentance would be possible, or in actual doubting of the goodness or power of God. I have found through observation unbelief often is accompanied by oppression. How or when the oppressor comes is speculation but the symptoms are classic and easily identifiable. Hopelessness, depression, brooding, anxiety, and things like these compound the cause, unbelief. Rom. 10:16-18, Gal. 3:1-9, Matt. 17:17-21, 1 Sam. 15:10; 24-25 16:14-15; 23.

Humility and devotion are merely the evidences of something much better, the gospel. These truths are merely fruits from the double beamed tree. Just as no one ever lived without a heart nor did a car ever start without an engine just so do these truths depend on the Mover for their efficacy. Go and do likewise.

Discernment is required. Some are given the gift of discernment of spirits as their spiritual gifting, but many are not. Whether or not you have (or think you have) been given this gift be sure to pray for discernment when you have reason to think an alien will is influencing you. When a temptation seems to never end, to last beyond reason or normal boundaries, and when prayer and recitation of the scriptures seem not avail much then sometimes this may be the influence of an imp. Be careful to remember our warfare is against our own flesh and that sin is always the root cause and root problem, in addressing the root other powers loose most of their leeway.

This warfare is easiest won by prevention, yet there are times when preventative measures fail and we fall. When this time occurs remember the authority, by the power of the Name, given unto us (in various places, one of which is Mark 16:17) and with faith standing against the deceiver. Remember to repent of your sin (repentance being asking forgiveness as well as the grace to turn away and walk in it no more, and then so doing) which brought you to the place of vulnerability in the first place.

Be devoted to God and thereby faith be inculcated into your heart. For faith is the root of our power, just as pride is the root of theirs. Faith protects when pride subverts, faith makes strong where pride makes vulnerable, faith makes effective where pride exposes, and faith give God the glory where pride seeks its own. Devote yourself to God and believe, whereby you shall stand in the day of darkness. Eph. 6:13.

P.s. For reasons I shall not say the commentary on deliverance of others shall not be posted now and may never be posted in the future. I sincerely hope the commentary has been beneficial to you but I adjure you to be wise and most of all draw near to God.

An Aside

2008-06-11T13:26:00.000-07:00

I know, I know (Stranger here), this is not the second part of the commentary (I'm having trouble condensing everything I want to say) but when I saw this video I just had to share it. Please enjoy. http://www.godtube.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ee73e63418003b47d7d5

Dt