Bits and Pieces

The following are small segments of writing that I wrote in under 10 minutes. They are mostly unedited, so don’t expect anything really good.

Assuming he had any idea what he was doing, that house will stay up. The tools he used for construction, for shaping stone and carving wood died with him. He was thirty-five, not yet reaching the hill, the crossroads of middle-age. He had left his children in a cold house full of sticks and stones. When the priest saw the body, he fell on his knees in prayer. A screwdriver was sticking out of the man’s head at a 45 degree angle. It happened while he was on the roof, patching the chimney walls. During the winter months, cracks had appeared and grown wider, wind whistling through them in the darkness.

Anyone can write. Give a pen to a monkey and chances are he can scribble something on a piece of paper. What distinguishes that from something that you buy in a book store? Something that the reader can identify with, something to capture his attention and keep it submerged in the author’s mind. Good writing is not unlike art. Some scoff at modern art, while others buy abstract paintings for thousands of dollars. To each his own. Furthermore, a best-selling book is in its own league. It must take hold of a much larger number of people, and contain ideas that spread like wildfire across the forest of society with only a few words of recommendation. Who said it was easy? Those who ache to see their written word printed, bound, and shelved flock to famous predecessors. Anyway, writing a book always begins with a sheet of blank paper.

Over the years I’ve wondered exactly how it happened. The slow decline in health, the downward slope into the depths of depression, the hellish inability to find escape. Did it happen when I lost my job, or had it been eating me from the inside long before that? My pale face was pressed against the darkened glass of a city bus. The sun had barely risen, so I was alone, except for an overweight bus driver. The faded blue seats were uncomfortable, and yet I found myself drifting back and forth across the border of consciousness as the bus rumbled onward.

Why fight the inevitable? Why not give in to the sweet embrace of earth? We are dust blown here and there by God’s breath, scattered across the plains of fruitless desires. Whether one runs or walks, the path will end in darkness. And what candle’s light can pierce that starless veil? Alas, in vain.

She, golden-haired, plunged into the green darkness of the forest. The branches above whispered quietly as the dying light cast shadows on the fallen leaves. But she, deer-swift, did not stop running. Tears streamed from brown eyes, down her smooth cheeks. The soft earth sank beneath her naked feet. She, white-clad, leapt across the slow brook. And did not look back.

Fingers plucked the strings of mermaid hair as the universe waned in the mirror. They trembled, the goat-man’s fingers, as He smelled the growing cold. This was the same cold He had felt during His Falling, before time was time. Eyes, brooding under dark brows, watched the pulse. His hooves were frozen to the stone as He waited for His Father.

Do they kill people? No, they don’t need to. They are the perfect kidnappers. You never know when someone is actually gone because it doesn’t seem like they were ever really there. Someone just starts slowly fading, and by next month they’re completely gone and you’ve forgotten them. Oh, they’re still physically there, their body and everything, but anything unique about them has been replaced with a disturbing emptiness. So I guess they aren’t really kidnappers. They’re something much worse.

His room was smothered in yellow sticky notes. The long desk, the dusty bookshelves, the lamp from an antique store down the street, even the frame of the bed. They were all plastered with super sticky sticky notes. He had bought them specially. One sticky note bore the short reminder: “Feed Darwin”. Darwin the tortoise had died several months previously. “Why?” questioned a note above the light switch. Another sticky nearby countered “Why not?” The sticky on the wall above his desk simply stated: “22 Cherry Lane”. This was where the love of his life resided. Or something like that anyway.

Spying on the White House

How do you get into the White House? You have to request access through a member of congress six months in advance by written letter on special paper that retains your fingerprints. No, I am not kidding you. A week later, either a package or a SWAT team appears at your front door. In the unfortunate event of the appearance of a SWAT team, you are looking at 5-10 days of interrogation and sleep deprivation.

On the other hand, the package contains a paper-thin GPS tracking device embedded on a special holographic ticket. After your arrival in Washington D.C., you are escorted by the Secret Service to an underground bunker. Here you are screened from head to toe. Items prohibited in the White House include hand lotion, knitting needles, and lip gloss, all of which may be mistaken for weapons of mass destruction.

Documented here is a group of people that survived the screening process. The Secret Service agent leaning against the tree is secretly communicating with several other agents hidden in the conveniently large bush. As the group approaches the White House, they will be observed by many hidden cameras and an armed agent stationed on the roof of the White House.

Citizens of the United States of America, I wish you good luck.

Disclaimer: Author of the above post is not responsible for any bodily damage, including multiple gunshot wounds to the head.

Summer is Overrated

Oh shut up, it is! At least, if you're just stumbling from TV to Nintendo DS to refrigerator to computer (i.e. Facebook). But I've done some stuff. In the middle of July, I was running around Paris for 10 days. Climbing to the top of Notre Dame was awesome, and Musee D'Orsay was more enjoyable than the Louvre. Then I came back home and read Deathly Hallows. After Harry Potter, what am I gonna do with my life?

Then my cousin from Poland came over and we went to see the Bodies exhibition in manhattan. I started out thinking it was highly immoral, (especially since all the bodies were chinese) but I changed my mind once I saw everything. There was this whole room dedicated to arteries and veins. They pump the whole circulation system full of red plastic and then chemically dissolve the rest of the body away. What's left is this cloud of thin red vines in the shape of a human being.

Now I'm taking tennis lessons (I'm awful). Sorry if this post sucked; I'm not in a "writing" mood, but I just wanted to post something.

Awakening

I believe that we all come to a gradual realization approximately between the ages of 12-15 about Life, the Universe, and Everything. Quoting the French writer Marcel Pagnol in an English translation:

Such is the life of man. A few joys, quickly obliterated by unforgettable sorrows. There is no need to tell the children so.

Also, from Horace's Ode 4.7:

But oh, whate'er the sky-led seasons mar,
Moon upon moon rebuilds it with her beams;
Come we where Tullus and where Ancus are
And good Aeneas, we are dust and dreams.

In short, we discover that life sucks. It's short and definitely not painless. (On a slightly unrelated topic, I have independently discovered why our sense of time speeds up as we get older. It's our memory; specifically our episodic memory as our brains slow down. We just don't remember all the stuff we did.)

Ehhh. I'm depressed. It's not fun being tired of yourself and your own faults. Anyway, life is filled with mediocrity, death, envy, hatred, the ridiculous struggle to achieve something meaningful... you name it. You may think this is just a negative angle on life. Maybe you're right. But sometimes I ask myself, is that all? Is this everything life has to offer? What the hell are we doing here anyway?

Let me quote Kurt Vonnegut in his book A Man Without A Country (boy I've broken my record for quotes in one post):

I put my big question about life to my son the pediatrician. Dr. Vonnegut said this to his doddering old dad: "Father, we are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is."

Anyway, I'm getting tired of writing. I should stop here before I feel all the above sounds crappy (as it probably does) and delete it.

Whatever

It has been 3 months since my last post. A lot of stuff has happened. Including Virginia Tech, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows coming out soon, and lots of other stuff that does not come immediately to mind. I'm reading the Dark Tower series right now by Stephen King. My favorite line so far is: "William Dearborn, we are met both fair and ill."

Oooh. Sounds dramatic. Me like. Anyway, I am now on break, and have absolutely NOTHING to do, goddamn it. Umm, went to Columbia University to try and get in for the SHP program. It was nice to get away from my nagging parents, at least for 5 hours. And the weather was nice.

Ramble ramble ramble. My life is so stupid.

iPod + Cellphone = iPhone!

OMG! Its a widescreen touchscreen, internet surfing, photo browsing, music playing, map browsing, email/sms sending, note recording, weather/stocks checking, picture taking iPod! Its the iPhone! Except it's extremely expensive! $399 for 4 GB and $599 for 8 GB! But me still want! Can I please fondle/lick it?! (Image from Apple)

Not Another New Year...

Please don't even mention New Year's Resolutions. They are the most idiotic intangible things on this planet. People who keep their Resolution are like Santa Claus. They don't exist. Hate to break it to ya.

Oh yeah, I was watching the weather channel today and they called it weird. Extremely high temperatures in the North and South East, tornadoes in the Central states, and 2 feet of snow in some places. But I found it weird that they didn't even mention GLOBAL WARMING!!!

Let me explain the absurdity of the situation in dialogue:

Person 1: Unusually warm weather we're having, don't you think?
Person 2: Yeah...must be that global warming...

*2 days later*

Person 1: Is that vortex of terror a particularly ferocious tornado heading our way?
Person 2: What global warming?