The Weekend

My extended family are wonderful people and in general good cooks, so I enjoy traveling to Iowa to sample the pleasures of good company and food. Grandma and Grampa's house is different now from what it use to be. In a distance, fading past, my cousins and I would scale the walls of the old, decaying barn on the farm, feed the dogs with scraps, and climb the low branches of the maple tree near the house. Activity, motion, and noise all aptly described our play, but the pace has slacked of late. Wiffleball baseball with the younger cousins and golf were our only physical activities all weekend. This time the couch beckoned, as did a book. Yet, while the pace has lessened, the people I love are still there.

Time catches us all, and softly, seemingly blindly, carries us along a hidden path. Pay heed to the quiet chimes of the grandfather clock, for Father Time practices tough love.

Of Anakin and Death

The hideous red glow of Anakin’s lightsaber flashed, narrowly missing Death's skull. Death's black robes swished softly as he twirled and brought his light-scythe to bear. In rapid fashion, Anakin and Death parried the others blows and counterattacks. The two combatants ignored the sulfurous, molten lava a mere thirty feet below them. Both lightsaber and lightscythe flashed perilously near the single cable beneath the combatants feet. The weapon play rose to a furious pitch, and in a final clash the two came together, lightsaber and scythe crossed. Sweat pored down their blackened faces. Anakin’s brow furrowed. He reached deep with his emotions, called all his anger, despair, and pain to channel the force to a maximum. Just before Anakin began his final, devastating attack, Death laughed and stepped back. Puzzled, Anakin pushed forward to deliver the ending blow, but stopped midstroke as Deaths laughter increased.

"What’s so funny?" Anakin asked quietly, his tremendous temper nearing its boiling point.

Death fought his laughter for a few moments and managed to utter between blasts of laughter, "Why, this fight is so pointless." Laughter took him. He composed himself, stood straight, and with as much of a smile a skeleton could muster said, "I'm death, you see. All this time we've been fighting you didn't realize one important fact. I can't die."

Anakin face contorted, confused. And then paled as Death's lightscythe sliced the single cable keeping both bodies from falling into the molten lava. Anakin's hands clawed empty air in a vain attempt for a lifeline. Death simply leaned back and relaxed.

"Serves you right. You're picking bad odds when you choose to fight Death."

Stories In Bed

(Begin Preamble)
Is anyone else disturbed when they click on the "new web-blog" to start a new post and instead of their nice black and orange background, one is forced to write in a harsh white environment? I would be much more comfortable if the page xanga used for weblog entry displayed the same colors as my site.
(End Preamble. Begin Amble)

I want to write a story this summer. It will be as long or short as I feel necessary, but I hope for a long short story. A novel-light, if you will.

The idea came to me in bed, where all my best thinking takes place. If I could write with my head pressing upon a soft down pillow, eyes closed, and covers heating my curled body, I would. The problem is obvious. In such a relaxed setting, I would fall asleep, and for every nap perhaps a sentence or two would be written. I also would write well in the shower, but the problem of electricity, water, and me combine to make the option less appealing. However, in bed, I construct much of the plot for my as of yet unwritten stories.

The story centers on a character, male or female though I will probably make it male, who has always lived in the shadow of a mountain or cliff. He was raised and lived in a small village near by this foreboding cliff. As he progresses in age, the man feels a draw to the mountain and as a final adventure before retirement or senility, the man decides to backpack around the base of the cliff. To his surprise, the man finds a stair carved from the stone of the cliff, and he climbs. The cliff is tall, so tall its peak or top is constantly shrouded in clouds, so the man is wasted when he gets to the top. At the top, the man finds a modern home unlike those in the village inhabited by another man who could be mistaken for his twin. His twin identifies himself as Death, or the mans one personal Death. Death explains to a shocked old man how when a life is born so too is born a death. At this point, the two go talk in front of the fire place.

I haven't decided if the two will talk first and then Death will introduce himself, or the opposite, but that is the premise. The story will try to contain some quality dialogue and philosophical musings, but it will take me where it wants to go, philosophy or not.
Actually, the story will say, "You don't have the will or patience to write me, do you?"
I sadly respond, "I doubt it."
Thus sayith the story, "A pity. In that case, I don't want to go anywhere." And so the story, having spoken with Death, dies.

But for those whose hopes keep company with that elevating drug marijuana, I will try my best. Nirvana is not far off. Cheers.

(End Amble. Begin Post amble.)
Tomorrow, my brother and I are scraping, smoothing, and applying the proverbial elbow grease to some drywall so some washed up and washed out painters can do their jobs. I hate housework, and this comes close. But I need the spending money, since I don't see a dime of the money I make moving pianos. My father takes it all to combat my ever increasing debt to him. Sigh.
(End Post amble)
(End Post)

Sonic Royalty

"When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire." Your Ex-lover Is Dead by Stars

Looking for good music this summer? Whats that? I can't hear you. Ah, good. An empahtic yes. I was hoping you would be enthusiastic. It makes my job easier. Hum?? Oh, I'm a music salesman obviously, and a damn good one too. Because I have my finger on the pulse of the music industry and can find the diamonds hidden by the ruff, uncut stone. Ok, Ok, I'll get on with the salespitch. Seesh, I was only building suspense. No need to be violent. Now, my roommate would describe these next three bands as emo, but pay no mind, because he calles everything emo. Fine! I'll give you the names, gosh. The first band is called Stars, and they hail from montreal. Montreal also houses the second band, named Arcade Fire. The third band, from London, titled themselves Bloc Party. I only have one real pitch for these bands, and that is to tell you to listen to them. Give these bands a chance, and your ears and brain will crown you king. Yes, if you listen to these bands, you will finally be the master of your own domain. Delay, and increase your mortal danger.

How is it warmer in Illinois than in Arkansas?

I drove home Saturday, stopped once for gas, and fused my back over the nine hour drive. When I left Arkansas, it was warm with a touch of cool. The entire ride home my car's airconditioning sheltered me from the outside world and as I drove north I remained oblivious to climate changes. I rolled into the driveway, turned my pint-sized car off, and opened the door. Warm, sticky air greeted me, to my great suprise. That's disgusting! Illinois should be cooler, more hospitable! What a strange twist of fate it is that I, who loves cool weather, must suffer more in Illinois than Arkansas.

Besides the weather, I am looking forward to summer. My brothers likely will force me to be more active, I will be making money, buying books and CD's, and working half the hours I did last summer. Delightful. Also, I have a more extensive network to keep in touch with friends online, staving off loneliness as best as possible.

During the drive home, some teachings from philosophy class caught hold of me and I decided to be more intentional with my time. Last summer I, when I wasn't working, I spent a fair amount of time watching t.v. I enjoy t.v., but it partially dictated my life. A touch of discipline should go a long way in improving my Russian language skills as well as my general knowledge of literature. The problem is, I think I've tried this discipline thing before and it very quickly devolved into undisciplined. Perhaps I should try harder? Get an accountability partner to whom I will lie too and avoid being disciplined anyway? Likely my drive to be disciplined will die, and so it goes.

However, I will read the remaining Sandman comics. Nothing can stop me. I am a man on a mission who cannot be derailed, slowed, or otherwise sidetracked. When life throws me something I am passionate about, I become very disciplined. Life usually pitches me things impossible to make a career in without crazy talent. Like writing creatively, or art. My life will end with me publishing a few lackluster history books and articles, with hundreds of equally lackluster and unprintable works of art on hold at various disreputable publishing houses. Sounds fun to me actually.

I will post more about my summer exploits later, after the exploits happen, as this is only the first full day I've been home. Later.

Is Anything Worth Saying?

I got this big box on my bed. It's Axis and Allies. I won it during my final in World War II, because we, the British, destroyed all others. Well, mostly the axis.

My roommate has the t.v. on right now. Discovery is airing homemade mini-dragraces scooting down their wooden tracks. Its called powertool racers. Stupid...

Anyway, I now own the complete game...

Wait. The show is back on. They have a special class of dragracers! Dangerous. Racers powered by CO2 tanks and even bigger CO2 tanks! Sigh.

The chances I will play Axis and Allies remain slim. My family doesn't play complicated games, and I have gained a bad reputation for refusing to play games with my family. Card games, board games, any games. I don't like playing...

No! NO! You must be joking. The stupid show has feminists dragracing queens. They called their racer the "Tramp On Wheels," to represent their sex at the competition. You have got to be joking. The racer comes with a head, a wig, and everything. The drama!

Watching t.v. while writing posts makes things interesting and provides for interesting content.

I might sell the game on ebay. The extra cash would be nice. But what is it with modern culture? How can shows like PowerTools Dragracer draw any audience? My philosophy professor would cite Kierkegaard's austetic life of boredom and its search for anything remotely interesting. But that cannot be the reason. The shows are too stupid to sate anyones boredom!

On a similar note, I can't wait for Star Wars III! Grown men moving things with their minds and fighting with colorful high powered lasers!

One must pick their stupidity carefully.