The worst part was the sound.
At the moment, I heard a car horn,the thud of impact, and the crunch of invincible steel. I felt the sudden off-beat twisting of my steering wheel, and the helplessness of the brakes, and the terror of the wheels as they slid. I saw the road and the cars swerving in blurs, and the landscape drifting out of control, and my body went numb when I realized that everything, all at once was too late.
But all I remember was the sound. It couldn't have been for more than a split second, the impact, and the moment before it. It was that instant I braced myself - and I heard it: that low, primal reaction that is more of a scientific absolute. It was the anti noise, the silence that only happens in chaos. It was the swing of the sword of Death. It does not growl like a beast, beasts vainly attempt to roar like it. It is the sound of the leopard's paws leaving the ground, and the abrasive in its bones as it pounces; it is the mechanical click of the trigger sparking the powder and the whir of the bullet spinning; it is the dripping of the oil and the and the cackle of the fire. Soldiers go insane from the ringing in their heads. Prey will hear it. It creeps on those who freeze, and traps those who drown. It is all that catches those who fall. It is what is felt instead of the knife blade. All will know, eventually, this: the Sound of Fear.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Blackened Eyes
Because this blog needs the traffic.
Don't leave me behind, December
Don't end beyond my reach
Don't miss the wish you wanted
Or forget any lessons you teach
Tapping out silent rythms
On the other side of the state
The only way I know to find you
Is after I find it's to late
The bruises and blackened eyes
Reddened with fights we've won
And the signs the good is fading
Are missing when our time is done
And the death of the innocent artist
And the birth of a psychotic rant
And the life of a long lost lover
And the skeptics who said we can't
Don't leave me behind, remember
Don't fade in the curtain call
Don't hide behind hours and days
Before the time will come for us all
And the end of a created wonder
And the start of a God of the rose
And the spark on a trail of powder
And the fire at the end of the shows
Don't leave me behind, December
Don't end beyond my reach
Don't miss the wish you wanted
Or forget any lessons you teach
Tapping out silent rythms
On the other side of the state
The only way I know to find you
Is after I find it's to late
The bruises and blackened eyes
Reddened with fights we've won
And the signs the good is fading
Are missing when our time is done
And the death of the innocent artist
And the birth of a psychotic rant
And the life of a long lost lover
And the skeptics who said we can't
Don't leave me behind, remember
Don't fade in the curtain call
Don't hide behind hours and days
Before the time will come for us all
And the end of a created wonder
And the start of a God of the rose
And the spark on a trail of powder
And the fire at the end of the shows
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Temperance
Eat not to dullness, drink not to elevation.
I spent the first day trying not to eat much, until my father pointed out that this one doen't actually apply to me. Not really. I can eat whatever I want to and my metabolism can take ANYTHING. That's admittedly a bad habit, but I've basically been told I may as well enjoy calorie invincibility while it lasts. (I suppose I could've changed the focus to "Graditude" in that case.) So how I took it this week as a focus on health, or, really, not scarfing down piles of candy like I usually do. It's bad for my teeth, if anything. And I didn't even go through with that. So I give myself a "T" for effort this week, not that it mattered.
I spent the first day trying not to eat much, until my father pointed out that this one doen't actually apply to me. Not really. I can eat whatever I want to and my metabolism can take ANYTHING. That's admittedly a bad habit, but I've basically been told I may as well enjoy calorie invincibility while it lasts. (I suppose I could've changed the focus to "Graditude" in that case.) So how I took it this week as a focus on health, or, really, not scarfing down piles of candy like I usually do. It's bad for my teeth, if anything. And I didn't even go through with that. So I give myself a "T" for effort this week, not that it mattered.
Monday, August 23, 2010
A Quest.
Another school year is upon me, and... I don't think I'm ready. I'm quite frankly a very, very lazy person. I'm unorganized and unwilling to get off the couch to do something about it. So this year I'm setting out to change that. Starting today I will be devoting a week to each of Benjamin Franklin's 13 virtues, as he put:
Temperance: Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation.
Silence: Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation.
Order: Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time.
Resolution: Resolve to perform what you ought, perform without fail what you resolve.
Frugality: Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; i.e., waste nothing.
Industry: Lose no time; be always employed in something useful; cut off all unnecessary actions.
Sincerity: Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly, and, if you speak, speak accordingly.
Justice: wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty.
Moderation: Avoid extremes; forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.
Cleanliness: Tolerate no uncleanness in body, clothes, or habitation.
Tranquility: Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable.
Chastity: Rarely use venery but for health or offspring, never to dullness, weakness, or the injury of your own or another's peace or reputation.
Humility: Imitate Jesus and Socrates.
I've even put a small, folded paper in my wallet to chart the times I mess up on that week's virtue. I'll try to post every Saturday to report on experiences and troubles I ran into while doing this. I'm already wishing I did this earlier. Wish me luck, all of you. I'll need it.
Temperance: Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation.
Silence: Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation.
Order: Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time.
Resolution: Resolve to perform what you ought, perform without fail what you resolve.
Frugality: Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; i.e., waste nothing.
Industry: Lose no time; be always employed in something useful; cut off all unnecessary actions.
Sincerity: Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly, and, if you speak, speak accordingly.
Justice: wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty.
Moderation: Avoid extremes; forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.
Cleanliness: Tolerate no uncleanness in body, clothes, or habitation.
Tranquility: Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable.
Chastity: Rarely use venery but for health or offspring, never to dullness, weakness, or the injury of your own or another's peace or reputation.
Humility: Imitate Jesus and Socrates.
I've even put a small, folded paper in my wallet to chart the times I mess up on that week's virtue. I'll try to post every Saturday to report on experiences and troubles I ran into while doing this. I'm already wishing I did this earlier. Wish me luck, all of you. I'll need it.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Piano Method for Beginners
The piano is easy. Your first step is to sit down. Obviously a well made bench is good, but a chair or a stool will do, for this once at least. You'll replace it later. Wipe the dust off the top and make another mental note to get a good rag and finish the job in an hour or two. Wear good socks for this. The sustain pedal is too cold for bare feet and too clean for shoes. Press it twice, once gently so that your foot is used to it, once a dash quicker so the piano is used to it. Hold it that second time and listen closely - hear it ring, the string's soft pulse magnified just enough so that the human ear can sense the forgotten memories that others have left there.
You now have permission to touch the keys, but only to make sure they're in tune. If some aren't, it's too late now, but remember to avoid the offending keys. Now look around. Melodies are everywhere. look under your seat, behind the couch across the room, in the painting next to you. You should keep a few with you everywhere, just in case, too. Put them in those socks you're wearing. When you find one, a good one, don't grab it. You need its permission. If it comes down for you, hold it gently between your fingertips. Slowly, gently, reverently, touch a note. Any of them. Now let that melody work for you.
It's always nervous starting out, touching just a note at a time, tapping out a subtle rhythm into a small chant. At first it might just be your right hand, softly floating over the ivory and defining its personality in a flurry of whispering movements, an infant realizing things for the first time. Now it will pull your other hand into the fray - either strongly, a power introduced that the music didn't know it had, a new force that further pushes the piece into a symphony, or, it will be more subtle, one more string of keys, at first being one with the right hand, then slowly pulling and stretching the tone into a double entity, not at peace or at war, not at tension or at comfort, but at something those terms don't understand: Harmony. Either way the music grows, and expands, and matures. It has now become fully conscious of itself, and this is where we have elements of danger. Don't let it get too big, This is not the end or even a climax. That's later, and if you peak early you stand a solid chance of losing everything.
If you manage to tone is down - which is the mark of a true pianist - then your right hand will begin to climb. Let it. It starts on the ladder of keys and deftly moves to a higher rhythm and your left hand begins to bow, perhaps in total submission, to a sense of superiority. Remind the left that it isn't worthless, but this is the right's shining solo, and jealousy is pointless. Now bring it back down again, not all at once, small , individual steps that cascade into a solid cadence once the finger join together. Add one more melody between the hands to make it bigger than it was before.
This is where the melody begins to fight you, and this is how music escalates into a war. It's a battle of fingertips and piano keys, a flurry of knuckles in black and white. The sound separates itself from your hands, doing things whether you wanted to or not, and just when things seem beyond your control, withdraw -
and the music will stop. The piano is in submission once more. Allow a few seconds for silence to reverberate through the room. Take a breath, because you're nearly there. Press that first note again, then again as though you were starting piece over again. But don't. Go the opposite direction, catching the Melody in a deep bass voice as the right sings its chorus to remember, to paint the picture of what it once was. Finally, let the essence of the song - that weary spirit that grew for you and let you tame it - let go of it. It no longer has room to grow, but will settle into your lap. Comfort it, caress it one last time, and end on a chord.
Written at Writer's at Harriman
You now have permission to touch the keys, but only to make sure they're in tune. If some aren't, it's too late now, but remember to avoid the offending keys. Now look around. Melodies are everywhere. look under your seat, behind the couch across the room, in the painting next to you. You should keep a few with you everywhere, just in case, too. Put them in those socks you're wearing. When you find one, a good one, don't grab it. You need its permission. If it comes down for you, hold it gently between your fingertips. Slowly, gently, reverently, touch a note. Any of them. Now let that melody work for you.
It's always nervous starting out, touching just a note at a time, tapping out a subtle rhythm into a small chant. At first it might just be your right hand, softly floating over the ivory and defining its personality in a flurry of whispering movements, an infant realizing things for the first time. Now it will pull your other hand into the fray - either strongly, a power introduced that the music didn't know it had, a new force that further pushes the piece into a symphony, or, it will be more subtle, one more string of keys, at first being one with the right hand, then slowly pulling and stretching the tone into a double entity, not at peace or at war, not at tension or at comfort, but at something those terms don't understand: Harmony. Either way the music grows, and expands, and matures. It has now become fully conscious of itself, and this is where we have elements of danger. Don't let it get too big, This is not the end or even a climax. That's later, and if you peak early you stand a solid chance of losing everything.
If you manage to tone is down - which is the mark of a true pianist - then your right hand will begin to climb. Let it. It starts on the ladder of keys and deftly moves to a higher rhythm and your left hand begins to bow, perhaps in total submission, to a sense of superiority. Remind the left that it isn't worthless, but this is the right's shining solo, and jealousy is pointless. Now bring it back down again, not all at once, small , individual steps that cascade into a solid cadence once the finger join together. Add one more melody between the hands to make it bigger than it was before.
This is where the melody begins to fight you, and this is how music escalates into a war. It's a battle of fingertips and piano keys, a flurry of knuckles in black and white. The sound separates itself from your hands, doing things whether you wanted to or not, and just when things seem beyond your control, withdraw -
and the music will stop. The piano is in submission once more. Allow a few seconds for silence to reverberate through the room. Take a breath, because you're nearly there. Press that first note again, then again as though you were starting piece over again. But don't. Go the opposite direction, catching the Melody in a deep bass voice as the right sings its chorus to remember, to paint the picture of what it once was. Finally, let the essence of the song - that weary spirit that grew for you and let you tame it - let go of it. It no longer has room to grow, but will settle into your lap. Comfort it, caress it one last time, and end on a chord.
Written at Writer's at Harriman
Monday, August 9, 2010
The Grey Haired Man
The grey haired man stood, staring out the 12th story window, blinds opened to flood the room with the evening light. Massive panes of glass, across the room, made believe they were invincible, guardians against the city lights. The setting sun turned shadows from the buildings into darkened claws that would no doubt consume people, cars and streetlights, feeding them to a black monster past the horizon. The desk behind him, normally so tidy, the product of obsessive dusting, polishing, arranging, now so lonely, covered in crumpled papers stained by coffee rings and an untouched nametag. Jeremiah Kingston. He hadn’t slept in the last three days, showed in his in his bloodshot eyes and worn face. Dark stubble on his chin had begun to thicken. Three weeks- three weeks of writing and signing and calling and heaven knows everything he’d worked on. And it ended in nothing. The deal had been broken by the associate company. There had been full out war between corporations, with Jeremiah at the front lines. He told the directors that he had the upper hand, that he had an unbreakable case. But with such surety in his company comes the risk. If someone is that certain, stakes inevitably go upwards in the hectic, business defined world of Wall Street. And someone like him- at the height of his game, at the peak of his potential- he wasn’t allowed to fail. He knew there would be consequences worse than death in this gambit. The city outside was hushed, and the earth began to slowly recede from him. Up here, in the darkened New York skyline, he was alone, a failure society had thrown in the windy cloudless summits. A knock on the door behind him. A pause. The man didn’t turn to look and see who entered without invitation. It didn’t matter. The sound of a paper sliding onto his desk, then the click and knock of the door closing once more. The man had one more thought. He wondered how simple it would be to break the window’s reinforced glass.
Written at Writer's at Harriman
Written at Writer's at Harriman
Monday, July 12, 2010
Word for Word
That box is still buried in my closet somewhere. I find it when I'm cleaning or rearranging things and I'll spend a few minutes pulling out all the little knick knacks and things I collected in a past life. And while it gathers dust today, the story at the bottom of that box is more valuable than almost any other earthly possession of mine. Because in that box there is a note in a handwriting only slightly neater than my own. This is the story of that note.
The exact moment we met is lost in time, but so is most of my early childhood. She had a soft round face and golden blond hair that changed styles every day. She was a fan of everything fantasy that matured into a love of anything Japanese. She had a look that could kill you and a smile that could break your heart. She lived on the left side of the street with the four annoying dogs and if you saw a black cat, it was hers.
In elementary school she always was in the back ground, and later, as we got placed in the same classes, we became really close friends. She picked up the clarinet when I found the trombone, and we were in an advanced placement class together. This was sixth grade, and we were twelve. I miss those days. Once, while we were walking down a hallway, poking and laughing and giggling, the school's gossip (though I was probably to thick to notice) asked us if we were going out. Love? I'd never thought about love before. I couldn't sleep that night. I couldn't sleep for months.
Weeks went by. I'd look at her. She'd giggle. She's look at me. I'd laugh. We kept at it. Looking back, it was probably pretty pathetic. I could only think of her. But summer was upon us, and sadly, both of us were moving. In opposite directions. Posters were being put up about the End of School dance. While it wasn't really a date dance, I wasn't in the mood to care. It's not like I was at all rational. I was only formulating ways in my already too big sixth grade brain to ask her out. For a few days before the dance I would see her and all too literally run. I wanted to write a note, but I couldn't get the words out. All of my friends thought I was radioactive, which, wasn't too far from the truth. In the most embarrassing moment of my entire life, I scratched illegible words on a notebook and threw it. And ran again.
She knew what I meant, and her reply- a short sentence and a big smiley face- is still in a box in my room.
The exact moment we met is lost in time, but so is most of my early childhood. She had a soft round face and golden blond hair that changed styles every day. She was a fan of everything fantasy that matured into a love of anything Japanese. She had a look that could kill you and a smile that could break your heart. She lived on the left side of the street with the four annoying dogs and if you saw a black cat, it was hers.
In elementary school she always was in the back ground, and later, as we got placed in the same classes, we became really close friends. She picked up the clarinet when I found the trombone, and we were in an advanced placement class together. This was sixth grade, and we were twelve. I miss those days. Once, while we were walking down a hallway, poking and laughing and giggling, the school's gossip (though I was probably to thick to notice) asked us if we were going out. Love? I'd never thought about love before. I couldn't sleep that night. I couldn't sleep for months.
Weeks went by. I'd look at her. She'd giggle. She's look at me. I'd laugh. We kept at it. Looking back, it was probably pretty pathetic. I could only think of her. But summer was upon us, and sadly, both of us were moving. In opposite directions. Posters were being put up about the End of School dance. While it wasn't really a date dance, I wasn't in the mood to care. It's not like I was at all rational. I was only formulating ways in my already too big sixth grade brain to ask her out. For a few days before the dance I would see her and all too literally run. I wanted to write a note, but I couldn't get the words out. All of my friends thought I was radioactive, which, wasn't too far from the truth. In the most embarrassing moment of my entire life, I scratched illegible words on a notebook and threw it. And ran again.
She knew what I meant, and her reply- a short sentence and a big smiley face- is still in a box in my room.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
memo to nobody right now
No, no, no, see, you're not in love with me. This sort of thing happens all the time. You're in love with Captain Hershey Bar. I mean, look at Spider man and Mary Jane. Batman and What's her Face. What's-Her-Face and That-Guy-She-Had-A-Chance with. Romeo and Juliet. DnAngel. Mix ups between heroes and their secret identities get mixed up with people's love lives happens a heckuva a lot more often then we want to think about it. I'll admit I've been slacking off on some hero duties, like that dude that got mugged in Tokyo or that cat that's stuck in Melbourne. But you've got to promise me you'll lay a little lower on the montages. Otherwise we'll get too close and I'll have to rescue you from the Bad Guy. And that doesn't always turn out well- we don't want to end up like Batman and What's her Face. Dark Knight. More like... a Dim Kight.
Faster than speeding molasses
Stronger than a frozen Twix Bar
it's Captain Hershey Bar!!!!
Faster than speeding molasses
Stronger than a frozen Twix Bar
it's Captain Hershey Bar!!!!
Saturday, May 29, 2010
I made my layout with the Myspace Background Maker. Get myspace layouts, graphics, and flash toys at pYzam.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
The Creator
Winds howled and lighting cracked over a barren, primordial sea. It was a harsh green water that whipped itself, ever trying to swat some annoyance just beyond its narrow reach. Methane bubble rose to the surface if to stop the tension of the water into submission, but they quickly abandoned the pool and fled into the sky. Almost merely to capitalize on the futility of the scene, a rock from the sky fell- screaming harder and burning brighter than most of what the young planet had remembered. The water was stunned for the smallest instant, then turned and ran from the foreign threat. Waves circled the calamity for miles.
On a small island, newly risen to compete with a world of water, an Entity watched. It was female. She waited until the last of the waves crested on the starving shoreline, then lifted the feet of her spotless white robe and walked slowly to the site of the fallen stone. The soles of her feet gingerly touched the surface of the water, in no way disturbing the still frantic twitches of the water. She looked down, and trained eyes saw the glow of the meteor half a mile below the surface of the water, sinking fast. She lowered to her knees, and from the folds of her garment she pulled a weightless, white glowing orb the size of an acorn. From it, she loosened a strand of milky substance that dropped below the water and found its way to the glowing rock. The waves around her paused for a holy moment as she muttered an ancient incantation only a true gift of tounges could interpret. Below her, the first pulse of life on the infant planet multiplied, and gave seed.
On a small island, newly risen to compete with a world of water, an Entity watched. It was female. She waited until the last of the waves crested on the starving shoreline, then lifted the feet of her spotless white robe and walked slowly to the site of the fallen stone. The soles of her feet gingerly touched the surface of the water, in no way disturbing the still frantic twitches of the water. She looked down, and trained eyes saw the glow of the meteor half a mile below the surface of the water, sinking fast. She lowered to her knees, and from the folds of her garment she pulled a weightless, white glowing orb the size of an acorn. From it, she loosened a strand of milky substance that dropped below the water and found its way to the glowing rock. The waves around her paused for a holy moment as she muttered an ancient incantation only a true gift of tounges could interpret. Below her, the first pulse of life on the infant planet multiplied, and gave seed.
The Monarch
A man who was once a boy sat on a finely decorated bed clinging to thoughts of false prestige as a crowd of housands marhed against him under his window.
"It is I who weild power, true power, not a worthless, sackclothed band of rebels."
His robe, white with gold laced in intricately designed patterns, had been torn by the tailor who made it.
"I killed their leader and showed them his blood- they will surrender."
One of the protesters had brought enough small explosives to break down the thick wooden gates.
"I have divine right. How else could I be here?"
Some had brought small tanks of gasoline, and although there were enough torches, in the end only a small metal lighter was thrown on the floor.
"Don't those fools realize that they are fighting against God? Against fate? Against the will of the heavens?"
Although the building was layered in marble, enough thickly laid carpet was present to feed the blaze from room to room.
"This will only lead to their destruction. All they will truly accomplish is a mass suicide."
The mob's roars grew as they pushed back from the groaning building. Butlers and other servents were killed as they fled the fire into the dense, angry crowd.
The man began to inhale poison fumes, and as his vision began to fade, he dropped to his knees. His dying breath opened an earnest prayer.
"It is I who weild power, true power, not a worthless, sackclothed band of rebels."
His robe, white with gold laced in intricately designed patterns, had been torn by the tailor who made it.
"I killed their leader and showed them his blood- they will surrender."
One of the protesters had brought enough small explosives to break down the thick wooden gates.
"I have divine right. How else could I be here?"
Some had brought small tanks of gasoline, and although there were enough torches, in the end only a small metal lighter was thrown on the floor.
"Don't those fools realize that they are fighting against God? Against fate? Against the will of the heavens?"
Although the building was layered in marble, enough thickly laid carpet was present to feed the blaze from room to room.
"This will only lead to their destruction. All they will truly accomplish is a mass suicide."
The mob's roars grew as they pushed back from the groaning building. Butlers and other servents were killed as they fled the fire into the dense, angry crowd.
The man began to inhale poison fumes, and as his vision began to fade, he dropped to his knees. His dying breath opened an earnest prayer.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Evil Overlord
I didn't write this, but I thought it was awesome enough to post to my blog. Found Here: http://www.proft.org/tips/evil.html
How to be a Successful Evil Overlord
by Peter Anspach
Being an Evil Overlord seems to be a good career choice. It pays well, there are all sorts of perks and you can set your own hours. However every Evil Overlord I've read about in books or seen in movies invariably gets overthrown and destroyed in the end. I've noticed that no matter whether they are barbarian lords, deranged wizards, mad scientists, or alien invaders, they always seem to make the same basic mistakes every single time. With that in mind, allow me to present...
The Top 100 Things I'd Do If I Ever Became An Evil Overlord
My Legions of Terror will have helmets with clear Plexiglas visors, not face concealing ones.
My ventilation ducts will be too small to crawl through.
My noble half-brother whose throne I usurped will be killed, not kept anonymously imprisoned in a forgotten cell in my dungeon.
Shooting is not too good for my enemies.
The artifact which is the source of my power will not be kept on the Mountain of Despair beyond the River of Fire guarded by the Dragon of Eternity. It will be in my safe-deposit box. The same applies to the object which is my one weakness.
I will not gloat over my enemies predicament before killing them.
When I've captured my adversary and he says, "Look, before you kill me, will you at least tell me what this is all about?" I'll say, "No." and shoot him. No, on second thought, I'll shoot him and then say "No."
After I kidnap the beautiful princess, we will be married immediately in a quiet civil ceremony, not a lavish spectacle in three weeks' time during which the final phase of my plan will be carried out.
I will not include a self-destruct mechanism unless absolutely necessary. If it is necessary, it will not be a large red button labelled, "Danger: Don Not Push". The big red button marked "Do Not
Push" will instead trigger a spray of bullets on anyone stupid enough to disregard it. Similarly, the ON/OFF switch will clearly not be labelled as such.
I will not interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum - a small hotel room well outside my border will work just as well.
I will be secure in my superiority. Therefore, I will feel no need to prove it by leaving clues in the
form of riddles or leaving my weaker enemies alive to show they pose no threat.
One of my advisors will be an average five-year-old child. Any flaws in my plan that he is able to spot will be corrected before implementation.
All slain enemies will be cremated, or at least several round of ammunition emptied into them, not left for dead at the bottom of the cliff. The announcement of their deaths, as well as any accompanying celebration, will be deferred until after the aforementioned disposal.
The hero is not entitled to a last kiss, a last cigarette, or any other form of last request.
I will never employ any device with a digital count-down. If I find that such a device is absolutely unavoidable. I will set it to activate when the counter reaches 117 and the hero is just putting his plan into operation.
I will never utter the sentence "But before I kill you, there's just one thing I want to know."
When I employ people as advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice.
I will not have a son. Although his laughably under-planned attempt to usurp power would easily fail, it would prove a fatal distraction at a crucial point in time.
I will not have a daughter. She would be as beautiful as she was evil, but one look at the hero's rugged countenance and she'd betray her own father.
Despite its proven stress-relieving effect, I will not indulge in maniacal laughter. When so occupied, it's too easy to miss unexpected developments that a more attentive individual could adjust to accordingly.
I will hire a fashion designer to create original uniforms for my Legion of Terror, as opposed to some cheap knock-offs that make them look like Nazi stormtroopers, Roman foot soldiers, or savage Mongol hordes. All were eventually defeated and I want my troops to have a more positive mind-set.
No matter how tempted I am with the prospect of unlimited power, I will not consume any energy field bigger than my head.
I will keep a special cache of low-tech weapons and train my troops in their use. That way -- even if the heroes manage to neutralize my power generator and/or render the standard-issue energy weapons useless -- my troops will not be overrun by a handful of savages armed with spears and rocks.
I will maintain a realistic assessment of my strength and weaknesses. Even though this takes some fun out of the job, at least I will never utter the line "No, this cannot be! I AM INVINCIBLE!!!" (After that, death is usually instantaneous.)
No matter how well it would perform, I will never construct any sort of machinery which is completely indestructible except for one small and virtually inaccessible spot.
No matter how attractive certain members of the rebellion are, there is probably someone just as attractive which is not desperate to kill me. Therefore, I will think twice before ordering a prisoner sent to my bed chamber.
I will never build only one of anything important. All important systems will have redundant control panels and power supplies. For the same reason I will always carry at least two fully loaded weapons at all times.
My pet monster will be kept in a secure cage from which it cannot escape and into which I could not accidentally stumble.
I will dress in bright and cheery colors, and so throw my enemies into confusion.
All bumbling conjurers, clumsy squires, no-talent bards, and cowardly thieves in the land will be preemptively put to death. My foes will surely give up and abandon their quest if they have no source of comic relief.
All naive, busty tavern wenches in my realm will be replaced with surly, world-weary waitresses who will provide no unexpected reinforcements and/or romantic sub-plot for the hero or his side-kick.
I will not fly into a rage and kill a messenger who brings me bad news just to illustrate how evil I really am. Good messengers are hard to come by.
I won't require high-ranking female members of my organization to wear a stainless-steel bustier. Morale is better with a more casual dress-code. Similarly, outfits made entirely from black leather will be reserved for formal occasions.
I will not turn into a snake. It never helps.
I will not grow a goatee. In the old days they made you look diabolic. Now they just make you look like a disaffected member of Generation X.
I will not imprison members of the same party in the same cell block, let alone the same cell. If they are important prisoners, I will keep the only key to the cell door on my person instead of handing copies to every bottom-rung guard in the prison.
If my trusted lieutenant tell me my Legion of Terror is losing a battle, I will believe him.. After all, he's my trusted lieutenant.
If an enemy I have just killed has a younger sibling or offspring anywhere, I will find them and have them killed immediately, instead of waiting for them to grow up harboring feelings of vengeance towards me in my old age.
If I absolutely must ride into battle, I will certainly not ride at the forefront of my Legions of Terror, nor will I seek out my opposite number among his army.
I will be neither chivalrous nor sporting. If I have an unstoppable super-weapon, I will use it early and as often as possible instead of keeping it in reserve.
Once my power is secure, I will destroy all of those pesky time travel devices.
When I capture the hero, I will make sure I also get his dog, monkey, ferret, or whatever sickeningly cute little animal capable of untying ropes and filching keys that happens to follow him around.
I will maintain a healthy amount of skepticism when I capture the beautiful rebel and she claims she is attracted to my power and good looks and will gladly betray her companions if I just let her in on my plans.
I will only employ bounty hunters who work for money. Those who work for the pleasure of the hunt tend to do dumb things like even the odds to give the other guy a sporting chance.
I will make sure I have a clear understanding of who is responsible for what in my organization.
For example, if my general screws up I will not draw my weapon, point it at him and say "And here is the price for failure." then suddenly turn and kill some random underling.
If an advisor says to me "My liege, he is but one man. What can one man possibly do?", I will reply "This." and kill the advisor.
If I learn that a callow youth has begun a quest to destroy me, I will slay him while he is still a callow youth instead of waiting for him to mature.
I will treat any beast which I control through magic or technology with respect and kindness.
Thus if the control is ever broken, it will not immediately come after me for revenge.
If I learn the whereabouts of the one artifact which can destroy me, I will not send all of my troops out to seize it. Instead I will send them out to seize something else and quietly put a Want-Ad in the local paper.
My main computers will have their own special operating system that will be completely incompatible with standard IBM and Macintosh powerbooks.
If one of my dungeon guards begins expressing concern over the conditions of the beautiful princess' cell, I will immediately transfer him to a less people oriented position.
I will hire a team of board-certified architects and surveyors to examine my castle and inform me of any secret passages and abandoned tunnels that I might not know about.
If the beautiful princess that I capture says "I'll never marry you! Never, do you hear me, NEVER!!!", I will say "Oh well" and kill her.
I will not strike a bargain with a demonic being then attempt to double-cross it simply because I feel like being contrary.
The deformed mutants and odd-ball psychotics will have their place in my Legion of Terror. However before I send them out on important covert missions that require tact and subtlety, I will first see if there is anyone else equally qualified who would attract less attention.
My Legion of Terror will be trained in basic marksmanship. Any who cannot learn to hit a man-sized target at 10 meters will be used for target practice.
Before employing any captured artifacts or machinery, I will carefully read the owners manual.
If it becomes necessary to escape, I will never stop to pose dramatically and toss off a one-liner.
I will never build a sentient computer smarter than I am.
My five-year-old child advisor will also be asked to decipher any code I am thinking of using. If he breaks the code in under 30 seconds, it will not be used. Note: This also applies to passwords.
If my advisors ask "Why are you risking everything on such a mad scheme?" I will not proceed until I have a response that satisfies them.
I will design fortress hallways with no alcoves or protruding structural supports which intruders could use for cover in a firefight.
Bulk trash will be disposed of in incinerators, not compactors. And they will be kept hot, with none of this nonsense about flames going through accessible tunnels at predictable intervals.
I will see a compentant psychiatrist and get cured of all extremely unusual phobias and bizarre compulsive habits which could prove to be disadvantageous.
If I must have a computer system with publicly available terminals, the maps they display will have a room clearly marked as the Main Control Room. That room will be the Execution Chamber. The actual main control room will be marked as Sewage Overflow Containment.
My security keypad will actually be a fingerprint scanner. Anyone who watches someone press a sequence of buttons or dusts the pad for fingerprints and then subsequently tries to enter by repeating that sequence will trigger the alarm system.
No matter how many shorts we have in the system, my guards will be instructed to treat every surveillance camera malfunction as a full-scale emergency.
I will spare someone who saved my life sometime in the past. This is only reasonable as it encourages others to do so. However, the offer is good one time only. If they want me to spare them again, they'd better save my life again.
All midwives will be banned from the realm. All babies will be delivered at state-approved hospitals. Orphans will be placed in foster homes, not abandoned in the woods to be raised by creatures of the wild.
When my guards split up to search for intruders, they will always travel in groups of at least two. They will be trained so that if one of them disappears mysteriously while on patrol, the other will immediately initiate an alert and call for backup, instead of quizzically peering around a corner.
If I decide to test a lieutenant's loyalty and see if he/she should be made a trusted lieutenant, I will have a crack squad of marksmen standing by in case the answer is no.
If all the heroes are standing together around a strange device and begin to taunt me, I will pull out a conventional weapon, instead of using my unstoppable super weapon on them.
I will not agree to let the heroes go free if they win a rigged contest, even though my advisors assure me it is impossible for them to win.
When I create a multimedia presentation of my plan designed so that my five-year-old advisor can easily understand the details, I will not label the disk "Project Overlord" and leave it lying on top of my desk.
I will instruct my Legion of Terror to attack the heroes en masse, instead of standing around waiting while members break off and attack one or two at a time.
If the hero runs up to my roof, I will not run up after him and struggle with him in an attempt to push him over the edge. I will also not engage him at the edge of a cliff. (In the middle of a rope-bridge over a river of molten lava is not even worth considering.)
If I have a fit of temporary insanity and decide to give the hero the chance to reject a job as my trusted lieutenant, I will retain enough sanity to wait until my current trusted lieutenant is out of earshot before making the offer.
I will not tell my Legion of Terror "And he must be taken alive-" the command will be "And try to take him alive if it is reasonable practical."
If my doomsday device happens to come with a reverse switch, as soon as it has been employed it will be melted down and made into limited edition commemorative coins.
If my weakest troops fail to eliminate a hero, I will send out my best troops instead of wasting time with progressively stronger ones as he gets closer and closer to my fortress.
If I am fighting with the hero atop a moving platform, have disarmed him, and am about to finish him off and he glances behind me and drops flat, I too will drop flat instead of quizzically turning around to find out what he saw.
I will not shoot at any of my enemies if they are standing in front of the crucial support beam to a heavy, dangerously unbalanced structure.
If I'm eating dinner with the hero, put poison in his goblet, then have to leave the table for any reason, I will order new drinks for both of us instead of trying to decide whether or not to switch with him.
I will not have captives of one sex guarded by members of the opposite sex.
I will not use any plan in which the final step is horribly complicated, e.g. "Align the 12 stones of power on the sacred altar then activate the medallion at the moment of total eclipse." Instead it will be more alone the lines of "Push the button"
I will make sure that my doomsday device is up to code and properly grounded.
My vats of hazardous chemicals will be covered when not in use. Also, I will not construct walkways above them.
If a group of henchmen fail miserably at a task, I will not berate them for incompetence then send the same group out to do the task again.
After I capture the hero's super weapon, I will not disband legions and relax my guard because I believe whoever holds the weapon is unstoppable. After all, the hero held the weapon and I took it from him.
I will not design my main control room so that every workstation is facing away from the door.
I will not ignore the messenger that stumbles in exhausted and obviously agitated until my personal grooming or current entertainment is finished. It might actually be important.
If I ever talk to the hero on the phone, I will not taunt him. Instead, I will say that his dogged perseverance has given me new insight on the futility of my evil ways and that if he leaves me alone for a few months of quiet contemplation I will likely return to the path of righteousness. (Heroes are incredibly gullible in this regard.)
If I decide to hold a double execution of the hero and the underling who failed or betrayed me, I will die first.
When arresting prisoners, my guards will not allow them to stop and grab a useless trinket of purely sentimental value.
My dungeon will have its own qualified medical staff complete with bodyguards. That way if a prisoner becomes sick and his cell mate tells the guard it's an emergency, the guard will fetch a trauma team instead of opening the cell for a look.
My door mechanisms will be designed so that blasting the control panel on the outside seals the door and blasting the control panel on the inside opens the door, not vice versa.
My dungeon cells will not be furnished with objects that contain reflective surfaces or anything that can be unraveled.
If an attractive young couple enters my realm, I will carefully monitor their activities. If I find they are happy and affectionate, I will ignore them. However, if circumstances have forced them together against their will and they spend all their time bickering and criticizing each other except during the intermittent occasions when they are saving each other' lives at which point there are hints of sexual tension, I will immediately order their execution.
Any data files of crucial importance will be padded to 1.45Mb.
Finally, to keep my subjects permanently locked in a mindless trance, I will provide each of them with free, unlimited internet access.
How to be a Successful Evil Overlord
by Peter Anspach
Being an Evil Overlord seems to be a good career choice. It pays well, there are all sorts of perks and you can set your own hours. However every Evil Overlord I've read about in books or seen in movies invariably gets overthrown and destroyed in the end. I've noticed that no matter whether they are barbarian lords, deranged wizards, mad scientists, or alien invaders, they always seem to make the same basic mistakes every single time. With that in mind, allow me to present...
The Top 100 Things I'd Do If I Ever Became An Evil Overlord
My Legions of Terror will have helmets with clear Plexiglas visors, not face concealing ones.
My ventilation ducts will be too small to crawl through.
My noble half-brother whose throne I usurped will be killed, not kept anonymously imprisoned in a forgotten cell in my dungeon.
Shooting is not too good for my enemies.
The artifact which is the source of my power will not be kept on the Mountain of Despair beyond the River of Fire guarded by the Dragon of Eternity. It will be in my safe-deposit box. The same applies to the object which is my one weakness.
I will not gloat over my enemies predicament before killing them.
When I've captured my adversary and he says, "Look, before you kill me, will you at least tell me what this is all about?" I'll say, "No." and shoot him. No, on second thought, I'll shoot him and then say "No."
After I kidnap the beautiful princess, we will be married immediately in a quiet civil ceremony, not a lavish spectacle in three weeks' time during which the final phase of my plan will be carried out.
I will not include a self-destruct mechanism unless absolutely necessary. If it is necessary, it will not be a large red button labelled, "Danger: Don Not Push". The big red button marked "Do Not
Push" will instead trigger a spray of bullets on anyone stupid enough to disregard it. Similarly, the ON/OFF switch will clearly not be labelled as such.
I will not interrogate my enemies in the inner sanctum - a small hotel room well outside my border will work just as well.
I will be secure in my superiority. Therefore, I will feel no need to prove it by leaving clues in the
form of riddles or leaving my weaker enemies alive to show they pose no threat.
One of my advisors will be an average five-year-old child. Any flaws in my plan that he is able to spot will be corrected before implementation.
All slain enemies will be cremated, or at least several round of ammunition emptied into them, not left for dead at the bottom of the cliff. The announcement of their deaths, as well as any accompanying celebration, will be deferred until after the aforementioned disposal.
The hero is not entitled to a last kiss, a last cigarette, or any other form of last request.
I will never employ any device with a digital count-down. If I find that such a device is absolutely unavoidable. I will set it to activate when the counter reaches 117 and the hero is just putting his plan into operation.
I will never utter the sentence "But before I kill you, there's just one thing I want to know."
When I employ people as advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice.
I will not have a son. Although his laughably under-planned attempt to usurp power would easily fail, it would prove a fatal distraction at a crucial point in time.
I will not have a daughter. She would be as beautiful as she was evil, but one look at the hero's rugged countenance and she'd betray her own father.
Despite its proven stress-relieving effect, I will not indulge in maniacal laughter. When so occupied, it's too easy to miss unexpected developments that a more attentive individual could adjust to accordingly.
I will hire a fashion designer to create original uniforms for my Legion of Terror, as opposed to some cheap knock-offs that make them look like Nazi stormtroopers, Roman foot soldiers, or savage Mongol hordes. All were eventually defeated and I want my troops to have a more positive mind-set.
No matter how tempted I am with the prospect of unlimited power, I will not consume any energy field bigger than my head.
I will keep a special cache of low-tech weapons and train my troops in their use. That way -- even if the heroes manage to neutralize my power generator and/or render the standard-issue energy weapons useless -- my troops will not be overrun by a handful of savages armed with spears and rocks.
I will maintain a realistic assessment of my strength and weaknesses. Even though this takes some fun out of the job, at least I will never utter the line "No, this cannot be! I AM INVINCIBLE!!!" (After that, death is usually instantaneous.)
No matter how well it would perform, I will never construct any sort of machinery which is completely indestructible except for one small and virtually inaccessible spot.
No matter how attractive certain members of the rebellion are, there is probably someone just as attractive which is not desperate to kill me. Therefore, I will think twice before ordering a prisoner sent to my bed chamber.
I will never build only one of anything important. All important systems will have redundant control panels and power supplies. For the same reason I will always carry at least two fully loaded weapons at all times.
My pet monster will be kept in a secure cage from which it cannot escape and into which I could not accidentally stumble.
I will dress in bright and cheery colors, and so throw my enemies into confusion.
All bumbling conjurers, clumsy squires, no-talent bards, and cowardly thieves in the land will be preemptively put to death. My foes will surely give up and abandon their quest if they have no source of comic relief.
All naive, busty tavern wenches in my realm will be replaced with surly, world-weary waitresses who will provide no unexpected reinforcements and/or romantic sub-plot for the hero or his side-kick.
I will not fly into a rage and kill a messenger who brings me bad news just to illustrate how evil I really am. Good messengers are hard to come by.
I won't require high-ranking female members of my organization to wear a stainless-steel bustier. Morale is better with a more casual dress-code. Similarly, outfits made entirely from black leather will be reserved for formal occasions.
I will not turn into a snake. It never helps.
I will not grow a goatee. In the old days they made you look diabolic. Now they just make you look like a disaffected member of Generation X.
I will not imprison members of the same party in the same cell block, let alone the same cell. If they are important prisoners, I will keep the only key to the cell door on my person instead of handing copies to every bottom-rung guard in the prison.
If my trusted lieutenant tell me my Legion of Terror is losing a battle, I will believe him.. After all, he's my trusted lieutenant.
If an enemy I have just killed has a younger sibling or offspring anywhere, I will find them and have them killed immediately, instead of waiting for them to grow up harboring feelings of vengeance towards me in my old age.
If I absolutely must ride into battle, I will certainly not ride at the forefront of my Legions of Terror, nor will I seek out my opposite number among his army.
I will be neither chivalrous nor sporting. If I have an unstoppable super-weapon, I will use it early and as often as possible instead of keeping it in reserve.
Once my power is secure, I will destroy all of those pesky time travel devices.
When I capture the hero, I will make sure I also get his dog, monkey, ferret, or whatever sickeningly cute little animal capable of untying ropes and filching keys that happens to follow him around.
I will maintain a healthy amount of skepticism when I capture the beautiful rebel and she claims she is attracted to my power and good looks and will gladly betray her companions if I just let her in on my plans.
I will only employ bounty hunters who work for money. Those who work for the pleasure of the hunt tend to do dumb things like even the odds to give the other guy a sporting chance.
I will make sure I have a clear understanding of who is responsible for what in my organization.
For example, if my general screws up I will not draw my weapon, point it at him and say "And here is the price for failure." then suddenly turn and kill some random underling.
If an advisor says to me "My liege, he is but one man. What can one man possibly do?", I will reply "This." and kill the advisor.
If I learn that a callow youth has begun a quest to destroy me, I will slay him while he is still a callow youth instead of waiting for him to mature.
I will treat any beast which I control through magic or technology with respect and kindness.
Thus if the control is ever broken, it will not immediately come after me for revenge.
If I learn the whereabouts of the one artifact which can destroy me, I will not send all of my troops out to seize it. Instead I will send them out to seize something else and quietly put a Want-Ad in the local paper.
My main computers will have their own special operating system that will be completely incompatible with standard IBM and Macintosh powerbooks.
If one of my dungeon guards begins expressing concern over the conditions of the beautiful princess' cell, I will immediately transfer him to a less people oriented position.
I will hire a team of board-certified architects and surveyors to examine my castle and inform me of any secret passages and abandoned tunnels that I might not know about.
If the beautiful princess that I capture says "I'll never marry you! Never, do you hear me, NEVER!!!", I will say "Oh well" and kill her.
I will not strike a bargain with a demonic being then attempt to double-cross it simply because I feel like being contrary.
The deformed mutants and odd-ball psychotics will have their place in my Legion of Terror. However before I send them out on important covert missions that require tact and subtlety, I will first see if there is anyone else equally qualified who would attract less attention.
My Legion of Terror will be trained in basic marksmanship. Any who cannot learn to hit a man-sized target at 10 meters will be used for target practice.
Before employing any captured artifacts or machinery, I will carefully read the owners manual.
If it becomes necessary to escape, I will never stop to pose dramatically and toss off a one-liner.
I will never build a sentient computer smarter than I am.
My five-year-old child advisor will also be asked to decipher any code I am thinking of using. If he breaks the code in under 30 seconds, it will not be used. Note: This also applies to passwords.
If my advisors ask "Why are you risking everything on such a mad scheme?" I will not proceed until I have a response that satisfies them.
I will design fortress hallways with no alcoves or protruding structural supports which intruders could use for cover in a firefight.
Bulk trash will be disposed of in incinerators, not compactors. And they will be kept hot, with none of this nonsense about flames going through accessible tunnels at predictable intervals.
I will see a compentant psychiatrist and get cured of all extremely unusual phobias and bizarre compulsive habits which could prove to be disadvantageous.
If I must have a computer system with publicly available terminals, the maps they display will have a room clearly marked as the Main Control Room. That room will be the Execution Chamber. The actual main control room will be marked as Sewage Overflow Containment.
My security keypad will actually be a fingerprint scanner. Anyone who watches someone press a sequence of buttons or dusts the pad for fingerprints and then subsequently tries to enter by repeating that sequence will trigger the alarm system.
No matter how many shorts we have in the system, my guards will be instructed to treat every surveillance camera malfunction as a full-scale emergency.
I will spare someone who saved my life sometime in the past. This is only reasonable as it encourages others to do so. However, the offer is good one time only. If they want me to spare them again, they'd better save my life again.
All midwives will be banned from the realm. All babies will be delivered at state-approved hospitals. Orphans will be placed in foster homes, not abandoned in the woods to be raised by creatures of the wild.
When my guards split up to search for intruders, they will always travel in groups of at least two. They will be trained so that if one of them disappears mysteriously while on patrol, the other will immediately initiate an alert and call for backup, instead of quizzically peering around a corner.
If I decide to test a lieutenant's loyalty and see if he/she should be made a trusted lieutenant, I will have a crack squad of marksmen standing by in case the answer is no.
If all the heroes are standing together around a strange device and begin to taunt me, I will pull out a conventional weapon, instead of using my unstoppable super weapon on them.
I will not agree to let the heroes go free if they win a rigged contest, even though my advisors assure me it is impossible for them to win.
When I create a multimedia presentation of my plan designed so that my five-year-old advisor can easily understand the details, I will not label the disk "Project Overlord" and leave it lying on top of my desk.
I will instruct my Legion of Terror to attack the heroes en masse, instead of standing around waiting while members break off and attack one or two at a time.
If the hero runs up to my roof, I will not run up after him and struggle with him in an attempt to push him over the edge. I will also not engage him at the edge of a cliff. (In the middle of a rope-bridge over a river of molten lava is not even worth considering.)
If I have a fit of temporary insanity and decide to give the hero the chance to reject a job as my trusted lieutenant, I will retain enough sanity to wait until my current trusted lieutenant is out of earshot before making the offer.
I will not tell my Legion of Terror "And he must be taken alive-" the command will be "And try to take him alive if it is reasonable practical."
If my doomsday device happens to come with a reverse switch, as soon as it has been employed it will be melted down and made into limited edition commemorative coins.
If my weakest troops fail to eliminate a hero, I will send out my best troops instead of wasting time with progressively stronger ones as he gets closer and closer to my fortress.
If I am fighting with the hero atop a moving platform, have disarmed him, and am about to finish him off and he glances behind me and drops flat, I too will drop flat instead of quizzically turning around to find out what he saw.
I will not shoot at any of my enemies if they are standing in front of the crucial support beam to a heavy, dangerously unbalanced structure.
If I'm eating dinner with the hero, put poison in his goblet, then have to leave the table for any reason, I will order new drinks for both of us instead of trying to decide whether or not to switch with him.
I will not have captives of one sex guarded by members of the opposite sex.
I will not use any plan in which the final step is horribly complicated, e.g. "Align the 12 stones of power on the sacred altar then activate the medallion at the moment of total eclipse." Instead it will be more alone the lines of "Push the button"
I will make sure that my doomsday device is up to code and properly grounded.
My vats of hazardous chemicals will be covered when not in use. Also, I will not construct walkways above them.
If a group of henchmen fail miserably at a task, I will not berate them for incompetence then send the same group out to do the task again.
After I capture the hero's super weapon, I will not disband legions and relax my guard because I believe whoever holds the weapon is unstoppable. After all, the hero held the weapon and I took it from him.
I will not design my main control room so that every workstation is facing away from the door.
I will not ignore the messenger that stumbles in exhausted and obviously agitated until my personal grooming or current entertainment is finished. It might actually be important.
If I ever talk to the hero on the phone, I will not taunt him. Instead, I will say that his dogged perseverance has given me new insight on the futility of my evil ways and that if he leaves me alone for a few months of quiet contemplation I will likely return to the path of righteousness. (Heroes are incredibly gullible in this regard.)
If I decide to hold a double execution of the hero and the underling who failed or betrayed me, I will die first.
When arresting prisoners, my guards will not allow them to stop and grab a useless trinket of purely sentimental value.
My dungeon will have its own qualified medical staff complete with bodyguards. That way if a prisoner becomes sick and his cell mate tells the guard it's an emergency, the guard will fetch a trauma team instead of opening the cell for a look.
My door mechanisms will be designed so that blasting the control panel on the outside seals the door and blasting the control panel on the inside opens the door, not vice versa.
My dungeon cells will not be furnished with objects that contain reflective surfaces or anything that can be unraveled.
If an attractive young couple enters my realm, I will carefully monitor their activities. If I find they are happy and affectionate, I will ignore them. However, if circumstances have forced them together against their will and they spend all their time bickering and criticizing each other except during the intermittent occasions when they are saving each other' lives at which point there are hints of sexual tension, I will immediately order their execution.
Any data files of crucial importance will be padded to 1.45Mb.
Finally, to keep my subjects permanently locked in a mindless trance, I will provide each of them with free, unlimited internet access.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Precog (proleague)
Gosh, Miles, you're really starting to get to me with that whole writing thing. This is a revisit to an old topic, but completely redone. It's about a precognetic (sees the future) person. This is not him.
The man closed his eyes and began to draw. When he opened them, a rose, despite its protecting thorns, was under a siege laid by birds and aphids that were bursting from inside it. Most of the petals were wilted, and one was peacefully but remorsefully falling to the soft ground. The man looked up, his eye full of tears.
"It's too late".
The room around him, a studio apartment littered in hundreds of papers, drawn on and beautifully rendered, each significant in its own, exploded in a fiery blaze.
The man closed his eyes and began to draw. When he opened them, a rose, despite its protecting thorns, was under a siege laid by birds and aphids that were bursting from inside it. Most of the petals were wilted, and one was peacefully but remorsefully falling to the soft ground. The man looked up, his eye full of tears.
"It's too late".
The room around him, a studio apartment littered in hundreds of papers, drawn on and beautifully rendered, each significant in its own, exploded in a fiery blaze.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Website Test One!
Alright, I think I've got the basics of this, it's not perfect (or even close) but I'm feeling cocky and I'm gonna launch it. So here it is! http://www.wix.com/CaptainHersheyBar/The-Brandon-Butler Enjoy! ( and if it doesn't work, uh, oops...)
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Rain God
This is the short story I made for my English class. It doesn't really make much sense, but I like the idea and kind of want to write more on it. I realize the storyline is a bit poor and I could have definitely spent more time in some areas, but remember I typed this in about an hour total. So please, please criticize.
That night was a night so dark and stormy, not only could one drown from the heavy downpour, there was an odd darkness and sense of unease that permeated everything. This is much less of a poetic justice then it is a result of wrongdoing, as that was the night Ronald Raindrop, the could spirit, left the skies.
It's not uncommon for an elemental to leave their post, unless you're an earthen one- I've never heard of mountains materializing since the death of the dinosaurs, but one does hear rumors, and it's not as if mountains haven't been made or died since then. But normally, elementals have the ability to turn back whenever they wish. Unbeknown-st to Ronald, the darkness that went into him that night cursed him, and thrust him from the heavens.
He and Tommy Thunder had been arguing. Supposed to be partners in their work, a rivalry set between had been creeping between them, and before they knew it, there was a fight. Not many know the exact cause, but a storm over the eastern Pacific caused them both to snap, and all at once, two thing happened- Ron attempted to materialize, or enter into human form. But at that same moment, in an event that had never happened before, Tom threw a bolt of lightning directly at him. The air shattered around Ron and everything disappeared.
He woke up after it stopped raining. He lay there for a second tasting the last few drops, but suddenly remembering what happened, he sat up, wide awake. The moon was cracking out of the clouds and the clouds sped off. Ron looked at his surrounding. He'd made it to dry ground somehow in the chaos. As the starry sky lit the landscape, Ron hiked up to the nearest hill, and in the distance, he saw Seattle glowing in the clearing sky.
It was actually very fortunate he should end up there. 40 years before, a small landslide blocked off a stream, which would have died had she not known beforehand and jumped out. Her name was Sandra, and since getting married to a man who knew nothing about her history, she had seven healthy, living children. One of them was a water elemental, or so the rumors went. A personal friend of Ron's, she aged half as fast a normal human, and though worried the process was speeding, she was content with her life. Of course, the last time Ron had visited was over two decades. He walked into the lobby of the motel where a teen-aged secretary sat at the desk. She looked up.
"Hello!" she said, giving that classic overly-friendly smile. "Do you want to book a room?" Ronald glanced around.
"Uh, maybe. Is Sandra, the owner, here?", he said, feeling almost a little out of place. He really hadn't been here for a long time.
"She's in the city right now.". The girl looked him over. Ronald, in this form, was an average height, blond haired, and strikingly grey eyed individual. He looked to be in his early twenties, and wore a a black t-shirt, jeans, and an overcoat that perfectly matched those curious eye. Funny. She probably wouldn't be able to get those out of her mind now. They seemed so deep, and the boy just looked like he really knew something, almost, she thought to herself, very familiar.
"Do I know you from somewhere? What's you're name? How do you know my mother?", she asked as she continued to stare at him.
'I'm Ronald. Uh, Raindrop."
"Raindrop? That's really..." Her voice trailed off as Sandra, the owner, walked into the lobby.
"I can't believe a storm like that could fade so fast, it's almost like somebody decided to-" She looked at Ron with the weirdest look on her face. "Do I..." Her expression flashed to a bright smile and the next thing anybody knew, she was hugging him. "What in the world are you doing here? I thought we still had some rain left in the year?"
"It's a bit long of a story, really", he said, glancing at the girl.
"Oh! This is my daughter, Miranda.. She manages the desk for me. But I'm sure you've noticed. How long have you been here? How did you get here?"
"Well, let's just I'm really lucky to be in the area right now. You noticed that storm? How fast it went away?". Ron glared, and she nodded, understanding. "I totally lost my bearings, and personally, I think I'm lucky just to be on ground right now. Can't swim worth anything."
"But why are you here? Aren't you working?" she pressed.
"Erm.. I actually can't remember much coming but... you'll remember Tommy? We, uh, kinda had a disagreement. I left, but while I did I was knocked unconcious. That's never happened before, has it?" Ron really was curious.
"Unconcious? No, I don't think that's supposed to happen. It's like, landing with a parachute, you know? You have to be aware to land. Imagine what could go wrong if you..." her voice trailed off and they both looked at Miranda, sitting at the desk.
"Does she-"
"No."
"Oh."
---
Sandra had given him a room key and he laid awake for hours, his mind simply not used to the concept of sleep, but his human body simply screaming for it. He was thinking about his descent to the ground. just to be sure, he checked the mark on his arm, turning his light on to do so. As he rolled up his sleeve, a look of horror crossed his face.
An element can become a human- and occaisonally beast- form whenever it suits him, and while in such a form there is a mark placed on these beings. Depending on the person, it is on either the left or right arm, directly between the wrist and elbow. The elemental can turn back into his natural form by placing his hand over and grabbing tightly. It was their only ticket home.
Ron'snormally soft, tear shaped design had become a large, mangled scar.
---
Not surprisingly, there is very little help for elemental, as in their human form, they are very, very rare. No doctor has had the chance to study one, and as an estimate, only about 400 walk the Earth at any one time, depending on the season. In a world population of 6 billion, and looking entirely like normal people, they keep hidden very, very well, and very, very few know they exist. With such a minimal impact on humanity, what even they knkow about themselves in human form, as far as they know, could be very little.
When Ron found out about the internet, he was absolutely astounded by how close conspiracy theorists and "fiction writers" can get to the truth. But he never found any help, and though he'd tried many times, he could not leave.
---
A year had passed. Though it is said time can heal all wounds, and indeed, Tom Thunder himself came down to apologize, he could not help Ron in this state. It started raining again, after another month or so. He heard from Tom that they'd had to hire a spirit with very little experience- in fact, it was one of Ron's distant cousins. He didn't care, and soon he began to hate the rain horribly as it represeted everything he missed. Depressed, he began to study Sandra. Previously Sandra Creek, and now Witherspoon, he noticed how well she had adapted to life in this realm, being stuck here much like he was. She always had a smile on her face, and around her, it seemed everyone did. But in his gut, he knew he couldn't stay here, even with people who knew his secrets. "I want to go somewhere drier", he said. "It's just too horrible here." And because they were unable to stop him, he left.
He traveled around, but in the cruelest sense of iron, it was always cloudy where he went. A constant storm followed Ron, and he sure it wasn't on purpose- a sky spirit's vision of the ground is simply awful, especially when working on a storm. But Ron tried to live the status quo of the world- he found an apartment in the small town mountains of Colorado, got a girlfriend, a job working as a manager of a Recreational center. Thing were going well, until he noticed a mark on the arm of his girlfriend.
---
"You're a-", he trid to blurt out as she began to pull away from him.
"I'm a what? I think I'm normal." Wendy had lived a lie for a decade now, and she wasn't going to give that up for anything.
"Sky spirit." That was all Ron needed to say, and Wendy forgot al about lying. Several thousand question formed in both of their minds.
"How do you know about-" but Ronald was quickly unwrapping the bandages on his arm. He showed her the scar on his left arm. They talked. The hours were gentle and passed by slowly as fate unraveled his plan. Ron grabbed hold of Wendy's arm and they dissapeared into smoke.
This was something that had never been done before. They flew over the ands as emotions from lives past flowed throught both of them, and Ron never wanted to leave. But fate had one more trick up its sleeve. Through a cloud bank, they soared, but as they went through, a beam of lightning caught Ron's spirit, and he fell. This time he was entirely concious, and he landed in the ocean. The ocean, actiang as a being, spat him out onto the beach. He looked up in the sky, and perfectly in tuned with his thoughts, it began to rain. He now had more control of the sky than before- he had reached a point that nobody had ever done. A mortal god, he began to walk into Seattle, in the distance.
That night was a night so dark and stormy, not only could one drown from the heavy downpour, there was an odd darkness and sense of unease that permeated everything. This is much less of a poetic justice then it is a result of wrongdoing, as that was the night Ronald Raindrop, the could spirit, left the skies.
It's not uncommon for an elemental to leave their post, unless you're an earthen one- I've never heard of mountains materializing since the death of the dinosaurs, but one does hear rumors, and it's not as if mountains haven't been made or died since then. But normally, elementals have the ability to turn back whenever they wish. Unbeknown-st to Ronald, the darkness that went into him that night cursed him, and thrust him from the heavens.
He and Tommy Thunder had been arguing. Supposed to be partners in their work, a rivalry set between had been creeping between them, and before they knew it, there was a fight. Not many know the exact cause, but a storm over the eastern Pacific caused them both to snap, and all at once, two thing happened- Ron attempted to materialize, or enter into human form. But at that same moment, in an event that had never happened before, Tom threw a bolt of lightning directly at him. The air shattered around Ron and everything disappeared.
He woke up after it stopped raining. He lay there for a second tasting the last few drops, but suddenly remembering what happened, he sat up, wide awake. The moon was cracking out of the clouds and the clouds sped off. Ron looked at his surrounding. He'd made it to dry ground somehow in the chaos. As the starry sky lit the landscape, Ron hiked up to the nearest hill, and in the distance, he saw Seattle glowing in the clearing sky.
It was actually very fortunate he should end up there. 40 years before, a small landslide blocked off a stream, which would have died had she not known beforehand and jumped out. Her name was Sandra, and since getting married to a man who knew nothing about her history, she had seven healthy, living children. One of them was a water elemental, or so the rumors went. A personal friend of Ron's, she aged half as fast a normal human, and though worried the process was speeding, she was content with her life. Of course, the last time Ron had visited was over two decades. He walked into the lobby of the motel where a teen-aged secretary sat at the desk. She looked up.
"Hello!" she said, giving that classic overly-friendly smile. "Do you want to book a room?" Ronald glanced around.
"Uh, maybe. Is Sandra, the owner, here?", he said, feeling almost a little out of place. He really hadn't been here for a long time.
"She's in the city right now.". The girl looked him over. Ronald, in this form, was an average height, blond haired, and strikingly grey eyed individual. He looked to be in his early twenties, and wore a a black t-shirt, jeans, and an overcoat that perfectly matched those curious eye. Funny. She probably wouldn't be able to get those out of her mind now. They seemed so deep, and the boy just looked like he really knew something, almost, she thought to herself, very familiar.
"Do I know you from somewhere? What's you're name? How do you know my mother?", she asked as she continued to stare at him.
'I'm Ronald. Uh, Raindrop."
"Raindrop? That's really..." Her voice trailed off as Sandra, the owner, walked into the lobby.
"I can't believe a storm like that could fade so fast, it's almost like somebody decided to-" She looked at Ron with the weirdest look on her face. "Do I..." Her expression flashed to a bright smile and the next thing anybody knew, she was hugging him. "What in the world are you doing here? I thought we still had some rain left in the year?"
"It's a bit long of a story, really", he said, glancing at the girl.
"Oh! This is my daughter, Miranda.. She manages the desk for me. But I'm sure you've noticed. How long have you been here? How did you get here?"
"Well, let's just I'm really lucky to be in the area right now. You noticed that storm? How fast it went away?". Ron glared, and she nodded, understanding. "I totally lost my bearings, and personally, I think I'm lucky just to be on ground right now. Can't swim worth anything."
"But why are you here? Aren't you working?" she pressed.
"Erm.. I actually can't remember much coming but... you'll remember Tommy? We, uh, kinda had a disagreement. I left, but while I did I was knocked unconcious. That's never happened before, has it?" Ron really was curious.
"Unconcious? No, I don't think that's supposed to happen. It's like, landing with a parachute, you know? You have to be aware to land. Imagine what could go wrong if you..." her voice trailed off and they both looked at Miranda, sitting at the desk.
"Does she-"
"No."
"Oh."
---
Sandra had given him a room key and he laid awake for hours, his mind simply not used to the concept of sleep, but his human body simply screaming for it. He was thinking about his descent to the ground. just to be sure, he checked the mark on his arm, turning his light on to do so. As he rolled up his sleeve, a look of horror crossed his face.
An element can become a human- and occaisonally beast- form whenever it suits him, and while in such a form there is a mark placed on these beings. Depending on the person, it is on either the left or right arm, directly between the wrist and elbow. The elemental can turn back into his natural form by placing his hand over and grabbing tightly. It was their only ticket home.
Ron'snormally soft, tear shaped design had become a large, mangled scar.
---
Not surprisingly, there is very little help for elemental, as in their human form, they are very, very rare. No doctor has had the chance to study one, and as an estimate, only about 400 walk the Earth at any one time, depending on the season. In a world population of 6 billion, and looking entirely like normal people, they keep hidden very, very well, and very, very few know they exist. With such a minimal impact on humanity, what even they knkow about themselves in human form, as far as they know, could be very little.
When Ron found out about the internet, he was absolutely astounded by how close conspiracy theorists and "fiction writers" can get to the truth. But he never found any help, and though he'd tried many times, he could not leave.
---
A year had passed. Though it is said time can heal all wounds, and indeed, Tom Thunder himself came down to apologize, he could not help Ron in this state. It started raining again, after another month or so. He heard from Tom that they'd had to hire a spirit with very little experience- in fact, it was one of Ron's distant cousins. He didn't care, and soon he began to hate the rain horribly as it represeted everything he missed. Depressed, he began to study Sandra. Previously Sandra Creek, and now Witherspoon, he noticed how well she had adapted to life in this realm, being stuck here much like he was. She always had a smile on her face, and around her, it seemed everyone did. But in his gut, he knew he couldn't stay here, even with people who knew his secrets. "I want to go somewhere drier", he said. "It's just too horrible here." And because they were unable to stop him, he left.
He traveled around, but in the cruelest sense of iron, it was always cloudy where he went. A constant storm followed Ron, and he sure it wasn't on purpose- a sky spirit's vision of the ground is simply awful, especially when working on a storm. But Ron tried to live the status quo of the world- he found an apartment in the small town mountains of Colorado, got a girlfriend, a job working as a manager of a Recreational center. Thing were going well, until he noticed a mark on the arm of his girlfriend.
---
"You're a-", he trid to blurt out as she began to pull away from him.
"I'm a what? I think I'm normal." Wendy had lived a lie for a decade now, and she wasn't going to give that up for anything.
"Sky spirit." That was all Ron needed to say, and Wendy forgot al about lying. Several thousand question formed in both of their minds.
"How do you know about-" but Ronald was quickly unwrapping the bandages on his arm. He showed her the scar on his left arm. They talked. The hours were gentle and passed by slowly as fate unraveled his plan. Ron grabbed hold of Wendy's arm and they dissapeared into smoke.
This was something that had never been done before. They flew over the ands as emotions from lives past flowed throught both of them, and Ron never wanted to leave. But fate had one more trick up its sleeve. Through a cloud bank, they soared, but as they went through, a beam of lightning caught Ron's spirit, and he fell. This time he was entirely concious, and he landed in the ocean. The ocean, actiang as a being, spat him out onto the beach. He looked up in the sky, and perfectly in tuned with his thoughts, it began to rain. He now had more control of the sky than before- he had reached a point that nobody had ever done. A mortal god, he began to walk into Seattle, in the distance.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
How to be Free
To anybody that's not Mormon and reading this, I apologize. But not totally.
In the premortal existence, we were shown a plan. Because we had already progressed to terminal point in that existence, our only option was a test. To ascend to Godhood, it was required that we take on a physical form, one with desires, emotions, and greeds we had to prove we could manage before continuing on our path. If we showed that our spirits were strong enough to not only manage our bodies, but magnify our callings and become as Christ like as possible, the Atonement would carry us up into our Celestial State. Yes, it involved risk, but risk was the only way we could learn. Yes, many would not be able to make it, but it would be their own individual fault for not making it. Although all man was created equal, no intelligence ever was.
But there was another plan. Why, after all Christ had done for us, would he let so many suffer at the hands of those on Earth? Why we he watch us grovel in pain as the troubles in our mortal form pushed us, possibly beyond our capacity to handle? How could he deny so many from the gates of heaven? Lucifer, the Father of all lies, beleived he had devised a better plan, one that would work for everybody, one that would open the door for many, if only they would bow to him, and not to Christ.
Of course, there was a war. The type of war, we don't really know. One third of God's children, led by the Devil, fell away and were cast out by Heavenly Father. But the terribly ironic thing is, Satan's plan simply could not have worked. There had to be an individual bar. Godhood, by nature could only take a deserving, clean spirit. A plan garunteeing equality could not be upheld by the mathematics and morals of the universe.
I told you this for a reason. Heavenly Father's plan shows a plan of liberty, and of total agency. We CHOOSE whether we want to follow him. We CHOOSE to control our bodies. If you falter or stumble, you cannot blame the heavens, but only you. The risk is eternal salvation, and the gamble is eternel torment or slavery. But so many went with it anyway, because the only way anyone could ever grow is through trial.
Satan's plan offered no freedom, and no liberty. In his plan, there was total security. Everybody made. Nobody was undeserving, there was no poor, and he proudly bore the banner of supposed "Equality". All that was required was for you to bow to the Devil.
In capitalism, true capitalism, you are offered total liberty. You find a job, work hard, or invent something. You have everything to lose, but everything to gain. In capitalism, you have the opportunity to become rich if you do something great enough. Choose to not get an education, slack off your job, and you fall. Yes, good hardworking people slip through the cracks because capitalism is a man made solution, and it only works if everyone is hardworking and diligent. Everyone gets what and to what degree they deserve.
In socialism, or communism to a greater degree, you do not have the chance to become rich. If you slack everything off, don't get an education, it's okay. You still get food and whatever else you need to live and feed your family. There is no downside to being a horrible person. Everyone is treated equally, except the government, who gets bowed to.
I am person that would never sacrifice my liberty in the long run for security temporarily. I am a capitalist. I am a conservative. I believe in small government. I beleive The Constitution is amazing and inspired by God. I beleive in leaving things to the individual, not to the "good" of the collective. I beleive that God and Christ will be the only authorities I answer to in the end, not to Obama or the government. I beleive that the scale of society should be placed closer to anarchy than to tyranny, not completely, so that we still answer to laws, but the closer to tyranny, the closer we are to slavery. I beleive that in a man made society, Justice serves a higher role than Mercy, because only the Lord can forgive sins. I we are responsible for our own actions, and total equality cannot- and should not- exist, because although all man was created equal, no intelligence or spirit is the same. I leave this with you to think and to pray about.
Thank you for that brief moment of epiphany. We'll now get back to our show.
In the premortal existence, we were shown a plan. Because we had already progressed to terminal point in that existence, our only option was a test. To ascend to Godhood, it was required that we take on a physical form, one with desires, emotions, and greeds we had to prove we could manage before continuing on our path. If we showed that our spirits were strong enough to not only manage our bodies, but magnify our callings and become as Christ like as possible, the Atonement would carry us up into our Celestial State. Yes, it involved risk, but risk was the only way we could learn. Yes, many would not be able to make it, but it would be their own individual fault for not making it. Although all man was created equal, no intelligence ever was.
But there was another plan. Why, after all Christ had done for us, would he let so many suffer at the hands of those on Earth? Why we he watch us grovel in pain as the troubles in our mortal form pushed us, possibly beyond our capacity to handle? How could he deny so many from the gates of heaven? Lucifer, the Father of all lies, beleived he had devised a better plan, one that would work for everybody, one that would open the door for many, if only they would bow to him, and not to Christ.
Of course, there was a war. The type of war, we don't really know. One third of God's children, led by the Devil, fell away and were cast out by Heavenly Father. But the terribly ironic thing is, Satan's plan simply could not have worked. There had to be an individual bar. Godhood, by nature could only take a deserving, clean spirit. A plan garunteeing equality could not be upheld by the mathematics and morals of the universe.
I told you this for a reason. Heavenly Father's plan shows a plan of liberty, and of total agency. We CHOOSE whether we want to follow him. We CHOOSE to control our bodies. If you falter or stumble, you cannot blame the heavens, but only you. The risk is eternal salvation, and the gamble is eternel torment or slavery. But so many went with it anyway, because the only way anyone could ever grow is through trial.
Satan's plan offered no freedom, and no liberty. In his plan, there was total security. Everybody made. Nobody was undeserving, there was no poor, and he proudly bore the banner of supposed "Equality". All that was required was for you to bow to the Devil.
In capitalism, true capitalism, you are offered total liberty. You find a job, work hard, or invent something. You have everything to lose, but everything to gain. In capitalism, you have the opportunity to become rich if you do something great enough. Choose to not get an education, slack off your job, and you fall. Yes, good hardworking people slip through the cracks because capitalism is a man made solution, and it only works if everyone is hardworking and diligent. Everyone gets what and to what degree they deserve.
In socialism, or communism to a greater degree, you do not have the chance to become rich. If you slack everything off, don't get an education, it's okay. You still get food and whatever else you need to live and feed your family. There is no downside to being a horrible person. Everyone is treated equally, except the government, who gets bowed to.
I am person that would never sacrifice my liberty in the long run for security temporarily. I am a capitalist. I am a conservative. I believe in small government. I beleive The Constitution is amazing and inspired by God. I beleive in leaving things to the individual, not to the "good" of the collective. I beleive that God and Christ will be the only authorities I answer to in the end, not to Obama or the government. I beleive that the scale of society should be placed closer to anarchy than to tyranny, not completely, so that we still answer to laws, but the closer to tyranny, the closer we are to slavery. I beleive that in a man made society, Justice serves a higher role than Mercy, because only the Lord can forgive sins. I we are responsible for our own actions, and total equality cannot- and should not- exist, because although all man was created equal, no intelligence or spirit is the same. I leave this with you to think and to pray about.
Thank you for that brief moment of epiphany. We'll now get back to our show.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Hey, just a little advertising here...
Um, just so you people know, I keep all of my artwork here captainhersheybar.deviantart.com and usually on Phaesbuk. And since i know how much you guys love my artwork....
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Oh. Ya. Blog.
Many of you may have thought I was quitting my blog due to the ambiguity and depression of my last post. I never meant for that to happen, but since then I've had absolutely due to a very musical man. But that's beside the point. The point is, I'm still blogging. And guess what? Today's Thanksgiving! It's cliche to say the things you're thankful for, and as much as I hate being cliche, I kinda think this one has a purpose. Thanksgiving usually gets shorted out as some turkey-hunting feast fest on the day before Black Friday but I think it should be a lot more sacred than that. How often do we slow down and think of everything we have rather than what we don't have? In a way, it humbles someone far more effectively than Christmas- Christmas can all too easily be caught in swarms of presents and thinking of what you've just gotten as opposed to today, where the lack of a gift exchange really puts things in perspective. You still get to spend a whole day spending time with family, and you still get a better than normal dinner.
Not that Christmas isn't immediatly looked forward to. I mean, seriously, Thanksgiving should have been placed a tad earlier in the year. It's November and Santa STILL stole the season.
Not that Christmas isn't immediatly looked forward to. I mean, seriously, Thanksgiving should have been placed a tad earlier in the year. It's November and Santa STILL stole the season.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Don't touch that button
Look, I started this blog so I'd have an excuse to do someting constructive. Because I have a huge imagination--large enough I never stop thinking. But the downside is I'm really, really, really easily distracted. I've never been tested for ADD. My mind is always working, it's just only half the time it works on what I'm doing at the time, so I'm clumsy. My head always works out the logic of something big, so on big issues, I'm usually right. I often say things without thinking about them (becuase I'm thinking about something else) so on small things, I'm usually wrong. I connect weird things to each other, and though not always, I can usually think of something to say about it, so people think I'm funny. My head is about as organized as my room. I can attach a rythym to anything, so I'm great at haikus, but terrible at those stupid puzzles with mixed up rtetlse. I'm pretty good at hiding my emotions in front of people, usually, so I come off as a genuinely happy person. I'm afraid that everything I say will be wrong (unless it's a big issue that I feel strongly about) so I'm afraid to say my mind. I'm a bit insecure, and would sooner trust someone else's word than my own, so I'm a little gullible and have trouble settling my own opinion unless I stay up for a night thinking about one thing. In my mind, I idolize a lot of people, and if someone else is sure about something, I usually agree with them. I'll admit to following random people around. Though, one thing I really hate about people is when nobody listens to me, because I usually have something to say, but no one will shut up long enough to listen. I'm nervous most of the time, actually, and a bit afraid to walk up to people I don't know or people I'm afraid I come off as weird to. I actually am afraid that I stand out too much as a goofball or a geek, and I really just want people to like me. So basically, it's hard for me to keep a blog because
-I'm easily distracted
-It's hard for me to stick to something indefinetly
-Something I say might insult someone
-I might not be right
So now that I've bared my soul for everybody to see...
-I'm easily distracted
-It's hard for me to stick to something indefinetly
-Something I say might insult someone
-I might not be right
So now that I've bared my soul for everybody to see...
Monday, August 24, 2009
Mankind- as demonstrated by the internet
Over this summer, I'll admit, I spent probably too much time on the internet. A bit. But I kinda want to talk about what I learned about how people act when they can say anything they want to an audience that doesn't care about them in a venue where anyone can be. I'm kinda a regular on sites like Best of Youtube, Failblog (g-rated), even Facebook. What I've found is that all respect to people as human beings immediatly goes out the window. They're not afraid to announce their opinion loudly and boldly (although I'll never say stating your opinion is a bad thing, it's just how they do it) and a lot less careful about their word choice.Everyone else you communicate to becomes just a half inch avatar and misspelled words. Yes. Right there they are. But I think this carried over so well into our daily lives, that people you see walking down the street or in your class become nothing. That's what happened to respect and decency. The fast communication to nobody destroyed our natural ability do communicate effectively to somebody. I'm in California right now, and we just drove through San Francisco. About half the people there had mp3 players on. The rest were with a big group of friends. Now, I've got to sound like a bit of a hypocrite since I had my mp3 in, but it got me thinking about what's changed since before them. Back then, you'd have to ineract with everyone you saw, because there wasn't any reason not too. It would be almost rude to look into the eyes of some guy you see and not say "Top of the morning!". But now we're all deaf and scared that anyone you see can pull out a gun and shoot you for no reason. Why would people want to live like this? Why would anyone want to elect to be afraid of their neighbor? Can't we all just be nice?
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