not sure if this is relevent. pretty sure it's not interesting to anyone but me. but I was bored at work and I don't really do short stories very well.
So a little over a month ago I either broke or sprained the little toe on my left foot. Yes my little toe. I was on the way to the hot tub in the dark and there was some uneven sidewalk that I managed not to see despite it being painted a bright yellow. So, I screwed up my toe and the doctor told me that it could be either broken or sprained and that the only way to tell was to get an x-ray which they couldn't do there, however the treatment and healing time was the same for both so I chose to not know what happened.
Since my "accident" I only recently started climbing again on a regular basis and it has sucked. Or I have. Meghan gets mad at me for saying how much I sucked, but I felt self concious, I was almost to the V4 level before and after I was barely climbing v2s. Anyways yesterday was the first day I felt like I didn't truly suck. I spent the first half hour falling off of the same damn climb that Eli bastard that he is showed me. It's a climb made for tall people on one part and short people on the other part. I can do it, not that I've finished it yet, but I'm physically capable of doing it. I didn't use to feel that way. After not finishing that climb though I went on to finish two other climbs that had been giving me trouble, one of them a V3 was easy peasy.
I go climbing again tomorrow. My toe still hurts because it keeps getting stepped on and I keep forgetting to ice it, but it's functional and I will climb on it. a lot.
not sure if this is relevent. pretty sure it's not interesting to anyone but me. but I was bored at work and I don't really do short stories very well.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Doug: Please
Please.
Please God let everyone I know live through this night. I've done everything I can on this end. I need you to take care of the rest. I'm asking you to take care of the rest.
Not tonight. Not today. Please see those I know and even those I don't though the Valley. I can't do this without you.
Please.
-Doug
Please God let everyone I know live through this night. I've done everything I can on this end. I need you to take care of the rest. I'm asking you to take care of the rest.
Not tonight. Not today. Please see those I know and even those I don't though the Valley. I can't do this without you.
Please.
-Doug
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Meghan: He just wants to be understood
In Which: Dr. Frankenstein’s Monster Tries to Make Peace with his Creator
WARNING
The Jerry Springer Show may contain adult themes or strong language. Parents are cautioned that this program may not be suitable for children.
A joyful crowd can be heard clapping and chanting, “JERRY! JERRY! JERRY! JERRY!” A smiling Jerry Springer is walking among them, shaking hands here and there. Eventually the people calm and sit in their seats.
Jerry smiles into the camera, “Welcome to the show. My guests are here today to fix a long lost relationship.”
The screen pans to a horrifying man-shaped beast who dwarfs the plush chair that he sits on. The daemon waves shyly to the crowd and a few women faint.
Jerry continues nonchalantly, “This is Dr. Frankenstein’s Monster; please tell us why you’re here today sir?”
The daemon clears his throat and begins his story in a cultured voice, “I have come here seeking the man who would call himself my father. He has abandoned me.”
The crowd answers this statement with heartfelt ‘boos’.
“Do you know why your father abandoned you in this way?” Jerry asks as he cocks a concerned brow.
The monster chuckles dryly and gestures towards himself, “As you can see, I am no pleasure to look at, but even so I feel that the one who made me has a responsibility to live with what he has made.”
Jerry nods, eyes narrowed as if deep in thought, “Well we have Dr. Frankenstein backstage now.”
The monster perks up in his chair, “You do?”
“Yes,” Jerry continues, “He doesn’t know that he’s come to meet you specifically, he has been called here to meet a ‘long lost friend.’”
The monster throws an anticipatory glance at the curtain that hid the backstage.
Jerry gestures towards the cameras, “Well I guess it’s time to bring out Dr. Frankenstein to meet his son.”
A skinny man in a grungy lab coat stumbles out of the curtains to the jeers of the crowd. He looks around wildly and when his gaze lands on the monster he seems to shrivel into himself. His eyes bulge and his hands creep along the walls behind him like he’s looking for an escape. The taunting of the crowd dies off in puzzlement at the extremeness of his horror in seeing his creation.
Dr. Frankenstein stretches out a white shaky finger towards his monster, “Murderer!” He whispers hoarsely.
“What do you mean by this accusation?” Jerry asks in a puzzled voice.
The doctor pinwheels his arms wildly, “Go! You’re all in danger! This monster is a murderer! Run for your lives!”
The audience cheers happily at this exciting turn of events.
The monster smoothes his jacket agitatedly, “Father please, last time was a terrible mistake-“
“A mistake?!” Dr. Frankenstein roars, “You killed-you killed…” He breaks down into sobs.
Jerry roams the audience, and stops by a man with a raised hand. He holds his microphone by the man’s mouth for his question,
“Yeah I was just wonderin’” The man drawls around his gum, “Why your daddy should take you back when you’re so ugly?”
One of the monster’s eyes twitches.
Jerry moves on to another audience member, they continue the abuse: “Do you have some sort of Daddy complex or something? Who cares? Move on!”
“Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!” The audience begins chanting again.
The monster’s eye twitches again and he slowly rises to his feet, staring menacingly at the audience. Though the bouncers for the show are only as tall as his chin, they attempt to form a loose barrier between him and the audience.
But when the crowd started chanting, “Ugly! Ugly! Ugly!” The floodgates break.
“I knew coming on this show was a bad idea.” The monster sys in a thoughtful tone before he launches himself over the bouncers and into the crowd.
“Tune in next week for Confessions of an Angry Porn Star,” Jerry says frantically into a camera as screams can be heard in the background, “This has been the Jerry Springer Show.”
-M
WARNING
The Jerry Springer Show may contain adult themes or strong language. Parents are cautioned that this program may not be suitable for children.
A joyful crowd can be heard clapping and chanting, “JERRY! JERRY! JERRY! JERRY!” A smiling Jerry Springer is walking among them, shaking hands here and there. Eventually the people calm and sit in their seats.
Jerry smiles into the camera, “Welcome to the show. My guests are here today to fix a long lost relationship.”
The screen pans to a horrifying man-shaped beast who dwarfs the plush chair that he sits on. The daemon waves shyly to the crowd and a few women faint.
Jerry continues nonchalantly, “This is Dr. Frankenstein’s Monster; please tell us why you’re here today sir?”
The daemon clears his throat and begins his story in a cultured voice, “I have come here seeking the man who would call himself my father. He has abandoned me.”
The crowd answers this statement with heartfelt ‘boos’.
“Do you know why your father abandoned you in this way?” Jerry asks as he cocks a concerned brow.
The monster chuckles dryly and gestures towards himself, “As you can see, I am no pleasure to look at, but even so I feel that the one who made me has a responsibility to live with what he has made.”
Jerry nods, eyes narrowed as if deep in thought, “Well we have Dr. Frankenstein backstage now.”
The monster perks up in his chair, “You do?”
“Yes,” Jerry continues, “He doesn’t know that he’s come to meet you specifically, he has been called here to meet a ‘long lost friend.’”
The monster throws an anticipatory glance at the curtain that hid the backstage.
Jerry gestures towards the cameras, “Well I guess it’s time to bring out Dr. Frankenstein to meet his son.”
A skinny man in a grungy lab coat stumbles out of the curtains to the jeers of the crowd. He looks around wildly and when his gaze lands on the monster he seems to shrivel into himself. His eyes bulge and his hands creep along the walls behind him like he’s looking for an escape. The taunting of the crowd dies off in puzzlement at the extremeness of his horror in seeing his creation.
Dr. Frankenstein stretches out a white shaky finger towards his monster, “Murderer!” He whispers hoarsely.
“What do you mean by this accusation?” Jerry asks in a puzzled voice.
The doctor pinwheels his arms wildly, “Go! You’re all in danger! This monster is a murderer! Run for your lives!”
The audience cheers happily at this exciting turn of events.
The monster smoothes his jacket agitatedly, “Father please, last time was a terrible mistake-“
“A mistake?!” Dr. Frankenstein roars, “You killed-you killed…” He breaks down into sobs.
Jerry roams the audience, and stops by a man with a raised hand. He holds his microphone by the man’s mouth for his question,
“Yeah I was just wonderin’” The man drawls around his gum, “Why your daddy should take you back when you’re so ugly?”
One of the monster’s eyes twitches.
Jerry moves on to another audience member, they continue the abuse: “Do you have some sort of Daddy complex or something? Who cares? Move on!”
“Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!” The audience begins chanting again.
The monster’s eye twitches again and he slowly rises to his feet, staring menacingly at the audience. Though the bouncers for the show are only as tall as his chin, they attempt to form a loose barrier between him and the audience.
But when the crowd started chanting, “Ugly! Ugly! Ugly!” The floodgates break.
“I knew coming on this show was a bad idea.” The monster sys in a thoughtful tone before he launches himself over the bouncers and into the crowd.
“Tune in next week for Confessions of an Angry Porn Star,” Jerry says frantically into a camera as screams can be heard in the background, “This has been the Jerry Springer Show.”
-M
Dear Sarah
You have once again deleted your post. stop doing that.
Other four people of The Fearsome Fivesome
Other four people of The Fearsome Fivesome
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Meghan: Dreaming in many colors
It was a lazy summer afternoon in the afterlife when Joseph stepped into Mr. Freud’s Psychotherapeutic office. Sunbeams drifted in through the many windows and manic depressives rocked in the corners but Joseph didn’t see any of it; he was intent on the appointment that he had had to make months in advance. Dr. Freud was very popular and even Joseph of the many colored coat had had to scrounge to see him. Joseph had barely settled into a chair in the waiting room when the beady-eyed receptionist called him to the back rooms. Nervously, he reclined onto a comfortable couch and waited for the doctor to arrive.
When Dr. Freud entered the room Joseph sprang up to greet him.
“Doctor, it’s so good of you to see me!”
“Please lay back on the couch.” The doctor said, waving a hand holding a sheaf of notes, “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“Well, it’s my dreams,” Joseph said nervously, lying back on the couch, “I’m worried I’ve lost my connection with God.”
Dr. Freud scribbled furiously on the papers he held, “God, you say?”
Joseph sighed, “Yes, normally he’s so straightforward and tells me what to do but I haven’t heard his voice in a while.”
Dr. Freud’s pen halted on the paper, “You hear his voice?” he asked in an interested tone.
“Yes.”
“I see.” More sounds of writing were heard, “Do you hear it in your dreams, or when you’re awake?”
“Both.”
“And what sorts of things does he tell you?”
“Well one time I dreamed that the sun, moon, and eleven stars were bowing down to me; which I think meant that God wanted my brothers to bow down to me.”
Dr. Freud cleared his throat, “Do you often think that others should bow down to you?”
Joseph furrowed his brow, “No, I don’t think that others should bow down to me, but if that’s what God wants, then…”
Dr. Freud sighed, “If we are to make progress delving into the depths of your psyche you must be honest with me Joseph.”
“I am being honest with you!” Joseph protested
“All right.” Dr. Freud soothed. He rang his receptionist to bring a soothing cup of tea for his patient before asking Joseph to continue describing what God had asked him to do.
“Well...” Joseph said as he sipped unsteadily at his tea, “One time he told me that a man I was imprisoned with was going to die while another one was going to live.”
“I see.”
“And he helped me to correctly interpret the pharaoh’s dream so I could become the pharaoh’s advisor.”
“Interesting.”
“But now his voice has abandoned me.” Joseph wailed, covering his face with his hands, “All I hear are the people around me and all I dream about are things like talking birds and purple ham. What is wrong with me?” He looked imploringly at Dr. Freud, who set down his pen and looked over his notes.
“I believe you have made a terrible mistake in taking what was meant to be symbolic seriously; that is, your dreams. It seems you have no filter for differentiating the fantastic unreal creations of your mind from reality. Your dreams as they are now, with no higher being communicating to you through them, that is how they should be interpreted. Mr. Joseph, I am not a member of the clergy and I can’t tell you that the voice in your head is the voice of God. To me, the voice in your head means that you are very sick.”
“What can I do about it?” Joseph asked sadly.
“I can give you some medicine so the voices don’t come back, or you can go to the church down the street.”
Joseph stood up and looked pensively down at Dr. Freud, “Thank you for your help, but I think I will go to the church. I think I am meant to be a holy man with a vision rather than a raving lunatic with a disease.”
-M
When Dr. Freud entered the room Joseph sprang up to greet him.
“Doctor, it’s so good of you to see me!”
“Please lay back on the couch.” The doctor said, waving a hand holding a sheaf of notes, “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“Well, it’s my dreams,” Joseph said nervously, lying back on the couch, “I’m worried I’ve lost my connection with God.”
Dr. Freud scribbled furiously on the papers he held, “God, you say?”
Joseph sighed, “Yes, normally he’s so straightforward and tells me what to do but I haven’t heard his voice in a while.”
Dr. Freud’s pen halted on the paper, “You hear his voice?” he asked in an interested tone.
“Yes.”
“I see.” More sounds of writing were heard, “Do you hear it in your dreams, or when you’re awake?”
“Both.”
“And what sorts of things does he tell you?”
“Well one time I dreamed that the sun, moon, and eleven stars were bowing down to me; which I think meant that God wanted my brothers to bow down to me.”
Dr. Freud cleared his throat, “Do you often think that others should bow down to you?”
Joseph furrowed his brow, “No, I don’t think that others should bow down to me, but if that’s what God wants, then…”
Dr. Freud sighed, “If we are to make progress delving into the depths of your psyche you must be honest with me Joseph.”
“I am being honest with you!” Joseph protested
“All right.” Dr. Freud soothed. He rang his receptionist to bring a soothing cup of tea for his patient before asking Joseph to continue describing what God had asked him to do.
“Well...” Joseph said as he sipped unsteadily at his tea, “One time he told me that a man I was imprisoned with was going to die while another one was going to live.”
“I see.”
“And he helped me to correctly interpret the pharaoh’s dream so I could become the pharaoh’s advisor.”
“Interesting.”
“But now his voice has abandoned me.” Joseph wailed, covering his face with his hands, “All I hear are the people around me and all I dream about are things like talking birds and purple ham. What is wrong with me?” He looked imploringly at Dr. Freud, who set down his pen and looked over his notes.
“I believe you have made a terrible mistake in taking what was meant to be symbolic seriously; that is, your dreams. It seems you have no filter for differentiating the fantastic unreal creations of your mind from reality. Your dreams as they are now, with no higher being communicating to you through them, that is how they should be interpreted. Mr. Joseph, I am not a member of the clergy and I can’t tell you that the voice in your head is the voice of God. To me, the voice in your head means that you are very sick.”
“What can I do about it?” Joseph asked sadly.
“I can give you some medicine so the voices don’t come back, or you can go to the church down the street.”
Joseph stood up and looked pensively down at Dr. Freud, “Thank you for your help, but I think I will go to the church. I think I am meant to be a holy man with a vision rather than a raving lunatic with a disease.”
-M
Meghan: La hospital
Mi corazón late sólo para ti,
pero tu corazón no puede latir más para el mío
la esposa pequeña, la esposa pequeña,
¿a dónde vas sin mí?
eres como una mariposa moribunda
en estos fríos meses de invierno
si pudiera poner el sol en el cielo
¿me esperarías?
Sé,
que volarás sin mí
pero, sé,
que me esperarás,
mi esposa pequeña,
mi mariposa pequeña.
-M
pero tu corazón no puede latir más para el mío
la esposa pequeña, la esposa pequeña,
¿a dónde vas sin mí?
eres como una mariposa moribunda
en estos fríos meses de invierno
si pudiera poner el sol en el cielo
¿me esperarías?
Sé,
que volarás sin mí
pero, sé,
que me esperarás,
mi esposa pequeña,
mi mariposa pequeña.
-M
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Jasmine: Nanowrimo
Every November there is a competition. A wild, crazy, haphazard event with no tangible prize, no blue ribbon, nothing but a stack of pages that you yourself have made, but might not have otherwise made had it not been for the competitive air of this particular month. November is not only a month where many people refuse to shave their bodies it is national novel writing month! Starting November 1st we few who choose to do this have exactly 30 days to write fifty thousand words. a small novel or the beginning to a large one.
truthfully I meant to post this before November got here and get you all to write with me, but I forgot about the whole project until November 4th.
I started doing this four years ago and that first year was really my best year. every year since life has managed to screw me over. stupid life. but this year i try again. I'm not doing so well. i have probably about eight thousand words maybe ten, it's mostly in writing form and not automatic wordcount form. but there's thirteen days left on the clock and i have to write about three thousand words a day in order to make my count. It might happen. I've had days where i wrote six thousand words in a single sitting. but those days are past.
I was going to write more about my style of writing and the critiques on it that Meghan has recently given me, but I think I'll go write my story instead. bye.
truthfully I meant to post this before November got here and get you all to write with me, but I forgot about the whole project until November 4th.
I started doing this four years ago and that first year was really my best year. every year since life has managed to screw me over. stupid life. but this year i try again. I'm not doing so well. i have probably about eight thousand words maybe ten, it's mostly in writing form and not automatic wordcount form. but there's thirteen days left on the clock and i have to write about three thousand words a day in order to make my count. It might happen. I've had days where i wrote six thousand words in a single sitting. but those days are past.
I was going to write more about my style of writing and the critiques on it that Meghan has recently given me, but I think I'll go write my story instead. bye.
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