An amazingly beautiful day outside, bright white clouds, few and far between, looking like puzzle pieces longing to be put together across the sky. Sun beaming so bright and strong, felt like the whole world outside was room temperature. A great morning to go outside and sit on a bench with a cup of coffee, and read the paper. And that's exactly what Derek was doing.
An explosion was heard off in the distance, and it wasn't quite as disturbing as it should have been. Life was like that sometimes, when you get used to something disturbing, it doesn't disturb. Derek simply got up and walked further down the park to a different bench. Away from the explosion and the noise.
Somebody was very clearly upset, he thought, or they would not have gone to so much trouble to make all of those other people upset. Derek wondered what they could be so upset about on a beautiful day. He then wondered if they waited for such a beautiful day like today to set off their explosion, or if it was good luck for them, not just to upset so many people, but to ruin such a great day for so many people as well.
It must take a lot of time, Derek presumed, to plan such a thing. More than just a day to, on whimsy, blow something up. So it was probably good luck for them it was such a nice day. His day wasn't ruined, oh no, he thought, you've just given me some ample food for thought. I am not upset, nor am I angry, he thought to himself, not about anything you are anyways.
Am I upset about anything enough to blow anything up? Lost in himself again, I don't know. I don't like taxes, or giant corperations, or corruption. As bad as all of those things are, I think I have grown to dislike people that blow things up when they are upset even more.
Except for cellphones, he though, I really hate cellphones, I would blow things up if it led to getting rid of cellphones. People laugh at me when I say I hate them too, so I couldn't go through the government to get rid of them could I? But I would blow up every cell tower in the goddamn world if I could.
And that's how Derek became a terrorist.
Monday, 4 March 2013
Sunday, 3 March 2013
Billy's conundrum
Billy was angry all the time, and he didn't know why. He would often tell his closest friends in confidence, "I'm angry all the time, and I don't know why." And Billy's friends were not very good friends, so they would say things like. "Well, what makes you so angry." And Billy wouldn't know the answer. So his not so good friends would push him and push him to talk about it. Because they weren't so focused on making Billy's anger go away. They liked that he was angry, it was interesting and fun to have such an angry friend.
"Well, I like it when people are stupid, and then I get angry."
"What makes you angry about people being stupid?" They would say in response.
"Well, I feel like I'm better than them. And then I get angry because I know I shouldn't feel better than other people."
"That's really simple" His friends would say.
"I get angry because of that too" Billy would say.
"Because of what?"
"I don't know the difference"
"Between what?"
"Simple and stupid."
"Oh" His friends would say. They didn't know either.
:Later on in life, when Billy was still confused and angry about things. He would say the same thing to a friend that did care about him and helping Billy stop being so angry, his friend would say this:
"A square is simple; stupid is calling it a circle."
It made Billy feel better.
"Well, I like it when people are stupid, and then I get angry."
"What makes you angry about people being stupid?" They would say in response.
"Well, I feel like I'm better than them. And then I get angry because I know I shouldn't feel better than other people."
"That's really simple" His friends would say.
"I get angry because of that too" Billy would say.
"Because of what?"
"I don't know the difference"
"Between what?"
"Simple and stupid."
"Oh" His friends would say. They didn't know either.
:Later on in life, when Billy was still confused and angry about things. He would say the same thing to a friend that did care about him and helping Billy stop being so angry, his friend would say this:
"A square is simple; stupid is calling it a circle."
It made Billy feel better.
Saturday, 2 March 2013
Control
"When I look out in front of me, I see my hands,I know they are mine from vast experience of experiments confirming this fact, and, they do exactly what I tell them to. Which is nice, because apparently there are some people who have hands that don't do what they tell them to. And there are some people that don't have hands. I bet the latter aren't magicians. I don't say that to be mean, sometimes I think questions in my head, like; are there any magicians without hands? And I'll remember a book where there is a magician with no hands, but then I'll remember that was fiction, and in reality, there are no magicians without hands. But I won't say all of that out loud. Because that would be wasting your time. But then I come across as insensitive, because it would seem to be obvious that there are no magicians without hands. But it wasn't to me, and that's why I said it. Does that make sense to you?"
She took a large drag from her cigarette, held the smoke in her lungs for as long as she could, and exhaled loudly and dramatically pointing her breath at the ceiling. Then it out in an empty beer bottle lying on the floor.
"The point that I'm trying make here though, is that it's hard to actually know things sometimes. And I think that's why my behavior is erratic sometimes. But that's hard to know too, cause, well, if I knew why my behavior was erratic, then I would probably be able to fix it wouldn't I? And then, I wouldn't be so erratic, would I. But it might not be about me not knowing things. It might be the world around me. Always trying to control me."
She sat on her stool in the unfinished basement they were talking in. It was a well lit with with uncovered light bulbs. And she enjoyed the cool feeling of the cement on her bare feet. Her counterpart, strapped to the chair in front of her, did not.
"It's like! Like! Those fuckers at the Starbucks, always fucking trying to control me. Trying to like, fucking control my responses to their questions, you know? Like, I walk in, because I'm walking down a street and I think, fuck, I'm thirsty! So I'm going to get a coffee. And as luck would have it, there's a Starbucks every fifteen seconds in every direction no matter where you are in the world. And I start thinking... Do I like Starbucks coffee? Or did they just tell me that I like Starbucks coffee, so that I'll give them my fucking money all the time."
Her counterpart whimpers, and she jumps out of the stool and takes a knife out of her back pocket and puts it to his throat.
"I'm getting to my fucking point! Just fucking listen would you!" She pulls the knife away from his neck, and slowly walks back to her stool. " So I go in to Starbucks because I'm thirsty, but I'm also a little confused as to my decision about going in to a Starbucks, you know? But I walk in, and like, the guy behind the counter, he says to me 'How are you?'...And...like...I'm in a bit of a mood, so I say, 'I'm thirsty and I'm in a bit of a fucking mood, thanks for asking.' And I was being sincere when I said Thank-You by the way. So then this fucking tool says, 'Miss, could you please watch your language." And I am aghast. Aghast! Because like, how dare he? So I say 'You can't fucking watch your language! You fucking retard! No more than you can fucking listen to a fucking painting! Okay? I'll get a fucking coffee.' And the fucker, doesn't give me coffee! He refuses to serve me! And so I waited for this little piece of shit to get off work. Didn't I?"
The man in the chair is weeping softly. His hands have been removed. He's in shock. His mouth is gagged. She walks up to him again.
"I guess you're not a magician." And slits his throat.
She took a large drag from her cigarette, held the smoke in her lungs for as long as she could, and exhaled loudly and dramatically pointing her breath at the ceiling. Then it out in an empty beer bottle lying on the floor.
"The point that I'm trying make here though, is that it's hard to actually know things sometimes. And I think that's why my behavior is erratic sometimes. But that's hard to know too, cause, well, if I knew why my behavior was erratic, then I would probably be able to fix it wouldn't I? And then, I wouldn't be so erratic, would I. But it might not be about me not knowing things. It might be the world around me. Always trying to control me."
She sat on her stool in the unfinished basement they were talking in. It was a well lit with with uncovered light bulbs. And she enjoyed the cool feeling of the cement on her bare feet. Her counterpart, strapped to the chair in front of her, did not.
"It's like! Like! Those fuckers at the Starbucks, always fucking trying to control me. Trying to like, fucking control my responses to their questions, you know? Like, I walk in, because I'm walking down a street and I think, fuck, I'm thirsty! So I'm going to get a coffee. And as luck would have it, there's a Starbucks every fifteen seconds in every direction no matter where you are in the world. And I start thinking... Do I like Starbucks coffee? Or did they just tell me that I like Starbucks coffee, so that I'll give them my fucking money all the time."
Her counterpart whimpers, and she jumps out of the stool and takes a knife out of her back pocket and puts it to his throat.
"I'm getting to my fucking point! Just fucking listen would you!" She pulls the knife away from his neck, and slowly walks back to her stool. " So I go in to Starbucks because I'm thirsty, but I'm also a little confused as to my decision about going in to a Starbucks, you know? But I walk in, and like, the guy behind the counter, he says to me 'How are you?'...And...like...I'm in a bit of a mood, so I say, 'I'm thirsty and I'm in a bit of a fucking mood, thanks for asking.' And I was being sincere when I said Thank-You by the way. So then this fucking tool says, 'Miss, could you please watch your language." And I am aghast. Aghast! Because like, how dare he? So I say 'You can't fucking watch your language! You fucking retard! No more than you can fucking listen to a fucking painting! Okay? I'll get a fucking coffee.' And the fucker, doesn't give me coffee! He refuses to serve me! And so I waited for this little piece of shit to get off work. Didn't I?"
The man in the chair is weeping softly. His hands have been removed. He's in shock. His mouth is gagged. She walks up to him again.
"I guess you're not a magician." And slits his throat.
Friday, 1 March 2013
Professor Jello.
"I've always found," said the professor as poured hot water into a tea pot. "That it's in the heavy snowfall at night, if you watch under a street lamp, you really get to see how unique each and every snowflake is. That's what always reminds me how meaningless it is to be unique."
It would be safe to assume that he was smug. It would be even safer to assume that most of the time, he had no idea what he was talking about. But this was a great way to knock the wind out of an undergraduate. Especially one you were trying to sleep with.
"As unique as each snowflake is, it is still just another snowflake, like a human being." At this he pulled the container of loose-leaf tea out of the pot, poured a cup of tea for himself, and one for his student. "No human being can stop being a human being, and as a result, no matter how unique you are, you can't help being just like the rest of us."
Jason, was getting frustrated. He knew that the professor wanted to boff him. Which is why he had received such a poor grade on his essay. So that he could complain, and the professor would explain how busy he was, and could only see him at night, at his home. It made Jason feel ill. Not that Jason wasn't open to sucking a cock for a grade. He knew he was developing a reputation. The only problem was that he didn't want to suck this guy's cock. Because he was so fat.
It wasn't that the professor was fat all around. Jason could and had dealt with fat all around, it was that the professor had remarkably skinny legs, which made it worse. His long skinny legs looked like like two toothpicks stuck in a toppling sphere of jello. His belly was so large that it clearly overlapped passed his crotch, and that was the main reason Jason wouldn't do it. He imagined having to lifted up the fat, to get to the not so exciting surprise.
"Professor, may I interrupt you."
"Of course my young man, of course!"
"I just wanted to say, that while it is impossible to escape being human, and that limits our capacity for certain uniqueness, what you are trying to imply, is that there is nothing unique in the vast amount of human accomplishment throughout history. And there I have to disagree. I think everything that we as human beings have accomplished is astonishing, but more so, the astonishing accomplishments usually began with one mind, and although that mind may not be unique, the advancements that come from it, are."
"I see your point, bu-"
"Not quite done professor. I only have one last thing." The professor looked up at him, they were making direct eye contact, and he raised an eyebrow.
"Which is?"
"I'm not going to suck your cock."
"Awe come on! Why not?"
It would be safe to assume that he was smug. It would be even safer to assume that most of the time, he had no idea what he was talking about. But this was a great way to knock the wind out of an undergraduate. Especially one you were trying to sleep with.
"As unique as each snowflake is, it is still just another snowflake, like a human being." At this he pulled the container of loose-leaf tea out of the pot, poured a cup of tea for himself, and one for his student. "No human being can stop being a human being, and as a result, no matter how unique you are, you can't help being just like the rest of us."
Jason, was getting frustrated. He knew that the professor wanted to boff him. Which is why he had received such a poor grade on his essay. So that he could complain, and the professor would explain how busy he was, and could only see him at night, at his home. It made Jason feel ill. Not that Jason wasn't open to sucking a cock for a grade. He knew he was developing a reputation. The only problem was that he didn't want to suck this guy's cock. Because he was so fat.
It wasn't that the professor was fat all around. Jason could and had dealt with fat all around, it was that the professor had remarkably skinny legs, which made it worse. His long skinny legs looked like like two toothpicks stuck in a toppling sphere of jello. His belly was so large that it clearly overlapped passed his crotch, and that was the main reason Jason wouldn't do it. He imagined having to lifted up the fat, to get to the not so exciting surprise.
"Professor, may I interrupt you."
"Of course my young man, of course!"
"I just wanted to say, that while it is impossible to escape being human, and that limits our capacity for certain uniqueness, what you are trying to imply, is that there is nothing unique in the vast amount of human accomplishment throughout history. And there I have to disagree. I think everything that we as human beings have accomplished is astonishing, but more so, the astonishing accomplishments usually began with one mind, and although that mind may not be unique, the advancements that come from it, are."
"I see your point, bu-"
"Not quite done professor. I only have one last thing." The professor looked up at him, they were making direct eye contact, and he raised an eyebrow.
"Which is?"
"I'm not going to suck your cock."
"Awe come on! Why not?"
Thursday, 28 February 2013
A Lost Man
His hair was white, but dark black at it's root. His nose was large and wide, not sharp on it's end, but well rounded. His eyes were misty and sunken. The lines around his mouth were deep and pronounced. He didn't look distinguished, which was for the best because he wasn't. Instead the man looked like he was a well weathered traveler, which was for the best, because he was.
He would and could talk anybodies ear off for hours about any form of spiritualism that has any known existence. He could win any debate on the merits of any religion. And it was always shocking to everyone that met him that he had no home, and it was even more upsetting to people when they found out that he did not have a home by choice.
He didn't have a home, and when asked about why he chose not to have a home, he would reply with a kind smile "Home never suited me". He wasn't lying, his home never suited him. That was why he didn't have one. He would argue that there are a lot of people that live in homes and it doesn't suit them and that that is why they were unhappy.
People would ask him if he was happy and he would say: "No" And then he would make it clear that his unhappiness had nothing to do with his living conditions. If you pressed him in any other form of questioning you would be met with kind eyes and entertaining lengthy response, but if you pressed him in the questioning about his happiness, after he clarified it had nothing to do with not having a home. He would act like a crazy homeless person.
He was not a crazy homeless person, he was just a homeless person, but he could pretend to be crazy when it suited him. It would only suit him if you pushed too hard in asking about his happiness.
He killed himself. No one knows why. Most people assumed that he was just sad because he was homeless. All agreed he must have been unhappy about that.
He would and could talk anybodies ear off for hours about any form of spiritualism that has any known existence. He could win any debate on the merits of any religion. And it was always shocking to everyone that met him that he had no home, and it was even more upsetting to people when they found out that he did not have a home by choice.
He didn't have a home, and when asked about why he chose not to have a home, he would reply with a kind smile "Home never suited me". He wasn't lying, his home never suited him. That was why he didn't have one. He would argue that there are a lot of people that live in homes and it doesn't suit them and that that is why they were unhappy.
People would ask him if he was happy and he would say: "No" And then he would make it clear that his unhappiness had nothing to do with his living conditions. If you pressed him in any other form of questioning you would be met with kind eyes and entertaining lengthy response, but if you pressed him in the questioning about his happiness, after he clarified it had nothing to do with not having a home. He would act like a crazy homeless person.
He was not a crazy homeless person, he was just a homeless person, but he could pretend to be crazy when it suited him. It would only suit him if you pushed too hard in asking about his happiness.
He killed himself. No one knows why. Most people assumed that he was just sad because he was homeless. All agreed he must have been unhappy about that.
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