"We all make vows, Jimmy. And there is something very beautiful and touching and noble about wanting good impulses to be permanent and true forever... Most of us stand up and vow to love, honor, and cherish someone. And we really truly mean it, at the time. But two or twelve or twenty years down the road, the lawyers are negotiating the property settlement."
"You and George didn't go back on your promises."
She laughed. "Lemme tell ya something, sweetface. I have been married at least four times, to four different men... They've all been named George Edwards but, believe me, the man who is waiting for me down the hall is a whole different animal from the boy I married, back before there was dirt. Oh, there are continuities. He has always been fun and he has never been able to budget his time properly and - well, the rest is none of your business."
"But people change," he said quietly.
"Precisely. People change. Cultures change. Empires rise and fall. Shit. Geology changes! Every ten years or so, George and I have faced the fact that we have changed and we've had to decide if it makes sense to create a new marriage between these two new people... Which is why vows are such a tricky business. Because nothing stays the same forever... What unnatural words. Always and forever! Those aren't human words, Jim. Not even stones are always and forever."
"You know what's the most terrifying thing about admitting you're in love? ...You are just naked. You put yourself in harm's way and you lay down all your defenses. No clothes, no weapons. Nowhere to hide. Completely vulnerable. The only thing that makes it tolerable is to believe the other person loves you back and that you can trust him not to hurt you."
"You ever hear that old joke about the guy who jumped off the Empire State Building?"
"Yeah. All the way down, you could hear him say, 'So far, so good. So far, so good. So far, so good.' That is George's life story in a nutshell."
"There's an old Jewish story that says in the beginning God was everywhere and everything, a totality. But to make creation, God had to remove Himself from some part of the universe, so something besides Himself could exist. So He breathed in, and in the places where God withdrew, there creation exists."
"Matthew ten, verse twenty-nine," (he) said quietly. "'Not one sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it.'"
"But the sparrow still falls."
- Mood:
contemplative
"It actually kicked around and started to spin, and without friction, it could spin faster and faster, and we think that made it even more disoriented," said researcher Yuanming Liu, a physicist at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, Calif. They decided to mildly sedate the next mouse they levitated, which seemed content with floating.
- Mood:
amused
Snagged from
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
nagaina_ryuuoh who hit me with the words Babylon
Write
Wing
Trinity
Little
( explanations below the cut )
They speak to me in the darkness. They come with tongues of glass and thorn, the speak with the bittersweet dagger tongues of false friends. They tell me things and push me to being more of the monster, less of the man.
They tell me that if you really wanted to see me, you wouldn't find excuses. That you'd try to find the time, that you'd make time. That the excuses dripping from your tongue like honey to my lips would be ones for others, that you'd work as hard to find a way as you seem to push me away. They tell me that I'm nothing to you, just a man. Nothing more.
But there's a secret pearl of flame, a small burning sun that threatens to eclipse all other light, a fire that would take you and burn you pure and clean and whole again. It's a seed of hope, that reminds me that you still keep trying alongside me. That you're still here, my muse, my inspiration, the other half of my soul.
I'm on there as writermonk and des is there as littlegoth.
Not that I've actually got anything there at the moment. But... we shall see.
Anyways, years and years ago when we lived in Kansas we had a similar issue. Of course, then, we lived in a tiny place that didn't have central air. Instead we had a number of window units. At one point, one or more of them went out and we had the one that was left just couldn't cool the house down to the point of comfort. We didn't have kids then, nor quite so many pets. Des and I slept out on our front porch - it was enclosed and screened in, but as close to being outside while still having privacy as you could get. We drug some huge body pillows out there, and after all the lights were off more or less stripped down to sleep in the summer night air.
Of course, we couldn't fall asleep right away. Back then I didn't have the issues with insomnia that I do now, and usually once I was prone I was unconscious. But I remember summer nights, lying almost under the stars, talking with her about... well, everything. Literature, history, philosophy, the past, our future, the world as it was and the world as I hoped it would be.
You know someone is your friend when you can argue/have a fight with them.
Wait, wait, wait. Remember, I said to bear with me. Don't just give me that 'yeah, whatever, doug' look. You know the one I'm talking about.
Listen, look at it this way:
If someone is NOT your friend, they're... say... just someone you work with, or hang out with occasionally, or some random person you meet at the pub, you're not going to get into an argument with them. It's not worth your time. You don't care about their opinions and they don't likely care about yours. Socially and culturally, you don't just start a fight with random people (certain situations excepted when you're under various influences).
If they're not your friend, but act like they are (or vice verse), and you get into an argument chances are that neither of you is going to speak to the other ever again. Likely they just went along with whatever you said to get into your good graces (or the other way around) and now that this big difference has popped up and they're not willing to compromise, this relationship is over. Thus, it's not really a fight - because a fight is a thing with a beginning, a middle, and an end (or a cause, an action, and a resolution). No, in this case, what's happened is not a fight, it's just the end of a false friendship.
If you think someone is your friend, you get into an argument with them because you care about their opinion. You want to share your opinion and their opinion is different and you're disagreeing on it. Or one of you got hurt, and is lashing out because of it. Or whatever. But the point is that there is a reason you're fighting and that reason is because you care. You care and you fight and then you move past it and your friendship continues.
It's life. Don't despair because you're arguing. Don't feel horrible about it. Reflect on why it happens, find a way to resolve it, and keep on being friends.
Me (rational and loving parental unit): Aww, did you hurt your eye?
Rowan: Yes! On the table! *whimper faux cry* I want you to come hug it.
Me: You want me to hug your eye?
Rowan: Yes! My eye! *faux sobs*
Mommy Dearest (rational and sane and loving parental unit): You know what she means when she says 'hug,' right?
Me: Yes. She wants a kiss. *kisses rowan's eye*
Rowan: (holding arms open for a hug) Thank you, daddy.
Me: No problem girl. Next time don't stab yourself in the eye with your spoon ok?
Rowan: Ok, daddy.
"My favorite thought-piece about Ferris Bueller is the “Fight Club” theory, in which Ferris Bueller, the person, is just a figment of Cameron’s imagination, like Tyler Durden, and Sloane is the girl Cameron secretly loves.
One day while he’s lying sick in bed, Cameron lets “Ferris” steal his father’s car and take the day off, and as Cameron wanders around the city, all of his interactions with Ferris and Sloane, and all the impossible hijinks, are all just played out in his head. This is part of the reason why the “three” characters can see so much of Chicago in less than one day — Cameron is alone, just imagining it all.
It isn’t until he destroys the front of the car in a fugue state does he finally get a grip and decide to confront his father, after which he imagines a final, impossible escape for Ferris and a storybook happy ending for Sloane (”He’s gonna marry me!”), the girl that Cameron knows he can never have."
Who wants to go re-watch 'Ferris Beuller's Day Off' now?
As he fell past the ninth floor his life was interrupted by a shotgun blast passing through a window, which killed him instantly. Neither the shooter nor the deceased was aware that a safety net had been installed just below the eighth floor level to protect some building workers and that Ronald Opus would not have been able to complete his suicide the way he had planned.
"Ordinarily," Dr Mills continued, "A person who sets out to commit suicide and ultimately succeeds, even though the mechanism might not be what he intended, is still defined as committing suicide." That Mr. Opus was shot on the way to certain death, but probably would not have been successful because of the safety net, caused the medical examiner to feel that he had a homicide on his hands.
The room on the ninth floor, where the shotgun blast emanated, was occupied by an elderly man and his wife. They were arguing vigorously and he was threatening her with a shotgun. The man was so upset that when he pulled the trigger he completely missed his wife and the pellets went through the window striking Mr. Opus.
When one intends to kill subject "A" but kills subject "B" in the attempt, one is guilty of the murder of subject "B." When confronted with the murder charge the old man and his wife were both adamant and both said that they thought the shotgun was unloaded. The old man said it was a long-standing habit to threaten his wife with the unloaded shotgun. He had no intention to murder her. Therefore the killing of Mr. Opus appeared to be an accident; that is, if the gun had been accidentally loaded.
The continuing investigation turned up a witness who saw the old couple's son loading the shotgun about six weeks prior to the fatal accident. It transpired that the old lady had cut off her son's financial support and the son, knowing the propensity of his father to use the shotgun threateningly, loaded the gun with the expectation that his father would shoot his mother. Since the loader of the gun was aware of this, he was guilty of the murder even though he didn't actually pull the trigger. The case now becomes one of murder on the part of the son for the death of Ronald Opus.
Now comes the exquisite twist. Further investigation revealed that the son was, in fact, Ronald Opus. He had become increasingly despondent over the failure of his attempt to engineer his mother's murder. This led him to jump off the ten-story building on March 23rd, only to be killed by a shotgun blast passing through the ninth story window. The son had actually murdered himself so the medical examiner closed the case as a suicide.
OK, this is actually not a true story, but instead a mental puzzle. Still, it's kinda fun to wrap your head around.
- Mood: amused
Not that you'll miss me when I'm gone, eh?
Even as the train barrelled out of the tunnel, Jack knew there was trouble. He was behind schedule and no amount of fancy bookkeeping was going to change the fact. He could work the numbers and make excuses and no one would be any the wiser; this was a middling stop on a multi-leg run. His superiors knew he'd make up the time later in the journey, but being late still irritated him.
It had not been a profitable run thus far. Heading up in to the mountains, he'd hit some anomaly on the track. The sudden jarring bump had caused him to drop his favorite mug which shattered and caused a mess in the cabin. Even after cleaning it, he could still faintly smell coffee under the smoke and grease of the engine which ordinarily would not have been so bad if it were not for the fact that this was not his assigned locomotive. Three stops and several hundred miles back, he'd discovered that he'd apparently not picked up his change from that diner with the nice waitress and was now short the price of his next meal. He'd caught the tail end of some storm off the coast which had required him to throttle back and slow down. The train had been slicing through the front end of the storm front without any difficulty, cutting through the sheets of rain like a proverbial hot knife through butter. But, the storm did in any visibility he had and between the winds buffetting the load behind him and the unpredictability of the track ahead, he'd grudgingly slowed down enough to look prudent. Especially after the old engineer Karl had poked his head in to ask about their speed and comment dryly on the weather. Ordinarily, he liked Karl. The old man was a wealth of knowledge and stories. It was said that the transit-line couldn't fire him because he knew more about keeping the engines running than any other man alive. But after everything else, Jack felt like Karl was prying. It was his virgin-run in the new model and he'd wanted everything to go smoothly. Didn't want to be treated like some kid out on a bike for the first time.
As he neared the station, he had far less time for introspection and memories. Busy with a flurry of necessary tasks to slow the massive train down safely, Jack didn't notice the door to the cabin open nor the shadow that quietly fell across his back.
This isn't too unusual so far, I know. But bear with me.
Occasionally I will add people. And as time goes by, I get more and more people added. Then periodically, I go through and say 'you know, I don't talk to this person, I don't socialize with this person, I'm not in the same business with this person, and aside from going to high school or college with this person, I really don't care two whits about them' and then delete about half of the lot. The site is not there, for me, for the purpose of having some huge number of alleged friends. I prefer a slim list of friends, folks I know, and business contacts.
So, anyways, back to this friend-add I get to night. It's accompanied by a personal message.
"Hey did you ever get sued for that comic book you did in the 9th grade (the spin off of the TMNT)? I still have a copy of that by the way. Hope you're well."
*groans*
That comic still haunts me. OK, it was an awesome piece of work considering that it was done by a group of high school punks. That it reached so many people who still remember it is even more remarkable. That I still have people come up to me, years later, and that comic is what they remember of me... is rather frightening.
- Mood: amused
Chapter 0
It was a desperate gambit, and he knew it. But he also recognized that he was rotting away in the cell of a modern life that he was confined to. Almost literally. The doctors all said that what he had was inoperable, incurable; they could treat him, alleviate some of the symptoms, ameliorate the side-effects with other things, but he'd be slowly deteriorating from now on.
So, since he was already as good as dead in his own eyes, he sold all the stuff. "The accumulated detritus of life," as his father had always said. All the little things that just seemed to be bought or given that didn't mean too much: the crappy t.v. that he spent his afternoons with, the strange set of second hand dishes that had been a graduation gift from some relative he couldn't remember, all the sheets and the pillows and the oddments of a life that no one would miss.
Just like himself, he mused ruefully.
He kept some things, like a backpack and sleeping bag, a pocket-knife his dad had given him. Things that seemed useful. In some ways, he would come to learn that these "essentials" as he saw them were only one more mark of his inexperience. The rest of his worldly belongings were sold off, and he pocketed the cash. 'Insurance,' he told himself, 'just in case.'
He turned his keys to his landlord, took one last look at the now empty house, and set off. He had thought he would feel elated, happy. A sense of being unburdened at last. Instead, as he walked across town to the train station, he felt sad. Lonely. There was no one to see him off, no friends, no family. The few acquaintances he did have were all at work. Too, his feet hurt. He'd sold the car, thinking to avoid such nuisances as insurance and gas. Though he had thought himself in shape, walking across town on a summer afternoon obviously was not part of his daily regimen.
He stopped in the park near the station and stretched out on the grass. A bell rang from some where nearby and soon there were dozens of children running and screaming through the grass near him. He watched a group of them kick a ball around and felt something stirring within him. It was a mix of things. Regret, loss, a shared sense of joy. He was caught up in a revery, remembering his own halcyon days of idyllic youth only to be interrupted by the solid 'thwump' of the ball hitting him in the chest. From somewhere in the distance there was the sound of not-entirely stiffled laughter, not of malice, but of the sort of barely contained humor and joy that only children seem truly capable of. He looked up to find a little girl standing in front of him, the very picture of innocence. She held a flower in one hand and timidly asked him for the ball. When he handed it over, she absent-mindedly dropped the flower, snatched the ball and ran laughing back down the hill.
He picked up the flower. It was nothing particularly special. A random yellow dandylion, he twirled its stem between his fingers. As the sun began to dip behind the buildings of the skyline, he tucked to hang from the corner of his pack, got to his feet, and began to walk.
There were a lot of new couples tonight (the 6 week course re-started tonight). I think there was another story in one of the local newspapers, and it resulted in a fair number of new folks. At the same time, a number of folks from the last run weren't there either. So, i guess it evened out.
Des sorta pulled something in her foot/feet when we did the bolero. But I massaged them a little (and made her wince) and when we went back out to dance she did fine. We did a couple of tangos as well. But then I was really feeling down. And on the way home feeling a little sick.
Bleah. Anyways, tomorrow we go to NC.
- Mood:
sick
It's been raining all weekend. Probably going to keep raining, though tonight it may turn into either snow or ice.
Bleah. I hate cold and wet together.
- Mood: cold
It's another Latin dance (the kind I tend to prefer) and its really simple (another bonus). Technically, des and I learned it at the Valentine's dance earlier this month, so we were doing far far better than most of the couples.
It's technically the end of the 6 week course. It restarts next week with the waltz. Also, since its restarting, it's now got a fee attached. When we started doing this last year/6 months ago, it was free. Granted, the place we were dancing wasn't the best, but hey! Free! Then we moved out to this kind of fancy place and it was $36 for the 6 week course. Not bad all things considering. Downsides are that we have to pay for snacks and drinks now, but it's in a nice place with a really good floor.
Last night we were told that the fees for the next six weeks are going to be like $40+. Not a big deal, tho right? But, they also announced that the place we're dancing at is going to start having a membership - $60 a year. Again, not a bad price, all things considering. But that $60 doesn't include all the lessons and stuff. That's just to come out and dance. So, I dunno. I'm half concerned with this place continually adding fees. Knowing that 1) its the only source of income for the people that own it, 2) their house partially or complete burned a coupla months ago, 3) their having some issues with the insurance company, and 4) the husband isn't really co-operating with the insurance company all coupled with 5) I'm a cynical bastard and 6) a paranoid one at that, mean that I'm not too happy about this.
But I like the dancing.
- Mood:
cranky
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