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The Bird, No End.

 I’ve never really seen you, though I see you every day. Almost, every day. Your eyes are the only thing that gives you away; they are the only part of you that conveys something deeper inside you, something more then your eccentric exterior. The window to your soul, the window no one ever looks into, because you close the blinds and the shutters, and you make them look away. You make them all look away. Your hair is long and dread locked, dried up, and braided with dark coloured ribbons, of dirty purples and blue. I think it could be nice if you let it down sometime, clean and loose around your face, but that’s not you. Long hair is a shield, as if you’re trying to hide behind it, hide parts of you, but you don’t care do you? You have nothing to hide, nothing that needs to be shielded and hidden behind a long curtain of darkness. But you do. You have lots that you keep hidden. That no one finds. That no one looks for. Because you won’t let people look.
 I notice when your not there. I notice everything. Almost, everything. I noticed your sketch in class one day, you were sitting in front and to the side of me, I could see it over your shoulder, you weren’t trying to hide it, you have nothing to hide. It was a bird in a cage. The cage wasn’t made of metal or wire, the cage was made of marble, of bones, and stone. But the cage was open. The bird was free but it was caged. It didn’t understand it then. You wouldn’t have told me if I asked. I told you I liked it, I said you had talent. You walked away from me and through it in the nearest bin, a rejected crumpled ball, that wasn’t good enough, because someone else thought it was. And it felt as if you through away me, a rejected crumpled ball, that wasn’t good enough, though I never thought I was. I picked it up; I have it on my wall. Is that weird? Do you think it’s weird? Do you think I’m weird? Do you think about me at all? I tore at my head trying to understand. A free bird, in a cage made of bone. A cage made of stone, with no door. I didn’t understand it, I didn’t understand you. I do now. I do now.
 I look at you and see freedom. I see something I can never grasp. Almost never. I think that maybe that’s why I’m drawn to you, and maybe that’s why you’re drawn away from everyone and everyone from you. I am not drawn away. I am pushed. Pushed by your freedom. You represent freedom to me, in a different way then norm though, I don’t see open expression, I don’t see open plains, or wide skies on which you fly. I don’t see endless space. And I don’t see vast spaces of nothing. The doors are always closed on you. No one really directs talk at you, or asks you questions, yet they wouldn’t tease or torment you. They wouldn’t dare. It’s like an unspoken code, that you exist and are to be left that way. I think that’s why your freedom. No one looks your way. You won’t let them look. You won’t let them see. You won’t let me in. And in that you are free. But I don’t think it’s that simple. I think that you in a way aren’t free, you are caged inside the openness of the world. The sky doesn’t cover, it swallows. There is freedom yes, on the outside, the part that you cannot hide. The part that you can hide, that you do, there is the cage. The bird is you.
 I told you that, one day at school. I wanted to, but I didn’t. Almost, didn’t. It came up before I could stop it, and you reacted before you could stop it. The bird is you, I said, quietly, but so you could hear. You looked at me, straight into my eyes, nodded once, and said, no end. And time and place ceased. Everyone, thing and it ceased to exist. The orbit ceased. And I was strangely there. I was more there then I had ever been, and you had already looked away and gone. No end. I didn’t even have to think, I thought I understood, the bird was the key, the bird is you. You are the bird, the world is your cage, and there is no end. Eternity has no idea, therefore stop digging. No end.
 I didn’t want to speak to you again. I didn’t want to approach you. Almost, didn’t. So I wrote a note, an almost letter and next to it I drew the bird, I drew you. I wrote;
 Bird,
No end.
I understand.
Eternity has no end, therefore stop digging.
The cage is open Bird,
Fly away.
I understand.
 And you returned the note, the almost letter, the piece of myself back, you put it by my bag at the end of one class. You wouldn’t do it in person. I would though. You wrote next to my scrawl, you finished the sentence. You wrote;
 Eternity has no end, therefore stop digging. Stop digging. Stop digging. Stop digging.
 I wondered if you were compulsive. I wondered what you meant by that. Then I noticed the bird, I noticed the pencil rendition of you. Your eye was now the symbol of eternity, the snake eating its tail. And so we returned to the dark ages. We sent letters to one another. We wrote down our souls. I drew you, and you edited. You drew meanings that I couldn’t quite grasp; only once did you explain. I tried to understand. Sometimes your words got fewer. Sometimes all you wrote was no end. I called you Bird, you didn’t call me anything. I didn’t have a name, I never signed my name. I was the nothing of us. And then one day, you explained.
 No End,
Black and white is not straightforward. It is a reference used often as a means to simplify things. If I were to write myself in black and white it would take a life time. And yet I drew myself in black and white. And I rid myself of it. And you found it. I gave myself, without meaning it, at all, to you. The cage is inside me. You understand that. The bird is me. You understand that. The cage is not however metal, this you don’t understand. This you won’t understand without this, without me. Marble and bone and stone, represent death and knowledge and lies. Marble is death, because it will always survive. Marble is a strong rock, and in death we survive. The cage will never die, it will never leave. The bird is always caged. Bone, is knowledge, it is the structure and picture of our form, the protector of our brains, and therefore our knowledge, our security, our power. Power is breakable, as are bones; knowledge however is everlasting, as are bones. Stone is a single word resembling the cliché, written in stone, finality and truth, hence also the lies. There is no beginning to this cage, and no end to it. It will always remain.
 No End.
 It was only ever once a quote. All the other times I wrote it down; I wrote it as a name. A symbol of what you are. If I am Bird, then you are No End. I am Freedom, you are Eternity.
 I’ve never really seen you, though I see you every day. Almost, every day. You exposed to much of yourself to me in that letter. And you never wrote back. You let someone in. You opened your window and filled your lungs with clean air. They’ll never look at you again. They’ll never try, they never did. You won’t let them, you wouldn’t let them. There is one difference though. There’s now someone sitting beside you. Someone else who is different, who hides their eyes and doesn’t talk anymore and doesn’t let people look, and they don’t try. By they don’t leave her alone either. They’ll never leave me alone. I’m the girl that will always sit beside you, some days we’ll talk. Some days we’ll draw together. But they’ll always torment, and tease, they’ll throw every ounce of self hate and issue into my being, I’m the easy target now, you even painted a bull’s eye on my forehead one day. I laughed at myself, at them, at you, at the world. And the world laughed at me. I still have your picture, but it’s been edited. The cage around you has a door now. I am your door. You shut your cage, but you shut me in. And now neither of us can get out. But neither of us will let the other in. Bird and No End. Everything and Nothing.
And you said one day, It’s the end, No End.

Hiya Everyone..
I write short stories and poems.
This is one of my stories.
Please read it and give me your thoughts.
Send them to brokenhrt101@gmail.com
Thanks a bunch.

***

Losing It…
“Kristen! Are you all right!?” Aunt Rebecca yelled as soon as she entered the hospital room. I just smiled weekly as her reply.
 “I’ve been better.” She ran towards me and threw her arms around my neck.
 “I will be forever grateful for what you did today! You came in front of that truck to save my s-son! “ She broke on the last word and burst into tears on my shoulder. I stroked her hair awkwardly.
 “Hey, you know what? It’s fine. No permanent damage, but my legs did really hurt running towards Aaron. After getting pregnant, I don’t think I ever ran like that.” I laughed at the end, but Aunt Rebecca didn’t join in. In fact, she looked even paler then she did when she first came in the room. Soon, I saw Damien at the door.
 “Damien, what did—“I cut short. I noticed something. Something that made me draw my breath in. He was crying. “Damien, I’m fine! Look, it’s me!” This made him smile ever so slightly and he came towards me. He sat at the edge of my bed, leaned in and kissed my forehead softly. When he got up I took hold of his hand. “Damien, is something bugging you?” I asked, wishing that the answer was no. But his grip on my hand got a little tighter.
 “Kristen…” He trailed off after that. I was growing impatient now.
 “Damien, what is it?” I was hoping I kept my impatience on the down-low, but I could even hear it myself.
 “Kristen, somebody died in the accident.” He looked into my eyes. I was confused now.
 “But there was only me, Aaron, and that truck driver. Aaron was fine, the truck driver didn’t look damaged at all. Who could have died? ” I asked skeptically. But then all of a sudden it dawned on me.
 “Damien…was it…?” I trailed off, feeling the tears gathering in my eyes as it sunk in. He sullenly nodded, keeping his own eyes down.
 “It was our b-baby.” He choked up at the end and he too put his arms around me. I tucked my head in his shoulder and cried. I could feel his tears dropping on my head. I don’t know how long we sat like that, crying. All I kept thinking was God, why? Ever since me and Damien had gotten married last spring, we both really wanted a baby. And when I got pregnant, we were the happiest people in the world. But now…
 “Kristen, your father is here and he wants to see you.” Aunt Rebecca announced at the door. I didn’t realize that she had left the room. Damien got up and I straightened up. My father? Why would he be here?
 “No, don’t let him in.” At the name of even mentioning my father, his evil doings replayed like a movie in my head. Every night, after my mother died, he would get drunk and would beat me up for no apparent reason. He was never happy with me. He would remind me ever day or when ever he got the chance that I was a big screw up. And he wasn’t drunk when he would say that. Once when I was 13 years old, he had hurt me so much, I ran away to go live with Aunt Rebecca. Ever since then she had been my guardian.
 “Kristen, I think you should let him in.” I looked at Aunt Rebecca as if she had 3 heads. But her eyes were very serious.
 “Have you lost it?” I blurted out. But she shook her head.
 “No, I haven’t Kristen, but you have to forgive. Your father looks like he will break down if he doesn’t see you. And the Lord said that you have to love your enemies.” You see? This is what you get for having a Christian aunt: Preaching for little things when ever she got the chance.
 “But Aunt Rebecca, he doesn’t even know that Damien and I are married! What if the doctor talked to him and he knows that the baby died?” I could just imagine his reaction.
 “Tell him now then, no better time like the present.” I just looked at her. She gave Damien a look and he nodded. They both left my room. I gave a huge sigh and fell back in my pillow, awaiting my doom.
 My father came rushing into my room, Damien at his heels. He mouthed the words “I’ll be right here.” I nodded slightly.
 I braced myself but what came to me was shock. My father had his arms around me, not strangling, but hugging. I could tell my shock showed and Damien’s too, but my dad didn’t notice. I guess Damien thought we were having a father-daughter moment so he left the room, but watched us through the window. Oh boy, did I regret him leaving.
 As soon as my dad realized Damien left, he got off me. He whipped out his hand and slapped me across the face, hard. I didn’t even have time to defend myself.
 “You stupid b*tch! The doctor says you lost your baby! I want to know what damn baby?!” He was yelling and Damien ran in the room and grabbed hold of him, but that didn’t stop him from yelling. Of course, Damien spoke up. At least, he tried to.
 “Mr. Harrison—“
 “Your not even f—king married!” He started screaming now. I started crying and put my hand on my stinging cheek.
 “Dad!” I screamed, as soon as he tried to lunge towards me again, but didn’t succeed because of Damien’s grip. “I am married!” This made everything freeze. “Dad, meet my husband, Damien.” Dad slowly turned to face him, then back at me. That was when he lost it.
 “You’re married?! And you didn’t even tell you father?!” He kept on yelling and yelling. “You retarded b*tch! What the f—k is wrong with you?! I knew you were a screw up but this--” By now Uncle Peter, Aunt Rebecca’s husband, came and helped Damien drag him out. I broke down on my pillow and cried and cried. I felt a hand on my shoulder moments later.
 “He won’t be coming back now.” I reached back and grabbed Damien’s hand. I scooted over and made room for him to sit down next to me and he did. I suddenly threw my arms around his neck and buried my head in his shoulder. He out his head on top of mine and kept saying things like “Love, don’t worry, it’ll be okay.” I wanted to ask him how, but resisted.

hi all this is my story for world of wercraft im 10 so bear wiht me ok its not the best splling i got ok so enjoy

                              the wer is on
  
             

                      i did not do much on my durd its lvl 6 going on lvl 7 so win i get to lvl 10 i can chang into a bear and keep up with my lvl 30 friends i want to ironforg to get some stff realy amor and a new weopon so it will do for now till lvl 10 noting to do form ther out
                            PART 2
             
                          ok i went noth of stomwind to goldshier on the battle feld and i was on my alt xkiller hes lvl 4 i went pvp and ther lvl 70 blood elf ther he killed me 3 times the end
   


 I KNOW IT SUCKED I WAS BETER WIRTING IT SO YA LOL IF YOU WANT TO TALK TO ME ABOT IF YOU WANT MY HELP IM NOT REALY LVL 6 MY MAIN IS LVL 21 I JUST NOW PLAY MY DURID SO IF YOU WANT HELP EMAIL ME AT HOLLERATME4@HOTMAIL.COM THANK YOU.

Introduction:

It had always seemed strange to him that people acted as they did, but never strange enough for him to take any time out of his day to delve into the situation too deeply.
 This is not to say, however, that he connected with absolutely no one, and, in fact, most who knew him would have pinned him as quite the sociable and likeable fellow. And he was. His friends, although in reality had absolutely no idea who he actually was, were viewed under a more than positive light. They were genuine, funny, and most of all, intelligent.
 At this point in the story, some explaining will be in order, however, it must be stated that our friend did not believe that most people were, by any measure, intelligent. On the contrary, he was fairly convinced that aside from perhaps some unthinkably small percent of the human population, people were largely foolish and slow. But what disturbed him the most was what appeared to be an inability, or a lack of desire, to actually understand.
 He had always felt this way, but unfortunately had never been able to lend any sort of useable definition to what it was that they didn’t understand, and that he did understand. On several occasions, he had even contemplated his own insanity, believing them to be the one’s who understood, and he the lone, confused soldier who still stands proudly armed years after the war has ended.
 But he was not, and he had never even held a gun. All jeers aside, this word, understand, followed him around like an assassin, slowly planning the moment when our friend’s time was up. The assassin’s scope was never far from his temple, and with each person he interacted with, he knew the trigger finger was slowly tightening.
 
 Are we dealing with some metaphysical maniac, here, you may ask? Does this personal truly believe that the essence of an indefinable English word is following him around, ready to snipe and flee? Let us hope not. For if that may be the case, the book to following will be a disturbingly large waste of time, and our new friend a complete and utter dunce. On that note, let us continue.

NoT sUavE At ALL

Anyway, I probably shouldn't tell you this but what the hell..am sure if it hasn't happened to you it will soon or later. Yours trully was as usual feeling really good about himself..for a number of reasons but to name a couple; I was presentable and my music was making me smile. This happened in the subway right after leaving Runnymede station heading east in our beloved RED ROCKET. I was listening to the Artist formerly known as Prince.. Musicology!.. subconsciously moving my body to the beat because the brother can sing! Lifting up my eyes, I found myself hypnotized by a pair of eyes from a heavenly dimension..big, clear and kinda soft..naturally, am a boobs man but these eyes were an exception...So like the law of nature intended, I started tracing her territory downwards..thick full lips, a neck meant for a goddess and YES, she had class. ..I know this because I WAS THERE DAMNIT!..she dressed like she had a purpose in life..crisp white shirt tucked into a pair of nice fitting black pants which almost covered her ankles..Open milkish high heels finished the total package look..My body must have betrayed me because when I looked up, a knowing smile on her face made me feel exposed like a hooker in church. All of a sudden the music in my ears sounds like construction noises..I became acutely aware of my movements..Now, I have never danced to construction noises, so you can understand and appreciate how I felt. Her gaze on me remained steady but friendly until I became completely motionless. Now, should I look away or say something? I have never been this clueless !!! "What are you listening to?" The words rang in my ears for what seemed like eternity. Before my frozen brain could process any possible answers i heard my mouth talking; "Nothing"..What the hell? NOTHING? that's what yours trully said..NOTHING! ..."aah, prince..I am listening to prince"..finally an answer worthy of some respect...but now what?..should I add to that?...She saved me again by mentioning that she loves the singer..All I could do was state the obvious.."I love him too"..what? did I just say "i love prince"?? WTF?? "I mean I love HIS music", I corrected myself much to her pleasure..now she has absolute control on this situation..and the HUGE SMILE on her face is her trophy..I started looking for an exit strategy..THANK GOD for High Park station..yours trully managed a somewhat dignified exit with a quick.."ok cya" then i vanished... NOT SUAVE AT ALL!

Hi Folks!
 
Windows vista is also causing lots of boot problems, so I often get questions like this:
 
I have a Dell Dimension, which won’t boot to Windows (Vista), and none the repair variants work:
 
Startup repair: Reports repair fail due to problem with registry
 
System Restore: Reports no restore points available
 
Windows Complete PC Restore: Reports no backups available
 
Windows Memory Diagnostic Tool: No memory problems
 
Command Prompt.
Can’t think of any appropriate command to use here.
 
So I booted with the system DVD (as one would with XP) but the upgrade
option has been greyed don’t want to do a clean setup. I want to repair existing
installation.
 
What should I do?
 
--------------------------------------------------------- --
 
And here is the answer:
 
You can't do a 'repair install' because you need to launch the Vista DVD
from within Windows, not, as you have been doing, booting straight from the
DVD; that is why the 'upgrade' is greyed out.
 
If you cannot launch Vista and none of the repair options will work a clean
install is the only other variant.
 
To save problems in future it is actually a good idea to image the hard
drive, using something like True Image. What I do is install operating system, download all updates, check system I working okay for a day or two, activate system, then image the drive/partition. Any time I get a problem I can re-image the drive/partition quickly and be up and running without much trouble. And minor repairs are done by using any registry fix software, there are plenty of them on the market today.
 
Cheers,
Carl

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Edited by author 01-03-2009 04:56 PM
I don't know who the name of the author of the followin story. I found it on a computer at Fort Ben Harrison in 1985. However it is a great story.

                                          The New Discipline


   Lilly Carter stopped abruptly before the double steel door, forcing herself to look at the white envelope in her left hand. A few seconds were sufficient to snap off the wandering thoughts, to find comfort in the odds, and to escape the haunting fear that made her two minutes late this morning---the first time in over thirty years.
 She quickly made her entrance and headed towards the sixty-two people standing quietly at the far end of the room. As the door clicked shut behind her, she was aware of puncturing an absolute silence with the clapping rhythm of her heels on the polished wooden floor. coming to rest at the edge of the group, she turned to the center and gave Mr. Matthews a pleasant nod. This was returned with a deep frown and a deliberate long look at the wall clock. Having made this reprimand for her tardiness, Mr. Matthews ran his pencil down the attendance sheets, gave two affirmative shakes of his head and walked back several steps to whisper to the deputy sheriff who was standing by the temporary table set in the center of the basketball court.
 This was the third annual Selection Day, and already the tradition was established at Fremont Junior High that the business was to be transacted in silence. There was none of the restricted chattering and occasional snickering that so often filtered through the regular teacher meetings. Today they were clustered it one end of the large multi-purpouse room, each teacher clutching a white envelope, and each looking significantly solemn.
 Mr. Matthews, whose original administrative experience came as an Army Major in World War II, cleared his throat. This was the recognized signal that he was about to speak--a habit that gave him their attention without the necessity of addressing them with the too formal "Ladies and Gentlemen", or the too informal "teachers".
 "Please arrange yourselves in some kind of alphabetical order", he announced, "and as I call your name give the envelope to Deputy Johnson. Stop at the box until he deposits your envelope."
 At this point Mr. Matthews opened the thick black book he was holding and began to read, "Section 834, Paragraph B, of the California Education Code states:
 'The teacher will give the envelope to the assigned deputy and the deputy will deposit the envelope in the box as the teacher observes.'"


                                                  (1)


     He snapped shut the book, executed a modified about face and walked back to the table. Both he and the deputy inserted keys in the opposite sides of a white metallic box. The lid sprang up and the two men checked the box to make certain it was empty. With this ritual completed, Mr. Mathews picked up his clipboard from the table and began calling the names, slowly, distinctly, "Mr. Adams...Mrs. Barber...Mr. Bisson..."
 Miss Lilly Carter tried desperately to ignore the tightening nerves in her stomach as she watched her white envelope sink into the box. This was the first year that any of her students really deserved to have his name put into the process. "And Steve Jones did deserve it", she told herself as she was walking down the outside corridor to the first period class, "if anyone deserved it,Steve did."
 Her first period English class was busy doing the assignment on the board. Miss Carter slipped into the chair behind her desk and looked around the class. It was an eighth grade group; she had to remind herself that it was so. Forty students, and every one of them reading or jotting down notes in reference to the assignment. Four years ago she would not have hoped for a class to enter a room by itself and get to work; they would have been dancing in the corridors, squirting water and tossing chalk. No more was there giggling, whispering and daily gum chewing. There was very little day-dreaming, and the actual work was twice as difficult. But it was different now from what it used to be, and it was Selection Day that made the great change. In two years, California soared from forty-second to first place in the standings on the National Tests.
 Lilly Carter knew that it was better this way; it was almost too good. None of the students called her "Cartwheel" anymore, nor did they refer to her as "Silly-Lilly" behind her back--and at one time it wasn't too far behind her back. And she smiled as she recalled the olives someone would leave on her desk each year to remind her of her aging virginity. And the old days of exasperation, of exhaustion, of back-talk, they were only a rancid memory. She used to give them busy-work by the week---to shut them up. Yes, if one considered all the good that came from it, then it was worth it. It was better. But...and she shivered slightly as she thought of the cost.
 She stood up behind the desk. "All right, class," she said in her soft, controlled voice, "I want you to finish this two page character analysis for homework. Since we have a few minutes before the bell, would someone care to discus the approach he is taking?"
 
                                                  (2)

 Twenty hands went up. After sweeping across the class with her eyes, she left them rest on a boy in the end row by the windows. "Dave, let's have your ideas."
 David Green stood erectly beside his desk. "Miss Carter," he began in a voice about to acquire the tonal implications of manhood, "as I am developing the character of MacBeth, I recognize two factors. First, I believe he had a real love for Lady MacBeth; this influenced his thinking process, Second, it seems to me his entire philosophical attitude was a sort of existentialist approach to..." Five hands popped into the air, waving frantically; and the bell rang.
 A seventh grade group was next and she became engrossed working with them on their Chaucer vocabulary. She hurried her lunch in the third period and spent part of that and the following period in correcting a play written by the Drama Club. A ninth grade class was in and out before she realized it and it wasn't until the sixth period class was busy reading that she allowed herself to think about Selection Day. She checked the time. It was 2:30; the process was reaching a climax.
 The district had finished selecting its white envelopes by ten o'clock, by eleven the County Superintendent would have picked out the assigned number of envelopes to be sent to Sacramento. One of the men teachers told her only last week that he understood the envelopes from the counties were to be in the Capital by 2:00 p.m. She was aware, suddenly that the selection must be over by now. Could it be her card that now rested on the Governor's desk?
 She concentrated on the book that lay open on her desk, fighting for control of her thoughts. She sensed her stomach contracting again, and felt a growing moisture on her hands. Impossible odds that it was her card! Impossible! Besides, Steve Jones had six teachers, and even if hers won, it didn't have to be her card. But it was impossible! There were two thousand teachers just in this district, and if he won here he would still have to be selected in the County lottery, and finally that one little envelope would have to be picked out by the Governor. Incredulous how weak the human mind can be, how emotional. What odds! The words of the book came into focus and she did not think about Selection Day until the last class began walking into the room.


                                                  (3)


 This was a slow eighth grade class. The last two weeks had been spent on diagraming complex sentences--an impossible task. This was Steve's class, and she watched him from the corner of her eyes as he sat down in the back of the room. No comment from him today, no dirty remarks, no quick jabs into the ribs of Tommy Prada who sat in front. He was sitting quietly, Miss Carter observed, and he was holding a pencil-- the third time this year that he had brought his own pencil. Selection Day certainly had a direct influence on the very bad angles; there was even a slight tension in the extreme reverse that prevailed before the bell. Four or five in this group might be eligible, although in her opinion, Steve Jones was far out in front.
 She was dictating sentences when the sirens were first heard. By the time she was on the third sentence it was evident they had not continued past on the highway; they were turning onto Bridgeport Road. The shrill sirens made it impossible to continue. She expected the fire alarm to burst forth at any moment. A false alarm? Suddenly, the grotesque noise stopped. There was a dying whine and the only sound came from the P.E. classes far across the field.
 She had finished the forth sentence when they paraded past her windows and stopped by the door. Behind Mr. Matthews were two of the deputy superintendents from the Administration Office. They were, in turn followed by four State Policemen.
 "Pardon me, Miss Carter," the principal said, and without waiting for any reply he opened the door wider. For a moment Mr. Matthews looked around the room. He found his object.
  "Steven Jones, will you please come with us." It was not a question. It was not exactly a command. It was more like the voice of doom.
 He got up and shuffled toward the door, wearing a silly grin on his face and rolling his eyes up to the ceiling for the benefit of his special audience. Both hands were in his pockets, like on the day he had taken his elbow and smashed the pencil sharpener. On another day she had caught him cutting dirty words into the formica table top; he strutted then too. But he was four years too late. The world was moving on. When Steven Jones stepped outside the doorway the hushed class was jarred by the cold click of the handcuffs. Steven Jones was walked away between two policemen. From habit, Mr. Matthews eased the door shut that the class might not be disturbed. Lilly Carter finished dictating sentences five to ten.


 (4)


 Thirty-two years of experience made her more a teacher than a woman; she stuck with her class. Her pulse was thumping as she talked about adverbial connectives, and from her armpits droplets of sweat slowly trickled down her body. She had one of her boys go to the board to write a sentence,but she actually saw Steve Jones. Steve Jones strutting into the gas chamber! How real was the metal room she had never seen! Tomorrow morning at ten o'clock his body would grow limp. Gas pellets were quick. They were painless! Absolutely! That's what they said. She dug her nails into the palms of her hands, forcing herself to think, to rationalize. It wasn't her envelope! It didn't have to be!
 What about the mother? How does a mother feel when the State reaches down and takes her son to sacrifice for the advancement of society? My God! Can anything wash away that bitter taste? A sacrifice for the gods of science! As the bell ended the last period, Lilly Carter followed the class from the room. Clutching the jade brooch pinned to her blouse, she half ran down to the office. She would make them take it back! Take it back! Call the Governor! Threaten suicide? Why hadn't the parents in the other two years tested the law? Get an injunction from the Federal Court? Stop it!
 "Oh Miss Carter, I'm sorry. Mr. Matthews is tied up just mow. You know we had the Selected One this year:' The secretarie's eyes grew big, her voice vibrant with excitement. "Right here, just now, Steven Jones! Mr. Matthews is talking to the parents. Maybe I shouldn't have said it, but..." The telephone rang.
 "Yes, I know. I'll...I'll wait.", Lilly Carter said and the secretary motioned her to a seat while listening to the voice on the phone.
 She sat on a folding chair directly across the hall from the door marked principal. She heard the secretary saying, "Yes right here, today! Just a few minutes ago. Talk about excitement, you can imagine, why..." The door to the office opened slightly and Miss Carter sat transfixed.
 "That $100,000 helps a lot. Actually what it is is for the betterment of our country, to keep ahead of the Russians. Don,t you think, Mr. Matthews?"
 Mr. Matthews was clearing his throat as the door swung completely open. :Yes it is, Mrs. Jones. We have most certainly raised the level of education in California. We have motivated the young people, made their school experiences more meaningful. We are a stronger nation for it. Only, it's so...so bad when it's here, when, when...", he stopped for lack of words.
 
 (5)

 "Oh, it's our duty," the woman said, stepping out into the hall. Her heavy mascara was very slightly spread and she held a handkerchief between her hands. "That tax free $100,000, that helps. That will be nice. We'll get him a real nice funeral and all. Steve, he'd been a trouble maker anyhow. Nothin's not gonna change a kid when he gets Steve's age, you know? He might of caused a lot of bad trouble before he got caught. Now, he's sorta' servin' a great purpose. He's better off this way, ain't he George?"
 With his head, her husband agreed.
 "Well", Mr. Matthews said, again clearing his throat, "you can pick up the check tomorrow from the Superintendent, and you will have six months to decide
whether or not you want to take the Environmental Change Option and relocate in Australia. If you decide to, the State will pay for your trip and buy you a new home down under." He stopped talking and walked them a few steps toward the main office.
 "I think we'll be a movin'," Mr. Jones said.
 "You bet we'll move Mr. Matthews," the woman said as the two of them reached the end of the short hall. "In fact, we've been a savin' a big scrap book on Australia for the last three years. Ever since Stevie took that rock and busted up the toilet bowl over at Jefferson Elementary School. Sydney's nice, so is Melbourne, and then there's Canberra...and..."
 "Well, good luck, folks, I have some things to look after."
 "Same to you, Mr. Matthews," They said almost in harmony and walked out.
 "Miss Carter?"
 She looked at him with a blank mind. Deep inside her latent sense of duty made her say, "Mr. Matthews, I'll need permission to have two evening rehearsals next week."
 "Fine, fine."

(not so much a story.... eh)


I said, “Fuck life”
“No…
Fuck, YOU!” was the reply.

“I am life, the beginning and end equally,
The unknown things that make you step fearfully.
I have no intention; I exist only as an extension of necessity
So please don’t say fuck in any sentence that you mention me.

Fuck me….?
We’ll see who laughs last mate when you get further down this pathway,
What you see becomes untrue; the stars shine with only half feeling,
Facing yourself isn’t easy, especially when you see what you’ve come to.
The seams of reality seem unglued,
Clarity appears, as two parts of a sum I can’t do.
It won’t add up, just part of a half-truth

You can only walk so far, before you’re crawling to the mental ward
And any call for help is merely stalling what you went there for.”

With no passion to start with, and nowhere to run to
I plead for the darkness to consume the sun too,
My pain is constant and sharp, yet honest and selfless
Hard to not feel powerless, hard to not feel helpless.

The only opinion I’ve ever felt, with a firm, gut conviction,
Is the world can get fucked, and burn with the friction.

Fictions universal, this is the only real certainty
Everywhere I turn there’s a hurdle there to burden me
Like the dirty mop you can’t clean up with
Everywhere I go I leave a path of fucked shit

I fantasise about my death,
Through the eyes of an enemy or opposite,
As life was lent to me by someone mentally incompetent,
And every single step simply added debt on top of it.

What words are there, for a writer’s funeral?
If I had it my way no one would say anything.
Just enjoy with a knowing smile, the bittersweet irony,
Of celebrating a poets life, completely silently

Consider the hurt you do faking an interest, but laughing on the inside
They may be just words to you, but to me it’s the path to insight
Introspection is a cunt; I always hate what I see
But at least I’ve got the balls face what I believe
At least no matter what, my thoughts are free,
And any course I plot, is probably not where I’ll head
Because I’ll stop to smell the roses, and get lost instead.

I love Marijuana and LSD.

Truest omen of peace,
I toke through the glowing heat,
With a spark and flame
One sharp breath, but no lasting pain,
No lasting anything,
No path or guidance

No answers provided-
And no questions regardless,
On this green magic carpet
There’s no thinking required,

It’s much more interesting
To just ride the excitement.
Just don’t over-think it,
Use your eyes, not your brain
Don’t try to understand, just rely on instinct

You won’t cease to breathe
Or see pink elephants,
But you might feel a twitch,
When the relief becomes evident,
As all the bullshit separates
And succumbs to severance.

Don’t complicate it,
Just BREATHE,
And let your life float away with it.

In the mind of the lungs,
Every breath is only relevant,
Until the very second,
It gets to the heart and enters it
It doesn’t need to dwell on it,
Just prepare for the exhale.
No need to improve on what’s natural,
JUST FUCKING BREATHE.

Life can be just this simple!
Time to me is a connection of endless thought,
Not a path or a direction to head toward.
60 years from now I will be on my deathbed.
This is an important factor in the equation of life.
(That is: time – life = death).
And once I’m dead,
I become nothing more than a nutritious meal for some opportunistic worms.











Now the way I figure it is,
I’ll just spend as much time being happy as possible,
Everything pretty much works itself out after that.
If that means one day I wake up and don’t like who I am anymore,
I’ll just change,
Whatever happens to interest me at the time,
I’ll be doing,
Nothing will stop me, not a handicap, not kids, not some dirty conniving whore of a wife.

Only death,
And even death will be smiling as he watches me
Laugh my arse off the whole six feet down.

I’ll just leave everything behind and start again,
Who says that relationships have to be for life anyway?
Humans are way too volatile to spend that long together,
And so we fucking should be,
Spontaneous, always changing, growing.
You can’t have all that good shit without some tears somewhere,
But fuck, tears dry up. Life goes on
I’d prefer to have numerous serious partners in my life than just one,
More to learn, more to enjoy, more to laugh about.
I’ll take five years of love and happiness,
And a separation on good terms,
Over a lifetime of duty to a piece of worthless paper anyday.

Fuck marriage,
Not for me.
If you are and that makes you happy, then i'm happy for you
But I’m content with the knowledge that,
In my life, I reserve the right,
At any moment, for any reason
To just walk away.
With life inside me,
A pipe in my hand.
And a cloud of smoke behind me

Walking sideways,
Eyes glazed in amazement,
Proud of the fact;
My mind is sky scraping

Everything alive, with any sense of purpose,
Seeks some sort of relief, from the ride that Earth is.
Searching for release, not planning to escape
Surfing existence, not standing in its way.
Blur the lines between reality and perspective.
Because at the end of it all,
All you are: Is the thoughts you’ve collected


Fuck I need a drink..

Women. Why do we do the things we do? Is it really us? Are we the problem? According to a man, yes! But are we all really screaming at the top of our lungs bimbo cunts that men make us out to be? Or is it all a reaction? Do we do what we do because we want to see how men or even the same sex GO LESBOS! Will react to what we say an do? I think so! We do things and expect a man or woman to react a certain way. When they don’t do what we want, we get PISSED!!! Which is ok, don’t get me wrong I’m not dogging on Woman because I is one! But from what I’ve heard from past relationship, and friends, strangers, some redneck pigs (yes there are nice ones!) that I’m a problem. And from the sound of it my psyco ways, and horrible driving is what is wrong with the world today. I don’t think so. This is to all the men out there. COMMON SENSE boys don’t do shit you know will piss us off! Have a thought process. I’m not dogging on men either, because everybody knows I enjoy a nice manly slice of fuck berry pie now an again. And Girls maybe we should take a chill pill every now an again an not jump to conclusions. Because maybe he is telling the truth when he say’s he can’t hang out because he promised grandma Mable that he’d cut her toe nails. That’s reasonable right?
And honestly ladies and gentleman if trust is a serious issue in you an your beefcakes or creampuffs union than maybe its time to cut the cord. A nobody wants to be alone, but masterbation is always good for the moring period(if not your doing it wrong!) Beware of casual sex! Little innocent Suesie May belle Goodie tooshoes can have a nasty case of the herpes or a not so happy round of the clap! And if you don’t think aides is an issue GET A FUCKING CLUE YOU MORON!!!!! I am NOT A CUNT!!! AND Either are you, men get your shit together women chill out!!!