Thank you, Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal!
I'm feeling a little absent-minded today....
Posts
I’m Giving You Flowers
11 months ago
11.06.2008
11.03.2008
Thought for the Day III: A Quote
"You want to know, I suppose, what turns a nice little girl like me into a cold blooded murderer. You want the truth? You want to know why I did it? Why I killed all those girls? It’s because I like it. I don't expect you to understand what it’s like. You have no idea. To hold someone’s life in your hands. To be in control.
There’s always that moment of acknowledgement between a killer and their victim. That instant when she realizes your power, and she looks at you and you look at her, and she pleads with her eyes. She begs for mercy, for her life. And you have a split second to decide: To save her, well that’s great. You could give her her life back, give her back to her family and friends, the people that love her. But to kill her... That’s something different. To remove her from this earth, to take away the thing that most value above all: Her life. Now that’s real power. None of these girls deserved their lives. Look at them! The musician, the actor, the writer, the dancer, the artist, the model. None of them appreciated what they had. They were the best. And that meant nothing to them. I’ve never been the best. Always smart, but never the smartest. Pretty, but never the prettiest. Talented, but never the most talented. But despite all this, I always thought I was special. I thought there was something inside me, lurking within, that would make me great. I’ve never been content with the idea of simply living my life, dying, and being forgotten. That’s just not me. I want to be remembered for my achievements. And I will be, won't I? Sure, you're disgusted by what I’ve done. You're horrified, You think I'm a monster. But I can guarantee that you're not going to go home to your boring lives and just forget me. Oh no. I'm willing to bet I'll be on your mind for quite some time.
I used to think I could find other ways to be recognized. I wanted to be famous for a while. But then I realized how stupid that is. People would want to be me, without really knowing what that means. Then I thought of being a lawyer... Me! I thought, ‘if I save lives, people will worship me.’ But I realized, not long ago now, not long before I killed for the first time, that saving people isn't enough. I could save the lives of one hundred people, and they would be grateful, and so would their families and friends. But what about everyone else? They'd see me on the news and think, ‘Huh. That’s nice.’ Then change the channel to something else. But what if I killed just one person and not just kill them, brutally murder them. With my bare hands, staring them right in the eye. Not for revenge, not for personal gain, because I like killing. People would pay attention then. The whole world would stop, with me in the center. Everyone looking at me. And I know what you're all thinking. I can see the looks on your faces. You think I'm just an attention seeking little kid, but I'm not. I just want someone to notice me. All my life I’ve stayed in the background. There’s always been that one student who gets better marks than me, That one teacher who makes me feel stupid, that one friend who always shuts me down, that one parent who’s not interested, that one sibling who overshadows my achievements with theirs. And nobody even cares. I just want you to think. And don't act like this doesn't apply to you, sergeant, ‘cause it does. You're just the sort to do it. You've done it to me... Next time you're going to put someone down, point out their faults, make them feel stupid, be-little them, think about me, then think about them, and what they could do to you. How much would you respect them if they had their hands around your neck, and they had the choice: To release their grip on your throat, or to just keep pressing. Think about it. "
-Elizabeth, Cold Blooded Murderer by Pen Wilson
There’s always that moment of acknowledgement between a killer and their victim. That instant when she realizes your power, and she looks at you and you look at her, and she pleads with her eyes. She begs for mercy, for her life. And you have a split second to decide: To save her, well that’s great. You could give her her life back, give her back to her family and friends, the people that love her. But to kill her... That’s something different. To remove her from this earth, to take away the thing that most value above all: Her life. Now that’s real power. None of these girls deserved their lives. Look at them! The musician, the actor, the writer, the dancer, the artist, the model. None of them appreciated what they had. They were the best. And that meant nothing to them. I’ve never been the best. Always smart, but never the smartest. Pretty, but never the prettiest. Talented, but never the most talented. But despite all this, I always thought I was special. I thought there was something inside me, lurking within, that would make me great. I’ve never been content with the idea of simply living my life, dying, and being forgotten. That’s just not me. I want to be remembered for my achievements. And I will be, won't I? Sure, you're disgusted by what I’ve done. You're horrified, You think I'm a monster. But I can guarantee that you're not going to go home to your boring lives and just forget me. Oh no. I'm willing to bet I'll be on your mind for quite some time.
I used to think I could find other ways to be recognized. I wanted to be famous for a while. But then I realized how stupid that is. People would want to be me, without really knowing what that means. Then I thought of being a lawyer... Me! I thought, ‘if I save lives, people will worship me.’ But I realized, not long ago now, not long before I killed for the first time, that saving people isn't enough. I could save the lives of one hundred people, and they would be grateful, and so would their families and friends. But what about everyone else? They'd see me on the news and think, ‘Huh. That’s nice.’ Then change the channel to something else. But what if I killed just one person and not just kill them, brutally murder them. With my bare hands, staring them right in the eye. Not for revenge, not for personal gain, because I like killing. People would pay attention then. The whole world would stop, with me in the center. Everyone looking at me. And I know what you're all thinking. I can see the looks on your faces. You think I'm just an attention seeking little kid, but I'm not. I just want someone to notice me. All my life I’ve stayed in the background. There’s always been that one student who gets better marks than me, That one teacher who makes me feel stupid, that one friend who always shuts me down, that one parent who’s not interested, that one sibling who overshadows my achievements with theirs. And nobody even cares. I just want you to think. And don't act like this doesn't apply to you, sergeant, ‘cause it does. You're just the sort to do it. You've done it to me... Next time you're going to put someone down, point out their faults, make them feel stupid, be-little them, think about me, then think about them, and what they could do to you. How much would you respect them if they had their hands around your neck, and they had the choice: To release their grip on your throat, or to just keep pressing. Think about it. "
-Elizabeth, Cold Blooded Murderer by Pen Wilson
A Bowl of Paradise
A bowl of clam chowder from the "Chowder Bowl", Nye beach....
and Wax Works....
AMAZING
Don't believe me? Ask the locals:
10.27.2008
10.21.2008
10.15.2008
Synaptic Pruning
I love the phrase "synaptic pruning", it's so dynamic... I think I may use it as the title of my next story.
For those of you unfamiliar with psychology or the brain, synaptic pruning is when irrelevant and unused connections in the brain fade away. I drew a picture of a robotic brain today. It has three skinny little robot legs and buggy eyes. I'll post it when I get a chance to scan it.
I was going through the photos on my camera today and I found this interesting picture:
"Soldier Among the Wreckage"
It was taken in the 4-H building at this year's state fair. They had a Lego table set up.
"Teach her... impeach her... beseech her... reach her... what a creature... it's time... let's rhyme." - Sybil, Flora Rheta Schreiber
For those of you unfamiliar with psychology or the brain, synaptic pruning is when irrelevant and unused connections in the brain fade away. I drew a picture of a robotic brain today. It has three skinny little robot legs and buggy eyes. I'll post it when I get a chance to scan it.
I was going through the photos on my camera today and I found this interesting picture:
"Soldier Among the Wreckage"
It was taken in the 4-H building at this year's state fair. They had a Lego table set up.
"Teach her... impeach her... beseech her... reach her... what a creature... it's time... let's rhyme." - Sybil, Flora Rheta Schreiber
10.12.2008
Yay! Drawings!
I finally got a chance to use the scanner last night, so I scanned some of my most recent drawings. Here they are!
10.07.2008
Yesterday
Yesterday
I conquered my fear of bees
(with a surprising amount of ease).
I was waiting for my class,
sitting in the hallway on my ass.
Reading yet another book,
when downward I did look.
I found on my green jacket,
to my surprise, a yellow jacket!
To stay calm, I tried my best,
as my heart stopped dead in my chest.
I took my book and swatted it away,
(what did you think I would say?)
It began to crawl across the floor,
now I aimed to even out the score.
Beneath my book it was flattened,
before it even knew what happened.
This was not a fatal blow which
only caused it to flail and twitch.
To be sure, I hit it again
I wanted it dead (amen)
Sure enough, it gave it final throes
after my two deathblows.
I emerged victorious,
it was glorious.
I'd conquered my fear of bees.
This happened yesterday, but I figured telling it poetically would be more fun.
10.02.2008
People = Shit
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jd6IqF7znWE
Sign the petition to stop this.
http://animalsaviors.org
I have nothing more to say
Sign the petition to stop this.
http://animalsaviors.org
I have nothing more to say
9.30.2008
9.29.2008
Random (one of many)
"Clarkson, Parkson," her mother rhymed. "Park son, park daughter." - Sybil, by Flora Rita Schreiber
9.28.2008
Today...
It's just one of those days. One of those days when you just seem to float from here to there without really thinking about where you are going; yet you get where you need to go. My nose is running. My head is congested and painful. Tea is warming. Gypsy Cold Care.... Tomorrow is another day. Hopefully I'll feel better.9.26.2008
Darkness and Dawn
Here's a short story I wrote for the Writer's Journal "Write to Win" contest. The contest rules were simple: write a story (fiction or nonfiction) that is 1500 words or less and uses a selected starter phrase. The starter phrase this time was "Those ungrateful..."
So, without further ado, Darkness and Dawn...
“Those ungrateful ruffians!” shouted the aged man sitting at the counter, “I ought to teach them a lesson!”
“Don’t worry about it, Paul. I’ll cover their tab,” said the waitress as she cleared their plates. She sighed as she watched the three teens dash out the door and into the night.
“You can’t afford to let every lousy teenager in the city eat for free. Look at this place,” said Paul as he pointed to the rest of the diner, “It’s falling apart!”
Claire gazed around the room. She felt surrounded by the disrepair that had befallen her diner: Tables cracking, paint peeling, water stains on the ceiling, chairs with uneven legs and broken seats, and dust and cobwebs covering every surface. She could hear the leaky sink dripping from the dining room. Thinking of the diner made her feel depressed.
“I know that. Do you think I don’t notice how run down this place has gotten? Just yesterday the sink in the kitchen stopped working. I went to unclog the pipes and they were rusted so much they almost crumbled in my fingers!”
She sighed and rested her head on her folded arms. Her crumpled body heaved with despair.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do…”
“Cheer up, Claire. It’s not completely hopeless. We just have to face the facts. All the old customers have moved on. I think it’s time that we did, too.”
Paul leaned back in his chair and began flicking his lighter. On, off. On, off. Since he had given up smoking it had become a nervous habit. He tilted his chair back onto two legs and began to rock it back and forth, in harmony with the flicking of his lighter. His eyes began to widen as he stared into the flame of the lighter. Claire recognized that look immediately.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing…” he mused, smirking.
“I know better than that; you’re coming up with another hair-brained scheme.”
“But…”
“No. Whatever your idea is, I don’t like the sound of it.”
Claire returned to the kitchen to wash the rest of the dishes. As she submerged her hands in the warm water, she became consumed in thoughts of the future. Things are sure looking grim. Maybe Paul was right, she thought; We should move on. It has been almost 35 years after all. Besides, the neighbors are starting to get a little suspicious.
“Are you sure you don’t want to know what I was thinking?” asked Paul.
Claire put down the dish and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. It’s worth listening at least, she thought.
“Ok, then. What were you thinking?” she said, taking a seat across the counter from Paul.
He hastily stood up and straightened his jacket, brushing off pie crust crumbs and other food remnants. She could see how his eyes seemed to glow like his lighter flame had just moments before.
“Do you remember that movie we saw a week ago?” he asked.
Claire was confused. “‘Vampire Holocaust’? What does that have to do with anything?”
“Ah, yes. ‘Vampire Holocaust’. That movie made our kind seem like such uncivilized monsters, didn’t it…?”
“Your point is…?”
“The movie took place in Alaska. They have a whole month of darkness every year!”
“You believe that? How could a place have a whole month of darkness? It can’t be true!”
“It is! I looked it up! Anyways, I was thinking that we could sell this place and move there! I could start another butcher shop like the one we had in France…”
“I remember that… That was, what, 70 years ago?”
“80 years, to be exact. We lived there for 10 years; it’s been 70 since we moved away. Back to what I was saying, we would have to run odd hours like we do around here. The neighbors are beginning to wonder if this place is ever open.”
“They never have grasped the concept of a late night diner, have they?”
“Most mortals never will. With the exception of the lot that actually hangs out here…”
“Crack addicts, insomniacs, and truck drivers. Such colorful group of customers! At least the truck drivers tip well!”
“That’s no way to run a business, though,” said Paul, chuckling.
“True. Since you seem to think you’re the business guru, what are your plans for this Alaskan butcher shop?” said Claire, stifling a laugh.
“Just listen! I have it all planned out. We buy a large store building, maybe a pair of connected shops. On one end, I’ll have my butcher shop; on the other, you can open up another diner! I could even take up hunting again! Just like when we lived in Canada! Maybe I’d even compete again…”
“I remember the last contest you were in. It was an elk hunting contest, wasn’t it? The judges were amazed. You took down a 400 pound bull with nothing but a butcher knife!”
Claire couldn’t hold back anymore. She shrieked with laughter, twirling in her seat. Paul took notice of this and he laughed with her. The two of them laughed until they could hardly breathe.
“I jammed it in so hard, it got stuck in the bone. Do you know how hard it is to pull a knife out of bone?” gasped Paul, wiping tears from his eyes.
“I know how expensive it was. That was a $100 knife you stuck in that elk!”
“The meat was worth it though!”
“For the first couple of days it was. By the end of the month, I never wanted to see another piece of elk meat again! And that mounted head! What did you do with that hideous thing?”
“I can’t remember…” said Paul.
He imagined it in a hotel room. He pictured a terrified couple sitting in their bed in some “rustic” lodge, staring at the elk’s head mounted on the wall across from them. There it was in all of its repulsive glory: its eyes bugging out, its head twisted almost completely sideways, and its mouth gaping open like a hairy fish. This imagery sent him into another fit of laughter. Claire imagined her own scenario for the elk’s head. She imagined it sitting in a laundry room, facing the ceiling, with its mouth stuffed full of dirty clothing. Upon imagining this, she began to laugh louder and more high-pitched than before. The two of them continued to laugh until they heard the clock chime.
“Oh my goodness, its 5:00 a.m.! We’d better get this place locked up for the day!” said Claire.
She raced back into the kitchen and put all of the clean dishes away. She pulled out the plug in the sink and watched it drain. As the water drained out, the pipes let out a series of deafening groans.
“That’s exactly how I feel,” Paul yelled from the dining area.
Claire took one last look around the kitchen before flicking off the lights. As she walked towards the door, she took one last look around the dining area.
“Come on Claire, it’s almost dawn!” said Paul as he walked out the door.
Claire stepped out into the brisk morning air. Her hand felt heavy as she turned to lock the diner doors for the last time, but she knew this would happen sooner or later. She felt confident that things would work out as well as they had before.
“Alaska, here we come!” she exclaimed, dashing down the sidewalk to catch up with Paul. Once again, her future looked as bright as the dawn.
So, without further ado, Darkness and Dawn...
“Those ungrateful ruffians!” shouted the aged man sitting at the counter, “I ought to teach them a lesson!”
“Don’t worry about it, Paul. I’ll cover their tab,” said the waitress as she cleared their plates. She sighed as she watched the three teens dash out the door and into the night.
“You can’t afford to let every lousy teenager in the city eat for free. Look at this place,” said Paul as he pointed to the rest of the diner, “It’s falling apart!”
Claire gazed around the room. She felt surrounded by the disrepair that had befallen her diner: Tables cracking, paint peeling, water stains on the ceiling, chairs with uneven legs and broken seats, and dust and cobwebs covering every surface. She could hear the leaky sink dripping from the dining room. Thinking of the diner made her feel depressed.
“I know that. Do you think I don’t notice how run down this place has gotten? Just yesterday the sink in the kitchen stopped working. I went to unclog the pipes and they were rusted so much they almost crumbled in my fingers!”
She sighed and rested her head on her folded arms. Her crumpled body heaved with despair.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do…”
“Cheer up, Claire. It’s not completely hopeless. We just have to face the facts. All the old customers have moved on. I think it’s time that we did, too.”
Paul leaned back in his chair and began flicking his lighter. On, off. On, off. Since he had given up smoking it had become a nervous habit. He tilted his chair back onto two legs and began to rock it back and forth, in harmony with the flicking of his lighter. His eyes began to widen as he stared into the flame of the lighter. Claire recognized that look immediately.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing…” he mused, smirking.
“I know better than that; you’re coming up with another hair-brained scheme.”
“But…”
“No. Whatever your idea is, I don’t like the sound of it.”
Claire returned to the kitchen to wash the rest of the dishes. As she submerged her hands in the warm water, she became consumed in thoughts of the future. Things are sure looking grim. Maybe Paul was right, she thought; We should move on. It has been almost 35 years after all. Besides, the neighbors are starting to get a little suspicious.
“Are you sure you don’t want to know what I was thinking?” asked Paul.
Claire put down the dish and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. It’s worth listening at least, she thought.
“Ok, then. What were you thinking?” she said, taking a seat across the counter from Paul.
He hastily stood up and straightened his jacket, brushing off pie crust crumbs and other food remnants. She could see how his eyes seemed to glow like his lighter flame had just moments before.
“Do you remember that movie we saw a week ago?” he asked.
Claire was confused. “‘Vampire Holocaust’? What does that have to do with anything?”
“Ah, yes. ‘Vampire Holocaust’. That movie made our kind seem like such uncivilized monsters, didn’t it…?”
“Your point is…?”
“The movie took place in Alaska. They have a whole month of darkness every year!”
“You believe that? How could a place have a whole month of darkness? It can’t be true!”
“It is! I looked it up! Anyways, I was thinking that we could sell this place and move there! I could start another butcher shop like the one we had in France…”
“I remember that… That was, what, 70 years ago?”
“80 years, to be exact. We lived there for 10 years; it’s been 70 since we moved away. Back to what I was saying, we would have to run odd hours like we do around here. The neighbors are beginning to wonder if this place is ever open.”
“They never have grasped the concept of a late night diner, have they?”
“Most mortals never will. With the exception of the lot that actually hangs out here…”
“Crack addicts, insomniacs, and truck drivers. Such colorful group of customers! At least the truck drivers tip well!”
“That’s no way to run a business, though,” said Paul, chuckling.
“True. Since you seem to think you’re the business guru, what are your plans for this Alaskan butcher shop?” said Claire, stifling a laugh.
“Just listen! I have it all planned out. We buy a large store building, maybe a pair of connected shops. On one end, I’ll have my butcher shop; on the other, you can open up another diner! I could even take up hunting again! Just like when we lived in Canada! Maybe I’d even compete again…”
“I remember the last contest you were in. It was an elk hunting contest, wasn’t it? The judges were amazed. You took down a 400 pound bull with nothing but a butcher knife!”
Claire couldn’t hold back anymore. She shrieked with laughter, twirling in her seat. Paul took notice of this and he laughed with her. The two of them laughed until they could hardly breathe.
“I jammed it in so hard, it got stuck in the bone. Do you know how hard it is to pull a knife out of bone?” gasped Paul, wiping tears from his eyes.
“I know how expensive it was. That was a $100 knife you stuck in that elk!”
“The meat was worth it though!”
“For the first couple of days it was. By the end of the month, I never wanted to see another piece of elk meat again! And that mounted head! What did you do with that hideous thing?”
“I can’t remember…” said Paul.
He imagined it in a hotel room. He pictured a terrified couple sitting in their bed in some “rustic” lodge, staring at the elk’s head mounted on the wall across from them. There it was in all of its repulsive glory: its eyes bugging out, its head twisted almost completely sideways, and its mouth gaping open like a hairy fish. This imagery sent him into another fit of laughter. Claire imagined her own scenario for the elk’s head. She imagined it sitting in a laundry room, facing the ceiling, with its mouth stuffed full of dirty clothing. Upon imagining this, she began to laugh louder and more high-pitched than before. The two of them continued to laugh until they heard the clock chime.
“Oh my goodness, its 5:00 a.m.! We’d better get this place locked up for the day!” said Claire.
She raced back into the kitchen and put all of the clean dishes away. She pulled out the plug in the sink and watched it drain. As the water drained out, the pipes let out a series of deafening groans.
“That’s exactly how I feel,” Paul yelled from the dining area.
Claire took one last look around the kitchen before flicking off the lights. As she walked towards the door, she took one last look around the dining area.
“Come on Claire, it’s almost dawn!” said Paul as he walked out the door.
Claire stepped out into the brisk morning air. Her hand felt heavy as she turned to lock the diner doors for the last time, but she knew this would happen sooner or later. She felt confident that things would work out as well as they had before.
“Alaska, here we come!” she exclaimed, dashing down the sidewalk to catch up with Paul. Once again, her future looked as bright as the dawn.
Welcome!
Welcome to my blog! Not much else to say in this post. My about me section covers pretty much everything I would say here. I'll post my latest short story momentarily. Until then, thanks for stopping in!
Questions?
Contact me at: doomkat713@earthlink.net
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