He gazed at the room with bewilderment and yet a curious sense of wonder. He felt more whole in this shady dive than he had for years in his own home. Anonymity was something he strived for. He took a sip from his cold perspiring beer and took in the enchantedly lifeless scene. He saw her across the bar. He felt enthralled; she wasn’t conventionally beautiful, but nevertheless she exuded mysterious sensuality and her very presence felt seductive. He ordered two shots, one for liquid courage, and another for luck. They hit his empty stomach hard, the bile almost peaking to the surface, but only held down by the knots in his stomach, making him aware of emotions he’d long forgotten how to feel.
As he approached her he became aware of the wild pattering rhythm of his heart, giving life to a dead organ. This is life. As he stood beside her, he could not catch even the slightest hint of acknowledgement or emotion on her face, suggesting she too had been on the road as long as him, or she was just illustrating a carefully constructed persona. Her hair was long, down to her middle back, and jet black, darker than the room itself. Eyes of ice; crystal blue, penetrating and alarming, and lips so red and full he thought they surely could not exist.
“Im, uh…, can I buy you a drink?” he said.
“I already have one, you can clearly see that?”
She clearly was in disdain of the courting rituals as much as he, though she had gone on to abandon them all together, in favor of cold and distant relations that seemed so much real and human to the both of them. The modernist world does not require romance, in a cold and distant world the only rational behavior is to also remain cold and distant, unchangeable.
“What’s your name?”, he said, clearly aware of the futility and pointlessness of the question.
“It doesn’t matter what my name is, and I don’t want to know your name either,” she said, “Names do not have relevance in this dimension that we exist in, but I can see you’re attracted to me, so if you like, you can sit here and drink with me.”
“Ok, what are you drinkin?” he said.
“Dry gin”, she said, with her face resembling lady liberty, unchanging and stone.
They sat there and did not talk much, and when they did speak, they only spoke of the road. Their life previous to the road only held significance in that it eventually brought them to this long and never-ending cycle. Were they even human anymore? He dazed off and imagined the silliness of the word “human” being explicative of emotion and passion, as nearly every human he came across was a creature with no emotion or passion, just drifting through the days. St. Augustine thought purgatory was bad, but he clearly had never lived in the post-modern era.
“Many are freed from the prison of hell ... through the good works of the living and the Church's prayers for them, most of all through the unbloody sacrifice, which is offered on certain days for all the living and the dead.”
She looked bored, she gazed into him and evoked the chills he felt when he first saw someone dead.
“You’ve been good, we can go upstairs if you like.”
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
The Long Road Home; pt. 2
He walked through the tight hallway corridors, the walls seemingly closing in on him by the time he made it to the stairs. There was a strange smell in the air, not bad per se, but certainly alarming. The smell of years of whores and johns and killers and thieves and scoundrels making their presences known throughout the tiny rooms of the dingy hotel. This was an unholy place.
He walked downstairs to the bar. Cigarette smoke clouded his being, to which his only response was to light another cigarette. He made his way to the dingy and dimly lit bar. There were an assorted group of individuals there that night. He sat at an open stool next to a biker gang. They had equal length of hair, and they smelled something awful, the result of old leather and days on the road at the time. He looked at the girl and noticed that at one point or another she might have been attractive, but years of abuse (both from thy self and from others) have left her run down, and beat up, not even a shadow of her former self, but a different entity all together. The life of the nomadic American.
He ordered a Bud Light. It tasted acidic going down his cotton-mouth ridden throat and his stomach was having trouble accepting it. The speed was running down finally and he was left with an unpleasant sweat and jitters in his muscles. He looked around the bar. So many lost and wandering souls all gather to places like these. A refuge for those without refuge; taking comfort in the familiar feeling of an alcohol buzz and a nicotine rush.
After the first beer went down, the rest seemed far easier.
“Have I been headed here my whole life?” he thought.
He took out a picture from his wallet. Her shimmering gold hair and full and protruding lips seemed miles away from him now. He didn’t know the person she once loved any longer. He felt cold and distant. Emotions seem so scarce on the road.
Someone put a Van Morrison song on the jukebox, and the music soothed him to an extent. He tried to contemplate how he had gotten to his hotel, this bar, this place, and with these people. Was he one of these people? Though the thought terrified him, he really couldn’t seem to care.
He walked downstairs to the bar. Cigarette smoke clouded his being, to which his only response was to light another cigarette. He made his way to the dingy and dimly lit bar. There were an assorted group of individuals there that night. He sat at an open stool next to a biker gang. They had equal length of hair, and they smelled something awful, the result of old leather and days on the road at the time. He looked at the girl and noticed that at one point or another she might have been attractive, but years of abuse (both from thy self and from others) have left her run down, and beat up, not even a shadow of her former self, but a different entity all together. The life of the nomadic American.
He ordered a Bud Light. It tasted acidic going down his cotton-mouth ridden throat and his stomach was having trouble accepting it. The speed was running down finally and he was left with an unpleasant sweat and jitters in his muscles. He looked around the bar. So many lost and wandering souls all gather to places like these. A refuge for those without refuge; taking comfort in the familiar feeling of an alcohol buzz and a nicotine rush.
After the first beer went down, the rest seemed far easier.
“Have I been headed here my whole life?” he thought.
He took out a picture from his wallet. Her shimmering gold hair and full and protruding lips seemed miles away from him now. He didn’t know the person she once loved any longer. He felt cold and distant. Emotions seem so scarce on the road.
Someone put a Van Morrison song on the jukebox, and the music soothed him to an extent. He tried to contemplate how he had gotten to his hotel, this bar, this place, and with these people. Was he one of these people? Though the thought terrified him, he really couldn’t seem to care.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Are we all useless?
A stereotype that young students are constantly faced with is the fact that elder generations feel that we are nothing more than lazy, substance abusing narcissists who have none of our priorities in order. Of course this cliché is very hard to combat considering the portrayal of young college kids in film and television. The characters are generally over-drinking womanizing fraternity brothers and submissive and vain sorority sisters. And the fact is, many times those stereotypes hold to be true. We, and I am certainly included, are holding on to our last breath of youth before we have to enter the real world and be faced with the same complex issues that we have seen our parents bare since we were born. Many of us do not want to face the world, but I’d say more of us are trying to enjoy these four years prior to them being over, and when living amongst a culture where alcohol and even drugs are so commonplace, there are of course going to be casualties.
The fact is, students today are clocking more studying time and working hours than any generation prior to us. The elder generation can raise their nose but the fact is, those of them went to college had far less competition than we do today. They also seem to ignore the fact that this is their future generation; we will be the ones holding this ultimately damaged country up long after their gone, so why continue to write us off as lazy underachievers when they will one day rely on our accomplishments? Four days a week I leave for campus at 7 a.m, and generally do work until 7 at night. My mind is constantly exhausted and yet I am still able to produce quality journalism, as well as even create short stories that seem to be improving by the day. And yet I am looked at with disdain for wanting to drink beer and smoke grass on the weekends? Is this something that makes me a bad person? Hardly. It makes me a normal person. The mind can only take so much stimulation before it needs to kick back and enjoy these twilight years of my youth.
The fact is, students today are clocking more studying time and working hours than any generation prior to us. The elder generation can raise their nose but the fact is, those of them went to college had far less competition than we do today. They also seem to ignore the fact that this is their future generation; we will be the ones holding this ultimately damaged country up long after their gone, so why continue to write us off as lazy underachievers when they will one day rely on our accomplishments? Four days a week I leave for campus at 7 a.m, and generally do work until 7 at night. My mind is constantly exhausted and yet I am still able to produce quality journalism, as well as even create short stories that seem to be improving by the day. And yet I am looked at with disdain for wanting to drink beer and smoke grass on the weekends? Is this something that makes me a bad person? Hardly. It makes me a normal person. The mind can only take so much stimulation before it needs to kick back and enjoy these twilight years of my youth.
The Long Road Home, pt. 1
He looked down upon that long winding road, knowing where it would lead, but still excited about the way he’d get there. Possibilities seemed so infinite, and yet, time was running out. He couldn’t any longer tolerate the complacence of common life, he needed something more; danger, passion, love, hate. He wanted it all.
There were no good-byes. In fact, there were no greetings either, not even names, only faces. The faces of all shapes and sizes, some beautiful and some ugly, some quite enchanting. One back alley bar after another, he experienced the world, but a world different from the one 9 to 5ers live in. The world he lived in was one of mysticism and unknown, every road a dream, every dead end a spectacle. And oh how there were dead ends. Everyone met them at some point.
“When will I meet my dead end?” he thought.
He had been driving for days, no sleep necessary thanks to the amphetamines he picked up at a truck stop some time back. His heart rate was jacked, and he could feel sleep pulling at his consciousness’, begging him to give in and close his eyes. He noticed a motel and a bar to the side of the road. He no longer remembered, or cared, where he actually was or where he was going. The destination was obsolete; it is only the journey that matters, for the destination can not ever be measured.
He walked into the hotel. A seedy place; he could smell the past of the joint. Violence, sex, and death were emanating from all corners of the packed in lobby. He noticed an old couple in a chair eating fried chicken; they looked so content. Contentment to him was just a nice word for boredom. He didn’t like this place.
“How long will you be staying?” the bellman said.
“Too long,” he replied, “I guess just for the night.”
He brought his things up to his room, and lay for a bit in the hard cold mattress. He felt he should miss his home at times like this, but he didn’t. Not even her. He was heading to his real home, and what is the illusion of home compared to the real thing? He tried to sleep but the speed was flowing in his blood stream strong, and his heart was so elevated he could see the hairs on his arms sticking up straight. He decided to get some drinks.
There were no good-byes. In fact, there were no greetings either, not even names, only faces. The faces of all shapes and sizes, some beautiful and some ugly, some quite enchanting. One back alley bar after another, he experienced the world, but a world different from the one 9 to 5ers live in. The world he lived in was one of mysticism and unknown, every road a dream, every dead end a spectacle. And oh how there were dead ends. Everyone met them at some point.
“When will I meet my dead end?” he thought.
He had been driving for days, no sleep necessary thanks to the amphetamines he picked up at a truck stop some time back. His heart rate was jacked, and he could feel sleep pulling at his consciousness’, begging him to give in and close his eyes. He noticed a motel and a bar to the side of the road. He no longer remembered, or cared, where he actually was or where he was going. The destination was obsolete; it is only the journey that matters, for the destination can not ever be measured.
He walked into the hotel. A seedy place; he could smell the past of the joint. Violence, sex, and death were emanating from all corners of the packed in lobby. He noticed an old couple in a chair eating fried chicken; they looked so content. Contentment to him was just a nice word for boredom. He didn’t like this place.
“How long will you be staying?” the bellman said.
“Too long,” he replied, “I guess just for the night.”
He brought his things up to his room, and lay for a bit in the hard cold mattress. He felt he should miss his home at times like this, but he didn’t. Not even her. He was heading to his real home, and what is the illusion of home compared to the real thing? He tried to sleep but the speed was flowing in his blood stream strong, and his heart was so elevated he could see the hairs on his arms sticking up straight. He decided to get some drinks.
Monday, September 28, 2009
I think I already have the Flu
I arrived home at 11 p.m. I was extremely fatigued and did nothing to enhance personal hygiene and instead only made efforts to satiate myself by collapsing on my bed. I lay there for minutes until realizing I am completely congested and the aches were surging through my body, a reminder of the bacteria's effects on it. I got up and thought, "Please not now."
I retrieved Benadryl from my cabinet, believing that the fatigue created by the drug would somehow lull me into a state on non-consciousness. The pills had no effect, and the queasiness and pain began to grow more intense. Lying there in the dark, focused on nothing other than the malicious bacteria infecting my otherwise healthy body, making me weak and fragile. I noticed I could no longer make a full fist, and began to worry this was more than the run-of-the-mill Cold.
"What I really need is Valium," I thought.
I lay there until 5 a.m, restless and depressed at the mere thought of illness. I look upon myself in a mirror and notice I already look pale and gaunt, the circles under my eyes a sign of disabled state. I watch the news awhile, an activity that could never bring one to a state of peace. Fluff stories about cats in trees followed by stories of horrific crimes followed by biased political reporting all lend an heir of mania to my already sleep deprived and addled mind. I somehow manage a shower and walk to campus. I am a zombie, I need a doctor, I need to feel healthy, it's too damn hot, why now?
I retrieved Benadryl from my cabinet, believing that the fatigue created by the drug would somehow lull me into a state on non-consciousness. The pills had no effect, and the queasiness and pain began to grow more intense. Lying there in the dark, focused on nothing other than the malicious bacteria infecting my otherwise healthy body, making me weak and fragile. I noticed I could no longer make a full fist, and began to worry this was more than the run-of-the-mill Cold.
"What I really need is Valium," I thought.
I lay there until 5 a.m, restless and depressed at the mere thought of illness. I look upon myself in a mirror and notice I already look pale and gaunt, the circles under my eyes a sign of disabled state. I watch the news awhile, an activity that could never bring one to a state of peace. Fluff stories about cats in trees followed by stories of horrific crimes followed by biased political reporting all lend an heir of mania to my already sleep deprived and addled mind. I somehow manage a shower and walk to campus. I am a zombie, I need a doctor, I need to feel healthy, it's too damn hot, why now?
Awake, pt. 6
He so desired to have a companion that could rival his own blood lust, his own lust for cruelty and brutality, that he almost mistook the feeling for general loneliness. A ridiculous idea he though. He looked through the prison records, but he could already here the riot degenerating around him do to him having murdered every correction officer within the facility. He heard the chaos and it gave him a feeling of glee.
There were many promising candidates on the list of thieves, rapists and, murderers. Still though, if he was going to travel the darkness with another man, he knew it would have to be a man capable of pure unadulterated evil, as the sexual gratification he received from Lilah would no longer come into play. He didn’t care about sex anymore anyways; he still liked it of course, but couldn’t disassociate it from violence. Sexual tendencies just seemed too human to him. Then, he found him. Gustav Zapotek, responsible for the rape and murders of 7 women before being arrested in Prague and sentenced to death, of which was going to be carried out within days. His psychological profile described him as, “intelligent but not overtly so, single minded in his approach to murder, incapable of forming real relationships, major sexually sadistic tendencies.”
Caligula made note of his appearance and cell and went to track the man down amongst the rioting. He stepped into the holding section of the prison and witnessed mayhem. Men all fighting for their freedom; killing and snapping and burning and cutting. Caligula felt intoxicated from the fear and confusion that pervaded his vision, and joined into the mayhem. He killed every prisoner that crossed his path, though he felt no real desire to feed off a bunch of mangy scoundrels. He mostly cracked necks, beat them to death or his favorite, ripped their throats out. Then, he saw Gustav. The man, short in stature, no taller then 5 foot 4, young, with Aryan blond hair and blue eyes, but with a deadened face, cold and emotionless, he was already devoid of humanity, and Caligula was jubilated with the thought of the Vampire that this man would make. Gustav was cutting a man’s neck with a piece of a razor, apparently for no reason other than to make the man suffer.
Caligula sped forth with blurry intensity; he had grown very fast and strong. He ripped Gustav’s victim from the predator’s knife and finished the job, biting into the man’s wound and drinking his surprisingly fruitful blood. He looked at Gustav, and for the first time in centuries, noticed the man felt no fear from Caligula’s presence, and his icy body felt warm from the realization.
Gustav looked at him, raising his knife, as if baiting him. Caligula grabbed him by his beck, and beat into his jugular vein, tasting the man’s evil as his blood flood from his neck. He let go, and threw Gustav on the ground.
“You feel no fear, you feel nothing?” said Caligula.
“I feel like I am dying, what are you?” said Gustav.
“You don’t have to die. You can come with me, and you can kill and rape and lust and take forever. No jail, no consequences, I can take out the pain and give you a new eternal life, all you must do is walk with me.”
“And if I saw no?” said Gustav.
“Then I leave you for dead, or to be butchered by these other rapists and criminals.”
Caligula noticed Gustav’s acceptance in his expression, and lunged his fangs forth and drained the man until his heart began to slow. He then cut his wrist with his fang, and fed Gustav. Gustav started hesitant, but seemed to enjoy the sheer bizarreness of the experience, and soon began to drink the blood like an alcoholic does whiskey. He died. But he would soon awake.
There were many promising candidates on the list of thieves, rapists and, murderers. Still though, if he was going to travel the darkness with another man, he knew it would have to be a man capable of pure unadulterated evil, as the sexual gratification he received from Lilah would no longer come into play. He didn’t care about sex anymore anyways; he still liked it of course, but couldn’t disassociate it from violence. Sexual tendencies just seemed too human to him. Then, he found him. Gustav Zapotek, responsible for the rape and murders of 7 women before being arrested in Prague and sentenced to death, of which was going to be carried out within days. His psychological profile described him as, “intelligent but not overtly so, single minded in his approach to murder, incapable of forming real relationships, major sexually sadistic tendencies.”
Caligula made note of his appearance and cell and went to track the man down amongst the rioting. He stepped into the holding section of the prison and witnessed mayhem. Men all fighting for their freedom; killing and snapping and burning and cutting. Caligula felt intoxicated from the fear and confusion that pervaded his vision, and joined into the mayhem. He killed every prisoner that crossed his path, though he felt no real desire to feed off a bunch of mangy scoundrels. He mostly cracked necks, beat them to death or his favorite, ripped their throats out. Then, he saw Gustav. The man, short in stature, no taller then 5 foot 4, young, with Aryan blond hair and blue eyes, but with a deadened face, cold and emotionless, he was already devoid of humanity, and Caligula was jubilated with the thought of the Vampire that this man would make. Gustav was cutting a man’s neck with a piece of a razor, apparently for no reason other than to make the man suffer.
Caligula sped forth with blurry intensity; he had grown very fast and strong. He ripped Gustav’s victim from the predator’s knife and finished the job, biting into the man’s wound and drinking his surprisingly fruitful blood. He looked at Gustav, and for the first time in centuries, noticed the man felt no fear from Caligula’s presence, and his icy body felt warm from the realization.
Gustav looked at him, raising his knife, as if baiting him. Caligula grabbed him by his beck, and beat into his jugular vein, tasting the man’s evil as his blood flood from his neck. He let go, and threw Gustav on the ground.
“You feel no fear, you feel nothing?” said Caligula.
“I feel like I am dying, what are you?” said Gustav.
“You don’t have to die. You can come with me, and you can kill and rape and lust and take forever. No jail, no consequences, I can take out the pain and give you a new eternal life, all you must do is walk with me.”
“And if I saw no?” said Gustav.
“Then I leave you for dead, or to be butchered by these other rapists and criminals.”
Caligula noticed Gustav’s acceptance in his expression, and lunged his fangs forth and drained the man until his heart began to slow. He then cut his wrist with his fang, and fed Gustav. Gustav started hesitant, but seemed to enjoy the sheer bizarreness of the experience, and soon began to drink the blood like an alcoholic does whiskey. He died. But he would soon awake.
English 306 Writing Prompt; Persuasion
In my community, one in which there are hundreds of thousands of opposing views, the only way to change someone's mind to counter arguments with cold hard fact, dynamic speech patterns, and a whole lot of charisma, but even when delivering an argument perfectly, I still highly doubt the mind of the unchanging modern American can be changed. People in America are stuck in their ways, we are bred to think our views our right, and when we cross lines into opposing views, are loyalties are called into question. If I was arguing the pros of a universal health care system with someone say in the conservative media, I could offer the most dynamically perfect argument in history, and still be met with nothing but fear mongering and forthright hostility. Logical reasoning appears to be a dead art when I put on these debate shows on CNN or Fox News and all I am presented with is fully biased opinions. This lack of contextual debate is bad for democracy and bad for our country as no reconciliation or plan ever seems to emerge from them.
The other night, well morning, it was about 3 a.m., I was with about 15 other people after a party was winding down. For whatever reason, a young girl there, clearly extremely Catholic in her religious upbringing and far to the right in her political beliefs, wanted to discuss religion. I couldn't help but think this absurd considering how pointless theological debate ultimately becomes when you are in a room of so many people from all parts of the world. Then the girl shocked everyone in the room. She asked a Muslim student, a friend of ours in the room, to deliberate on his views on Jesus Christ, totally singling him out. She then went on to talk of how wrong it is that people couldn't think of him as God. The other people in the room, some Christian, some Jewish, many Atheist, then all started shouting at each other all their personal beliefs and ideas. I couldn't help but think what a drag it was, so I simply stood up, spoke in a witty and dry tone, and said, "Listen, there are 15 people here all from very different backgrounds, there is absolutely no way we can achieve a unanimous opinion in this matter therefore we might as well shut up and go back to having fun." Everyone in the room seemed to agree, even the girl, who had already proved nothing but ignorance and intolerance to those around her. I didn't convince anybody of anything other than that some things we can't convince one another of and therefore they are fruitless to debate. For this reason, I feel I was successful.
The other night, well morning, it was about 3 a.m., I was with about 15 other people after a party was winding down. For whatever reason, a young girl there, clearly extremely Catholic in her religious upbringing and far to the right in her political beliefs, wanted to discuss religion. I couldn't help but think this absurd considering how pointless theological debate ultimately becomes when you are in a room of so many people from all parts of the world. Then the girl shocked everyone in the room. She asked a Muslim student, a friend of ours in the room, to deliberate on his views on Jesus Christ, totally singling him out. She then went on to talk of how wrong it is that people couldn't think of him as God. The other people in the room, some Christian, some Jewish, many Atheist, then all started shouting at each other all their personal beliefs and ideas. I couldn't help but think what a drag it was, so I simply stood up, spoke in a witty and dry tone, and said, "Listen, there are 15 people here all from very different backgrounds, there is absolutely no way we can achieve a unanimous opinion in this matter therefore we might as well shut up and go back to having fun." Everyone in the room seemed to agree, even the girl, who had already proved nothing but ignorance and intolerance to those around her. I didn't convince anybody of anything other than that some things we can't convince one another of and therefore they are fruitless to debate. For this reason, I feel I was successful.
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