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Running Out of Time

Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 12/16/02 9:23:35 PM

Criteria:

• Duration: 30 minutes
• Keyword: vehicle
• Main character: sad
• Setting: live television
• Special clause: end the story with the sentence: "I should have known."

Dayton, OH - “We're live at the Montgomery county courthouse, where Steve Richardson is coming out from the courtroom as we speak," Charles Moore said. "I have never heard of a sentence that strange. I wonder if we might be able to get some comments from the defendant."

Charles approached the security detail that surrounds Steve Richardson. "Excuse me, Mr. Richardson," he began. "I was wondering whether you had any comments about the trial or the verdict or the sentence the judge handed down."

"No comment," Steve replied. His eyes looked hollow and red, as though he'd been crying considerably. Well, he had been crying. I mean who wouldn't have felt the heartstrings. What pain he must be feeling right now.

Then, all of a sudden, Steve pulled a gun from one of his captors and broke free. He headed toward a news van. Charles recognized his cameraman as the driver and dashed off toward the van. Steve hopped in the passenger side and aiming the gun, he ordered, "Drive." The cameraman began to drive. Charles had just enough time to hop in the back with the assistant manager who'd taken over for the cameraman, since Dave, the cameraman, had been feeling nausea all morning.

At first Steve objected to the last-minute passengers, but then, he figured that having the company would work out better. He could at least have someone to talk to, and he could get access to the audience. The public needed to know his story, his struggle. He felt motivated, though now as a fugitive, to make sure the world knew why he was running. And having some hostages for the ride meant that he could bargain.

Charles called out to Steve from the rear of the news van, "What are you doing? Are you nuts? Why are you hijacking our news van?"

"No answers. Not yet," Steve replied. "When the time comes, I want it to be live on TV."

He heard sirens approaching the van. "Don't slow down. Drive. Fast," he ordered Dave, the cameraman, who was driving, but feeling a bit more queasy due to the added stress.

Steve let out a big sigh. He'd never hijacked a van before. He'd never broken the law like this. If he were caught, he'd wind up in bigger trouble than what he wound up in court for. He looked up in the sky. Nope. No choppers. Not yet anyway.

Charles couldn't believe it either. He'd only joined the newstaff a few months ago, mainly covering downtown businesses and boring stuff like that. He'd never have thought he'd be sitting in a hijacked van, with the best opportunity for an award-winning story presented to him like a Thanksgiving turkey. He felt the ambition, as it started surging through his veins.

Mark, the assistant cameraman, who was called in to sub for Dave at the last minute, was not a happy camper. He had been asleep next to his girlfriend when he got the phone call. Robert, the daytime substitute cameraman, was on vacation, and could he pretty please come and help out the new news reporter. He knew he should have asked for more money when he renewed his contract. Crap like this was not the reason why he took this job. Now he didn't know what to think. Here he was, trapped in this minivan with two coworkers and some maniac. He felt ticked off. He hoped that this whole thing was going to be over. Soon.

Steve looked at Dave, the nauseated driver. He felt sorry. He hadn't wanted things to work out like this. Dave started looking a little paler. "Dude," Steve said, "are you gonna hurl? Because if you do, I don't want the mess in here."

"I'll be okay," Dave replied. "I just need a little fresh air. Mind if I roll down the window?"

"Sure, pal, go ahead."

After a few minutes, Charles spoke up. "Hey, man, I know you're pissed off about something. We’ll put you on live television so you can tell your story. You just say when, and Mark over here will start rolling."

"All right, then," Steve replied. "Fire her up."

Mark reluctantly started the camera rolling, focusing first on Charles.

"We're here inside the Channel 7 news van live with Steve Richardson, who has just hijacked our van while fleeing the courthouse."

Steve heard some rumbling outside. Peering out the window, he noticed two police choppers following the van. Dave the nauseated driver vomited outside the drivers window. “Damn it,” Steve said. “I should have known.”

Blogging the Christian Internet

Neat!

The latest Internet for Christians newsletter has a section about Christian blogging. Blogs4God.com is mentioned. My weblogs

• Journey Inside My Mind,
• Letters to God,
• QuotesBlog,
• Get That Job!, and
• Streams of Consciousness

are a part of that community.

blogs4God

Definitely something to add to the 'To Do List'.

100 Words Update

My October batch is available.

Preface
Middletown, Ohio
May 6, 1999

I suppose that some people will think it’s arrogant to write a book about my life. Heck, I am struggling with that thought, too. I guess I have a few objectives in writing this autobiography. For one thing, I’ve kept a lot of these memories inside and I would like to get them down on paper. I don’t know much about my parents’ childhoods or my grandparents’ lives. I want to record this because it’s history. All who have ever lived and will ever live are part of history. Perhaps no one will read this. I’m fine with that. I want my children and their children to know about my life. I want them to know I am real, to see my strengths and weaknesses, successes and failures, and somehow to be encouraged that, if I can make it, then they can, too.

I started thinking about writing this after my wife Jennie and daughter Keisha watched the video of Keisha’s birth. We wondered, what if Keisha could meet some of the people who were born on the same day as she was and in that same hospital. That got me to think about how God puts people in the times and places in history so that we could seek him (Acts 17.24). I thought, “How has God used the events of my life thus far to get me to where I am today?”

In the search for content...

... I found... me!

I found some stuff I had written awhile back that I planned for an autobiography. By awhile back, I mean almost three years ago before my thirtieth birthday. I was going to entitle it Three Decades of Me. I may still write an autobiography, but I might wind up entitling it Four Decades of Me instead.

MyPsalm119 Update

Added Y - You Alone, which is also posted at Letters to God

GAMBOLING
13 December 1987

The spinning wheel nears the end of its last revolution as I see it approach my number. I look to the square where I have placed my money, and pangs of anxiety begin to grip me, almost immobilizing me. What can I do but sit and accept the inevitable? Jolts of electricity in my brain I feel, as my mind is sent into a whilr of darkness. I would have fainted but for the sounds of the wheel coming to a stop and the man declaring, "Number Three is the winner!"

All of a sudden blood rushes back into by head and I start to yell and shout. Who wouldn't? Mad with ecstasy, I look to my square, "lonely number three," where all my winning from tonight had been placed, totalling more than $10,000 dollars, and drop to my knees and exclaim, "Thanks be to God, for today He has shown me that suffering leads to a transient life!"

I turn to my wife and kids, tears in our eyes, and joyfully tell them, "Yes, family, we do have a place to sleep tonight."

Troubled Slumber

I wake from my slumber in a deep, cold sweat with confusion swirling inside my head. I am caught in a whirlwind of emotions, for the nightmare has lodged itself onto my skull. I am afflicted with desire, yet you are anot all I want. Not anymore. You alone cannot satisfy me. I turn to look at you. You haven't moved an inch. How is this possible, I wonder, for my scream could have woken the entire neighborhood.

I bend over to kiss you, and then you begin to stir. I continue to do so, in an attempt to fill you with desire and passion. Your eyes are now open. Your smile causes me to smile. You reach up to kiss me, and your fingers run through my hair. My kisses caress your neck and lips, and you begin to undress me. I slowly ease my way down to gently kiss your breasts. You moan with delight. We make love.

At least three more times, I wake up with sweat soaking my body like a sponge. You remain still.

It is now morning. You haven't waken up yet, but I've begun to fix your breakfast. I turn toward the bed occasionally to wacht you sleep, to wach you in this peaceful, angelic state.

If only things could always be this way...

Horrible poem

I agree with Jennifer. Someone was definitely reaching with this one.

100words.net crossposted to Journey Inside My Mind

You may or may not have been aware that I began contributing to 100words.net last month. The way it works is that each day I write 100 words - typos and all - and submit them to the site.

Good news! Last month's entries are now available for you to view. Almost all of the time, the entries are random, with no connected meaning to each other. However, toward the end of last month, I started a little bit of a story line. It's been interesting, to say the least, adding only 100 words at a time.

• 100 Words -- September 2002 -- danimal0416
• All entries for September 11, 2002

THE FUTURE AND BEYOND
originally written as a journal entry from high school senior English class.

Sometime around the year 2050 a number of people begin to experience what many have called "Jazzmania." Those such inflicted tend to wear dark glasses, snap their fingers while saying, "Yeah, man. Cool." They also grow hair on their faces, and exhibit other anomalies. It's also not unusual for these people to be musicians.

These people are so ahead of their time that the world loks upon them as outcasts. Eventually, it decides to rid itself of these potential menaces to society, these Jazzmaniacs, by developing an institution that will serve as a rehabilitation center. Some say this institution will function better if it were run like a city.

By this time technology has so advanced that scientists have found a way for a satellite to remain in constant orbit around a planet. So a worldwide event takes place among the various scientists of the world, and with the cooperation of the United Nations, one of the very first space stations develops. One of the landmarks of technology, the task is completed in one year. The satellite is launched on 16 April 2070, a historic date because it coincides with the 100-year birthday of the Founder of the Future Jazz Men of America, who was born in 1970.

There the Jazzmaniacs have lived, coping with their disorder, supervised by social workers. But on those times when the social workers have left for the evening, these people let thier creative energies flow, because they realize that someday when the world advances to the artistic level where they are, they will return to planet Earth and jam whenever they wish without being considered outcasts.

As the Founder of the Future Jazz Men of America once said, "Jazz may fade in and out, but it will never leave completely. Jazz is our native art form, abnd deep within our hearts is the heritage from which it has sprung."

You're Reading It -- You Name It
(Eating Can Be Dangerous To Your Health)

Working at a restaurant has its own advantages, especially when you like the type of food you can make. I am learning this on the first day of training at Angilo's Pizza. Observing the make-up table, I find all the ingredients exposed to me. More delights become available as I learn to work the prep table: the various meats, french fries, onion rings, deep-fried mushrooms, shrimp, and fish.

As I continue to work, the boss announces that I am entitled to one meal for dinner.

"Great!" I exclaim, and my mind goes into a whirl. Then, as I calm down to regain equanimity, I am resolved. "Tonight," I declare, "I will sample the culinary delights of this place for the first time."

I go to work. Slicing a sandwich bun in half, pouring pizza sauce on it, I begin my pleasure-journey. For now onions, green olives, mushrooms, green peppers, banana peppers, and extra chese call to me, almost begging to be together atop my masterpiece. I then place some lunchmeat onto a pan and slide it into the oven with my sandwich.

To make it a perfect meal, though, I need some french fries with cheese. After some four minutes my lunchmeat sandwich, along with my fries with cheese, all hot and greasy, beckon me towards them, urging me to experience their exquisite tastes.

To accompany this last part of my pleasure-journey, I pour some Mountain Dew into my LaRosa's cup I got from one of our school's basketball games.

Upon taking the first bite, my body begins to convulse, twitching this way and that. Assaying desperately to regain my composure, I hold onto the table, but it, too, begins to shake. Suddenly, I'm thrown from my chair onto the floor, and I begin to heave. Finally, regurgitation brings up my heart, now full of grease and oil.

Aghast, I scream, but my voice is not hear amid the thumping inside my head. I begin to choke, and blood is coughed up from my mouth. Finally, Nature is satisfied with her trick and lets me be. But now, you see, it's been too late, for too much blood has been lost.

Something for you to think about

"We are the hero of our own story." -- Mary McCarthy

MATURATION This one was written in 1991. I may tell the story on the circumstances behind it at another time.

Lately is has been seen that the lives of the insignificant few have been overwhelmed by the many. Neither group can understand the essential. Tragedy shows its eerie colour on the faces of those who have laboured so long and hard to achieve that for which they have striven. The fruits of their labours are not evident, and all that is true seems lost. Panic swells within the multitude, and outrage blankets the entire population.

For a long time internal disorder rages throughout the community like a violent infection. Young lives full of tremendous potential are lost. The wisdom of the elders is cast away like a contaminated piece of meat. Women in anguish see their husbands and children horribly compelled to fight for that which still seems real.

A dark, smoglike mist hangs over the population. Disease and famine eventually wipe out the weak. The community strives to maintain its sanity. On the physically and mentally strong are able to survive. And they do!

This new generation begets a more advanced way of life, and the standard of living is exponentially increased. Soon joy and happiness begin to reappear on the faces of the people, and the black cloud of despair is washed away by the refreshing mist of hope.

Harmony originates. The concept of the group-- cooperation-- becomes a high standard amoung the people, but individuality within the group is also prevalent. Life appears much easier. All are able to communicate well with one another, and there is an acceleration of progress. Inefficiency is eventually eliminated. The cooperative group works toward a cleaner environment, and soon all are breathing the fresh air of reassurance that measures have been taken to prevent another violent outburst from ever occurring. Sheer strength is demonstrated by the individual members of the community in their enduring ability to asseble and work toward common goals and universal needs. The cleansing process is complete. And all is well...

Found Among Letters to God

• Spiritual Haiku
  
• My Life is an Open Book
  
• Life with God
  

CONFUSION

Originally written the day after the 'Challenger' space shuttle explosion, January 1986
Revised 21 October 1987

• When you feel the world has beaten the snot
  out of you and you don't know all the reasons.
  
• When you mourn over a tragic incident
  without knowing why it happened
  
• When the President tries to console you by saying
  that the seven involved in that incident were
  able to "touch the face of God" and people still
  feel bad.
  
• When you don't know all the reasons
  
• When you can't find the answers to your questions

• Do we mourn because we thought we were
  so great that no one, not even God, could stop us?
  
• Is God a God that punishes us for going beyond
  the golden mean?
  
• I s the reason for our sorrow the fact that we miss those people?
  
• Or is it because we don't know how to explain to
  their children why their mommys and daddys
  cannot come home and where they've gone?
  
• Is that our confusion?

• If Heaven is supposed to be such a great
  place, then why do people cry and mourn and
  wear black clothes when others die?
  
• Is this an instance of our trying to overcome
  Fate, by not wishing these people to leave us so soon?

• Do I really know what I'm talking about?
  
• Why can't I express all of my feelings on
  paper so that they'll give the same impression
  that the idea gave to my mind? The way it is
  with these ideas, these fleeting images which I
  consider important, is that my brain picks them
  out so quickly that the ideas are incomprehensible
  once I place the words on the paper.
  
• Is that confusion?

What?!

Why does she do it?

How can she expect me to feel the same
Whe she herself has changed?

It hurts me to try to understand,
Why she's doing this to herself.

It is so sad --
The way I feel for her
Not pity -- (Is it love?)

But she and I are not totally different,
For with her possibly puzzled mind there exists,
My true feelings in this puzzle of words.

So now I wait until she comes across
These words
And attempts to decipher this puzzle.

And maybe by doing that,
She could decipher her own.

Computing Haiku

Your file is corrupt
Time to Control + Alt + Delete
There is no other way

Invalid page fault
Has occurred in your software
File is now closing

System has frozen
You are now presented with
The Blue Screen of Death

Machine has now crashed
All unsaved work will be lost--
You Have a Nice Day

Your PC has locked
For the ninteenth time today
Grab your sledgehammer

Email server's down
No more communication
ETA unknown

Writing Advice

Jennifer wrote: "What works for me might not work for you."

Among other things.

My Life in a Nutshell: Daily Goal

Sam the Stupid, Part 2

(Based on a 10-minute exercise generated by WriteThis - 9/14/02 1:54:45 AM in which the main character is someone I have written about before, takes place in someone else's home, and the story is told in the first person)

Jeez, I can't believe I'm writin' 'bout Sam again. I used to think that he was gonna get better at life, but he kept gettin' more and more stupid. At least that is how I and many others in town viewed him.

One time, when me and some other buddies was at Jim's house about to go do some fishin', Sam came a knockin' on the door. He had just come out of the pen, and he was wearin' all his clothes this time.

But, since it was only dawn, he bein' stupid and all, was only wearin' his pajama britches.

"Can I come, too?" Same asked.

"Sam, you silly man," Mrs. Jim's Wife answered, "you know you can't just go invitin' youself to other people's gatherin's. Especially when all you're wearin' is yo' pj's! Lemme go see if Jim and 'em want you to come along. Hold it right there, an' I'll be back."

"Aight," Sam the Stupid replied.

Mrs. Jim's Wife didn't even let Sam inside. I now understand, having been ovair at Jim's house during the day. That living room resembles the rest of the room - not child proof one bit. And if it weren't child proof, then it weren't also Sam the Stupid proof.

Jimmy, Dean, Ben, and I come out to the livin' room after Jim's wife told us that Sam was outside waitin' for us.

"Sam, when did you git out of the pen?" Dean asked.

"Oh, just last night. I'm lookin' for a bit to eat, an' I heard y'all were going fishin', so I wanted to tagalong."

"Sam, you can come with us, but you gotta git some different clothes, dude…"

Announcement from Status.Blogger.Com: Blog*Spot Web Server Maintenance

From midnight to 3 AM Eastern time on Friday, 13 September 2002, the Blog*Spot file server, which contains this and other weblogs with "blogspot.com" in the URL, will be down for maintenance. So, from that time - midnight to 3 AM EDT - Streams of Consciousness will be unavailable.

Why Wait? Procrastinate Now!

Jennifer St. Clair posted "A Writer's Guide to Procrastination."

Sam the Stupid

(Based on a 15-minute exercise generated by WriteThis - 9/10/02 1:26:48 AM in which the main character is a criminal, the story is a comedy and takes place inside a shop, the main character is a criminal, and a hat is somehow involved. The dialect was my own choice.)

Poor Sam. The day he got put in the pen was a hoot, although not everyone thought so. I’m fixin to tell you what happened that day.

I’ve known Sam since we was both boys growin’ up on the same road. As we got older, we had to stop playing together, mainly 'cuz mama said he was bein' a bad influence on me er somethin' like that.

One mornin’ when I was walking to school, I stopped by the donut shop to get a small bit to eat. I looked out the window and saw Sam running up the sidewalk, clutchin' a donkey hat. Now you may a be wonderin' what the heck's a donkey hat, but that's not as important as what I'm gonna tell ya next.

Ya see, Sam wernt wearin' anything but that donkey hat he had on his head. Well, okay, he was wearin' some britches. I gotta say that 'cuz I don't wantcha gettin' all embarrassed and everything.

Behind Sam was old man Pappy, a huffin’ and a puffin’, holding in one hand a shotgun. In another hand he was holding onto what looked like the rest of Sam's clothes!

Now, I thought Sam was gonna keep on runnin' up the street, but he didn't do that at all. Instead he ran right into the donut shop where I and some other adults was.

"Quick, Donny, ya gotta help me! I found that donkey hat we used to be lookin' fore back when we was eight!" Sam cried out, looking out the window to see if ole man Pappy saw him duck into the donut shop.

Now I was gettin' kinda worried. You see that hat he was holdin' onto was part of ole man Pappy's vaudeville act, an some folks considered it to be an antique. When we was younger, we decided it would be a neat prank to steal that hat and hoist it up the school flagpole for everyone to see. We was so bored, as I'm sure you can tell. I mean some kids go swimmin' and play tag, but us, we were into stealin' stuff.

Well, Sam was a-runnin' around lookin' for a place to hide, when he tripped on a banana peel and took a spill to the floor. Me and the other folks in the store bust out laughin’. But none of that kept him from gettin' back up. No, siree. He got back up and dove over the counter.

Remember when I told you he weren't wearing anythin' but his britches? Well, from divin' over the counter to hide, his britches got caught on the corner and they all but got torn off of him. So now he's runnin' around with that dang donkey hat and his britches nearly off.

Everyone in the donut shop was laughin' so hard they about peed on themselves. 'Til ole man Pappy came inside the shop.

Author Mania

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Romantic Movements - VII. Permission

(At night the cars rushing back and forth through the heart of the
city are its blood its vital fluid)

They are enjoying this cool summer night those two with the windows
open and the fresh summer air breezing in

There they are in his apartment in the sky with its azure wall and
light blue-gray curtains with its cloud-soft furniture

The miniature jazz band rests atop the hi-fi playing the soft slow
mellow music they both wish to hear the piano player's caressing of
the keys reminds him how her hair caresses her shoulders the saxophones
spray him with the scent of Misty cologne

She in her white high heels and pink satiny dress saunters over to
him in his white pleated pants and his white Italian jacket concealing
a turquoise tee shirt

Romantic Movements - VI. Reunion

"I've missed you." The words which reverberate inside my head
each time I relive this encounter.

"You never gave an address, a phone number, or anything else
that would have enabled me to communicate with you. Before we
left school, you were all that was on my mind. You're breaking my
heart."

"You know I've had a boyfriend."

"It's weird that ladies like you pursue the one you like and
who hardly cares for you while the one who really cares is right by
your side. People say love is a two-way street, but I disagree."

"What do you want from me?"

"Probably something you'll never be able to give. My feelings
are so intimate and warm, and they desire to escape. ONe night is
all I ask for. Can we be alone for one night before you return?
I promise I won't pressure you into doing anything you don't want
to do. You lead the way. You tell me when to stop. I just want
to feel a little of my love come back to me."

Romantic Movements - V. Fear

I don't want to say good night I really want to stay but if I wound
up staying I'd wonder what you'd say...

You don't feel the same as I you don't like me in that way that's
why all my sunny days turn out to be so gray...

So don't ask me what is wrong I won't know what to say my words do
all betray me my thoughts would be displayed...

Romantic Movements - IV. Worship?

She looks so beautiful so radiant oh how I adore her when she
emanates this sensuality I can see it in her eyes the magnetism
draws me closer to her every minute every morning I wake up in a
fever my body soaking wet she is my obsession...

I wish it wouldn't be like this she knows just how I feel but neither
does nor says anything it's as though she mocks my desire my rising
passion...

Romantic Movements - III. Passion?

I love her oh so dearly she loves me not as nearly she breaks my
heart in places now there are only little traces in what used to
be so full...

Now it's hard for me to pull myself together and say I love her
to this day...

Sometimes I get down and pray if there could be a way that we
could be together...

But something tells me it will never ever happen 'cause mine is
just too strong and hers is just too weak that the thing I wish to
have is out of my reach...

Romantic Movements - II. Pain

Such shrill shrieks are heard from above from those who suffer from
unrequited love their only need is to succeed in getting what they
want the memories continue to haunt them causing their eventual
destruction such corruption from those who want what they cannot
have...

Romantic Movements - I. Confession

I've come to realize that what I like about you isn't your looks
as much as it is your ideas, your values, your emotions... Your
appearance is merely a shell. When I look at you and it appears that
I am staring, I'm looking inside of you. And when I smile it means
that I like what I am seeing.

Whenever you look sick or weary, I always want to reach out to you,
to feel your oppression and help you overcome it.

I know I am a hard person to understand. I'm unpredictable, and I
have a strange sense of humor. I also make several mistakes. But
I have inborn talents as well, and these need to be developed. I
need you to understand what I am saying because this is how I really
feel about you. And nothing can ever stop me from saying it.

Romantic Movements

The next series of posts is a collection of related poems I wrote when I was back in high school. You may say they are like 'Movements' of a classical music piece.

They are entitled

1. Confession
   
2. Pain
   
3. Passion?
   
4. Worship?
   
5. Fear
   
6. Reunion
   
7. Permission
   

Trash
In the summer of 1986, I attended the Governor's Summer Institute for the Gifted and Talented at the University of Cincinnati. While there I attended a Poetry Workshop with some other high school juniors. For one of the exercises, we all came up with one word, and the entire group had to write their own poem, using those words or a variant of those words (e.g., using 'chin' instead of 'chinchilla' was okay).

If I can remember correctly, the words we had to work with were as follows: serendipity, soliloquy, chinchilla, rhetorical, oxymoron, understand, communicate, and manacle. Below is my contribution. Oh yeah, the last stanza is exactly how I felt after writing this piece. Fortunately, I don't feel that way now.

All because of serendipity --
The theatre director was amazed at
The way the man who portrayed the cat
Performed his soliloquy.

Standing on the stage in his costume,
He improvised a monologue.
Reminiscent of Shakespeare,
It still had relevance to the play.

"Why should the heavens
Take their anger on me?
Why must I walk
Under the formidable sky,
Which gives me such a chill,
With unpleasant joy?"

Thought the director:
A rhetorical question with an oxymoron
In a contemporary play --
With loads of symbolism
Was a creative idea.

Though no one understood it
The actor explained his question,
Which grabbed the audience's attention.

The director left the theatre
In search of more of those
With great communication skills.

And thus the young poet finishes his work,
Looks at it and tosses it into the trash.

Forever My Love a song by Dan Johnson, Jr.
This one was written in the early 1990's. It's interesting, how, even though I haven't seen it in almost 10 years, the melody came back almost instantly.

You are a shelter from the storm
You keep me warm
Yes, you keep me warm

And I've come to you today
With so many things to say
I've got some things to say

CHORUS
You
Never need a thing
You
Provide everything
I
Can never give as much as you
But there's one thing that I can do --
Forever give my love
Back to you

An end to hate and strife
A brand new life
Yes, a brand new life

It is so plain to see
How you've loved me
God, how you've loved me

REPEAT CHORUS

My love for you has grown
You've made it known
Yes, you've made it known

What an awesome God you are
How close you are
Yes, how close you are

REPEAT CHORUS

You've taught me how to give
You've shown me how to live
What a great life to live

Relationships galore
You've given more
Given so much more

REPEAT CHORUS 2X

Forever give my love
Back to you
To you

QuotesBlog

QuotesBlog now has comments.

Cafe War Flashback
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 8/30/02 4:15:56 AM)
A 15-minute exercise in which

• A ticket plays an important part in the story.
  
• Main character has an addiction of some kind.
  
• Story takes place in a war zone.
  
• Must be written backwards in time.
  

I cannot believe that George is dead. My best friend in the entire world, now gone. I had often wondered where our caffeine binges would take us. I guess I need to re-evaluate my life some more.

George was gasping for breath, and the riot was in full effect. I had no idea he'd have a heart attack. We had finished our 50th mocha grande and had finally finished our Monopoly game. Some of you may think it's funny that we'd continue our Monopoly game amid a riot, but that's what I enjoyed about George's company.

After he'd finally purchased Boardwalk, we'd ordered our 10th mocha grande, this time without whipped cream, since the riot appeared to have begun over a whipped cream shortage. One thing I can definitely say about caffeine is that is keeps your senses alert to what is going around you.

That's what I was thinking when we began our Monopoly game. I had by that time finished my fifth mocha grande and I was giddy more than I have ever been before. George said he needed to do something to work off his already huge caffeine buzz. He had just finished his fourth mocha grande and was getting very jittery.

Prior to that when we walked into the Cafe we wondered why the staff appeared so jittery. Some of them muttered about missing the shipment of whipped cream, and they started arguing about that or something else. George and I were just glad to have our tickets accepted into the Cafe parlor.

I bought them earlier today, over the Internet, and since they were on sale as a "Buy One Get One Free", I knew I needed to ask George to join me. We both loved mocha grandes.

I remember talking with George over the phone, and he had mentioned that he had gotten two hours of sleep last night, and wasn't feeling that well. Yet he couldn't pass up the opportunity to join me for the grand opening of the new Cafe in our neighborhood.

George and I met at a Cafe across town a few years back. Neither of us drank much coffee, but we enjoyed the atmosphere and playing some of the games. The band that played was really cool as well. It's funny now that I think about it, he had mentioned that he had just gotten clean of the crack cocaine he'd been taking.

I asked him about his treatment, and he declined to talk about it. He only stated that if there was a hell on Earth, it must have been the clinic where he went to come clean.

George earlier mentioned that he took cocaine to help him stay awake in class. Funny, but I'd been having trouble staying awake as well at that time.

Rasmus has a WriteThis examples site.

Recapitulation Situation - A Haiku
I composed this during my daughter's speech therapy session this morning. It's based on a 7-9-7 construction; i.e., 1st line=7 syllables, 2nd line=9 syllables, 3rd line=7 syllables.)

Last night I gazed at the moon
It was not yet high up in the sky
Such beauty wrapped up in darkness

I almost reached out for it
And captured it with my camera --
Alas, 'twas untouchable.

Crawling to the computer,
Through the night I wrote and wrote and wrote --
My muse, my inspiration.

Without sleep I wrote till morn;
I finally headed for slumber,
But woke up when the phone rang.

Hung up the phone, fell asleep,
Minutes later, wake up get dog out --
Hop in car and drive to park.

Town still asleep, sun not up
Walk in the park and sing songs to God --
Goodnight Moon; Goodnight, Sun.

Now I sit here, eyes wide tired,
My head hurts, eyes hurt -- must stay awake
Till I can return to bed.

Daughter at speech therapy
Plays games with teacher, asking questions --
Helps teacher answer questions.

Hearing aid in disrepair:
Dog chewed on it, thought was a chew toy --
Insurance will give us check.

New ear molds not come in yet --
Don't know if company got order
So new ear molds made from goo.

Baseball Strike Haiku also posted at Journey Inside My Mind

Following the traditional 5-7-5 construction, I offer this in 'honor' of the current baseball situation...


Will baseball strike out?
Do I really care anymore?
Time to watch football

Insanity Contagium

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 8/23/02 3:16:21 PM)

"What do you mean, you need the key?" Andrew asked.

"To unlock the door, of course," Simon replied.

"What door? What are you talking about, you nitwit?"

"You're probably not far from the truth, Andrew, my good buddy, my ice cream cone."

"You're getting stranger by the minute. Are you sure you don't want me to get you some help?"

"Listen, you curmudgeon! I don't even know what that means! It sounded like a good word to describe you, so I used it! Why don't you ever listen-"

"Hey, hey, there Simon. I was just kidding, OK? I wasn't going to try to get the doctors. I mean after all, you'd just kill me like you did the other three. I value my life. But what do you say we take a walk and get us an ice cream?"

"Well alright, but no funny stuff. Especially after what the lion did to my porpoise. It took several days for the pain to wear off, if you know what I mean. Those hooligans of medicine haven't a clue as to what the truth of life is. But I think I've found it."

"You know, Simon, some people write down their thoughts and ideas, especially for other people to understand. Have you ever thought of doing that?"

"Yeah, dumbkopf! I've got shelves full of journals at home. Some of them have recipes for killing sprees, too. But mostly they have a lot of truth to them. Some of them contain complete, descriptive accounts of past purgings I've enjoyed."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Maybe I could show them to you sometime."

"Maybe. Let's stop in here for some ice cream, in the meantime. What did you say your favorite flavor was?"

"I think you'd like what I've written. You, too, could be set free from the slave labor you call life."

"What flavor of ice cream do you want?"

"Oh, that's right. I like 'Blood Sausage'."

"Simon, we're at the ice cream shop."

"Well, alright then, stupid! I'll just have a Passion Fruit Smoothie, OK?"

"You know, I'm glad I'm your friend, because-"

"Because what? You think I'm crazy, don't you? You think I should go back to that asylum. Well, let me tell you something, Mr. KnowItAll-"

"That's not what I'm saying-"

"LET ME FINISH OR I'LL BASH YOUR @#@!$#%$ HEAD IN!"

"No, Simon. Let me tell YOU something. You see this gun I have in my hand? It's loaded. Just like you're going to be in just a few seconds.”

“YOU THINK YOU CAN STOP ME WITH THAT THING? YOU’RE DUMBER THAN I THOUGHT!”

“No, Simon, I believe you’re badly mistaken. Now, before I unload my revolver, I want you, since you’re so much interested in this key, to tell me where the lockbox is.”

“You’re such an idiot, Andrew. You think that I’m just going to volunteer the location of our million dollar prize? Not without a fight, you’re not. You’ve got to remember my Jedi powers.”

“I’m going to count to three, and if you don’t tell me, you’ll not get an ice cream but some lead instead!”

“OK, Simon – I mean, Andrew. Just let me sort this out.”

“One.”

“Let’s say we skip this whole ice cream thing and go somewhere else, huh?”

“Let’s not. Two.”

“C’mon Andrew, what good is the million dollars without someone to share it with, huh?”

“Three,” Andrew said as he unloaded all six rounds into Simon’s chest. “Well, now Simon, I don’t think you’ll be menacing our streets anymore. What’s this? You ate the lockbox! You definitely were a crazy man,” Andrew said, as he picked up the lockbox from inside the now disemboweled Simon.

“See you in Hell, Simon.”

“You first,” an almost dead Simon whispered, as he threw a knife into Andrew’s neck, puncturing his aorta.

Grandpa’s Painting

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 8/23/02 2:55:01 PM)

Grandpa was dying, that's for sure. The doctors and nurses had done practically everything they could, and we were already making arrangements for him to enter Hospice.

This day was a special day, therefore, since it was to be one of our last with Grandpa. Dad, Mom, and I picked him up at the clinic, and, after a small bite to eat, we headed for the Art Institute. The Art Institute has always been one of Grandpa's favorite places. He once mentioned that he could spend an entire day there, and he actually did several times.

After Dad parked the car, we went inside and paid our admission. Grandpa looked haggard, but his spirits were bright. He even cracked a few jokes while we were in the car. Sure, we'd heard them all before, but they still made us laugh. What a great sense of humor he has!

We walked around a bit, looking at various exhibits, and finally went to the Impressionists exhibit. Grandpa walked over to one painting in particular and sat down on the bench, studying it for some considerable time. I wondered what it was about that painting that made such an impact on him. He pointed to it and mentioned that this painting belonged to his great grandfather back in France, and he had donated it to this Institute shortly before he passed away.

This news was indeed incredible. Definitely a surprise for Dad, Mom, and me. One of my ancestors owned a Monet? Wow. But we weren't at all prepared for what was going to happen next.

Grandpa reached into his pants pocket and pulled out an old, folded up piece of paper. Unfolding it, he read the text to us. The paper was a certificate of ownership for the particular painting we had been studying! After reading the paper, he took out another paper from his pocket, something called a Power of Attorney. He then glanced over his shoulder at the Curator's Office. He then asked for some help in getting up. Dad and I helped him get up. He walked over to the Curator's Office, and we followed him.

A small sign on the window said "Notary Public". Grandpa knocked on the door, and the Curator opened it and welcomed us into his office. Grandpa and the Curator chatted for awhile - it appeared that they knew each other well. I couldn't understand what they were saying because it all was in French. At times either Grandpa or the Curator looked over at us as they conversed.

Then the Curator came over to us and congratulated us on being the new owners of the Monet painting. I couldn't believe it! Dad asked the Curator how much the painting was worth, and Mom almost fainted when she heard that it was worth over 1 million dollars!

A SONG TO THE OWNER OF MY SOUL/ A PRAYER TO THE GOD OF MY LIFE

I wrote this in one sitting back on June 21, 1994. I was inspired to give this to my then girlfriend/future wife, Jennie.

Lord, when you look at me, what do you see?
With divine eyes you see not only my body
But also my soul.

Because of your grace and truth, my soul now finds rest in you.
O you, with the power to destroy both body and soul,
Let me not fear those around me,
For you are infinitely greater than they.

O my Maker, you see all my imperfections,
Yet your love never fails-
For who can be perfect except you and your son Jesus.
Your grace has been evident in my life,
For I am blessed with a joy that has no bounds.

I am free to be what you’ve always dreamed I could become.

Now I’m on fire with a burning desire
To complete the tasks you’ve laid before me.
I offer you my life again today-
Take me; I’m yours.

Ten thousand years from now
I will praise your glorious name
For you are powerful
And nothing else can compare with your love for me.
And I look around and see the great throng of souls
Who were faithful to the truth
-- And my soul will continue to rejoice.

Do You Remember Me?

I wrote this on 5 December 1993 as a result of a conversation I'd had earlier with two friends who were going through some hard times. I've wanted to put it to music, a la Dan Fogelberg.

Do you remember me?

Once upon a time I saw you under a tree
Some friends of mine were with me
We saw you ailing
Wailing
Oh, what sorrow was found inside your heart

Although the Spirit lives inside
For some reason you still cried

We knew exactly what to do
Came on over and lifted you
We carried you
Because you had lost the strength to carry on

My friends and I, we held you
It was all that we could do
And we nursed you back to spiritual health
And talked about the spiritual wealth
Awaiting you in heaven.

Do you remember me?

That time when you were crying
The Spirit inside was dying
The sin no longer worth denying-
Satan himself was lying-

But I shut him up with the truth
There’s no denying the living proof

My friends and I, we held you
It was all that we could do
And we nursed you back to spiritual health
And talked about the spiritual wealth
Awaiting you in heaven.

Do you remember me?

We sat around a table
Broke bread and sang a song
And I kept trying to tell you
I couldn’t remain for long.

“Remember me,” was all I asked.
“Remember me,” when the time had past.

When you saw that you were lost
As I hung up there upon the cross
As tears came from your eyes
Love came down from the sky
And that was why I died-
So that you’d remember me.

My friends and I, we held you
It was all that we could do
And we nursed you back to spiritual health
And talked about the spiritual wealth
Awaiting you in heaven.

Do you remember me?

When life gets dull and dreary
And you feel like you can’t go on
Although you may feel weary
You’ve got to carry on

Just look inside the eyes of my friends
I’m sure it will begin to make some sense
The love inside is twinkling
But it’s only just an inkling
Of the greatest love that can ever be.

So look inside- I’m sure you’ll see
That inkling, twinkling of
The greatest love
That ever was- ever is- and always will be-
And you’ll begin to remember me.

Farmer Jim’s Extraordinary Day

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 8/13/02 8:58:43 AM)

Our story begins with Jim Jackson, a farmer in the country whose land has not been yielding a good crop for the past five years. His wife Dora left him two years ago. Alone, Jim passes the time trying desperately to make ends meet.

One morning Jim woke up and went out to the barn, as usual. He examined the hen house, which he always kept clean. But today was not going to be an ordinary day, he soon realized.

Among all the other chickens with their eggs, stood a huge, golden egg. Jim immediately took it out of the nest so that he could take it to the jeweler to have it appraised.

What happens next? Tune in next time, when you hear Jim exclaim, “Oh my Lord! Does this mean that I can keep the farm?” Also, find out why Dora says, “If it wasn’t for my undying love for him…” Stay tuned, ladies, gentlemen, kids of all ages. You won’t want to miss our next episode of “The Lifetimes of Jim Jackson”!

Venus Report

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 8/16/02 4:42:53 PM)

This just in -- In outer space, close to the planet Venus, Venus herself was spotted in orbit! Scientists report that they've seen nothing like this before. Plans are underway, according to a NASA spokesperson, to communicate with the Roman mythological goddess.

You may recall from mythology class in high school or college, that Venus, known in Greek mythology as Aphrodite, is the goddess of love. We have Dr. Ivanto B. Leif, mythology professor from Jamestown University, here with us, ladies and gentlemen, to comment on this strange phenomenon. We'll keep the NASA pictures on display as we hear his comments:

Dr. Ivanto B. Leif: "This phenomenon is actually not uncommon, if you read the mythology texts carefully. Why even in an older copy of Homer's Iliad, he states that Ulysses and his crewmembers would gaze up at the stars and marvel at the love goddess's presence."

I see. Well, thank you Dr. Leif, we'll contact you again if we have further questions.

Now from the live feed from NASA, we can see what looks like a persona rising up from the planet Venus. According to Dr. Phy Nalfron Tier, astronomer from NASA, the space station is capturing the information and any additional data it can obtain. Plans are underway for a shuttle mission outside of Earth's orbit to explore the near planet.

Until now, shuttle missions have not ventured beyond Earth's orbit, and while scientists are optimistic that this mission will be successful.

That's all we have now. Stay tuned for more information as we receive it.

A Run For My Life originally published 02/27/2002 12:32 PM at Journey Inside My Mind

I had a very strange dream last night. Some other people (friends?) and I were being chased through a multi-story building with a parking lot by a psychopath. It also took place at a park nearby. The dream seemed like it lasted about an hour, as though it could have been an episode of a TV drama. As these things often are, unfortunately the details are now fuzzy. Below are some things that I can remember, though:

- The chase mostly occurred on the elevators
- We knew that a friend of ours, TM, was on his way into work. He had parked on the 9-1/2th floor. We tried for as long as possible to keep the elevator from stopping there because we knew that TM was unaware of the danger before him.
- To make the elevator stop at the 9-1/2 floor, you had to press the buttons for the 9th and 10th floors and stop the elevator in between. I remember something like this being done in the movie "Being John Malchovich".
- Just as soon as we thought things were getting back to normal, this guy - the psychopath - would flip out again and resume chasing us.
- Indeed we felt like we were almost always on the run for our lives.
- Eventually we thought it was safe enough to get TM from the 9-1/2th floor, but as soon as we stopped there, we realized that the psycho has become aware of the existence of the 9-1/2 floor. We had somehow thought that it was a "safe haven" - until then.
- Unfortunately we couldn't help our friend TM. By the time we arrived at the 9-1/2th floor, the psychopath had already got to him.

The Hunt, Part 2 originally published 02/26/2002 1:28 PM at Journey Inside My Mind

He didn't have much time. If he was going to do it, then this was the time. No turning back...

The thrill of the hunt is what drove him. He'd often go without sleep when he was in pursuit. Nothing but reaching his goal would satisfy him. He'd deal with each obstacle as it came, overcoming and advancing. No weather, no circumstance, nobody was going to stop him from getting...

... that cheeseburger.

The Hunt, Part 1 originally published 02/25/2002 10:26 PM at Journey Inside My Mind

He felt the hunger pangs in his mortal coil again. This time they were stronger and didn't seem to want to subside. He knew he had to do something quickly, or he would be overcome. So he made a mad dash for the vending machine. He reached into his pocket only to discover that he had no change to obtain that which his body needed, the sustance for his soul.

He looked around and saw the fire extinguisher hanging on the wall. No one else was around anyway, and he was usually the last one to leave his workplace. He further glanced around and saw that there were no cameras watching his every move. So he yanked the fire extinguisher off the wall and smashed it into the vending machine. The glass shattered and he now had access to as much candy, chips, gum, and cookies as he wanted. He gathered as much as he could in his arms and headed back to his cubicle.

He sat down and began opening each item and eating it. About fifteen minutes later, he fell asleep, satisfied that his hunt had been successful.

Continuance... originally published 02/25/2002 4:57 AM at Journey Inside My Mind

He cried harder than he ever thought he could cry. His heart ached so hard. He thought he was going crazy, the whirlwind of images blowing his mind. He fell to the floor, clutching his hands in desperation, begging for relief. The pain was almost more than he could handle. He looked up and the world appeared crooked, tilted somehow.

Then the door slammed open with a crash. Four men wearing white came in with a stretcher. The sound of them walking was like an Army marching to a cadence. "How could they be so cruel?" he thought, pounding his head to the floor.

The men gathered our hero and carried him out of his room and placed him in the ambulance.

Some time later, he woke up in the hospital ward, somehow well-rested. The sun was shining warmly on his face. Even the headache was beginning to wear off. He was relieved that the overdose of pills had finally worn off. This would be the last time.

No Man is an Island originally published 02/11/2002 11:07 PM at Journey Inside My Mind

Hebrews 10:24 :: NIV

I've been seeing a lot of selfishness in my own life and in others' lives. Even now, I don't feel like giving my heart to others because I'm not feeling 100% healthy. We can be so easily distracted by the worries of life, etc. We all need to do our part in taking care of ourselves and each other.

In addition, we need to keep praying to God. Write letters in a journal (this online weblog is a great venue). Write poems, love letters to Jesus. We all need to grow deeper in our love for him. For help, I often go back to the Psalms, for example.

In addition, the Bible states in Hebrews 10:25-27 that we need to consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds. I believe this is possible. I also believe that God has given all of us gifts to be used to serve him. I am trying to think of my mental illness as a gift from God. I'm not always good at doing that, but I'm trying. The apostle Paul wrote that God uses our weaknesses to demonstrate his power, so, Amen, then, show your power, O Lord!

I look forward to the plans that God has for all of us. Let me encourage you to read Ephesians 1. I read that a lot this weekend, and it encouraged me so much! It was like I was reading all of this for the first time.

Meditation -- A Haiku

Love of life - zesty
Drifting away I'm
Warmed by the sunshine

Now, more than ever
I see all my weaknesses
In my fragile frame

Noticed!

Streams of Consciousness was mentioned in Blogs4God!

Hope for Our Children words by Dan Johnson, Jr., 27 August 2000, music to come later

They are the heroes of tomorrow
We get to serve them today
To see them years from now
They will be our brothers and sisters-
Our children

They are the hope of tomorrow
We put it in them today
To see them years from now
They will pass the hope on to others-
Our children

Each day we pass the torch
Each day we fan the flame
Until we come to the day
When they will do the same

Then side by side we'll work together
With all our efforts combined
One in heart, one in mind
We'll let our light shine

This one was inspired from working with the children in our Children's Ministry. We are raising up the next generation of God's people!

The Phone Rings

by Dan Johnson, Jr.

The phone rings rings rings
Will it ever stop
I unplug it
The phone rings rings rings
I put it in the garbage
And go away from it
The phone rings rings rings
It’s driving me crazy
I cannot escape it
I bite my lip until it bleeds
The phone rings rings rings
No one else hears it
Are they deaf? No
The phone rings rings rings
I take it outside
And destroy it with a hammer
I dig a hole in the ground
And bury it
But while I’m sleeping tonight
The phone rings rings rings
I wake up and unbury the phone
I set it on fire
And watch it melt
The phone rings rings rings
It’s a piece of melted metal and plastic
I cannot answer it now – Never
The phone rings rings rings
It’s driving me insane
I can’t get rid of it
No one understands
No one believes me
The phone rings rings rings
I put it in my car
And drive far far away
I put it in a garbage dump
The phone rings rings rings
I drive home
And go to sleep
The phone rings rings rings
It’s right outside my door
I open it
There’s a man in white who says
“Your time has come. Shall we go?”
The phone rings rings rings
The man and I are walking
I cannot see anymore
There is a blinding white light
The phone rings rings rings
When I wake up there’s a sign:
Welcome to Heaven—
The phone no longer rings.

NOTE: I was inspired to write this one night in 1987 in high school while trying to do homework. I kept getting distracted by people calling on the phone. So I took my frustrations out on paper rather than on the phone, although I wished otherwise.

Update: Listen to me read this poem over at Journey Inside My Mind!

Farmer Jim’s Extraordinary Day
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 8/13/02 8:58:43 AM)

Our story begins with Jim Jackson, a farmer in the country whose land has not been yielding a good crop for the past five years. His wife Dora left him two years ago. Alone, Jim passes the time trying desperately to make ends meet.

One morning Jim woke up and went out to the barn, as usual. He examined the hen house, which he always kept clean. But today was not going to be an ordinary day, he soon realized.

Among all the other chickens with their eggs, stood a huge, golden egg. Jim immediately took it out of the nest so that he could take it to the jeweler to have it appraised.

What happens next? Tune in next time, when you hear Jim exclaim, “Oh my Lord! Does this mean that I can keep the farm?” Also, find out why Dora says, “If it wasn’t for my undying love for him…” Stay tuned, ladies, gentlemen, kids of all ages. You won’t want to miss our next episode of “The Lifetimes of Jim Jackson”

The Struggle, Part 1 originally published 03/01/2002 1:51 AM at Journey Inside My Mind

He was tired. Sooo tired. His neck and shoulders ached from sitting in the chair for so long. His body was frozen to the computer chair from all the time spent online. Though his eyes began to fail him, he could not stop. He struggled to get up, but he couldn't. He kept telling others with whom he chatted that he was tired and needed to go to bed. He knew it was the best for him. He couldn't get up. He had lost the strength to pull himself away. He had finally become... an Internet Zombie.

Beginning of Something... originally published 02/22/2002 3:09 AM at Journey Inside My Mind

He drives down the lonesome road, just as he has always done for as long as he could remember. Another night, he thinks despondently. Time has flown by, and yet it seems like he's done nothing. With the radio turned off, he listens to the thoughts swirling around in his mind.

These thoughts are moving so fast that it is nearly impossible to keep them long enough to evaluate them. But one thought keeps recurring: the green highway signs are melting, sagging to the point that tractor trailers have to move to another lane to avoid hitting them.

So he travels down this lonesome road, dying to be freed from the pain he feels inside. Tonight he takes the road he's less travelled. Ordinarily he takes life in the fast lane, barreling at high speeds, eager to reach his destination. Tonight, however, he takes the slow road, in a desperate attempt to gather his thoughts.

Since he's traveled the lonesome road for as long as he can remember, he does not worry about losing his way. His autopilot is engaged; he will reach his destination. But when?

The burning pain in his head and neck grows more intense. He reaches back to rub the affectd area but to no avail. So he starts to pinch it and punch it. No change.

The pain has begun to creep up the back of his head, as though a fluid was about to engulf his head. He tries not to panic, but it becomes so intense that he reaches for his knife. With one hand on the wheel and the other holding the knife, he begins to cut into his neck. He cuts to remove the affected parts of his neck, plucking them out onto the passenger seat.

Suddenly... he loses consciousness...

to be continued...

Sharp - A Poem originally published 02/21/2002 10:02 PM at Journey Inside My Mind

Jolts of hot, searing pain
In my right shoulder
Sitting too long in one position

In agony and desperation I
Use my pocket knife and cut
Into my flesh

There I put a large
Block of ice
Chill out

Random Mind Leakage - A Poem originally published 02/20/2002 11:07 PM at Journey Inside My Mind

In the haze around my head
My eyes are seeing red
I cannot make out all the sheen
What does all this mean?
Time is quickly flowing away
Time to call it a day.

I Reach Out For You O God - A Poem originally published 02/12/2002 4:23 AM at Journey Inside My Mind

I reach out for you, O God.
I know that you are near.
I know you hear my cries.
I know you see every tear.

This doesn't feel right.
I don't understand.
Please hold onto me
In the palm of your hand.

I need you right now, Lord
I want to love you more
I want to know you
More than I ever have before.

My life seems so confusing
Sometimes it makes no sense at all
I need you to hold me tight
To catch me when I fall

I will wait for you
You will take care of me
Some day this all will be done with
And your beautiful face I'll see.

Whirlwind - A Poem

originally published 02/06/2002 2:36 PM at Journey Inside My Mind

Note: It's been really hard to concentrate today. I feel like my mind is going in so many directions, and it's hard to do simple things.

My mind's a whirlwind
Thoughts racing around
My real objectives
Are hard to be found

Needing concentration
I grasp and fight the air
Screaming for some sanity
Trying desperately to care

In my present situation
I know that I'll prevail
Because with God for me
I know I cannot fail

Plainsong originally published 01/18/2002 4:25 PM at Journey Inside My Mind
I'm currently listening to "Plainsong", by The Cure. It's one of my favorite songs. Not only do I love the guitar, but I also enjoy the lyrics:

          'i think it's dark and it looks like rain' you said

          'and the wind is blowing like it's the end of the

          world' you said 'and it's so cold it's like the

          cold if you were dead' and then you smiled for

          a second.




          'i think I'm old and I'm in pain' you said

          'and it's all running out like it's the end of the

          world' you said 'and it's so cold it's like the

          cold if you were dead' and then you smiled for

          a second




          sometimes you make me feel like I'm living at

          the edge of the world like I'm living at the edge

          of the world 'it's just the way I smile' you said

Music Over Matter - A Poem

originally published 01/16/2002 5:33 PM at Journey Inside My Mind

Drums thumping in my head
Fingers tapping on the keyboard
Head bobs...
Just listenin' to some tunes at work.

Sax in the City

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 5/15/2002 8:00:39 AM)

It was 3 o’clock in the morning, and the saxophonist had just come from his gig at the nightclub, when he noticed some suspicious activity at one of the banks downtown.

Trying to keep from being noticed, he moved to the alley and considered his options: should he contact the police, should he just simply go about his business, or should he look for an opportunity to foil the heist?

Contact the police? He was one of them! The gig was something he did in his spare time, mostly as a hobby. Just mind his business? He had a civic duty to uphold the law, even if he was off duty. The only logical option, in his mind, was to find an opportunity to foil the heist.

He waited a few minutes, considering a potential course of action. Then he made his move. With saxophone in hand, he walked down the street to where the bank was. He was not allowed to wear his gun when he was off duty, so he decided that, if needed, he would use his saxophone.

He couldn't see the burglars, though. Were they gone? Or already inside somehow? He decided to peek through the bank's windows. Nothing. Not even an alarm. He checked the front door - it was unlocked. Opening it, he cautiously went inside, rather confused.

At that moment the lights came on around him, and an entire crowd of people yelled, "Surprise! Happy Birthday!"

He saw his girlfriend among the group and suddenly felt very foolish. He had forgotten his own birthday.

Vending Area Phenomenon

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 5/22/2002 9:42:46 AM)

He got off the interstate at the rest area, since he had been driving for several hours.

He didn't have any food with him, and the only change he had, he would need for the toll.

So he used the facilities and made his way toward his car. Suddenly, he saw it. The vending machine had been broken open. He now had access to several confectionary delights. Oh, what joys awaited him! Oh, what relief of his hunger! He began to run toward the vending area, when he suddenly slipped and fell.

Minutes later, he woke up, looking at the sky. It had been too long since he’d gone stargazing. Then he realized where he was and began to get up. Then he noticed that, while he could move his legs and upper body, his legs would not move. Confused, he tried and tried again to get up, but to no avail.

He looked around and cried out for help. He saw other vehicles parked in the lot, but no one seemed to be around. Then he looked back up to the sky and saw a light that grew in size and brightness. He had to cover his eyes because the light was so intense.

The spaceship settled in a clearing by the rest area. The hatch opened, and some human-like creatures came out, pulling something that, to him, resembled a hospital gurney. As they approached him, he began to understand what was happening. He cried out again, but he knew that no one else was around to help him.

The extraterrestrials arrived at the spot where he lay. Waving their hands, his body rose from the ground and eventually rested on the gurney. He couldn’t believe what was happening, and began to flail his arms, desperately trying to break free. Then, out of shock, he fell unconscious.

Some time later, he woke up in a brightly lit room. He felt rather numb and could barely open his eyes. He was able to move his legs, but not very much. He closed his eyes again and fell asleep.

The sound of his alarm clock rang through his head, and he finally woke up. Sitting up in his bed, he looked at his legs. He could move them. Climbing out of bed, he stood up and looked in the mirror. “Had it all been a dream?” he wondered.

Then he saw the mark on his face. He moved closer to the mirror to get a better look. It appeared to be an inscription of some sort, just under his right ear. He looked even closer in the mirror to read the inscription.

To his astonishment, the inscription read, “Fragile – Handle with Care”.

Jewelry Store Heroics

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 5/14/2002 2:33:02 AM)

The thieves entered the jewelry store, armed, dangerous, and ready to make their move. Hiding behind the counter was Jeannine, the assistant manager, a successful salesperson with a proven record of getting things done. She had been the store’s “go-to” person for several years. She had just enough time to push the button to contact the police when the thieves noticed someone was behind the counter.

“OK, we’re only gonna say this once. Come out from behind the counter with your hands in the air. Get the keys to the jewelry cases, and hand them over. We’re gonna count to five, and then we’re gonna start shooting.”

What was she going to do, she wondered. She had put way too much time in making this business successful to simply give it all up now.

“1… 2…”

She then remembered the Super Soaker Water Blaster she’d brought in to show her coworkers. It was a recent anniversary present from her husband. Now, where was it?

“3…”

There it was, inside the box of old newspapers. She checked to see if it had water in it. It did. Someone must have recently refilled it.

“4…”

She slowly began to rise, with her back toward the criminals, concealing the Super Soaker Water Blaster.

“Turn around, young lady,” one of the men ordered.

Almost in slow motion, she spun around with the Water Blaster. The burglars yelled “NO!” as she began soaking them. She noticed that these men were not holding real weapons, but instead they, too, brandished water guns.

She continued soaking her would-be assailants until they were knocked to the floor, immobilized. At that moment, she leaped across the counter and unarmed them, just as the police arrived.

Thus ends our tale.

Memorial Day Miracles

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 5/14/2002 2:35:17 AM)

Memorial Day weekend was one of the busiest times for the staff at Kings Island. From that day forward, until Labor Day weekend, the park would be open daily. Management wanted to be certain that things went off without any problems, so they called in extra maintenance workers just in case.

Because of the recent terrorist threats, security was tighter than usual. It seemed that everywhere you looked, there was another security guard.

All the specialty players were in full force. Amid the din of screaming rollercoaster riders, one could hear the sounds of the Dixieland Jazz band. They would be making their rounds throughout the park several times this season.

Of important note was the clarinetist. He had just recovered from a stroke, so his very presence here was incredible. He played as though he was 25 years younger, and his enthusiasm was contagious.

Mystery Painting

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 5/22/2002 9:47:55 AM)

I hang in the Louvre museum in France, a masterpiece for all time. How can one describe me? A portrait of a woman, who at the time of its creation was considered very beautiful, remains haunting even now.

Patrons of the museum notice, as they walk by, how my face has a haunting expression. You could say that it seems that my gaze follows them as they walk past. Almost accusingly, mockingly... definitely hauntingly.

None other than the Masked Marauder, the international villain, the second-most wanted terrorist in the world, has stolen this masterpiece, by Leonardo da Vinci, recently. Well, at least to the Europeans.

How he was able to snatch it still remains a mystery. All that we know is that it no longer sits in the famous French museum.

(OK, I made up that part about it being stolen recently.)

Can you guess who I am?

A Night in the Jungle

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 5/14/2002 8:00:04 AM)

Night was beginning to fall. The fog began to settle, and all around the voices of the jungle were raised in song.

A snake slithered along a tree branch, scoping out some food. Nearby, a lioness lay in wait for her prey. Wolves barked in the moonlight.

Suddenly, a crack that sounds like the crack of a branch rang out. The hunter, despite the pleas from the rest of his party, continued undaunted through the jungle, in search for his catch, alone.

And just like that, clouds moved in over the moon, and lightning tore across the sky. Thunder bellowed, and a heavy rain began to pour. The heavy rain made everything blurry, so that he could not see even a foot in front of him. Seeking shelter, he went under a tree, growing uneasy, chilled by the abrupt change in the weather. Unfortunately, it was the same tree where the giant anaconda lay stretched above, waiting.

The snake slithered down the trunk moved along the branch above him, and slowly dropped in front, ready for the kill. The hunter screamed and took off running.

Because the sound of the thunderstorm was so loud, and possibly the beating of his heart so intense, the hunter didn't realize what was about to happen next. The lioness, out of nowhere it seemed, sprang from the grass, and lunged toward the hunter, throwing him on the ground. The impact caused him to drop his rifle.

Weaponless, the hunter struggled to break free from the man-eater's clutches. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the anaconda swiftly approaching. And then, all of a sudden, amid the thunder and lightning, a shot rang out, and the lioness fell dead to the ground.

The hunter hadn't realized that another lonely hunter had been following him.

WriteThis!

I just noticed Rasmus's comment for my post, "Protecting the Prince of Sweden", which I wrote using "WriteThis!":

"I found you in my referrer logs and I must say, I'm very happy to see, that you checked out my little WriteThis tool. I do hope you'll have fun with it in the future as well."

Believe me, I will.

How about you? If you've ever needed some inspiration to write something, check out WriteThis!

Protecting the Prince of Sweden

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 5/14/2002 2:30:10 AM)

The Prince of Sweden was about to arrive for the parade. All the pieces were being put together. The security would be tight, due to the recent terrorist attacks.

In order for the parade to work correctly, the chief of security needed to make sure all the communications equipment was ready. Part of this test involved using a magnifying glass to provide increased solar power, since the equipment ran off solar power. Fortunately, the weather forecast called for lots of sunshine.

The parade was about to begin. All the citizens of Sweden were gathering. The Chief used the magnifying glass, and the communications equipment worked splendidly.

As the motorcade came down the main thoroughfare, the people cheered for their leader.

Everything happened without any problems. The chief’s idea for solar-powered radios caught on throughout Europe and eventually made its way to the United States.

Teaching Trial

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 5/31/2002 1:36:43 AM)

I had been having terrible headaches lately, probably because I was still recovering from the incident. Still, I had promised to visit Jake's house, at the request of his parents.

Jake was one of the many students I taught at Jackson High School. His mother contacted me last week about his math grades, which were horrible, to say the least.

I gazed down at the piece of paper upon which I had scribbled the directions. I have difficulty focusing sometimes, again probably because of the migraines I'd been having since the accident.

I turned down Oak Street and headed for the fifth house on the right. My head was throbbing; the medicine I had taken earlier had not gone into effect yet.

Six months ago, before I went on disability, I had a similar encounter with another student. Jeremy could not grasp math principles at all. I wondered how he ever got past elementary school.

I remember - I mean, how can I forget that time I went to his house to have a conference with his mom and dad. They seemed like good parents, yet they, too, had trouble getting Jeremy to apply himself, not only to math, but also to other school subjects.

It seemed that he was consumed with furniture making. Entering his home, I sat down on a wooden rocking chair. That's when it happened.

It was as though I was in a dream. Things seemed to occur in slowly and quickly simultaneously. Jeremy came out of his room and noticed that I was reclining in the rocking chair.

“That’s my chair, you idiot teacher!” And he lunged toward me, knocking me to the floor. Then he proceeded to beat me with the rocking chair. My cries for mercy were left unanswered.

I later woke up in the hospital, with my head bandaged. I could see through some eye slits someone had cut. My head ached so much, and I wondered how long I had been unconscious.

Later that afternoon, a detective from the Haverston Township police department paid me a visit. “I know you’ve been through a lot, but I do need to ask you some questions, if you feel up to it.”

“What happened to me?” I asked.

“You were attacked and rendered unconscious by one of your students.”

“Where is Jeremy, by the way?”

“He’s been in jail for the past three months,” he replied.

“I’ve been out for three months??”

“Give or take a few days.”

Somehow, I had concluded that it all was an accident.


I approached the gate to Jake’s house. His mom had told me to go right in and ring the doorbell. As I walked up the steps, I tripped and had to reach for the railing to get back up. I rang the doorbell. Jake’s mom answered the door and invited me in.

“Have a seat,” she said, motioning toward the living room.

I found a comfortable-looking rocking chair and sat down.

“Jake,” his mother called, “your math teacher’s here.” She smiled at me with a somewhat uncomfortable smile.

“Where’s his father,” I asked.

“He’s… um… busy downstairs,” she replied rather hesitantly.

Then I saw Jake come downstairs. “Hey,” he said.

Then I saw another person come downstairs. He looked like someone I’d seen before. I started to sweat, and my head was throbbing terribly. “Teach,” Jake said,” I’d like you to meet my fraternal twin brother…”

As the young man walked into the light, I knew who it was. I could have almost vomited, I felt so sick.

“… Jeremy."

Prisoner of the Web

(A fictional, somewhat autobiographical, story based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 8/7/02 10:46:50 AM)

I was trapped. I had logged into the Internet again, for the fifteenth time. I knew I was keeping our single phone line busy by doing this, but I was obsessed. Now I was experiencing the repercussions of my whimsical decision.

I had surfed over to "AllYouCanEat.com" because a friend recommended it to me. To my chagrin, I was instantly bombarded with a series of popup windows. Not only that, but somehow the website was able to discern information about me.

This of course troubled me because I usually don't offer that information. But there it was, staring me in the face. Not only my name and user name, but other, more personal information, flashed on the screen. If these people, had access to my information, then who else could get access? I wondered.

One by one I tried to close the popup windows. But, whenever I closed one popup window, another one opened up, with even more personal information about me! In addition, a ticker started to scroll across the bottom of my screen. I saw the text:
"Congratulations, my young friend! You are now a host to my computer virus AU9iS. Any attempts to leave this web site will be thwarted."

What was I going to do? I couldn't just let some maniacal web programmer keep me prisoner! I pressed Ctrl+Alt+Delete... nothing happened. Not even a task window... I pressed the On/Off button on the computer... no response.

Finally I disconnected the telephone and the computer. I hooked them all back and double-checked. I was free!

I then telephoned the police to inform them of the incident. Only problem was, their line was busy, and I somehow received a message that they, too were logged into AllYouCanEat.com...

Disclaimer: This story is not meant to discredit any website that currently has or will have the domain name AllYouCanEat.com. ...But you knew that already, didn't you?

A Different Journey - Among the Streams of Consciousness

Welcome to Streams of Consciousness! I recently made some Reflections on the Blogging Experience, So Far -- check that out and come back -- Don't worry; I'll be waiting. Inspired by that post, I'm launching this new blog as a respository for my creative writing efforts.

OK, then!