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."
Sunday, September 29, 2002
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.
(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.
Saturday, September 28, 2002
Sunday, September 22, 2002
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...
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...
CONFUSION
Originally written the day after the 'Challenger' space shuttle explosion, January 1986
Revised 21 October 1987
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?!
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.
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.
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
Sunday, September 15, 2002
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…"
(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…"
Thursday, September 12, 2002
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 11, 2002
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.
(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.
Saturday, September 07, 2002
Author Mania
"Help for writers, how to write, writing resources and tips. Learn the art of writing, become an author. Learn how to build your story or novel. Get the information you need to create your book or short story, and make your words sell!"
Elisha Charles' Author Mania has information about markets, humor articles, how to articles, helpful author and writing links, writing and author resources. Readers can also sign up to receive a newsletter.
"Help for writers, how to write, writing resources and tips. Learn the art of writing, become an author. Learn how to build your story or novel. Get the information you need to create your book or short story, and make your words sell!"
Elisha Charles' Author Mania has information about markets, humor articles, how to articles, helpful author and writing links, writing and author resources. Readers can also sign up to receive a newsletter.
Thursday, September 05, 2002
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
(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."
"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...
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...
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...
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...
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