100 Words Update
My October batch is available.
Wednesday, November 06, 2002
Wednesday, October 16, 2002
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?”
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.
... 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.
Tuesday, October 15, 2002
Thursday, October 03, 2002
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."
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...
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...
Wednesday, October 02, 2002
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.
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.
Sunday, September 29, 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."
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.
(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.
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