It's funny. We've always thought that it would never happen. Easy to make, these promises. Hard to fufill. Within a matter of minutes, it was all over. And yet we have let go, because "sorry" is just simply a word. What is it supposed to mean exactly? Why is it that down this path, some people falter and aren't given the choice to continue, whilst others have no choice but to ditch?
*See, there's two lunatics who've just excaped from their asylum. They want to escape, apparantly. They get on to the roof successfully, and they see a narrow gap. The gap; it stretches away in the moonlight, stretching away towards freedom. One of the guys, he jumps across without any problem. But the second guy, he didn't dare to make the leap because he's afraid of falling. So the first guy has an idea "Hey! I have a torch with me! I'll just shine it across the gap so you can walk along the beam and join me!" But then the second guy shakes his head and replies "What do you think I am? Crazy? You'd turn the torch off when I was half across!" *
We forgive. We forget. But in the midst of everything, I've just realized that I've never tried. Those left behind, is it justified that we forget them and move on? Is that what happens in the end; we just become broken memories of those around us? Undoubtedly, maybe this is what is supposed to happen as part of our journey; we scatter and carve our own paths independantly. All alone; we have lost so much for that, as the pieces of our memories slowly decay and we forget. Will we ever find our paths? This is why we reach out, always wanting to know; this curiousity is part of us, but we never seem to think the right questions. In the end, does somebody call our name, come to us, as we break into pieces?
*Maybe something will happen that will never happen or that's never happened before. Is that what brings us home?* If this is what a heart is, then it must be the heart that causes us such pain. It is because of the heart, that "goodbye, tranquility" must be said.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
practice conflict piece
English October test tomorrow, revision's completely unfinished. I've only covered 1 theme across 4 mindmaps in the last two nights for 1984, and done one practice piece for the context. I still have to re-read "The Crucible" for more quotes to start my piece better tomorrow; I took some lines from my previous stories to start this imaginative piece off:
Conflict brings out unexpected qualities in people.
17th July, 2010
My body ached, pleading for recovery from last night, and yet that did not even portray the despair in my heart. The pillow was drenched with grief; the bed sheets ruffled with agony, the setting of the light-deprived apartment had said it all. Why did I go? Why did I leave? And as these thoughts continued to dwindle in my depressed mind, I began to wonder if I was sane at all. “What happened to the American dream?” was asked on the news repeatedly as the end began. Humanity’s situation was dire; people wanted to better and genetic technologies improved to improve us humans. Discrimination soon rose as some governments wanted hygiene within races, and as people born “naturally” had nowhere to lead in life. Then we came, to help humanity pull through. We came, and now through the Pure Act we were told to be not needed. Imagine telling a fighting man that war was over, that there was to be no more fighting. I do what I do because I am compelled to do so, unlike the others who have gone. They were soft. Despite advancing in the field of eugenics, the people have abused it and new identities can be bought. Like heathen, they fight and squabble between themselves; quarrels over land could be “solved” as one could assume another person’s identity and kill someone else, then alter one’s appearances again. Now we, as the public, cannot depend on the “culprit” to accuse himself, and so in all cases the “witness” is always correct, their names being holy. Evidence is never found because by the time evidence is found and can be presented, the “witness” is gone with a new identity. With regards to the “victims”, there is no place for heroes since disputes over murders and other crimes are now “solved”. As a businessman, trust and one’s name is extremely important. That is why I am compelled to do good, a person is either good or bad; there is no road between. The other “heroes” have quit, but I, Joses by day, Boomaker by night, will be the high judge of this world that we live in, for God is dead in today’s world.
19th July, 2010
Today, a woman by the name of Elizabeth died; his blood was found splattered inside his house, yet no body is found. As always, a witness surfaced-Putnam, who supposedly saw his neighbour Parris bury a suspicious bag in his backyard. How typical. Tonight, we will judge Putnam. There is no point in making him confess; he may just acquire a new identity and he will then be anonymous. Tonight, I will be a sinner for the greater good of justice.
Having found Putnam’s residential area, I obtained unwanted entrance into his house. There is a dog outside, I hear its growls. There are many meat cleavers in Putnam’s house, unusual for a man of forty. No blood, so no evidence found yet. Stepping out of the kitchen into the next room, I see the dog. It is an absolute beast, with an oddly large bone in its mouth. My blood turns cold, cold enough to freeze beer. The bone, is the femur of the human body. It is easily distinguished by its large length and its ball-joint connector for our knees. The dog had it in its mouth. I took one of Putnam’s meat cleavers, and found some meat in his kitchen. Holding one [meat cleaver and meat] in each hand, I went into the dog’s territory. His ears pricked up. I offered it the meat. It came, and the meat cleaver went down, the impact of metal hitting its skull running up my right arm. This Putnam, I will crush him utterly when he shows his face. But my work is done tonight; I know Putnam is guilty. Justice will prevail one day, and I will give him a chance, for his sin is deep. Yet somehow I know he will disappear, only to reappear when I find him. In this world, whenever one does something, someone down there knows. Always.
22nd July, 2010
Putnam is gone as expected. Nonetheless, someone knows and I have acquired his new address, with his new name “Thomas”. Tonight, I will go to his place. He will go to hell tonight.
26th July, 2010
This is madness. I was framed all along, and now I am in a jail cell. With today’s technologies, my diary has been hidden as a microchip in my mouth. These heathen, they have condemned me to death, guilty of the murder of countless murderers, rapists-sinners. Private vengeance is no more; by my oath to Heaven, a fire burns. It is burning, I can see the boots of Lucifer and his filthy face. God damns my kind, and I will burn, burn with wheels of fire inside. The world is dying of rabies, and this is the best I can do-wipe flickering flecks of spit off its lips? God is dead, and I will take my sins with me, down into my pit. I will not “confess”, for what I did was upright and good. I will do what I do, and let none be my judge. There be no higher judge under Heaven than God, and I will go like a saint. Boomaker will die, doing what is good to the end.
After Boomaker’s death, crime still roamed the streets. The world realized that it needed heroes, and the Pure Act was overturned. At least, his death counted for something, like a saint.
Conflict brings out unexpected qualities in people.
17th July, 2010
My body ached, pleading for recovery from last night, and yet that did not even portray the despair in my heart. The pillow was drenched with grief; the bed sheets ruffled with agony, the setting of the light-deprived apartment had said it all. Why did I go? Why did I leave? And as these thoughts continued to dwindle in my depressed mind, I began to wonder if I was sane at all. “What happened to the American dream?” was asked on the news repeatedly as the end began. Humanity’s situation was dire; people wanted to better and genetic technologies improved to improve us humans. Discrimination soon rose as some governments wanted hygiene within races, and as people born “naturally” had nowhere to lead in life. Then we came, to help humanity pull through. We came, and now through the Pure Act we were told to be not needed. Imagine telling a fighting man that war was over, that there was to be no more fighting. I do what I do because I am compelled to do so, unlike the others who have gone. They were soft. Despite advancing in the field of eugenics, the people have abused it and new identities can be bought. Like heathen, they fight and squabble between themselves; quarrels over land could be “solved” as one could assume another person’s identity and kill someone else, then alter one’s appearances again. Now we, as the public, cannot depend on the “culprit” to accuse himself, and so in all cases the “witness” is always correct, their names being holy. Evidence is never found because by the time evidence is found and can be presented, the “witness” is gone with a new identity. With regards to the “victims”, there is no place for heroes since disputes over murders and other crimes are now “solved”. As a businessman, trust and one’s name is extremely important. That is why I am compelled to do good, a person is either good or bad; there is no road between. The other “heroes” have quit, but I, Joses by day, Boomaker by night, will be the high judge of this world that we live in, for God is dead in today’s world.
19th July, 2010
Today, a woman by the name of Elizabeth died; his blood was found splattered inside his house, yet no body is found. As always, a witness surfaced-Putnam, who supposedly saw his neighbour Parris bury a suspicious bag in his backyard. How typical. Tonight, we will judge Putnam. There is no point in making him confess; he may just acquire a new identity and he will then be anonymous. Tonight, I will be a sinner for the greater good of justice.
Having found Putnam’s residential area, I obtained unwanted entrance into his house. There is a dog outside, I hear its growls. There are many meat cleavers in Putnam’s house, unusual for a man of forty. No blood, so no evidence found yet. Stepping out of the kitchen into the next room, I see the dog. It is an absolute beast, with an oddly large bone in its mouth. My blood turns cold, cold enough to freeze beer. The bone, is the femur of the human body. It is easily distinguished by its large length and its ball-joint connector for our knees. The dog had it in its mouth. I took one of Putnam’s meat cleavers, and found some meat in his kitchen. Holding one [meat cleaver and meat] in each hand, I went into the dog’s territory. His ears pricked up. I offered it the meat. It came, and the meat cleaver went down, the impact of metal hitting its skull running up my right arm. This Putnam, I will crush him utterly when he shows his face. But my work is done tonight; I know Putnam is guilty. Justice will prevail one day, and I will give him a chance, for his sin is deep. Yet somehow I know he will disappear, only to reappear when I find him. In this world, whenever one does something, someone down there knows. Always.
22nd July, 2010
Putnam is gone as expected. Nonetheless, someone knows and I have acquired his new address, with his new name “Thomas”. Tonight, I will go to his place. He will go to hell tonight.
26th July, 2010
This is madness. I was framed all along, and now I am in a jail cell. With today’s technologies, my diary has been hidden as a microchip in my mouth. These heathen, they have condemned me to death, guilty of the murder of countless murderers, rapists-sinners. Private vengeance is no more; by my oath to Heaven, a fire burns. It is burning, I can see the boots of Lucifer and his filthy face. God damns my kind, and I will burn, burn with wheels of fire inside. The world is dying of rabies, and this is the best I can do-wipe flickering flecks of spit off its lips? God is dead, and I will take my sins with me, down into my pit. I will not “confess”, for what I did was upright and good. I will do what I do, and let none be my judge. There be no higher judge under Heaven than God, and I will go like a saint. Boomaker will die, doing what is good to the end.
After Boomaker’s death, crime still roamed the streets. The world realized that it needed heroes, and the Pure Act was overturned. At least, his death counted for something, like a saint.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Emoticon
21.8.2009
To this date, this is the saddest and most defining moment of my life. One week before my birthday, a friend of five years passed on. What can I say? What can I feel? I guess I'm trying to get some closure from this, and I hope nobody reads this; nobody in the sense that I'm not blindly going into the gallows. It is in these times that our true natures cannot be hidden, and people will notice. What can I say, I tried my best to only let a bit of emotion show, for a brief period of time. Undoubtedly this doesn't solve anything; it is like treating the wound but not the disease. Pure, unadulterated, unconscious, the feeling of being lost is overwhelming. One cannot possibly understand the feeling of lost until something precious is lost. It is as though that this is one of life's tests; testing us how we react, testing like it always does. Nevertheless some around me felt it as well; though I tried to hide it it was like a crack in a fortress-no crack in a fortress may be accounted insignificant. As time passed on, as the days passed, trying to hide it is easier as one runs away from the true feeling of being lost. Internally lost, it is this that begins to define us to be human. Selfish like the humans we are, we try to hold on to everything we value, yet do we value what others value? It can thus be said that from such events, we well and truly learn what friends and friendship really means. The feeling of lost-not knowing what to do, not knowing how to react, not knowing why it was him, the feeling of not knowing leads us off the path of life and we become lost, almost locking up our hearts, supressing everything that we live for. The vigour of life, happiness, is lost. Without it, we are mere slaves to ourselves, dragging ourselves through life as time progresses. Indeed, time. Time moves on, it is ever-changing and through the passing of such times we may truly find ourselves empty. The emptiness is what makes us lost; as life empties itself we aimlessly wander through life. But it is during these times where we may find the key to our heart's locks. Humour is not happiness, and happiness is not humour, yet there are those that we meet, those that meet us. Through the countless generations, the billions of humans, not to forget the chance of meeting them, they are the kind of people who pull us back to reality unknowingly. Unwittingly, they may or may not be friends, yet it is the feeling that there are things to be lived for, and such people are to be remembered forever, whether or not time divides us.
To this date, this is the saddest and most defining moment of my life. One week before my birthday, a friend of five years passed on. What can I say? What can I feel? I guess I'm trying to get some closure from this, and I hope nobody reads this; nobody in the sense that I'm not blindly going into the gallows. It is in these times that our true natures cannot be hidden, and people will notice. What can I say, I tried my best to only let a bit of emotion show, for a brief period of time. Undoubtedly this doesn't solve anything; it is like treating the wound but not the disease. Pure, unadulterated, unconscious, the feeling of being lost is overwhelming. One cannot possibly understand the feeling of lost until something precious is lost. It is as though that this is one of life's tests; testing us how we react, testing like it always does. Nevertheless some around me felt it as well; though I tried to hide it it was like a crack in a fortress-no crack in a fortress may be accounted insignificant. As time passed on, as the days passed, trying to hide it is easier as one runs away from the true feeling of being lost. Internally lost, it is this that begins to define us to be human. Selfish like the humans we are, we try to hold on to everything we value, yet do we value what others value? It can thus be said that from such events, we well and truly learn what friends and friendship really means. The feeling of lost-not knowing what to do, not knowing how to react, not knowing why it was him, the feeling of not knowing leads us off the path of life and we become lost, almost locking up our hearts, supressing everything that we live for. The vigour of life, happiness, is lost. Without it, we are mere slaves to ourselves, dragging ourselves through life as time progresses. Indeed, time. Time moves on, it is ever-changing and through the passing of such times we may truly find ourselves empty. The emptiness is what makes us lost; as life empties itself we aimlessly wander through life. But it is during these times where we may find the key to our heart's locks. Humour is not happiness, and happiness is not humour, yet there are those that we meet, those that meet us. Through the countless generations, the billions of humans, not to forget the chance of meeting them, they are the kind of people who pull us back to reality unknowingly. Unwittingly, they may or may not be friends, yet it is the feeling that there are things to be lived for, and such people are to be remembered forever, whether or not time divides us.
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