tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32925818235243476182024-03-14T03:58:45.405-07:00Quirky notes on LifeKeeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-77749912472553346812011-09-17T00:13:00.000-07:002011-09-17T00:13:08.796-07:00So its been a freakeydeakey long time...And the point of this is to say I won't be on for a while longer. Working on a project separate from this. For those of you that know what an ARG is, I'm planning on making one, some murder mystery/serial killer/psycho/possibly paranormal thing. So yeah. It'll happen. But I want to get it all done at once, so its not a release a new clue everyonce in a while thing, I want it all live, all linked, and all at once. Which means that once I get it done, you can either figure it out all at once if you work hellishly hard for a while, or if you take a more leisurely pace, I want it to take about two weeks of a couple hours per day to finish. But I am going to work into it timed drops for info, meaning that according to when you try to access stuff it may or may not be available... but that'll all figure in later. Anyways, I would love help from anyone who wants to help - Melissa, if you're reading this, you should poke Kurt and tell him to think about this. Because I'm sure he would have interesting ideas.<br />
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And one last thing, it would be in the past. I'mma be making up a full town/city for this, so that we can have library sites with old reels and all of that sorta stuff. I just wanna get a sense of time in it, although that'll be difficult given that if anyone digs into a page source they'll find out how truly recent it is... Which is a dead giveaway. Thats actually how I find out if I'm on the right track with the ARG's I play... Anyways, thats all!Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-21504222392854302612011-08-19T11:55:00.000-07:002011-08-19T11:55:31.127-07:00What what? Another non story blog post?PSYCH!!!!<br />
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Welcome to seg 2.3. Now that I've got you trapped reading this, you'll be stuck for forever! Or at least until you go up to the right hand side of the screen and press that little x. But that wouldn't be very nice at all. So continue reading!<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; line-height: 20px;"><strike> </strike></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Kuna was walking around Chelsea park on her lunch break. It was definitely a perk of working in the office just across the street, an old parking garage refurbished by CrossTechD into an outbranch. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"New York may be a bit crowded, but at least I get to walk around in some green on my breaks." Kuna thought to herself as she took another nibble at her sandwich wrap. Her handset buzzed in her heavy overcoat which she always wore, still not used to cold New York winter. It was accompanied by a chime from her earpiece. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Second division, PA team, Josh Dershwin calling" </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Answer" She muttered, the earpiece she wore picking up her answer and connecting the call. Kuna had hoped not to be disturbed while on her break, but unfortunately her team wasn't the smartest. She often wondered how they managed to last through enough schooling to get the little pieces of paper to say they were smart, when they obviously couldn't handle much on their own at all. "Kuna here. What is it?"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Kuna! CSD0002 is in the 'scape. We think he may have seen the user activity. I tried wiping the records as fast as I could, but from his emotional state records it seems he may have seen Peter's name. Is this going to destroy our work? How do we set this straight? Kuna -" </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Shut up!" Kuna interrupted Josh. "He's in the 'scapes. We can just add a bit more memory and have it overlap his earlier ones. It's nothing to get all worked up about." </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">There was silence on the other end of the line. Kuna could hear Josh breathing heavily as he thought about it for a while. Faking memories could be difficult, but it could be done. Further, they didn't even need to really make up a new memory, just fudge the old one up a little. Get rid of one line of code, that's all. Easy as that. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Now if they could only manage to do something like that..." Kuna thought to herself before continuing. "Or is that too hard for you to do Josh? I'm sure that Pearson could easily find me someone who could. Someone with a little more... initiative. And skill. Unless you happen to like your job..." Kuna let the pause hang in the air. The breathing on the other end of the line quieted down suddenly with a small gasp. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Yes Kuna. I'm sorry. I'm on it now." Josh answered, his voice subdued. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"It's all right Josh. Just get to it. Also, I'm Ms. Mardar. Can't be too friendly now can we? I'm your boss. Forget about sharing a class in college." And with that Kuna ended the call. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">She shook her head. These people, Josh in particular, were supposed to be smart. She had gone to school with a couple of them. Their living was the study of the mind and body, the connections between the two, how impressions made on the mind could affect the body, all of that. It wasn't supposed to be an easy line of work. Yet they could never seem to rise to the occasion. Always calling to make sure they're doing right, or to ask for help when they can't figure something out quickly. Still, it was the team that Pearson had given her to work with, and she would either whip them into shape, or they would get fired. As easy as that. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;">"Pearson, the Youth is being brought up to you now. Is there anything more?"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;">The intercom buzzed at Pearson as he sat in his office. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"No, that should be fine. Thank you" Pearson replied. He sat forward, the antique leather chair creaking as he put his elbows on his desk. Looking down, he studied the knots in the wood on his desk, the fine lines swirling together, drawn by some force, focusing in onto a point. That pull, that irresistible pull from something beyond our power to stop, caught up in forces beyond our understanding or comprehension... Our lives, constantly shifting, flowing, pulling together and pulling apart.</span></span><br />
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</i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i>"It feels like watching my life being drawn out, trying to follow a straight line, but bouncing from one dilemma to another." </i>Pearson sat up, shaking his head <i>"Funny that. Growing </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; line-height: 20px;">nostalgic. I wonder if this happened to the Old Man or any of the others."</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; line-height: 20px;"> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><i> </i> </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But Pearson would need to ponder that later. Here was the Youth, ready to be questioned, tested, discussed, to see if he could take Pearson's place some day. At least, that was the original intent according to the Old Man's plan, but Pearson had an ace up his sleeve, one that was supposedly coming along well. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There was a knock at the office door just before they opened, and in walked Trenton, escorting the Youth. </span></span><br />
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</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Welcome!" Pearson rose from his desk, walking around with his hand extended to the Youth. "How are you? You look much older from our last visit, my boy. Tell me how everything has been coming along with your education!"</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">The Youth shook his hand, a grin exploding across his face. He looked much like a younger Pearson would, light gray-blue eyes that could alternately sparkle like running water, full of light and life, or look as flat and menacing as the ocean waves that could, and would, take the lives of many. Blonde hair drifted across those eyes though, unkempt and tossed from the ride over from the house that Pearson had provided for the Youth. The only major difference between the Youth and Pearson was height; Whereas Pearson was a tall, dignified version of the Youth, the Youth had yet to catch his height. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">---------------------------------------------------------------</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">So guys there is more, but I'm going outside now. Also, ccceeellleeebrate!!! My pc is working! (ish. It has to sit in a certain spot in the middle of my room with the cord attached a certain way, but hey, I'm online and writing again! Woot!)</span></span><br />
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</span></span>Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-70641299497123867712011-08-14T08:27:00.000-07:002011-08-14T08:27:53.526-07:00Reason here for why I've been gone....My computer broke! yay!!! So uh, yeah. Short hiatus. I will be back people!Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-91386480192988327492011-08-08T23:57:00.001-07:002011-08-08T23:58:12.377-07:00Just a picture you all need to see...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://likeaphobia.us/images/579.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://likeaphobia.us/images/579.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>SO TRUE. That is all.Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-7750092131615948152011-08-08T00:19:00.000-07:002011-08-08T00:19:38.004-07:00An actual blog entry as opposed to a story oneSo as I said, I enjoy the somewhat longer titles that explain everything in them. It makes it easier for you all to get the point quickly, instead of twiddling (I so didn't know you spelled twiddling with two d's...) your thumbs whilst reading through a blog entry, wondering when on this green Earth will I get to the point.<br />
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Well, the point was made up at the top. In the title. So, if you don't enjoy that memo, you should probably skip out on the rest of it. Just sayin'.<br />
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Quick update for all those girls out there with older brothers. DO NOT, and I repeat, DO NOT, go into their room, and leave your plain lip gloss where they keep their chapstick. It is NOT NICE. Especially if they don't realize at first what it is (Assuming its just chapstick because that's where they keep theirs) and apply it. And then are shocked when their lips are much more... shiny. Not colored, just... shiny. So yeah. Please, for the sake of all those older brothers out there, don't? Pretty please?<br />
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I really want this book... <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Book-Bunny-Suicides-Andy-Riley/dp/0452285186">The Book of Bunny Suicides</a>. Pretty horrible funny stuff. I literally cried from the fact I was laughing so hard at fluffy creatures who have just decided they don't want to live anymore. Its truly painful to read, and it begs the question - who's more messed up, the person reading it and enjoying it, or the person who thought it all up and wrote it, and is now making money off of the other type. Well, I guess we know which one is smarter, but still.<br />
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And it's late, so I'm just going to end this here. Hope you go check out that link, its a hilarious book, and yes, I know, it does link to amazon, but hey. They have a better description of it than I do, plus, from there I'm pretty sure you can find pictures from in the book so you understand what I'm talking about.<br />
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Night guys!<br />
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Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-8904139405460919812011-08-05T01:43:00.000-07:002011-08-07T01:16:06.037-07:00Seg 2.2Flashes of lights. Bolts of raw energy fly by my face as I run and dive into a higher clump of grain. A few more shots hit the dirt right beside me. I need to get out of where I'm at, find a way to escape them, but its all just grass, waist high. They would see it if I moved, but if I stay here...<br />
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A laser blast hits someone to the right of where I'm crouched trying to avoid being hit. The guy had stood up to get a quick shot off, but the enemy had been waiting. Half of his head was just gone, and what was left of it was charred beyond recognition. No time to scream, he had simply stood up, and that was the last thing for him. His lifeless corpse hit the ground with a soft thump, collapsing like a sack of potatoes.<br />
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If the lasers could burn straight through a human, battle gear and all, why the hell am I stuck using a projectile weapon? I quickly search the "memories" of my character. Apparently, humans didn't develop personal use laser weapons, even after several decades of space exploration in faster than light ships. Which is stupid, because now - I thought to myself - now I get to fight aliens, on an alien world, against laser weapons, with something that works on gunpowder and a piece of lead. Dumbest idea in the book.<br />
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Another bolt flashed through the grass, scorching the ground beside me. Even though it had burned the ground, it made my arm feel cold, as though the side that had been closer to the bolt had just been dumped into cold water. If this is what it felt like to just be missed by one, I couldn't imagine what being hit by one would feel like. Looking around, I can just make out a shack rising out of the grain. It's a little ways off, but I should make it there safe if I move slowly through the grass.<br />
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I start to shuffle towards the shack, keeping at a low crouch to make sure I stay beneath the waist high grass. Suddenly, an alien stumbles into the path I'm on towards the shack. Without thinking, my "training" kicks in. I swing my gun up from the resting position I was holding it in, and with a quick precision, I fire two rounds into it's skull, and then another round into it's chest as I roll to the side to avoid any returning fire.<br />
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There isn't any. I return to my low crouch from the prone position I had ended my roll in and move towards the alien body. It's helmet is broken, smashed in from the impact of the bullets, the ceremonial carved inlay providing stress lines along which it shattered. There's a thick liquid bubbling up from the shots to the chest, or at least what passes for a chest on these creatures. Their long curved bodies and spindly legs make it look almost like a cross between a snake and a spider, except the legs are all bundled together at the base of the body, and then you get your snakeish looking bends, and then a pair of hands, two on each side that can fold together to be one on each side, and the the helmet and the long hair that's always floating up as though they were swimming all the time. There's a kind of deadly beauty to them, a sort of flow to their body, each piece of armor and gear attached to their bodies without disrupting it, merely accentuating the remarkable smooth design of it all.<br />
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Marvelous work they've done with this one, I thought. Usually shooter 'scapes don't get such artistic or detailed enemies.<br />
<br />
In the few seconds I spent studying the dead body, a flood of "memories" flushed in. The first discovery of these aliens, when our separate colonization efforts met on several worlds. Highly territorial, they didn't like us trying to use the same planets they thought they had claim too. However, peace was brokered on several of the first planets we encountered each other on. Sadly, it was short lived, as a rogue alien ran into a human colony on a new planet and slaughtered the colony. Their local planetary government wasn't going to hand him over to humans, and so push came to shove, and then from there it spread across all of the worlds we both occupied. Thankfully, the fighting has been restricted to those ares, and they don't seem to want to attack any of our established homes. Some sort of honor code I suppose.<br />
<br />
More memories flash by, no time to understand what was happening really, just snapshots.<br />
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<i>Leaving my Home world in a smaller four planet system to fight in a nearby system on another world that fighting had broken out on. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Finding a girl hidden in a refuse processing unit, barely holding onto life underneath a brilliantly blazing sun.</i><br />
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</i><br />
<i>A sunset, bright orange over a green field, black marks scattered across it. A pillar of smoke rising from a pyre of dead bodies, as we preform a funeral rite customary across all systems in the United Human Systems. A beautiful view of the world, but I'm focusing on a girl helping move bodies to the pyre. Same girl that came from the colony whose members are now piled, going up in flames.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Night, the moon large and low in the sky, much closer to the planet than on any other world I'd seen, the craters all very easily visible. Melancholy tunes waft in the air - We won, but at a high cost on this planet.</i><br />
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</i><br />
<i>Morning, the sun up bright and early, shining in through the window shades. Roll over, and there's the girl beside me. She's still asleep, her nose twitching as a lock of hair sneaks down her face to tickle her nose. I brush the hair back, resting my hand against her face.</i><br />
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</i><br />
<i>Afternoon, working in the fields. I had been only seventeen when I left my home world to fight, and am now twenty four, working to support me and my wife, the girl I had found in the refuse processing unit. She's now twenty two. Our son follows me through the fields, toddling about on his unstable three year old legs. I catch him as he stumbles, off balance from throwing the spare seed he had been given in a circle. Wiping the hard earned sweat from my brow and grinning like a fool in spite of the oppressive heat and overwhelming amount of work left to be done before the day is over.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Evening again. The moon is pale, even though its full. A few clouds skirt across its face as I sit in my fields, the two freshly dug graves still laying empty behind me. My wife - What was her name? Amber? Yes, that's it, Amber - and young son had passed away from a new disease spreading like wildfire across the world. Apparently it had been a bio-weapon developed by the enemy, who had come back to reclaim "their" planet. I was one of the lucky ones, somehow immune to the disease. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Sun. Bright lights. Flashes as laser fire burns past me. Burning heat from the sun, but freezing from the chill of the laser bolts. I dash from behind the post I was hiding behind, and gun down two of the aliens. I roll towards one of the bodies, avoiding fire from three other aliens nearby. Grabbing the downed alien's gun as I roll by it, I come up into a squat, quickly finishing off the other three. I keep the gun.</i><br />
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</i><br />
<i>A different planet. Night. Slowly approaching a guard from behind, kill it quickly and silently with a knife. Watching with enjoyment as it's black life slowly seeps from it's body. I grab the gun the alien had been holding and head off towards their camp. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>"That was for Amber" I remember saying softly under my breath as I hefted the gun.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>Day again, and yet another planet. Trenched behind a small concrete panel that used to be part of the entrance to a mine. One of just a few hidden soldiers put in place to shepherd the aliens towards the mine shaft.</i><br />
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It just keeps going, more and more, until finally I'm arriving at this planet, and shipped directly to where the fighting is the hardest. Where I got sent to the forward company, in the fields.<br />
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All of this happened in just a few seconds, but it was long enough for an alien to get behind me without me noticing. There's an abrupt empty feeling, as if something valuable had been lost, and an intense cold. I manage to look down as my eyes glaze over, and I'm not surprised to see a hole in my chest. A prefect circle, sides all charred and burnt. I fall to the ground, dead.Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-13960163988981626692011-08-05T00:24:00.000-07:002011-08-05T00:24:21.276-07:00So, before any of you go -"HEY! Why's it been so long?!", let me explain.<br />
<br />
Uhm...<br />
<br />
Well...<br />
<br />
Ok, so, long story short? Been busy. Ultra. Sorta. Not really. Ok, so maybe. Just a little?<br />
<br />
Work has been... interesting to say the least. Uber happy that its sunny out though! That means that I get a somewhat-sorta-farmer/immigrant-worker tan. When I have work. Which is intermittent, fluctuating between loads of it, to none.<br />
<br />
"But Keegan, if you have no work, why haven't you been writing for us???"<br />
<br />
Well, its because I'm getting ready to move!<br />
<br />
"...." -sounds of crickets chirping- "... Move? Seriously? Again???"<br />
<br />
Uh, yeah. Again. Soooo... yeah. Cleaning up, and tons of yard work. Now, the fun part is this - When my sibs moved out to pops place, they left behind their junk here. Un organized. Messy. Junk. And so, my closet, which is the largest in the house, is (Well, Was. I went on a goodwill binge... As in getting rid of it) about mid-thigh-high. And almost none of it was mine. I won't say none, because some of my shirts had fallen off of hangers, and my trumpet and trombone were laying there, but for the majority, I've spent about two days digging through it cleaning it out.<br />
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I also went to a birthday party, turned nineteen myself, bought myself a 360 for my birthday, and have devoted some time to playing games (After pressure washing the driveway, mowing half the yard and breaking a belt on the mower, pressure washing the fence - sorta - and cleaning the kitchen... Or after leaving home at 8 for work and coming home at 8...) So, that's all been intense. And highly time consuming.<br />
<br />
Speaking of games however, I wanna talk about this one in particular... Alan Wake. Have any of you heard of it? If not, you need to check it out. If you're into sorta freaky horror/psychological thriller/action games. It was very heavily reminiscent of Stephen King novels, but playing it, it sorta felt like resident evil four mixed with silent hill... A little more stylized than either one (In my opinion) but insanely all the better for it. Oh, and when I say reminiscent of Stephen King, I mean, its to where there's a scene where a guy uses an axe and punches it through the door that the main protag, Alan, is hiding behind. I'm going to include a picture of what I mean...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieUPUYOvj6c-xaMQI3apJ2gBih0YA5FPYrzLmRsLlJudy9gFSZnonJCaOFqUmXt2yDqyZs5vUjIbLhbM-RCyGAVSuRIVaN-9g-ZQ-LmUSvFuFgkKc1iXJLxTPa9K3mXTHKrDSTsqe81-Sc/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieUPUYOvj6c-xaMQI3apJ2gBih0YA5FPYrzLmRsLlJudy9gFSZnonJCaOFqUmXt2yDqyZs5vUjIbLhbM-RCyGAVSuRIVaN-9g-ZQ-LmUSvFuFgkKc1iXJLxTPa9K3mXTHKrDSTsqe81-Sc/s320/1.jpg" width="226" /></a></div>I'm sorry, but I really hate that actress. Not going to lie. I could seriously waltz right into that mouth, rearrange the furniture in there, and waltz right back out. Plus, she isn't that great looking. But regardless.... See what I mean? I think Alan Wake looks a bit more... cool? ... In his, but I may be biased. I love the book the Shining, don't get me wrong, but I just finished the game, and boy... It's like a Stephen King novel, as a game, that you play through, as opposed to a movie, trying to do a book justice. It's a hugely different experience, and much more rewarding. Although I must say, Jack Nicholson is pretty cool. In fact... here's a picture of me, compared to him when he played the role of the Joker. My friend Haley did this a while back for me...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjACIMg1foHk-BibEP8PScdD8TAoyU7WI1bRiCe04_ryegMMLz1w29eERRwIH_8i3ZS9KYXNQzUCAzjz6fnFKs2JVXkkC6QSUoMDi5nD1FI-rLk4sGc2K_2UP_uNw3R3FNrpKZgQZ1WWDAx/s1600/215670_10150174928112114_597227113_6694542_2458762_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjACIMg1foHk-BibEP8PScdD8TAoyU7WI1bRiCe04_ryegMMLz1w29eERRwIH_8i3ZS9KYXNQzUCAzjz6fnFKs2JVXkkC6QSUoMDi5nD1FI-rLk4sGc2K_2UP_uNw3R3FNrpKZgQZ1WWDAx/s320/215670_10150174928112114_597227113_6694542_2458762_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>So while I don't look exactly like him, by any stretch of the imagination, I still have a slightly Jack Nicholson-reminiscent smile. And yes, Reminiscent is so my word for the day.<br />
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Anyways, its been a while since I've played a game that really left me feeling like I had just finished a journey, like a good book, or something adventurous, and thats what I felt having finished this game. I sincerely hope there's another one like it coming out soon. I had heard of the possibility of add-on packs for it, more story lines and whatnot, but it seems to have fizzled out (last I checked at least. Which was a while ago..)<br />
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So, 'tis late, and I have work in the morning. So, goodnight, and I hope to write you all again soon!Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-44950893334846706802011-07-26T11:19:00.000-07:002011-07-26T11:19:24.306-07:00So, this will become slightly meaningful as soon as I finish the segment for the story I'm writingBut in the meantime, take a quick peek at this<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj10lfpLiVuCSCWLv4WPIzgkEvf7qrZaDigF97XQemWMyblMwI_sZ7NV_RHMcx7zLDqAUtItELbhhxSd6oJ2QH4MwIWBeLbziQW9_TX5H3f2ynaZmPAFpY-3PZjNJtzH9bB7JWI5PW5RkpL/s1600/keegans+thing058.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj10lfpLiVuCSCWLv4WPIzgkEvf7qrZaDigF97XQemWMyblMwI_sZ7NV_RHMcx7zLDqAUtItELbhhxSd6oJ2QH4MwIWBeLbziQW9_TX5H3f2ynaZmPAFpY-3PZjNJtzH9bB7JWI5PW5RkpL/s640/keegans+thing058.bmp" width="464" /></a></div>Yes, its stuff I drew. Anyways, that's just some quick sketches on what the enemy aliens look like in the 'scape game our protag is playing in.<br />
<br />
Quick run down on them -<br />
From a largely aquatic world close to their sun, they evolved from marine life. They however are largely cold blooded, remaining close to the surface or on the surface of the water on their home planet. They began to move onto land and developed the leg stalks that they have. Originally just legs, without the four arms, they crawled about, returning to the water often. Later developed the four split arms, at which point they began to be amphibious, but staying mostly on land. Their "hair" is actually a sort of natural antenna, allowing instant telepathic communication between them. This is a genetic trait from back when they lived underwater, and used that to communicate and form packs.<br />
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Highly social lives, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Androdioecy"> androdioecist</a> (I don't know the correct spelling, just click the link... Much like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rivulus_marmoratus">this fish</a>...), highly aggressive and protective of their habitations. When their planet's unstable trajectory brought them further from their sun, they developed means to colonize other worlds, those usually with higher water levels and hydrogen air, close enough to a heat source for them to live comfortably without artificial sources.<br />
<br />
Then, they ran into humans while colonizing a planet. Being aggressive over the planet they thought was theirs, humans responding in kind, a small war broke out.<br />
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Weapons are laser based, the charge packs are all interchangeable, fitting into the different weapons, and then sliding into wall chargers to allow recharging.<br />
<br />
And that's where this game takes place, and whats going on.Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-11017389458290263182011-07-24T22:34:00.000-07:002011-07-24T22:34:28.395-07:00So this is that post I talked about earlier that would be a real post because lately they've just been stories.And I've officially decided I like the large and over descriptive titles style. So plan on seeing them a lot (or however often I use them) in the future. Its also fun to use them. Try it. Just go to your blog (or wherever you write stuff) and use a super ridiculously long and descriptive title. I promise you'll giggle at least a little when you read it back to yourself. No giggling? Maybe you need to try it again.<br />
<br />
But whatever. This is the real post! Woot! Life is good, been busy, my birthday is this week, totally not excited, I know, sound like an old geezer already, and thats about it for the update-on-Keegan's-life channel. Oh, that and that I went on a date on Saturday (OH MY GOODNESS KEEGAN KNOWS GIRLS?!?!?! AND THEY WENT ON A DATE WITH HIM??) Why yes, silly sentences contained by parenthesis, I do know some girls. And yes, I did happen to go on a date with one of them. To wild waves in fact. It was rather fun, and I loved the sun. {I've decided at least one sentence per post (Non-story post) will need to rhyme. FOL (Fact of Life)} (Anybody notice what I did there? Anyone? Anyone ever take a math class before?) Anyways, moving on.<br />
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I'm actually enjoying the story I'm writing. It fits very nicely into the story universe I have set up, almost as if I was planning on fitting it in before hand. Its what sorta sparks the final war that leads into the Home series. Good stuff, good good stuff.<br />
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So, now I'm ending this. Because what I really got on here to do was write an epic(ish) battle gunfight war scene. If I can pull that off that is. Fingers crossed!Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-46597124054629832192011-07-24T00:21:00.000-07:002011-07-24T00:21:55.057-07:00Seg 2.1<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">No. Not here, outside of my dreams. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I look up at the name, glued to the bed. Unable to move, even if I wanted to. I'm too shocked to even think of moving. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">What is his name doing here? And why is the tile attached to it? I stare at the name, trying to understand. I finally get up, and get it off of my ceiling. The piece of tile was held up by some wire wrapped around it and tacked to the ceiling, and the name was just the same stuff bent to spell out the name. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I'm not going to be able to get to bed. Not after something like that. I decide to go use the dreamscape. Its one of the few places I feel totally calm.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">The dreamscape is like this whole other world, universes really that are dependent upon you for creation. It allows for you to be placed into these scenarios, these video games, and you get to play it out. I don't know the whole science behind it, but when it first came out, you got strapped into a seat basically, and the computer takes a scan of your brain. A second persona is then created within the video game that is you, identically, down to the all your memories, and then while you're asleep or plugged in, your computer persona runs through the game.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">So its not like its really you playing the game, but more like your electronic doppleganger is for you. At the end of the game, or the simulation of sorts, the memories created during that game are "downloaded" into your brain. The electronic copy of you floating about in cyber space becomes dormant, stored into a personal storage device, that the player keeps so that you don't need a rescan every time you play.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Originally, it needed you to be strapped into these large chairs to allow the sounds to hit the body correctly to hypnotize you in a way, or just the vibrations, or something along those lines, but now its to where it all can be on a small device clipped over your ear, not much larger than earphone. Some people wear them everywhere they go, using them as earphones until they have a quick moment to relax, slip under, and enter the dreamscape.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Working for CrossTechD, I have one of the newest models on the market, a small earpiece about the size of my thumb that runs in a narrow strip up over my ear. It communicates with the nearest computer terminal to boost my signal, finding other players from all across the world. A game or two might be exactly what I need to relax me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">There's a humming sound as the device in my ear starts up (Its the CR 1512, genetically imprinted to work for me alone) and some shifting lights appear in front of me. They've got the system down to where it partially hypnotizes you at the beginning using just slight sounds to direct what you see and such. The lights clear to reveal a green screen in front of me, just slightly larger than a computer screen. Shows me recent connections used, games I tend to play more often, and a portion is devoted to the news. I'm just glancing around the screen, trying to figure out if I want to play along with some pals from across the world or start playing a game by myself when I notice something odd. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">There, under recent connections is the name Peter again;</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">/subroutineactive 114.aa45 changeusr indentity: Peter</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">.CSD0001</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> *******</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">It's there for only a moment, as soon as I notice it, it flickers out and disappears off screen. I frantically try going to my connections page, to see if its there, but theres no record of any connection under the name Peter. I head back to the main page. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I must of just been imaging things. I should probably go see a doctor about it. I mean a lot of stress, and now imaging that his name is all over the place? This Peter who I haven't even met but dream that I am all the time? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Whatever. I need to relax, and thats why I started playing in the 'scapes originally. I go to my friends and find a dreamer (Its what all of us users are called. They used to call it gamers, but less and less console games can actually compete beyond arcade use with the dreamscape tech so now they call us dreamers) from Eurasia named King. At least, that's the dreamertag for him (her. Unsure on that bit actually) He's playing the most recent shooter, some far future alien space invasion game, where we still use projectile weaponry. Which boggles me... Wouldn't we eventually get to laser weapons if we've developed space travel far enough to hit aliens? But then again, I'm not developing the games. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I decide to join him. The screen flashes twice, and then my vision goes out. Everything's black, and I can't see, but I feel the armor I wear in the game begin to solidify around me. A glimmer of shining white light appears, a pulsating dot. It shifts around a bit, and colors start to shimmer into it as well. Suddenly, the light grows faster, looking as though I'm speeding towards the end of a tunnel, my surroundings being light up, just a gray empty holding chamber without a wall, and the lights almost to me, I can see a field, some human looking characters in a firefight with something gigantic and obviously hostile, the lights passing me by, and the gray walls are gone and I'm standing in the middle of the grassy field, the fight just up ahead. Smoke and the smell of charred flesh and gunpowder reaches me, burned streaks in the grass looking like deathly scars burned into the golden waist high landscape.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Sun glints across my visor as I look towards the fight, pull my gun close to my body, and charge yelling at the top of my lungs into the chaos. </span>Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-20411493353042740152011-07-21T22:08:00.000-07:002011-07-21T22:08:24.771-07:00Chapter 1 (Seg 1.1-1.3)<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Hello you lot! Just decided to bunch these all together, seeing as this constitutes chapter one, or a </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">prologue</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"> of sorts. And yeah, changed a few words here or there, but nothing big. So if you've been keeping up, don't worry about this. This is all stuff you've seen and read before, just in one post now. I just wanted to see how long it would be.. Going to be putting it into a word doc to see how many characters and the such. Just for fun. Anyways, thats all for now!</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; line-height: 20px;"><strike> </strike></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; line-height: 20px;">Have you ever had a dream so vivid, so real, that when you woke up, it felt like falling asleep? That the waking, breathing world that we bustle to and from was fake, and what you saw in your dreams was what was really happening? The dreams were so close to reality that it almost made sense that I was simply living two lives, just one in my dreams and one when awake. You feel as though you're aging twice as fast, gaining twice as much life as everyone else. You feel like you're thirty at twenty, forty at twenty-five. If wasn't for the fact that your body needs sleep on occasion, I would stay up as much as possible. To experience dreams that real while asleep, to feel as though you're acting out someone else's life, but to wake up to your own life to live, its draining. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">In fact, I don't remember much of my childhood. My first real memory was of when I was six. I was laying on the grass, just looking up into a tree that held my tree fort. Actually, I remember it so well, that I can still recall my line of thoughts - Where am I? I'm looking around, And I see the tree fort. I latch onto that. It's my tree fort. I play in it every day. Why do I hurt? Why am I on the ground? Did I fall? I don't think I fell. I can't remember. Where's mommy? I can't get up, it hurts to breath. Is the tree fort going to fall? No, but someone's screaming now. It's loud. Mom? Is that you? Mom? MOM?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"Mom?"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"Its ok, I'm here, I'm here" </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">And I'm being held by my mother. The wind blows a little, as mother holds my head. I try turning my head to look at her, but she holds me still and tells me not to move. I stop trying to move after that. There's leaves falling from the tree that my tree fort is in. Big leaves, floating down gently on a cushion of air. I try to imagine what it would be like to be like one of the leaves, to gently float down, but then my head starts hurting, and I forget about it. After a while, I remember men in costumes came to get me. They put me on a weird bed in a van, and then when they pulled me out, we were at a hospital. I didn't know then what one was at the time, just that it had hurt people there, and that I must be just another hurt person. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">From there on it becomes a blur, my memory fragments, and its not until my teen years that I really start remembering things again. I used to have these wicked dreams though, dreams where it felt like I was awake, but then I would wake up. It was always dreams about this one guy, being this one person. I went to school as him one time even. That was the day I stayed home and slept all day because I was really sick in junior high. It was just something really strange. I came up with a name for him even - Peter. Peter Holding. I gave him my last name because it was like I was him when I fell asleep. I thought though that Peter was a cool name, and so I just used it. It took a while, but then the people in the dreams that I met started calling me Peter, and so it stuck. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Then I got done with school, and I started going to work. I was going to go into counseling, but I finally discovered I just didn't feel comfortable talking to strangers about their problems. I had always been told I was a great listener, and so I thought it would be a great job for me, but turns out it wasn't. Since I dropped from the program around the time when I was about to intern with a local school I've become somewhat of a night owl. I don't get up much during the day, and I go out and hit up the clubs at night. I have a friend, Darren, who goes with me and sometimes we just bar hop all night long, staggering home at 5 in the morning just to fall asleep and then go about and do the same all over. The drinking helps though - it means I don't dream. I'm tired of dreaming of some Peter that has the job that I thought I was going to be good at, and who has a great life. Me, I'm just happy that theres money in the bank, and that I can go have fun, but I feel like something is missing. I can't figure out what it is though, and its just always there, nagging, constantly nagging, at the back of your brain, telling you that you know you know something, but you've forgotten what that something is, which makes it all the more horrible, because its something you need. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Now though, with the drinking, its rare that I dream of being Peter, for which I'm thankful. Its rare that I dream at all actually, its become where its usually just a blank space of time from when I fall asleep to when I wake up again. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I don't even know why I'm writing this, its not like writing what I feel is going to help at all. If by writing a couple words on a page I could figure out what it is that I feel I'm missing, then it would just be great. But it isn't working so far, so I guess I may just have to try something else. Maybe go see a shrink. That might be a good idea. I just hope that they can help instead of just taking your money and leaving. Peter goes to a couple, and they never seem to be able to help him with his problems, whatever they are. I always seem to miss the dreams that would explain them. It's like an episodic show going on in my head at night, and I'm missing most of the episodes. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><strike> </strike></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"></span></span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Peter? I know this is a sudden proposition, but you have to come to a decision soon. You're the one most likely to have a </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">successful</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"> operation out of all the candidates, but if you can't handle it, we can find someone else. You aren't special by any means, just more likely to succeed then the rest. This can be yours if you want."</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"And the money? How does that work? You should know better than to think I'll do this for free Kuna."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Peter, its never been about the money. Think of all we could accomplish with this! If it works, we wouldn't ever need to worry about money."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Kuna, if it works, it'll be your name over everything. Your name. Not your guinea pigs. Now, I want to know that I won't fall off the edge of the books on this one."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"And here I thought we were friends."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"We are. Thats why I'm considering this Kuna. Is it really worth it? For you? For me? For whats going to happen?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Yes. It will be."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"And the other Candidates? What will happen to them?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Well Peter, thats what we're talking about. You know what happens to them. Thats why we're offering it to you first, that way you won't become another tool."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Is that what it comes too? We really aren't friends then, are we?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Oh we are. More than you can imagine. But this needs to happen. So choose. You have until morning."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Sounds like I need some new friends then"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Kuna laughed gently under her breath. Rising from her seat in the little room in which she had been talking to Peter she headed for the door, a light grey, the only thing breaking the monotonous white that was the walls, ceiling, and floor save for the two chairs, and the small cot. Those happened to be a light grey like the door. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Some new friends might do you good Peter. But you know how hard it is for you to find those. And besides, if you make the right choice, you'll be making plenty of new friends anyways." Kuna said in parting, putting light emphasis on friends as she closed the grey door behind her. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">There was a small hiss as the door sealed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Damn." Peter muttered under his breath getting up from his seat. "Puppets. That's all we are. Puppets." </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Peter fell asleep on the cot some time later repeating his mantra.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Puppets. Thats all we are."</span></div><div style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; line-height: 20px;"><strike> </strike></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; line-height: 20px;"></span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; line-height: 20px;">D</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; line-height: 20px;">reams so vivid, so real, that when you woke up, it felt like falling asleep? </span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">It had been a month since my last dream of that Peter guy, and as soon as I start feeling like he's gone, I have the one dream that started it all. Peter talking to the marten. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Whats weird is I know Kuna in real life. She almost got me a job in the company she works with, CrossTechD, a developer of the dreamer technology that everyone threw a fit about a couple years back. The second five day war, between insurgents and dreamer tech users against local governments over the further use and development of dreamer tech. It was a mess, left hundreds dead across the world, and all over what started as video game tech. Anyways, she works in the research department, figuring out new ways to use the stuff. She's a genius, but sadly she missed her mark when she went into developing technology for video games. She went to school for psychophysiology, but she ended up in CrossTechD. Strange stuff.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">But I'm not complaining. She tried her best to get me a position working for her company, but after a couple interviews that sounded really good, the position fell through. And I went on my way. Kuna pulled a couple more strings though, and they gave me a recommendation that got me a job at a sister company as a janitor. With hellishly good pay. Basically, they pay me a ridiculously high amount, as a salaried staff, which is insane, to replace light bulbs. Doesn't make sense to me either, but it pays the bills, and it pays off at the bars as well.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">I just mention the paycheck amount, not the position. It usually does the trick, especially when backed by the wad of green purposefully left poking a little out of the wallet. I also have the edge of a tagger poking out as well. I've had to use it as well. There was one time when someone took a little bit too long of a look at the money and followed me out of the bar to make some less than friendly advances. Big guy too - not my type at all. Took two or three hits from the tagger before the paralyzing agents in the darts took effect and knocked him out. Long enough for him to get two good punches in, leaving me with a broken nose and a black eye. Unluckily for him, he owed people money. Some serious people. Too the best of my knowledge thats why he followed me out of the bar. Anyways, these people came out of the bar, and basically tripped over his paralyzed body. And all of his debts happened to be past due. </span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Haven't seen him since. And people don't mention his name or what happened to him either. Guess he was down long enough not to be able to put up a fight. Worked out for the serious people as well as for me - no one tries to lift my money, and every one tries a littler harder to make sure they don't wait to long to repay what they've borrowed. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">I sit there though, gasping. The dream was so vivid... I would swear it was me, not Peter in it, except Kuna was calling me Peter, and she wouldn't ever do that. She knows me. We even dated casually for a bit. But that doesn't matter. This was the same dream that started everything. Back when I was like six. Except - I didn't know Kuna back then. And this was the first time I recognized her, which was odd. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">I get up and out of bed and head to the shower. This was to much. I make it almost to the shower, collapsing on the bathroom floor in a cold sweat. I vomit, gagging as I try to hold myself up and not throw up on myself, but it doesn't work. I fall back onto the floor, my soaked shirt to wet with sweat to really pick up any of my leftover dinner. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">After a few minutes of chilled shivering, I manage to weakly get up and turn on the shower. I slump into the shower, half sitting, leaned up against the wall as the warm water pours over me, fully clothed. I lean my head back, opening my mouth, letting the water wash my hair back, filling my mouth and spilling out and over, washing away the taste of bile and the smell from my nose. Steam fills the bathroom, and theres a chipped tile from my watch hitting the floor. The half shattered image is a purple flower, lavender. As I look at it in a daze, it becomes dimmed by the steam. The whole bathroom is filled, a pale ghastly whitish grey hiding objects, making even the cabinet just a dim shadow. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">I look down at my arms and scream, muffled by the steam, even to my ears. The water, initially warm, has become scalding without my notice. My arms are now bright red and white, dead skin peeling and rolling off to either side, trying to escape the hot water. Suddenly I switch from not noticing the pain or the heat to hyper aware. Each single drop is a quiet explosion, fiery lances digging into my flesh, all up and down my body, my clothing barely protecting me from the fiery war. I'm in such shock, I can't even move, and I just sit there, pain seeming to settle as a blanket over me, slowly feeding itself on my body, slowly, oh so slowly working its way down to my core, leaving behind fire as it moves on. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">I come too, lying on the bottom of my shower still. Icy cold water pouring out of the shower head revitalizing me, leaving pucker marks on my fresh skin as it heals. I look over and through the glass shower door my eyes settle on the broken tile again. It lays there, unable to help itself. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Just like me.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Broken.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Shattered by someone, something bigger than itself. Not really sure why it hit me like that, but it did. All I could do was stare at the tile, and how simple a metaphor it was for my life. Not that I could hold anyone responsible, its not like someone just came along and decided to shatter my perfect life, my "complete tile", but thats what it feels like. Feels like I've been just trying to get by with half of what I'm supposed to, like getting the short stick in a draw, except for this short stick was my life. Or at least its what it seems like. I still go out, but its all just become dry. Lifeless. I'm going through the motions, but its no longer fun or exciting. Dull, thats the word I'm looking for. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">The pain is just a dull throbbing, the cold water numbing my body as my mind swirls around in its haze of self pity. I finally tear my eyes off of the tile and lean up to turn off the water. A few drops of water fall out after I shut it off, the stream of water from the shower head slowly pitter-pattering itself out. I'm too exhausted to move, so I just fall back and lay there, my clothes soaked and clinging to my body. Its not the most enjoyable feeling, but I manage to ignore that. Too tired to move, too tired to even focus on anything really, I just start to slip again, my eyes drawn back to that tile, to the metaphorical enigma that I felt was my life wrapped up in such an exquisitely simple package, and I quietly slipped into sleep, my mind humming along with a thousand different thoughts just below the surface, but none rising above the monotonous fog in my head.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><strike> </strike></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><strike><br />
</strike></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none;"></span><br />
<div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Peter? I know this is a sudden proposition, but you have to come to a decision soon. You're the one most likely to have a </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">successful</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"> operation out of all the candidates, but if you can't handle it, we can find someone else. You aren't special by any means, just more likely to succeed then the rest. This can be yours if you want."</span></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"And the other candidates? What happens to them if I agree?"</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"You always cared too much Peter. But thats a good quality I suppose, if that's what does it for you. I've always found I like... More of a carefree attitude, personally." Mardar said as she licked her lips, tongue slowly catching on her upper lip, pulling it into her mouth for a quick nibble. </span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Peter looked up at her, raising one eyebrow slowly. "So you like children now Kuna? Is that what you're trying to tell me here?" He said somberly.</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Mardar pouted. "I was trying to make a joke Peter." She sighed "If you must know, the other candidates will be the ones tested upon. Thats how it works. I'm pretty sure I explained this too you earlier. Why do you have to be so difficult?"</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"To keep you on your toes. Besides, if I didn't, no one would. Check please!" Peter motioned a waiter over suddenly. The two were sitting at a small table on a veranda, surrounded by other small tables, all lit by candle, but theirs was the only occupied table. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"Thank you" Mardar smiled at the waiter as he left the table after giving Peter the check. "It must be nice you know."</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"What must be nice?" Peter asked, giving her a funny look.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Having money" She said slyly. "Must be nice to just reserve the whole restaurant if you wanted a private conversation while dining out. Not just any place either, you had to go high class, didn't you?" She added, glancing about. The soft candle light illuminated the ground enough to walk between tables, but dissipated into a soft glow just above the tables. This, coupled with the shining reflections of the bells hanging fr tomhe edges of the tables, and the low chuckling sound they produced as they swayed softly in the breeze was enchanting. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">"Well, considering I am going to be taking you up on that offer, I figured we had to do something special this evening" Peter replied, lightly stressing 'special'. "It's not exactly like I'll be hurting for money, so I might as well get used to using it." He smiled cheekily at Mardar. "Besides, we both know how well I do with... people. And friends. So I needed someone to celebrate with. Hence why I called you up."</span></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"And here I thought perhaps I was being chosen especially." She replied winking. "Some new friends might do you good though, Peter. You know that seeing people is important. Humans are naturally social creatures. It's part of why what we're attempting is so likely to work. We all have natural tendencies to depend upon each other, just this is... more sophisticated and much less friendly about it." She leaned forward, a smile parting her lips. "Now, about this 'celebration'. Does it end with dinner, or is there dessert at your place afterwards?" </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"I suppose I could do with a little dessert myself..." Peter leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss before sitting back. "But I believe we have to wait for the receipt before leaving for that."</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Kuna pouted at him, crossing her arms in a childish manner. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"Now now Kuna... I would hate to go to all this trouble, and then get hit by some legal problem because I forgot and didn't have record of where a couple thousand dollars went. I'm sure that our evening can wait for a few more minutes." Peter smiled. "Besides, a little anticipation never killed anyone. Just makes dessert more... delightful." </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">His smile grew, mirroring Kuna's pout. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><strike> </strike></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I always wake up before I... I mean, Peter... Gets back to his place with Kuna. And I can't help but wish I could stay asleep a little longer, just to see what happens, to live those moments. As much as I hate dreaming of being Peter, whoever this guy is, I must admit at times I am rather jealous of him. </span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Especially with regard to Kuna. This is the second dream I've had where I've had the dream before with out realizing it was Kuna in it, and now I'm recognizing her. I don't know how I didn't before. </span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Long, soft, glimmering black hair, so dark that it seems to suck in the color around it, framing a petite face, deeply tanned by the sun in Panama where she came from. A slight frame, slightly shorter, hardened by work as a teen, and continually reinforced by her rigorous exercise regimes now that her food and life doesn't depend on the next crop. How she managed to go through school at all amazes me, much less to go on to become a psychophysiologist. It is simply astounding. I wonder what makes Peter so special, what draws her to him. Is it the money? Something to do with being the one candidate or something I suppose. Something I'm not. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Anyways, I got out of the shower after a while. Woke up and the water was off. I probably bumped it or something. I got up, cleaned up the vomit, changed, and then took a real shower, without scalding water this time. I need to talk to the upkeep for this place about that. No good to have renters burn themselves in the shower. I was feeling much better, functioning normally, or as normally as I can. Going about the bathroom cleaning up later that night and I noticed something odd. My tile was missing. There was a few pieces of splintered tile, more dust than anything, and an empty square where the tile should have been. I wonder where it went. I don't think I removed it, but then again, when I was cleaning up the vomit I still wasn't completely functioning again. I just don't know why I would have removed it, or what I would have done with it. Sort of a little weird, it just going missing like that.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">It wasn't until much later that I found it. I had just gotten home from work (replacing lightbulbs of all things), and after what had happened earlier in the day I didn't feel like hitting up the night clubs or bar hopping like I usually would do, roaming the streets in search of some form of entertainment, so I went to go lie down. I was in my bed when I found it.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Fastened somehow to the ceiling was my tile. Directly above my head. And in small, jittery handwriting directly beneath it was someone's name. I guessed it before I could even really read it, and chills ran up and down my spine. </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">Peter. </span></span></div></span></span></span></div>Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-85473083257318112142011-07-21T00:31:00.000-07:002011-07-21T00:36:46.963-07:00Seg 1.3<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Quick disclaimer here guys... this is all rough rough draft. As in, its pretty much unedited as it comes to mind. Which means there may be a few disconnects or contradictions. I know of at least a few, and I've got it sorted out how those will be fixed, but for now, don't worry if its a little confusing. This is picking directly up in the place it left off, its the same segment of story really, in the ideal world there wouldn't have been a break there. Also, this isn't a childrens story... I'm sorry, but it will have some adult thematics. It just adds a whole 'nother realm of complexity to it all. So it won't go into detail, but it will have some stuff thrown in. Like you'll see in this segment.</span><br />
Oh! And before I forget, this is my story. Common Creative license currently, meaning that its here, its mine, I give you permission to re-use it with permission, if you do use it (after getting permission) just make sure you give credit, and please don't try selling it. (meaning don't. At all.) I enjoy writing, and I would hope you guys enjoy reading. So lets not ruin our bond here by doing anything stupid like stealing it. Cheers!<br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><strike> </strike></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><strike><br />
</strike></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Just like me.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Broken.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Shattered by someone, something bigger than itself. Not really sure why it hit me like that, but it did. All I could do was stare at the tile, and how simple a metaphor it was for my life. Not that I could hold anyone responsible, its not like someone just came along and decided to shatter my perfect life, my "complete tile", but thats what it feels like. Feels like I've been just trying to get by with half of what I'm supposed to, like getting the short stick in a draw, except for this short stick was my life. Or at least its what it seems like. I still go out, but its all just become dry. Lifeless. I'm going through the motions, but its no longer fun or exciting. Dull, thats the word I'm looking for. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">The pain is just a dull throbbing, the cold water numbing my body as my mind swirls around in its haze of self pity. I finally tear my eyes off of the tile and lean up to turn off the water. A few drops of water fall out after I shut it off, the stream of water from the shower head slowly pitter-pattering itself out. I'm too exhausted to move, so I just fall back and lay there, my clothes soaked and clinging to my body. Its not the most enjoyable feeling, but I manage to ignore that. Too tired to move, too tired to even focus on anything really, I just start to slip again, my eyes drawn back to that tile, to the metaphorical enigma that I felt was my life wrapped up in such an exquisitely simple package, and I quietly slipped into sleep, my mind humming along with a thousand different thoughts just below the surface, but none rising above the monotonous fog in my head.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><strike> </strike></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><strike><br />
</strike></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none;"></span></span><br />
<div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Peter? I know this is a sudden proposition, but you have to come to a decision soon. You're the one most likely to have a </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">successful</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> operation out of all the candidates, but if you can't handle it, we can find someone else. You aren't special by any means, just more likely to succeed then the rest. This can be yours if you want."</span></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"And the other candidates? What happens to them if I agree?"</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"You always cared too much Peter. But thats a good quality I suppose, if that's what does it for you. I've always found I like... More of a carefree attitude, personally." Mardar said as she licked her lips, tongue slowly catching on her upper lip, pulling it into her mouth for a quick nibble. </span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Peter looked up at her, raising one eyebrow slowly. "So you like children now Kuna? Is that what you're trying to tell me here?" He said somberly.</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Mardar pouted. "I was trying to make a joke Peter." She sighed "If you must know, the other candidates will be the ones tested upon. Thats how it works. I'm pretty sure I explained this too you earlier. Why do you have to be so difficult?"</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"To keep you on your toes. Besides, if I didn't, no one would. Check please!" Peter motioned a waiter over suddenly. The two were sitting at a small table on a veranda, surrounded by other small tables, all lit by candle, but theirs was the only occupied table. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"Thank you" Mardar smiled at the waiter as he left the table after giving Peter the check. "It must be nice you know."</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"What must be nice?" Peter asked, giving her a funny look.</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Having money" She said slyly. "Must be nice to just reserve the whole restaurant if you wanted a private conversation while dining out. Not just any place either, you had to go high class, didn't you?" She added, glancing about. The soft candle light illuminated the ground enough to walk between tables, but dissipated into a soft glow just above the tables. This, coupled with the shining reflections of the bells hanging fr tomhe edges of the tables, and the low chuckling sound they produced as they swayed softly in the breeze was enchanting. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Well, considering I am going to be taking you up on that offer, I figured we had to do something special this evening" Peter replied, lightly stressing 'special'. "It's not exactly like I'll be hurting for money, so I might as well get used to using it." He smiled cheekily at Mardar. "Besides, we both know how well I do with... people. And friends. So I needed someone to celebrate with. Hence why I called you up."</span></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"And here I thought perhaps I was being chosen especially." She replied winking. "Some new friends might do you good though, Peter. You know that seeing people is important. Humans are naturally social creatures. It's part of why what we're attempting is so likely to work. We all have natural tendencies to depend upon each other, just this is... more sophisticated and much less friendly about it." She leaned forward, a smile parting her lips. "Now, about this 'celebration'. Does it end with dinner, or is there dessert at your place afterwards?" </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"I suppose I could do with a little dessert myself..." Peter leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss before sitting back. "But I believe we have to wait for the receipt before leaving for that."</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Kuna pouted at him, crossing her arms in a childish manner. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"Now now Kuna... I would hate to go to all this trouble, and then get hit by some legal problem because I forgot and didn't have record of where a couple thousand dollars went. I'm sure that our evening can wait for a few more minutes." Peter smiled. "Besides, a little anticipation never killed anyone. Just makes dessert more... delightful." </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">His smile grew, mirroring Kuna's pout. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><strike> </strike></span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I always wake up before I... I mean, Peter... Gets back to his place with Kuna. And I can't help but wish I could stay asleep a little longer, just to see what happens, to live those moments. As much as I hate dreaming of being Peter, whoever this guy is, I must admit at times I am rather jealous of him. </span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Especially with regard to Kuna. This is the second dream I've had where I've had the dream before with out realizing it was Kuna in it, and now I'm recognizing her. I don't know how I didn't before. </span></span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Long, soft, glimmering black hair, so dark that it seems to suck in the color around it, framing a petite face, deeply tanned by the sun in Panama where she came from. A slight frame, slightly shorter, hardened by work as a teen, and continually reinforced by her rigorous exercise regimes now that her food and life doesn't depend on the next crop. How she managed to go through school at all amazes me, much less to go on to become a psychophysiologist. It is simply astounding. I wonder what makes Peter so special, what draws her to him. Is it the money? Something to do with being the one candidate or something I suppose. Something I'm not. </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Anyways, I got out of the shower after a while. Woke up and the water was off. I probably bumped it or something. I got up, cleaned up the vomit, changed, and then took a real shower, without scalding water this time. I need to talk to the upkeep for this place about that. No good to have renters burn themselves in the shower. I was feeling much better, functioning normally, or as normally as I can. Going about the bathroom cleaning up later that night and I noticed something odd. My tile was missing. There was a few pieces of splintered tile, more dust than anything, and an empty square where the tile should have been. I wonder where it went. I don't think I removed it, but then again, when I was cleaning up the vomit I still wasn't completely functioning again. I just don't know why I would have removed it, or what I would have done with it. Sort of a little weird, it just going missing like that.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">It wasn't until much later that I found it. I had just gotten home from work (replacing lightbulbs of all things), and after what had happened earlier in the day I didn't feel like hitting up the night clubs or bar hopping like I usually would do, roaming the streets in search of some form of entertainment, so I went to go lie down. I was in my bed when I found it.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Fastened somehow to the ceiling was my tile. Directly above my head. And in small, jittery handwriting directly beneath it was someone's name. I guessed it before I could even really read it, and chills ran up and down my spine. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Peter. </span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></div>Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-54783173259146813322011-07-18T02:59:00.000-07:002011-07-18T02:59:24.024-07:00So this is because I cannot sleep, and the last post (earlier this evening) was just a story segmentAnd now that you all know whats down because of the rather long and ostentatious title (oh yes, I'm back, long words and everything) I'm going to just sit here and blather way about nothing at all in general in some hope of trying to convince you, the reader, and myself, the writer, that this blog happens to be a healthy thriving little thing instead of the truth. Which in all regards is a quite unhealthy relationship.<br />
<br />
I mean, think about it. I write to it three times a week for a while. Then suddenly, with almost no warning, I just get the heck out of dodge, leaving the poor blog alone, and defenseless with our posts. Then, suddenly, I just jump right back in, appearing out of nowhere, and we have some more posts. And then, just as suddenly, I disappear again, leaving the blog once again, alone, defenseless, and with even more posts this time. Does this sound familiar to anyone?? This ends in nothing but tears. Tears and the blog taking the posts with her (yes, shocker, the blog is a she. So are boats!) and leaving me along, blog and postless. Sad, horrible fate. So perhaps I should turn over a new leaf and start posting more often?<br />
<br />
I'll leave that for later thought. Possibly you guys might say "But hey! We liked the internet without you just fine! Please disappear back to those scout camps and summer training seminars you call home! We don't want you posting crap that no one will ever read! Just go away while you think you're ahead!"<br />
<br />
But then again, there might be some that say "Hey, we enjoy your insights into all this meandering meaningless junk you post. Keep it up! And by keep it up, we mean we enjoy your current pace (IE once a week). Toodles!"<br />
<br />
Or you could all say this"..." Where those dots are the sounds of dust settling as I wait to see what everyone has to think about everything, or about my in particular. Not exactly the most comforting sound. If it happens though I would just take it as that all of you love me so much you've lost the ability to speak because you're all just sorta wondering what you could possibly say in return to my amazing literary talent. (Or type. Because thats generally what one does with a computer, not speak. Unless you have a nifty computer that does voice commands. But that could get annoying I suppose.) So if it is that last one, please let me just sit here in my predisposed misguided self delusion that I'm actually quite amazing and that people care about what I write.<br />
<br />
Anyways, I wonder if you guys want a quick rundown on what I've been up to. Well, regardless of if you want it or not, here it comes!<br />
<br />
So I believe it was wednesday, and my friend Adam came over because I didn't have work (Working on painting a house exterior in the rain doesn't work very well. Just sayin') and we partied it up. Called our friends Christy and Torri and headed out. It actually stopped raining and cleared up completely by about noon, and so we all went to a park. Adam and I are... close... I don't know. Its strange. We enjoy acting silly. So much that we get strange looks from those that know us rather (or at decently) well. And by strange, I mean, its sorta like they have no idea what the heck we're doing or why, only that it doesn't make sense to them. And thats how that goes. Then we went and got pizza, and chilled out at my house, playing Just Dance and Just Dance 2. Where I proceeded to kick butt at both. The only time I almost lost was one game, but I got a gold move towards the end that propelled me back into the lead, winning me the round. Like honestly. I haven't lost to anyone at that game in such a long time. Its almost pathetic, but I'm sticking to it. Lost nine pounds in one week, and the only difference was me playing that game a lot more. I like it. Not to say I'm fat and I could use to lose weight, but its not like I'm a stick. I'm happy I suppose. Wish I had a bit more tone, 'specially round the abs. But that'll come sooner or later. I'm just happy to be able to do what needs to get done when it comes to muscleish areas. I used to bike everywhere, and swim a ton. Worked as a lifeguard at a scout camp since forever, so legs are actually my strongest asset (Little jib there, notice the pun? Drop the latin "and") (And yes, I did take Latin. I'm not your average uncultured swine, thank you very much. I fall into a particular category. What exactly that is I'm not sure, but as soon as I find out I'll let you all know what it is. Something humble and self-deprecatory for sure. And good looking. And smart. Hmm. I can't think of anything. And theres too many attributes too list here, so I'll let you all come up with something for me, sound good enough?) Anyways, back when I was into weight lifting in college (Ok, Community College. I know, the shame, the shame. It's ok. At least it wasn't Evergreen. That place is the pits...) I got pretty good at the free weight leg press. Like, when I say pretty good, I mean that I didn't have a starting weight for it at the beginning of the quarter. They had me do 250 lbs for 12 reps for my first set. And I cranked em out like they were nothing. So they decided to double it for my second set. 500, at 12 reps. Again, like they were nothing. So the put another 100 on, just to make sure they weren't going to over do how much they put on. I cranked out 600 at 12 reps rather easily as well. So then they decided to throw another 100 on. So I did 700 at 12 reps without having much difficulty. At which the coach said that I was through, and that although they hadn't found my starting point, I was obviously doing fine with my legs (For a starting point, they like to find the point at which you can no longer do a full 12 reps at the weight). In fact, there was only one guy in the whole class that could beat me at the leg press, a retired marine. And even then, it was by less than a hundred pounds. So I'm pretty proud of that fact. I'm also good with sit ups. A couple of us would do Russian sit ups on a lat machine with a 25 pound weight (Highest ball weight they had that we could use) and we would just take turns pumping those out. I miss working out with friends...<br />
<br />
Anyways, moving on. Thursday! I went back to Camp Hahobas for the day with my friend Dani. Dani is an old friend I haven't seen in like three years. We worked together for one summer at camp, but she hadn't come back to work at camp since. Stayed friends on and off through out the years, helping out each other when feeling down and such, just being good friends. Anyways, I remembered that I enjoyed hanging out with her at camp, but I had forgotten just how fun she is. We basically rocked out to music all the way to camp (Well, as much as we could. Her radio was having problems.) Not much dancing could be done, it wasn't exactly the best music for it, but it was most definitely fun. Everything from a bit of pop, to country, to east coast. It was all just super fun, especially just walking about and chilling while at camp. Except we had this old creeper man who was convinced we were dating and asking plenty of awkward questions. Which was REALLY awkward because we aren't. And the fact that he's like 60 plus, and doesn't take "No, we're not dating" As literally as it was meant. Meaning he didn't believe it, and continued on in his creeper ways. So that was interesting. We even had a quick sprint past where we knew he was just because we wanted to avoid him that much. Beyond that, after we got home, we had cheeseburgers that I quickly grilled up, and then we sat and of all things read about Dahmer. The Milwaukee Monster? That really freaking messed up dude? Yeah, him. And then we played Just Dance (notice an obsession with that game much?). Which means that she talked me into doing one of the songs while she sat and watched. And then after beating the song (Hot N Cold, Katy Perry) we went back to chilling and just talking. Well, ok, we laughed quite a bit after I finished playing the song. But then we went back to talking about stuff. And then she left to head home, and I headed out to go teach a family friends kid the Swimming merit badge (Yeah, scouting sort of has its claws embedded deep). All in all, it was a really good thursday.<br />
<br />
Nothing much happened Friday, other than getting some of my paycheck, meaning now I can get the window shield replaced on the little car! Making it legal to drive! Yay! Meaning instead of 8 miles a gallon, I'll be getting something like 30+! Which makes me incredibly happy.<br />
<br />
Saturday I saw Harry Potter... Wow. Not sure what all to say there. Wow. It was insane.<br />
<br />
And now I'm getting tired finally, and I've done nothing much of importance today, so, Night!<br />
<br />
And for those that TL;DR'd this sucka, eh, Night to you too. Buggers.<br />
<br />
Keep it real, avoid those evergreenies, and all that good jazz! See ya later!Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-18418474719006988252011-07-18T00:25:00.000-07:002011-07-21T00:04:24.264-07:00Seg 1.2<div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Peter? I know this is a sudden proposition, but you have to come to a decision soon. You're the one most likely to have a </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">successful</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> operation out of all the candidates, but if you can't handle it, we can find someone else. You aren't special by any means, just more likely to succeed then the rest. This can be yours if you want."</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"And the money? How does that work? You should know better than to think I'll do this for free Kuna."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Peter, its never been about the money. Think of all we could accomplish with this! If it works, we wouldn't ever need to worry about money."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Kuna, if it works, it'll be your name over everything. Your name. Not your guinea pigs. Now, I want to know that I won't fall off the edge of the books on this one."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"And here I thought we were friends."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"We are. Thats why I'm considering this Kuna. Is it really worth it? For you? For me? For whats going to happen?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Yes. It will be."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"And the other Candidates? What will happen to them?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Well Peter, thats what we're talking about. You know what happens to them. Thats why we're offering it to you first, that way you won't become another tool."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Is that what it comes too? We really aren't friends then, are we?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Oh we are. More than you can imagine. But this needs to happen. So choose. You have until morning."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Sounds like I need some new friends then"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Kuna laughed gently under her breath. Rising from her seat in the little room in which she had been talking to Peter she headed for the door, a light grey, the only thing breaking the monotonous white that was the walls, ceiling, and floor save for the two chairs, and the small cot. Those happened to be a light grey like the door. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Some new friends might do you good Peter. But you know how hard it is for you to find those. And besides, if you make the right choice, you'll be making plenty of new friends anyways." Kuna said in parting, putting light emphasis on friends as she closed the grey door behind her. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">There was a small hiss as the door sealed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Damn." Peter muttered under his breath getting up from his seat. "Puppets. That's all we are. Puppets." </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Peter fell asleep on the cot some time later repeating his mantra.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"Puppets. Thats all we are."</span></div><div style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><strike> </strike></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"></span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">D</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">reams so vivid, so real, that when you woke up, it felt like falling asleep? </span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">It had been a month since my last dream of that Peter guy, and as soon as I start feeling like he's gone, I have the one dream that started it all. Peter talking to the marten. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Whats weird is I know Kuna in real life. She almost got me a job in the company she works with, CrossTechD, a developer of the dreamer technology that everyone threw a fit about a couple years back. The second five day war, between insurgents and dreamer tech users against local governments over the further use and development of dreamer tech. It was a mess, left hundreds dead across the world, and all over what started as video game tech. Anyways, she works in the research department, figuring out new ways to use the stuff. She's a genius, but sadly she missed her mark when she went into developing technology for video games. She went to school for psychophysiology, but she ended up in CrossTechD. Strange stuff.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">But I'm not complaining. She tried her best to get me a position working for her company, but after a couple interviews that sounded really good, the position fell through. And I went on my way. Kuna pulled a couple more strings though, and they gave me a recommendation that got me a job at a sister company as a janitor. With hellishly good pay. Basically, they pay me a ridiculously high amount, as a salaried staff, which is insane, to replace light bulbs. Doesn't make sense to me either, but it pays the bills, and it pays off at the bars as well.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I just mention the paycheck amount, not the position. It usually does the trick, especially when backed by the wad of green purposefully left poking a little out of the wallet. I also have the edge of a tagger poking out as well. I've had to use it as well. There was one time when someone took a little bit too long of a look at the money and followed me out of the bar to make some less than friendly advances. Big guy too - not my type at all. Took two or three hits from the tagger before the paralyzing agents in the darts took effect and knocked him out. Long enough for him to get two good punches in, leaving me with a broken nose and a black eye. Unluckily for him, he owed people money. Some serious people. Too the best of my knowledge thats why he followed me out of the bar. Anyways, these people came out of the bar, and basically tripped over his paralyzed body. And all of his debts happened to be past due. </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Haven't seen him since. And people don't mention his name or what happened to him either. Guess he was down long enough not to be able to put up a fight. Worked out for the serious people as well as for me - no one tries to lift my money, and every one tries a littler harder to make sure they don't wait to long to repay what they've borrowed. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I sit there though, gasping. The dream was so vivid... I would swear it was me, not Peter in it, except Kuna was calling me Peter, and she wouldn't ever do that. She knows me. We even dated casually for a bit. But that doesn't matter. This was the same dream that started everything. Back when I was like six. Except - I didn't know Kuna back then. And this was the first time I recognized her, which was odd. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I get up and out of bed and head to the shower. This was to much. I make it almost to the shower, collapsing on the bathroom floor in a cold sweat. I vomit, gagging as I try to hold myself up and not throw up on myself, but it doesn't work. I fall back onto the floor, my soaked shirt to wet with sweat to really pick up any of my leftover dinner. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">After a few minutes of chilled shivering, I manage to weakly get up and turn on the shower. I slump into the shower, half sitting, leaned up against the wall as the warm water pours over me, fully clothed. I lean my head back, opening my mouth, letting the water wash my hair back, filling my mouth and spilling out and over, washing away the taste of bile and the smell from my nose. Steam fills the bathroom, and theres a chipped tile from my watch hitting the floor. The half shattered image is a purple flower, lavender. As I look at it in a daze, it becomes dimmed by the steam. The whole bathroom is filled, a pale ghastly whitish grey hiding objects, making even the cabinet just a dim shadow. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I look down at my arms and scream, muffled by the steam, even to my ears. The water, initially warm, has become scalding without my notice. My arms are now bright red and white, dead skin peeling and rolling off to either side, trying to escape the hot water. Suddenly I switch from not noticing the pain or the heat to hyper aware. Each single drop is a quiet explosion, fiery lances digging into my flesh, all up and down my body, my clothing barely protecting me from the fiery war. I'm in such shock, I can't even move, and I just sit there, pain seeming to settle as a blanket over me, slowly feeding itself on my body, slowly, oh so slowly working its way down to my core, leaving behind fire as it moves on. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">I come too, lying on the bottom of my shower still. Icy cold water pouring out of the shower head revitalizing me, leaving pucker marks on my fresh skin as it heals. I look over and through the glass shower door my eyes settle on the broken tile again. It lays there, unable to help itself. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Just like me.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">Broken.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div>Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-64672408682490801622011-07-10T01:55:00.000-07:002011-07-10T01:55:46.735-07:00So, Since I'm up and have nothing better to do...Heres a posting!! Haha and you guys thought I had forgotten about all y'all!! PSYCH!!<br />
<br />
Anyways, first things first. That story I started in my last post?? It may or may not be continued. Went back over some of what I had planned for it. It may work. More likely won't. But we'll see how it goes. So, tip. NEVER start writing something somewhere everyone can see it. Get some worked on before hand. That way you don't have where you give somewhat of a prologue before realizing the story sucks or isn't going to work out.<br />
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Secondly, Just Dance 3 is coming soon!!! I love the Just Dance series. Like, I literally just played over four hours worth of the first one, beating 11 high scores of mine on it. I got as close as you can get to a perfect score on Hot N Cold I'm pretty sure.... Anyways, good game. Time waster. But at least you get exercise while playing, right?<br />
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Google+. Interesting little new thing google is putting out. So far, its a hodgepodge of twitter, facebook, and skype, with some unique google additions. So far, I think it'll be really good once its finished and more users get on it. like in Facebook and Twitter you can have status updates and comment/like/and share (Also reshare or whatnot... the retweet option from Twitter) It also includes options to edit instead of delete posts, select only certain groups to see it, and also lock comments. It has video chat... It has video uploading capabilities... It rocks... and so yeah. I'm excited for it. Hopefully it'll get big (Then again this is google. They do good work usually)<br />
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And now... I'm off to bed. I'm beat. I'll write more tomorrow though, I have an idea for that story. I may work in a different plotline I have stored away somewhere on paper, or pull in stuff I was writing for Nanowrimo. I would most likely change Peters name. In fact I think that would work really well because the point of my nanowrimo story is similar to this... Anyways, I've got a bunch of stuff written for the nanowrimo story, lets hope I've still got it saved somewhere.<br />
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Night!!Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-80012797836148893732011-07-03T23:07:00.001-07:002011-07-03T23:07:58.196-07:00And home from camp! So I'm posting real quick...It has been an amazing week. And a very tiring one. In fact, out of the past week, there was not a single night I was in bed before 3 in the morning, except for thursday night. And that was 2:30. And I had to wake up at around 6:30 for brekkie. Joy joy... but no, really, it was good. I had a blast. And I got to play rugby! Which, in case you didn't know, is the original sport from which our American football came from. (you add pads, a whole bunch of timeouts, more rules, and guys that shouldn't really be allowed out of their homes because they're such jerks, and thats how you get football - well, maybe we should take out the jerk bit. Not all of them are mean)<br />
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So Rugby was a blast. There was a group of about six of us playing, meaning that instead of normal 15's or 7's, we were stuck playing 3's, but still was fun. Rabbit (just a nickname for one of my friends) actually dislocated his shoulder, relocated it himself, and then was back in the game ten minutes later. It was intense. He was the only real injury thankfully. I tore up some scabs I had gathered on my legs earlier that week, but nothing major. The group of us that played consist of kids from Kansas, Oregon, and Washington, so we want to meet up again at the end of summer in Utah to play some pick up games round the universities. See if we can get some good scrum games going, with more then just six people playing. Needless to say, I cannot wait for the end of summer to go play again. In fact, I'm going to be purchasing a rugby ball as soon as I can... If any of you guys want to get one as well, heres the link - <a href="http://www.worldrugbyshop.com/departments-balls-training-rugby-balls.html">Training Rugby Balls</a> -. I'm looking forward to seeing about getting some games going on up here. Not full on tackle, just scrummy rules, so no one gets hurt.<br />
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Also going to be entering the local rugby league. So much fun... Anyways, its late, and I'm getting tired, so this will be all for tonight. See you all tuesday!Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-57006756706693002822011-06-27T04:34:00.000-07:002011-06-27T04:34:00.280-07:00I know I've fallen short on a lot of stuff this last week... also Seg 1.1Regular posts being one of them, as well as the discussion on the NoE, or the Nirvana of English. But you know what? You must find Nirvana on your own. No one can give you a detailed map of how to get there, its not a place, but a state of mind. And no, that does not mean you should break out the bongs Evergreen. But that being said, I can't really describe it. You have to journey there yourself, meaning sitting down, and writing for a couple hours until it just comes. Its a painful, danger fraught journey. Believe me. It is. I've managed to attain NoE on occasion, but it was never without good reason. Also often stress induced. So perhaps my path to NoE is stress, while yours may be meditation. If it is, can we trade? Please?<br />
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So, talking about writing, I watched a movie that really made me want to start writing again. And as this is basically a giant public internet journal, I've decided to just write it in here as I progress, probably on a chapter or segment basis. And it may (read - most likely will) taper off and die after a while, when I get tired of writing about the characters who seemed realistic or fun at the beginning. Now, when I do this, I will have a little header saying hey, this is now the next part of the book thingy (blook? Book/blog? Bloog?) so you guys can either skip it or read it. It will be... IDK. I'm feeling in the mood for writing some weird twistedy*ish murder psychological thriller. So be prepared, because dead people may show up in it. And some of those dead people may not be in very good shape at all when they do show up. So... Just read the disclaimer for the section before reading it. That way you could either get the summary cap of it, or decide to read it. Basically, enjoy.<br />
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Further, this will be my only post this week. This past week I was in a choir production musical thing, this week I'm running a youth camp. Busy busy! But I promise to come back and write you guys on occasion this summer. Meaning that I will write, and more regularly than I am now.<br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">THIS IS THE HEADER I WAS TELLING YOU ABOUT</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></b><br />
So here is the segment this week... Shouldn't be any death or mayhem much this time. Just enjoy some backstory and character development!<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>Segment 1.1 (Part 1, chapter 1 - or however I decide later to arrange it)</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Have you ever had a dream so vivid, so real, that when you woke up, it felt like falling asleep? That the waking, breathing world that we bustle to and from was fake, and what you saw in your dreams was what was really happening? The dreams were so close to reality that it almost made sense that I was simply living two lives, just one in my dreams and one when awake. You feel as though you're aging twice as fast, gaining twice as much life as everyone else. You feel like you're thirty at twenty, forty at twenty-five. If wasn't for the fact that your body needs sleep on occasion, I would stay up as much as possible. To experience dreams that real while asleep, to feel as though you're acting out someone else's life, but to wake up to your own life to live, its draining. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">In fact, I don't remember much of my childhood. My first memory was when I was six. I was laying on the grass, just looking up into a tree that held my tree fort. Actually, I remember it so well, that I can still recall my line of thoughts - Where am I? I'm looking around, And I see the tree fort. I latch onto that. It's my tree fort. I play in it every day. Why do I hurt? Why am I on the ground? Did I fall? I don't think I fell. I can't remember. Where's mommy? I can't get up, it hurts to breath. Is the tree fort going to fall? No, but someone's screaming now. It's loud. Mom? Is that you? Mom? MOM?</span><br />
<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">"Mom?"</span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> "Its ok, I'm here, I'm here" </span></blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I'm being held by my mother. The wind blows a little, as mother holds my head. I try turning my head to look at her, but she holds me still and tells me not to move. I stop trying to move after that. There's leaves falling from the tree that my tree fort is in. Big leaves, floating down gently on a cushion of air. I try to imagine what it would be like to be like one of the leaves, to gently float down, but then my head starts hurting, and I forget about it. After a while, I remember men in costumes came to get me. They put me on a weird bed in a van, and then when they pulled me out, we were at a hospital. I didn't know then what one was at the time, just that it had hurt people there, and that I must be just another hurt person. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">From there on it becomes a blur, my memory fragments, and its not until my teen years that I really start remembering things again. I used to have these wicked dreams though, dreams where it felt like I was awake, but then I would wake up. It was always dreams about this one guy, being this one person. I went to school as him one time even. That was the day I stayed home and slept all day because I was really sick in junior high. It was just something really strange. I came up with a name for him even - Peter. Peter Holding. I gave him my last name because it was like I was him when I fell asleep. I thought though that Peter was a cool name, and so I just used it. It took a while, but then the people in the dreams that I met started calling me Peter, and so it stuck. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Then I got done with school, and I started going to work. I was going to go into counseling, but I finally discovered I just didn't feel comfortable talking to strangers about their problems. I had always been told I was a great listener, and so I thought it would be a great job for me, but turns out it wasn't. Since I dropped from the program around the time when I was about to intern with a local school I've become somewhat of a night owl. I don't get up much during the day, and I go out and hit up the clubs at night. I have a friend, Darren, who goes with me and sometimes we just bar hop all night long, staggering home at 5 in the morning just to fall asleep and then go about and do the same all over. The drinking helps though - it means I don't dream. I'm tired of dreaming of some Peter that has the job that I thought I was going to be good at, and who has a great life. Me, I'm just happy that theres money in the bank, and that I can go have fun, but I feel like something is missing. I can't figure out what it is though, and its just always there, nagging, constantly nagging, at the back of your brain, telling you that you know you know something, but you've forgotten what that something is, which makes it all the more horrible, because its something you need. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Now though, with the drinking, its rare that I dream of being Peter, for which I'm thankful. Its rare that I dream at all actually, its become where its usually just a blank space of time from when I fall asleep to when I wake up again. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I don't even know why I'm writing this, its not like writing what I feel is going to help at all. If by writing a couple words on a page I could figure out what it is that I feel I'm missing, then it would just be great. But it isn't working so far, so I guess I may just have to try something else. Maybe go see a shrink. That might be a good idea. I just hope that they can help instead of just taking your money and leaving. Peter goes to a couple, and they never seem to be able to help him with his problems, whatever they are. I always seem to miss the dreams that would explain them. It's like an episodic show going on in my head at night, and I'm missing most of the episodes. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But still, I'm just thankful that I've discovered how to not dream of him too much. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b>END</b></span><br />
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And there you go, its just a little snippet. There'll be more, I promise, I'm just exhausted and need to go to bed. So goodnight!Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-79085553069792043152011-06-22T00:11:00.000-07:002011-06-22T00:15:33.385-07:00ANWF - Asymptote of Nervous Frantic WritingSo, my cousin Nicole now has a blog! I'm so proud of her! (Not sure why. I'll get back to you on that later. Maybe... No promises, ok?) And she just posted her first post and all... It was a blast for me to read, just because I really miss those punks over in Enumclaw that I call family. It's been way to long since I've seen them last, and I'm in dire need of an apples to apples game with extended family, and a bunch of girl/guy drama/gossip Just dance1or2/movie night. NICCCCOOOOLE! (And... The Grinch!!!) I NEED A COUSINS NIGHT!<br />
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That bit of a shout out being done and over with, I feel like going on to say that the Savior of the World production is coming together very nicely, and that I will be extremely happy when its over. I've never been so hecticly busy my whole life, I swear. And yes, I did just make the word hecticly up. It means hectic-like, but with more emphasis on the whole "Oh-My-Goodness-I-Am-WAAAY-Too-Busy" aspect of it. But other than that pretty much just a normal hectic.<br />
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As for work, its amazing. I'm not really good at it yet, but I'm enjoying painting houses and stuff. Plus, one of my friends, Zak, is my coworker, which is really just too cool. And we'll be doing exteriors, which means I can get a tan this summer as well! Yay! That is something I am definitely looking forward to. That way I don't have to put makeup on to like this tan (Imagine me motioning at my face. It's currently all make-up-ed. It was for he dress rehearsal, I swear. Gosh darn people always put too much eyeliner on though... I look sorta like Guyliner from Lost). Which will be nice, because I just happen to enjoy being tan. Being tan is enjoyable. And it makes you feel that much more awesome, because you're apparently cool enough to be outside in the sun for long enough to become tan. And yeah. Tan's are just cool. Fact of life.<br />
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Also about work... I had to wake up at 4:30 to get ready so I could leave for work at 5, so we could hit the job site by 6, which was insane. Especially because I didn't get home the night before until about midnight because of savior of the world rehearsal, and then had to shower and all, so that was on three hours of sleep.<br />
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And now I've been running nonstop since then practically, so if this is all a bit ramblish and not understandable, thats why. I blame being exhausted. It's an interesting state of mind. On the one hand, writing comes a lot easier. Suddenly things are much more interesting than any sane, normal, rational being would think they are. You can carry on for lengths about almost any given topic, and if you can't, you'll redirect it all to something you can talk about for hours and hours and hours on end. On the other hand however, you may still be rational and sane enough to realize you are, in fact, rambling, and approaching what I've come to call through my experiences with it the asymptote of nervous frantic writing. It's where all lucid thoughts become scarce, and the brain is attempting a mass purge of all randomness in it into the blogosphere as a cleaning system. As one approaches this point, the subject that is being written about becomes meandering. Words used and terms depicted are "free-floating" and multi-faceted, depending heavily upon context and method of use for actual meaning. The subject itself is not as heavily set in stone as depicted, the subject in general being the unloading of excess mind garbage, with a sub-subject being the object and means by which said object is completed. One starts writing frantically, writing more and more, becoming more sure that the more he writes, the better It (It referring to whatever it is that the one is writing) will become. Much like the scene in which the belief is held that if a hundred monkeys are put in a room with a hundred typewriters for a hundred years, eventually a Shakespearian work will be produced, one holds the belief that if enough is typed, one good sentence will appear, and that sentence will appeal to readers everywhere, thereby increasing readers. In all actuality however, the one has lost his grip on reality, descending into a dark pit of self torture as he strives to write more and more, becoming increasingly worked up about it all, just trying to write one thing that will come across as genuinely funny/uplifting/humorous/interesting/exciting/etc..<br />
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It will not happen.<br />
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A man may approach the asymptote of nervous frantic writing, but the closer he comes to the point of genuine awesomeness, he veers suddenly and drastically in the wrong direction. It's like taking a right at a no right turn sign. It's just not good. And as much as he may try to reach that point, it will not happen.<br />
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You see, the only way to reach the point in the middle of the asymptote of nervous frantic writing that is the Epitome of Awesome Writing is through the Nirvana of English. Also commonly known as NoE. Its got a fan base with as many fingers as there are on my hand if you take them all away except for my thumb. Which isn't exactly a finger. Hmm. I may need to re-define the fan base here.<br />
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Regardless, NoE is the only way to safely pierce the asymptote of nervous frantic writing to reach the pinnacle of blogging, the Epitome of Awesome Writing (Also known as the EAW). But its late, and as I'm rather fast approaching the ANFW (Asymptote of Nervous Frantic writing) I'll leave it at this, and pick up next time with a discussion of the NoE and how to reach it, if it is indeed reachable (Sorry Evergreen students... You cannot simply "Puff" your way there...). Or teachable.<br />
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Well, goodnight!Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-40935398727297569052011-06-19T19:56:00.000-07:002011-06-19T19:56:05.987-07:00Blah blah blah.... Late again, I knowSo, sorry guys. I know I sorta lied when I said I would be putting one up on the next day in my last post. It wasn't meant as a lie, but then it sorta turned into one when I totally was uber busy the next day and didn't get home before like midnight...<br />
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But Saturday I did zumba for the first time! That was fun. I definitely enjoyed it a bunch, and its on my to-do-again list. I also was able to go to some dance classes, Swing, West Coast Swing, and Salsa. And then I went and played Dodgeball. And after a short break for dinner, I went to a dance in an airport hangar and danced until 11:50 at night... It was pretty intense. And I discovered I have muscles that disagree with being used for dancing for so long... my back, between the shoulder blades in particular. Also discovered that I can I can use my hips with a lot more motion than I had thought possible... All in all, a great day of self discovery and dancing. And I wish I could do it again.<br />
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But without the aching like a bum the next day.<br />
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Like, when I mean aching like a bum, I mean being so sore you just lay in bed until noon because moving at all hurts, and being dehydrated makes your head hurt so you're stuck between hurting like crazy to get up and get water, which you feel like throwing up as soon as you sip some, or hurting a little less than crazy by just laying there and dealing with the headache. It's like a hangover but better... no horrible aftertaste and wondering what exactly happened the night before. Sadly however, its not an easy thing to get rid of.<br />
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So, I resorted to yogurt and some ibuprofen... which did the trick, thank heavens. I also watched the last episode of Lost again, which is possibly the most amazing piece of work done for an episodic show ever, and showered. So, feeling warm and comfortably filled (Yogurt does really well on a-slightly-upset-and-not-wanting-but-needing-food stomach) but not vomity*ish filled stomach, I decided to play me some of the new (er) Metroid game, Other M, and I beat it! Well, I beat it too the closing credits. It appears theres more gameplay after that point, but I finished the main game it seems.<br />
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I'm very, very, very proud of myself for that. I didn't think I was going to be able to do that without having my friend Zak (the one I borrowed the game from) come over and fight the boss levels for me. But he didn't need to except for one early on, and he was at my house already, not like I called him up to come and fight it for me.<br />
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Fun to note; Dance classes are a great way to meet people. There was another guy there with my name! Not my last name, but he had the name Keegan as well! It was crazy! Partners would trade every couple minutes (3-6 minutes) and that would mean the girl just goes down the line for who she's dancing with, so this kid and I stood next to eachother, so the girl would get done dancing with one Keegan and her next dance partner would be another Keegan. That was pretty cool, and it threw a couple girls for a loop, but what was really funny was the next two guys before us were both named John. So it was two J's and then two K's right in a row who both had the same name. By the time the girl got to the other Keegan, they were wondering if we were pulling a prank, and if the next guy would be named Liam or something starting with an L. There were some ridiculously cute girls there too, not going to lie. However, by the time the dance started after dodgeball (around 8:50) I had such a major headache already that I didn't go and find the girls who had told me to go find them and dance with them. I'm sort of regretting it today, but you know, there'll be more things like that eventually.<br />
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There was a girl there actually whose name was Emily, but she had a name tag on that said Starla. Apparently she loves Napoleon Dynamite. Unfortunately I said I hate that movie, just before she said she loved it. Still, I was able to save the conversation with some fancy footwork (meaning we started working on the next segment) and we started joking about something else. So besides my horrible blunder within the first few moments of meeting Emily (I mean Starla) we became friends, or at least friends enough that we talked for a bit. (And the Emily that reads this... Funny thing is she sorta looked like you. It was kinda strange)<br />
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So, all in all, the youth conference was a blast. I had a bunch of fun, and woke up with a pounding headache and extremely sore. Sounds like a successful weekend to me!<br />
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Anyways, I'm going to be heading off to bed now. I've got work early in the morning (well, not too early. 7 ish) and so I want to get some rest in. Night! See you all Tuesday!Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-89293635499788140792011-06-16T23:55:00.001-07:002011-06-16T23:55:11.532-07:00Wow its late... (Short posting)So, like stated, it's late. Which means I'm not going to say much beyond that my cheek is kinda in pain... got two fillings today, which is never fun. Also, I will be writing a post tomorrow for all of you, since this one kinda is lameo and really short, but it will be later in the day that you get it... I have a job! It's just painting, but its work, and I'll get cash to fix up the truck, and then I can get a better job. So yay!<br />
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And goodnight! See you tomorrow!Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-34051257879848758932011-06-14T23:41:00.000-07:002011-06-14T23:47:58.744-07:00Just in case all y'all were wondering about whats up...Life is currently pretty decent. And by pretty decent, I mean flipping schuweet, with some discrepancies that prevent it from being fully flipping schuweet, such as the fact that I will shortly be moving. Hurray! I think. Possibly. I mean, I do like the people who live around here, but the rent woman is becoming somewhat psycho... I do believe she may in fact honestly have a serious mental problem. But the fact remains we are renting from her, and as she is quickly descending from the town of unstable to the city of tweakerville, we are relocating! But not too far from where we are currently, at least thats the plan. So it's not like I'm suddenly picking up and fleeing the state. Nah, I'm going to be hanging 'round for a bit longer. Can't get rid of me that easily!<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Anyways, enough on some of the things that <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">aren't so hot in my life... Whats going on thats great? </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Well, for starters, I'm reading this</span> awesome <a href="http://wrongquestions.blogspot.com/">blog</a>, that you should all go check out. (The link is right where I said "blog" in case you missed it. It's pretty sweet) The lady that writes it, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Abigail Nussbaum, is really one awesome individual. She's got a BSc in computer science, and in her spare time writes reviews for all things amazing. Pretty much rocks. Also, she watches Dr. Who. Which pretty much makes her amazing in my book. She is a feminist, not saying thats a bad thing, but if you have not experienced a review on a movie such as, say, <a href="http://wrongquestions.blogspot.com/2010/08/scott-pilgrim-vs-world.html">Scott Pilgrim VS. the World</a> by one, be prepared for somewhat of a culture shock. It's very interesting and eye-opening to read reviews on so many things I've enjoyed that see it through a slightly different lens, and I've become somewhat of an avid reader of her blog over the last couple days. If you followed the X-men movie review link I put in my last post, it was also one of hers. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Another thing thats pretty cool is the Savior of the World production I'm in. Just so you all know out there, yes, I am religious, and I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Also commonly </span>recognized as the mormon church or LDS. And I am currently involved in a Production about the life of Jesus Christ, which is pretty fun. I love singing, and I love choir, and since I enjoy church immensely as well, I go to my church choir as well, and its the church choir thats really putting this on. I (during the two acts of the production) get to play through the roles of three different angels, a roman soldier, a resurrected being (From the people who rose from the dead in Jerusalem), and then just a stander-by in the chorus. So I get I think one actual spoken line, and I get some solo stage time (Read - 4 to 5 seconds), and I get to sing a lot. Regardless of your religious viewpoint (And I view Atheism as merely the religious choice not to believe in anything, not a lack of religion) I think that the life of Jesus is an exemplary one that all can gain from, whether you believe it or not, so I feel that this whole production thing is a very neat event I get to participate in. </div><div><br />
</div><div>A third thing is that I'm involved quite heavily in scouting, and in summer camps in general. I've lived my summers as a lifeguard for a local camp since I was 14, and before that I had been going to scout camps since I was 11. So, scouting and camping, particularly during the summer, has always been of great importance to me. And swimming. And basically anything to do with water, like sailing (I was the sailing instructor last summer). But what the point I'm leading up to is that I get the opportunity to be a youth leader at Camp Helaman, which is for 16-19/20 year old boys. I'm one of the six young men who run the camp, and its all youth lead, which is really cool. If you've been involved in scouting, you probably understand how crazy that is to have a full on camp that actually runs and operates that way. Anyways, we've been planning and organizing and doing the logistics for this thing with a committee of adults since last fall, and now in two weeks it'll be here. I'm crazy ecstatic about it. Like, this thing has literally almost been a full year in the making, and we plan on having about 200 youth at the first session (Theres two sessions, each a week long, but my group is only in charge of the first session). Now, that may not seem like a huge number, but if you've ever worked at a summer camp, you probably know that 200+ youth in a smaller area, and trying to run that camp successfully is a huge undertaking. To compare, the scout camp I usually spend my summers life-guarding at, a busy week is 300-400 youth, from around the nation. A really crappy overloaded week is 400-500. But thats on 400 acres. Now, camp Helaman is on about 100-200 acres. Its about half the area of the scout camp, but nearly the same amount of kids. It's insane. But fun! And I'm so happy for it to be here, but I know I'll be sad to see it be over.</div><div><br />
</div><div>But its all good because the very next week I'm going to that scout camp I lifeguard at and training my replacements as sailing instructors. Which makes me happy. </div><div><br />
</div><div>And now to wrap things up, I feel I need to mention a good friend of mine, Emily. We've had an interesting past. I don't know particularly how she feels about it, but in my eyes, she's always been my intellectual nemesis. You know, the good friend who you constantly strive to be better than? Yeah, thats her. Whilst I was plunking about on a piano, and then giving that up in favor of trumpet and trombone, which I gave up for community college, and then picked up some self taught guitar, she was going about her way, playing violin. And getting better and better at it. There was a period of time where we dated, and most of our dates consisted of going to events she was playing at, and then going out for a fancy dinner afterwards, and possibly sitting on a dock and just looking out at the water. Point being, musically, she had me beat, and we both knew it. So while she took AP classes, I took to community college life like a fish. Meaning I busted arse my first year or so and then realized that its a community college where the credits I do earn won't actually do me any good, unlike her AP classes. So, I do have 4.0 GPA's in calculus (which oddly enough is the ares I scored lowest on my IQ test - mathematics that is.), but I'm going to have to retake that darn class once I get to a university. The fact however that we were taking different courses led to us having heated debates (never arguments) over which was better - AP classes, or Running Start community college classes. Turns out she was right, but while she was stuck doing super study for her AP classes, I coasted through my classes with relative ease, enjoying my free college tuition period. The truly funny part though is that we're both going to be going through school for the same thing - Math Education. I personally don't know (Read - don't remember) what she specifically has in mind, but personally I'm going for university/college level math instruction. I don't particularly want to be stuck in a classroom of kids who are in that room not for self enrichment, but because they're forced to be there. I mean, I could probably teach them and do a good job doing so, but it's not what I want for myself. I want to be the the cool college math professor! (Those do exist... somewhere... I hope) Anyways, Emily is a superduperfriggingfantasticlyamazingcool and rad person. And much smarter than those silly Evergreen students...</div><div><br />
</div><div>And I'm leaving it like that for tonight. Thanks for reading everyone! And whoever is reading this in Israel and Germany, I just think its amazing that you're reading my blog. I never thought that I would have anyone other than just a couple close friends read this, and so its really just too cool to have viewers on an international level. Thank you! And goodnight!</div>Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-64112722769365035182011-06-13T13:33:00.000-07:002011-06-13T13:34:15.606-07:00A quick posting about a movie review...Here's a link!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://wrongquestions.blogspot.com/2011/06/x-men-first-class.html#links">Asking the Wrong Questions: X-Men: First Class</a><br />
<div><br />
</div><div>So, just reading through some stuff, and I happened across this review. It's very insightful, bringing into question a lot more of the inspiration and sources drawn upon in the movie, and summarizes (and rather successfully as well, in my opinion) the new X-Men movie. Basically, its a good read, even if you haven't seen it, or don't want to see it. So you should all go and check it out. It's a good 5-7 minute read, and it opens up some of the problematic questions concerning hero's and villain's. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Verdict? I recommend you go read this post. And then go watch the movie. Or at least just go read his post. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Thanks!</div>Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-50471565901127911562011-06-13T00:14:00.000-07:002011-06-13T00:14:12.524-07:00Its Sunday night, and there was no choir practice.I'm felling a major loss from my daily life because of this. No really, majorly. Pain. Anguish. Darkening of the soul, loss of feeling in my outer limbs, hunger, growth spurts, acne... It's bad. Really truly horrible. I don't know if I can go on horrible. The light at the end of the tunnel has even gone out, and a sign saying "Out for Lunch, be back eventually" is up in its place. So much for happy endings. And to think, that this was all caused by the lack of choir practice on a Sunday evening.<br />
<br />
Silly high school graduates... don't you realize music is much more important then your silly parties? Honestly... you're making Evergreen students seem like hard workers... And that's saying something. I need my choir practice! Gah... Oh well. Thank heavens I do have one thing pulling me through... one thing that makes the dismal dark of the choir-less twilight of doom bearable, One thing that can still make my life blood run hot in my veins, to make my heart beat out a wild beat of jubilant strength, to stir me up to higher callings, to visions of men, elf, dragon, dwarf, and furry rabbit fighting for supreme dominance underneath a burning field of a thousand dying suns, exploding nebula bursting into shattered dreams, the falling of a bitter drop into a well of unseasoned thoughts and hopes...<br />
<br />
And enough with the hoopla of fantasy weaving. Basically, his name is Adam. Adam is basically my best friend, ever. If you know me, you know I say that a lot. A lot of people seem to be a best friend. But Adam here... Adam gets a special spot as my "Star crossed lover that the evil fates doth twist and rend apart our shortlived joy". Basically, we have sleepovers, watch Disney or Miyazaki movies, do church stuff, visit bookstores and oogle our way through the fantasy sections, making retching sounds at the supernatural romance sections, detour through the children's section to reawaken childhood memories, finally wend our way through the journal and notebook section, and then cruise through Olympia rocking out to T. Swift's latest album. We have yet to build a blanket fort, but that and watching Tangled is on our list of to-do's for a weekend-long hang out shortly. Maybe a group date as well. It has yet to be fully decided. (Oh, and we also visited a comic book store. My fist time in one of those... it was an... Interesting experience)<br />
<br />
------------------------------------Story Time------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Adam and Keegan met for the first time one fateful day, mid august, of the year two thousand and nine. It was a bright day, when many hopes and dreams rested lightly upon the shoulders and minds of these two young vibrant souls. The weather had been favorable, the sun was out, and Keegan had in act just finished working as a protector of the weak and lesser developed swimming ability at a camp not far from Tahuya in the land of Washington. The bronze skinned Keegan was then newly moved into his new home in the town of Port Orchard, close to where the water of a great ocean met the land, and as such, he knew few people in the region. Adam, the literary mastermind and schemer had traveled to the area himself not many months before, and had not many acquaintances himself.</blockquote><br />
<blockquote>It was in a building of cool stone, a place of worship and reverence that Adam and Keegan first met. Keegan, ever the mischievous spirit, was leaning back in his chair, reveling in himself and the attention he garnered from the others, while Adam sat there, coolly and wholly unmoved by the performance Keegan was putting on, unlike the other youth in the room. Keegan thought he could charm anyone with his smiles and tongue, and enjoyed verbal sparring, the twist of words and sharp jabs, but nothing seemed to impress this youth that sat stoically in his seat. Adam was unimpressed with this show-off. </blockquote><br />
<blockquote>But Keegan had a distinct personality trait, that he wanted to be friends with everybody, and to say that he wanted to at least see Adam crack a smile is an understatement of the highest mark. As such, Keegan took it upon himself to befriend Adam, and to find out what made this boy, who knew so much concerning religion and literature, go. Thus, when the class was over, Keegan ran over to Adam and introduced himself right away, clapping Adam on the shoulder.<br />
Adam, it turned out, was merely preoccupied with the lesson, and the gathering of knowledge. For unlike Keegan at that time, he had a desire for the deeper things of this world and the next. Adam knew that while Keegan's antics may appear crazy, that for the time being, he had wanted to pay attention to the lesson. But now that the lesson was over... He put Keegan on a run for his money. Where the other male youth could not match Keegan for sheer wit, here was a young man his age that not only had a literary background filled with fantasy and adventure, but could employ his tongue to the devising of tales of fancy, and to games of wit. </blockquote><br />
<blockquote>Keegan delighted in meeting Adam, and thus a friendship was born, a friendship that would in turn spawn stories and adventures the like of which have never before been seen, and through it all, Keegan and Adam remained friends, though fate would tear the star crossed lovers apart, dividing the two with miles of treacherous streets, towns, warring factions, and beautiful sirens who would occasionally attempt to sway one of the two. But the bonds of brotherhood and love are hardy, and through it all, though fates evil twisting and turnings would attempt to sever those bonds, Keegan and Adam remain friends. </blockquote><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">---------------------------------The End of Story Time------------------------------------</div><div><br />
</div><div>Adam, so you all know, is a writer. He's actually won several prizes for short stories he's written, and if I'm incorrect in that statement, I'm sure he'll correct me. However, I think you should read some of his stuff, so I'll figure out a way to link you all to something that has a story of his for you to read. He loves Fantasy, and aspires to become a recognized name in the fantasy literature circles. Also, he seems to post links to some of his friend's blogs, but seems to forget mine. Possibly because I spam facebook with my blog posts enough as it is already... But whatever. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Adam and I also share a deep love for Betty White. Anything to do with that women is practically amazing. I hope to get Adam hooked into watching the show Community through the first episode of Season 2, with Betty White as the anthropology teacher. If that doesn't work I'll have to find some other way to get him to watch it. Ah, the things we do for friends. But honestly, this kid and I are going to build a blanket fort the lies of which this side of the Narrows Bridge hasn't seen yet. The whole house will become one big blanket fort. It will be amazing. I'm severely excited, that's all I have to say.</div><div><br />
</div><div>And it's ridiculously late, and although I could go on and on about Adam, and what we plan to do when we see eachother next, I'm just going to leave it at whats here. And who knows, I may write more about him later! Also, if you want a somewhat ridiculous blog about you, just get ahold of me and I'll write one. Of course, I would need to know you for a while before I could write one about you, but still... I'm sure I could dredge up something stupid we've done before. Like my cousin Jess and I? Plenty of stories about camping trips when we were young (read - younger then three) and there may be family pictures of me flipping out in a tent and Jess with a look of exasperation as she tries to ignore me. Pretty awesome stuff. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Anyways, goodnight!</div>Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-66501187450922644762011-06-09T23:23:00.000-07:002011-06-09T23:30:05.860-07:00Pedantic mostly, with some humorA recipe for a comedy in the flavor of Douglas Adams. Also, you will be exposed to some of it tonight. Pedantry that is. If that's the term for when engaged in using pedantic language. It's all rather fuddled and mixed up and awkward sounding, so I'll supply you with a link - <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pedantic">What I mean when I say Pedantic/Pedantry/Pendant</a> - and then proceed to tell you what it means, regardless of the fact I just put a link there for you to follow.<br />
<br />
Basically, its where one uses words of unnecessary length and formality in either regard to a following of the rules to the minute details, or to show off. A third option, one not explained in the wiki for it, is the fact that it can be used for dry humor. Using difficult words in a normal, average day conversing can be humorous, especially if its used in such a way as to make sarcasm or the condescending factor of said use of language extremely apparent. Much like using "phalanges" in this next sentence makes it much more comedic then if "fingers" was used.<br />
<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">"My armpits would be very much the happier pair if all intruding </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">phalanges were removed, thank you very much."</span></span></span></blockquote> And so you can see, pedantry can be used as a form of comedic relief, if handled carefully. Otherwise you'll end up just being a bore, and no one will want to read what you write. Or listen to you speak. Or any other form of communication possible where they would have to listen to you babble like a maniac, with no real meaning behind it except to sound fancy. Hurray vocabularies, neh?<br />
<br />
Now, onto the purpose of why I'm explaining this to you. Its so that later on, when I delve into some really heavy pedantic use, you'll fully understand what I'm doing, what to call it, and how to either; A) Appreciate it more, and realize the slight humor behind its use, or B) Make fun of it more appropriately, now knowing what type of condescending jerk uses it. All up too you, although I personally would hope you would go with option A. Just my personal opinion and hope...<br />
<br />
So! Moving on!<br />
<br />
I would hope by now, that if you've been reading this, you know that I went to prom last weekend. And that we ate at the cheesecake factory (By the way, their popcorn shrimp and four cheese pasta with chicken is delicious. And big enough to be easily split between two people and still have leftovers) which was amazing. But sadly, as I was eating the popcorn shrimp, I realized how long it had been since I last dined on any form of calamari. Calamari, in case you didn't know, is deep fried squid, and it is delicious. Amazingly so. And its been... a good month or so since I've had any, and even then, the place I was at that had some, the calamari served wasn't that well prepared. So that got me thinking... I haven't had anything along those lines for a while now. No calamari, no octopode, no salt water eel on rice, nothing! And I'm sorta feeling deprived... although my boss Shirley did give me some crab meat sushi rolls the other day, so that was nice.<br />
<br />
See what I did there? I used octopode! Now, it is a real word. If you trying using it in word or something like that, your spell check will most likely inform you that I am wrong, that it is not a real word, and that you would be better off using something different, such as Antipodes or Doctorow. Neither of which I know the meaning of currently, but hey, thats why we love google and wikipedia.<br />
<br />
-humming whilst Keegan googles those two terms-<br />
<br />
Ok, so antipodes is the place exactly opposite across the diameter of the Earth from any given point. So if I'm at one spot, the Antipodes of where I am is the precise same spot on the other side of the world. Nifty, no?<br />
<br />
And as for Doctorow, he is either a Canadian blogger, or an American author. Take your pic. It is a last name, obviously well know enough to receive place in the spell check dictionary.<br />
<br />
Back to octopode! Anyways, that is the third plural form of octopus. Bonus brownie points if you had it guessed before I told you. Since octopus is actually Greek, Octopi is an accepted misspelling. That is how you would spell it, if its base was Latin, but then again, if we were speaking Latin, Octopus would actually be Octopes, with the plural being Octopedes, but since we have ancient Greek to thank for the name, it is Octopus. But since its a common enough mistake, Octopi has managed to secure a place as a definition of plural octopus. And finally, we have Octopuses, which is the first plural form (and the most common) of octopus. It's the one all of you have probably heard and seen, and its in all the dictionaries, whereas octopi is commonly included, Octopode is rarely seen unless you're looking for it.<br />
<br />
In fact, a little info on the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plural_form_of_words_ending_in_-us#Octopus">plural forms of Octopus</a>, just so you can see where I came across the term <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pedantic">Pedantic</a>.<br />
<br />
Talking of Octopode, did you know that often you can track the students of Evergreen by the clouds of cannabis produced smoke wafting about? Much like an octopus can leave a trail of ink behind it, the students at Evergreen leave trails of pot-smoke behind them as they go from class to class, but instead of a defense mechanism, for the Evergreen student in its natural environment, its more of a welcome, a greeting, and a mapping system, allowing them to follow eachother and congregate into larger masses, where the smokers find refuge in each others presences, and generally loaf about, ignoring schoolwork like usual, and devising more methods to get the school to allow them more freedom, meanwhile plotting peace rallies and painting Volkswagen bus's bright neon colors in swirling patterns.<br />
<br />
Now that I'm done with that whole thing, I would just like to say that I am very, very happy I was able to make it to choir practice this evening. It's been a while since I've been to a rehearsal practice for our production that we're putting on, Savior of the World, its a production about Jesus and parts of his life and such. Really amazing, love the music, and also I'm in it, so whats there not too like about it? Also in it is Zak, Christy, and Jenelle, all of who are amazing people. So come see it! Comment or figure out a way to get ahold of me for tickets. They're free, but we have limited seating, so we're working on a ticket system here.<br />
<br />
Anyways, was able to be there for the whole practice with the actual stage set up, usually I can only make it to the singing practices, so it was nice learning what I get to do other then sing.<br />
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And I believe I'll leave it off there, so goodnight!Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3292581823524347618.post-42648903134515066202011-06-07T23:42:00.000-07:002011-06-07T23:43:30.993-07:00Well, it is now Tuesday.Just in case you didn't know what day it was. Actually, oddly enough its been Tuesday for a bit now. About 23 hours in fact. So it'll be Wednesday in just an hour or two. So thank heavens I'm getting this done now, right?<br />
<br />
So, notice to the world: Go read my friends blog here - <a href="http://lonelydipshit.blogspot.com/2011/06/moth-king.html">Awesomely strange blog posting</a> (Yeah, thats my name on the link for it. Go follow it anyways and read through it. It's pretty cool actually, even if I would never attempt what she describes in it myself)<br />
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If you're not going to be awesome and go follow the link and read through it, then I'll give you the low down. People are implanting magnets into their fingertips (or just one finger) and because of it, they can literally "feel" the magnetic fields. Pretty nifty. It's a literal sixth sense, one that can tell you if the microwave is running or not. Because, you know, the light being on and the buzzing noise isn't enough to tell you that... Regardless though of how useful (or not useful as the case is) I think it is, it just goes to show the lengths people go to explore the natural world around them, and for that I applaud them. No really, I think its cool that people do that. I just don't see a truly practical side to it. Perhaps it could be used for specialized jobs, but not any that I know of, and it seems to be a dangerous thing to do almost, because if you come into contact or come close to a strong magnetic field, those are little magnets in your fingertips that are going to want to just take off, and could possibly become very painful. Buuut... Going along with the whole implant idea, I'm just going to quickly copy and paste what I put as a comment on her post.<br />
<br />
<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #93c47d;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Schoolbell; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">I'm thinking if I got an implant, I would want something more then just feeling magnetic vibrations. Juuuust sayin'. Hook me up with internal bluetooth and a figure out a way to bleed the body's electrical power to supply juice to whatever interchangeable part I have on at the time. It could be done... It just would be risky until it perfected. Either create a tool to be implanted that could siphon the body's electricity, or figure out a biochemical fuel cell that could work within your body. Possibly bacteria in your stomach that generate energy as the travel from one side to the other, between the negative and positive poles implanted on either side... And then a field generator (why the magnetic sense wouldn't work so well with this idea) to provide the output so the attachments could work. Or provide direct line feed to slots on the body from the power source. That way you could keep your magnetic senses... Hm. I would have a feed out to the side of my hip so I could charge my phone wherever I go, as long as the bacteria in my stomach is alive. The problem would be;</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Schoolbell; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Schoolbell; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Schoolbell; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">A, finding a bacteria that could survive the conditions in the stomach</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Schoolbell; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Schoolbell; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">B, finding a bacteria that falls under A but also will not deprive the body of a reasonable amount of nutrition</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Schoolbell; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Schoolbell; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">C, flexibility in the poles implanted on either side of the stomach</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Schoolbell; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Schoolbell; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">D, if not a field generator (Go look up a PowerMat thingy on google. They work through magnetic resonance, which is where your vibration comes from) then how to correctly wire slots as to not have problems arise from wires inside the body restricting movement and harming internal organs</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Schoolbell; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Schoolbell; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">E, implementation of the slots, with how to create the "socket" on the surface</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Schoolbell; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Schoolbell; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Schoolbell; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">But other than that, it should be a pretty simple thing to get that all set up inside someone. Just saying. And then they're their own mini power plant. Which is incredibly cool.</span></span></blockquote>So, there it is. My idea for creating a functioning biofuel cell with your body as the housing. I'm going to have more written to fill up the blog posting, but just keep it in mind... if you could have an attachment made to your body, something that would require electricity, or just allow you to do something crazy, what would it be? Anyways, more on that later.<br />
<br />
I must admit... I'm feeling kinda bummed Kelsey isn't bugging me about my blog. Perhaps I can get a different friend to bug me about it? I'll let you guys know if the position of Keegan-motivator is open or not, and how to best contact me to get me to actually work on this. But I'm hoping Kelsey decides to bug me more.<br />
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I've decided to share with you all the tragic story of how I came to hate bananas. Well, not tragic really, except for the fact I don't like them anymore. This story, like any good story however doesn't start with any recent activity, or decision of mine. No, this story starts much longer ago. With me as a baby. At least, I'm going to call myself a baby. I was three I think... But regardless, the first event to this story involves me sitting on the floor as my mum brought the groceries in and started putting them on the counter. Apparently, one bag had a bunch of bananas in it (A group? I don't know what you call it when its the banana's that are all attached) and in the time that it took for my mum to go out to the car and return, I decided that I needed to conquer those bananas. As such, I spider monkey crawled up the counter as best as I could (Its hard being a three year old and trying to climb the kitchen cupboards. Those darn pajamas that are one pieces don't allow for much grip) and managed to finally grab the bag with the bunch of bananas in it. Loosening my death grip upon the counter, I pulled the bag down with me. There I stood in my pajamas, heroically posed, toting a banana filled bag as I surveyed the scene. I was alone in the kitchen, with bananas. That was my mums first mistake. The second was not hiding them well enough, as I obviously got to them. Having retrieved the bananas, I then sat on the floor, and pulled the first banana out, and barely pausing to peel it, I began stuffing it into my mouth. It disappeared within a few seconds. I believe that as a child, my parents could have merely placed me face down on the floor, instead of the vacuum cleaner, and I would of done a better job, and much faster too. Because by the time my mum returned from grabbing the next bag of groceries from the car, I had managed to eat not just one or two of my recently annexed trophies, but most of the whole bunch, which in my experience with buying groceries means that I had sucked down three or four bananas in the space of just a few minutes, if that.<br />
Point is, I used to love bananas. Obviously. I mean, what kid would eat something like that if he didn't?<br />
But then, around when I was ten (or around then as best as I can remember) the sudden change happened. I couldn't eat them anymore. I would get sick, and almost puke when faced with one. They became my worst enemy. And the only big change that I can think of that happened was that we moved from where we had been living in Orting, to Purdy. Now, that wouldn't be such a big thing, except that the house we moved into had spiders. And not just small spiders, because I don't mind spiders usually, but these were <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hobo_spider">Hobo spiders</a>. Now, those are some nasty buggers. I'm not going to include a picture here of what they look like and what the venom from a bite can do to you, but here is a link about it - <a href="http://www.onewest.net/~dkv/hobospider/poison.html">Hobo spider bites</a>. It's pretty gnarly. In my family of seven, only two of us escaped without being bit by them and experiencing the horrible things that happen because of it. But, I remembered there being a book talking about how spiders would hang out in crates of banana's, and thats how they would get transported from one area to another, and I think it scared me to where I couldn't eat bananas, and then it progressed from there. But honestly, I wouldn't blame myself. Because on top of the Hobo spider, we had its close relative, the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giant_house_spider">Giant house spider</a>, which holds (sort of) the world record for being the fastest spider. And these things are huge. And when you're 10-11, and have one chase you around a room, it can be a slightly traumatic experience.<br />
But even though I think I know where my hate of bananas came from, it doesn't change anything. I had to eat a banana a while back as part of a relay race, and it was bad enough where I had to run to the kitchen and quickly drink several cups of water to get it down, thats how close I was to vomiting. Darn associating. Our minds can be so powerful in creating connections and habits, but then again it can also associate a horrific, terrifying, disgusting arachnid with a beloved snack, and suddenly you can't eat the food anymore.<br />
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Anyways, guys, whats some foods that you can't stand? And are there any "Implants/attachments" That you would want to have? I'm sorry Evergreen, I can't think of how we could get a cannabis habitat attached to your body so its there for you all the time, but that is a good idea.<br />
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And night!Keeganhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03421564486542666695noreply@blogger.com0