Ah Balls! (The 'official as it gets' Blog of Dio)

[Dio the Awesome]

So, never has I ever done a thing like this before. I suppose I'm suppose to write something witty here everyday, about my life, but that would be pretty boring. First thing first, please feel free to comment on anything I write here. I intend to write short blurbs here daily to expand my writing, now that I have finally decided to get serious about my career. Also expect much weirdness to come out of this place, as I prepare to bust down all the walls of my psyche, and release the full potential of my imagination.

Abandon faith, all yea who dare read further.

First, a bit about myself.

I live in an undisclosed city in Western Canada. I dare not say more, because I probably now have enough information on this board that someone could find me and steal my identity. I mean, nothing like that is true. >.>

I am currently attending University for a BA in English. I pay for this by working at UPS. I spend my free time doing, this. Or playing video games. I intend to do less of the latter and more of the former.

My hobbies involve writing, reading, procrastination, and the heavy consumption of alcohol on weekends. Cuz, I'm rad like that.

Any questions about me, or what I do (which is very little) drop me a line here, or via PM. Now onto today's project:

---

It's not everyday that you wake up with a cyborg pirate standing over you, demanding you to join his quest for the Techno-Treasure. He orders you to get ready quickly, as you run about your room deciding what you would need on an interstellar adventure through the Milky Way. It is not often that you find yourself studying the odd looking pistol he hands you, which shoots deadly rainbows. And I was defiantly never hauled aboard a spaceship ship, sailing off to fight dangerous aliens on the moon. In fact, I've never had a day like that. I wake up again, confused. I notice my clock, and the familiar surroundings, and sigh dejectedly. I glance sideways at my bedside clock, and calculate how much longer I could justify staying in bed. Nearly noon... With a grunt I rise slowly out of bed, and stumble awkwardly towards the bathroom, still more than half asleep. I slip out of my house coat, and sit down in the shower.

The cold, slowly turning hot, water does little to waken me. Instead, the sensation of a warm waterfall coating my body makes me even more tired. I close my eyes and fall asleep again. I feel myself slipping down the drain, circling it rapidly, like a ship being drug to the bottom of the sea by a massive whirl pool. In the depths of the drainage system, I found a maze like network of caves. They clearly have never been explored by any mortal man, as creatures of untold horror and wonder peer curiously at me through the dark and water. Carefully I creep up to one of the smaller, more friendly looking creatures, only to wake up moments later, snorting water out of my nose. Fully awake this time, I scrub shampoo deep into my coarse black hair. I wonder how much longer I could justify stay in the shower. Eventually, the hot water heater makes the decision for me, and hits me with a torrent of icicles. I quickly turn the water off, and sit there a moment, panting, the cold water having stolen my breathe. After a while I force myself to go and get dressed after 'drying' off with a damp towel. Clearly someone else had beat me to the shower. I decided not to speculate who...

I mosey downstairs, and hunt for something to eat. After catching the elusive cereal and milk, I drag them both back to my lair, where I set them both into a natural crevice of my stone slab. Using a primitive tool, I shovel the mixture into my gaping mouth, crunching hard. The blood and bone of my breakfast slides easily down my throat. Unfortunately my meal is interrupted by another creature, eager to steal my meal...

"Jason!" My mother snapped, "How many times do I have to tell you not to run out the hot water. And don't chew so loudly when your eating, it's disgusting."

"Yes mom." I mutter weakly.

"Why don't you go outside, and do something useful with your time."

"Whatever." I choke down the rest of my cereal and humbly obey.

I find myself lying in the backyard under a tree. Who judges the value of time? Who can place value on the vastness of the worlds and universes dreamed by the human imagination. Nuclear fires in the glistening night sky. Torrents of fire meeting a blast of arctic rain. The eyes of Nymphs and Fae darting through the trees. Countless numbers of peoples and creatures. Lives lived and lost. From the highest snow covered peak, to the deepest body of freezing water. This is where I choose to spend my time. Limitless existences are possible in the mind. I finally decide that, if I were I a God, I would place infinite value on such creations, just as I would place infinite value on the things I have created, tangible or not. I watch as a Dryad slowly beckons me to a nearby tree. It appears she wishes to show me something in a brown leather satchel. I'm easily intrigued by her beckoning finger and crooked smile. Another world begs to be imagined, and I step into the gap between reality and imagination.



EDIT: Trying to bump the blog.

I have a story to tell, so I'm pushing my other planned posts backwards.
---

I walked out of a Mac's tonight, carrying my goodies, and prepared to settle in for a nightly movie. I was going to watch The Matrix, or maybe Lost in Translation, I hadn't quite decided.

Anyways, I was confronted by a familiar stereotype. A smaller woman, with unkempt hair, carrying a black mesh bag approached me.

"Do you have an extra cigarette on you?" She asked.

I instantly knew where this was going. "No." I said, "Sorry, I don't smoke."

She tried again, "Do you have 25 cents on ya, I got to make a phone call?"

Again, I said no. It wasn't because I couldn't part with a quarter, but because, I simply had no money on me that wasn't plastic.

My hometown has a homeless problem. Every winter, we see many deaths due to exposure. I wish I could help these people. If could I afford it, I would build houses for free. I think deep down anyone would. That being said, I dislike giving money to beggars, simply because I don't know which of them are truly in need of my help.

During my trip to Africa, I once saw a man who would stand on a street corner begging. Clearly he was disabled, the lower half of his left leg was gone. Being white in a foreign nation like Malawi, I am subject to certain stereotypes like rich and successful, which I am not. But I am better off that they are, so I spare what I can. One day, I saw this same man, in the same spot, talking on his cell phone. Clearly this man did not need my assistance, even though he seemed like a disabled homeless man. I was astonished, but I digress.

Finally, this woman opened her bag, it had a few chocolate bars inside. There was true desperation in her voice. "If you could just buy one of these for 2 dollars or something I'd really appreciate it."

My heart caved. I believed she truly needed just a few bucks to get buy that day, and I was unable to help. As I was driving home, my conscience made a decision for me. I would feel so guilty had I not tried to help her, so I gather up what cash I had around the house, and went back to buy some chocolate.

She smiled at me as I handed a 5 dollar bill, which was so little to me anyways. "Oh, you're such a sweetheart." She told me, as she handed me some chocolate.

It was the sweetest chocolate I had ever eaten.

:O

I... I'm not sure what that is referring to. Context plz? :/

Just being in awe. Going through the trouble to drive back.. I wouldn't have done that.

I have the same problem with them beggars, though: most of them I see are either drinking alcohol or smoking, which is both even too expensive to maintain for me... o.O

So no, no moneys for them. They should buy some bread and some clothes, and if they have spare money, some courses at an adult education center.

I understand completely. I never know who just wants to get wasted on someone else's dime. But if I think they're genuinely in need, i try to help.

And thanks you the comment. For being the first person, you get a "Hero Cookie"

Duhduhduh duhduh duuuuuh duhdana!

Cookies!

Blackness surrounds me. The darkness perplexes me, as I feel about with my hands. I can feel nothing either. I reach as high as I can into the air, and touch nothing. I turn in place, again reaching as far as I can. Again I touch nothing. I reach down. I feel cold floor. Okay, I can still feel.

I hear nothing. No one near me, no car honking or people talking. Not the hum of florescent lights, nor the buzz of the TV. The sounds I would expect to hear are stolen from me. I open my mouth hesitantly, afraid that if I tried to talk nothing would happen. I was almost more afraid to break the silence which hung so closely.

"hey." I call out tentatively. I can hear myself. So far so good.

I hear nothing else, no echo, no footsteps, no other voice save my own. I decide to press my luck.

"HEY! I yell. Still no echo, still no response.

"HEY HEY HEY!" I scream this time, as loud as I can. A faint resonance reaches me. but there is still no answer from the outside world. I can still talk.

Curious, I raise my arm and sniff. Yuck. Okay, I can still smell.

I like my finger, a familiar salty taste spreads in my mouth. I can taste.

I have only lost the sensation of sight. An irrational fear grips my heart. How did I lose my sight? Was I in an accident? Well, I'd expect to be in a hospital, and there'd be some response. A nurse, or family there to answer my calls. I could see perfectly fine yesterday, and I'd never had any eye problems before. My last checkup was just last year. Suddenly, a second thought occurs to me. I don't remember coming here. No one is answering me, so it must be against my will. The only more pressing question than how I lost my sight, is how I ended up in this place.

That knowledge, somehow, seemed to steeled my resolve to get to the bottom of this, rather than make me more afraid. I bend down again, and begin to test the limits of my cage. It takes the better part of an hour, but I eventually hit a wall. I feel it carefully, finding no crack or seem. No window or ledge. No way to escape. I jump as high as I can. I swat at the ceiling, but I am unable to reach it. I estimate my height. I was about 6 feet tall last I checked, and my arms are about half as long as my body. I can also jump maybe three feet straight up. So that means the wall is at least taller than 12 feet, give or take.

I continue my exploration, touching the ground, not wanting to fall into some unseen hole, or tumble down an invisible cliff. With out a watch, or the sun to take time by, I have no idea how long it took to map out my prison. I seem to be trapped by 4 walls of an undetermined height. There are no traps or dangers on the ground that I can feel.

No amount of shouting breeds a response either. I am alone in this cell. I suddenly feel very tired. I collapse on the cold floor. It's an odd sensation for me. Normally I close my eyes and see darkness, but now the darkness is constant. I harden my resolve to escape before I drift off into the abyss...

{{To Be Continued}}

Ohhh!
I remember something as this in an anime. It was a very realistic one at that, about spacefaring. There's a training to an astronaut that requires him to be in a completely darkened room, all alone, no sensory input at all, for a certain time. It's just a matter of time, but it drives everyone mad.
It's required to prevent astronauts from panicking when they're in space and lost contact; it's the same situation, really. No sensory input, you can't do shit, and just wait to either get rescued or die from lack of oxygen. (And the longer you are alone in space, the bigger the possibility you're going perma-mad..)

So don't let me hinder you, continue :O

(I don't recognize the anime, Though, it seems interesting. I have no idea where this story is going, you'll find out shortly after I do. And thanks for the feedback. Now, without further ado...)
---


The only thing stranger than closing your eyes when you're blind, is opening them after sleeping. Rather than the familiar sensation of blurred vision you get nothing. Replacing the slow transition from sleepiness to consciousness, there is a sudden change from one to the other. It's more like a switch going from off to on, with no states in between. I awoke the next day, though I couldn't say if it actually was day or not. I try to take stock in my surroundings, only to be confronted by the same blackness.

Still not fully confident in the floor being a solid flat surface, I once again sweep back and forth with my hands, just in case. I make my way towards one of the corners. I decide to pace the room off and determine the extent of my prison. I was fairly certain the the area along the wall was safe, so I began to count how many steps it takes to cross from one side to the other. To try to keep things consistent, I take one step at a casual walking pace. I hold my arms out in front of me, not knowing how long it will take to run into the other wall.

100 steps. I think for a moment, it seems like such a precise number. I turn around, and try again. I place my heel against the wall, for more accuracy, and walk back to the first wall. My toe touches the opposite wall, at exactly 100 steps.

I try to walk around the outside wall, determining the area of the cell. I can't exactly say how long my stride is, so I can only measure in paces. It was no big surprise to find that my cell was 100 paces by 100 paces. It takes 400 paces to walk around the perimeter.

It is hard to live in fear. I still could not be certain that the ground was not unsafe in spots. To be sure, I tried the only method I could think of. I took one step, as if I were walking, and then froze. Taking my arm, I roughed out the distance between my feet. They were roughly one arm and a hand apart. I then measure one foot against the distance, which was about two and a half feet long. My feet are size 10 1/2 inches long. Taking some careful calculations I figured that my stride was about 26 and 1/4 inches long. That's 2 feet and 2 1/4 inches.

So my cell was 200 feet, and 225 inches long. Or more simply, about 220 feet long. The next thing I took into account, was my own height. If I am 6 feet talk, that means 36 and 2/3 of me's can lay end to end. So, I lay down in a corner. I no longer have a sense of direction, so it's hard to say what corner it is. Anyways, I begin to roll, using my own body to map out any bump or scrape in the floor. Once I hit the other end, I was pretty dizzy. To counter that, I moved up about 6 feet, then started to roll back, in the reverse direction.

37 trips later, I had mentally mapped out the floor. It took me a great length of time to do this, and I was sore and cold by the end. I cuddled myself in a corner, trying to gain some feeling back in my body. But the exercise was fruitful. I had determined that the ground was just a simple, flat, solid slab of concrete, from one corner to the other. I could now walk around freely, only concerned with what was in front of me. Luckily, the only thing I could ever run into, was another wall. I don't recall being tired, but I must have been, for I nodded off in my little space in the corner.

{{To be Continued}}

((I almost forgot an entry for today. How nearly careless of me.))

---

I wake up to a scratching sound, coming from the far side of the room. Instinctively, I huddle myself as far into the corner as I can manage, not wanting to be seen. The scratching slows, there is a metallic tap, and then silence once again hangs over me. After several minutes, and facing no immediate threat, I decided to investigate. Creeping forward slowly, feeling the ground with my hands, I make my over to the direction of the sound. Suddenly I feel something cold and slimy on my hand. I recoil quickly, and schooner backwards on my rear. I stop in the darkness, breathing hard, trying to listen for the creature now inside with me. I wait, expecting an attack at any moment.

...

Nothing. I feel some sort of substance on my finger tips. Tentatively, I smell it. A familiar odor fills my nostrils. It's Jello.

I carefully make my way to wherever the Jello is at this point, and investigate fully. I feel a hard, metal tray, a glass filled with liquid. A hot dish, with some sort of meat on it, and a bowl of Jello, at least, I assume it is Jello from the taste and texture. It's amazing how much I could tell just by simple touch.

That thought is cast aside quickly however, after my stomach grumbles. My baser instincts take over and I'm lost in the feast set before me.

---

It's been nearly three days since my captivity started. I say that, because I remember falling asleep three times, though I can not truthfully say how much time has actually passed. I wake up, lying in the corner, which I have found to be the best method for sleeping.

As per usual for the last few days, there has been a tray of food sitting in roughly the same spot. I eat with less relish this time. Again it is only water, some beef, and Jello. I finish my meal, and stand. My patience is beginning to wear down. Clearly, I am a prisoner. Were this some freak event, or something supernatural, I rationalize, I would not be fed in such a manner.

Out of habit, I pace my cell. I count the steps. 1, 2, 3, 4, ... 98, 99, 100. I hit the wall. Always 100, no matter what, unless I cheat. I begin to pace the diagonal out of curiosity. In my travels, I forgot to take into account my tray, and I stumble on it. I curse loudly. I've had enough.

"LET ME OUT OF THIS CAGE YOU FUCKERS!" I pound on the hard wall. "KILL ME OR LET ME GO! DON'T LEAVE ME LIKE THIS!"

I fumble around in the dark, looking for the tray. I grab it, feeling my fingers close around one edge I hurl it like a Frisbee.

*Thock*

The sound was not like glass on concrete. I stop my rampage, and follow my makeshift projectile. I touch the wall the tray hit, and it feels unusually smooth. I tap it.

*Tink tink tink*

It's glass. Robbed of sight, I never noticed it until now. This far wall is made of glass...

They can see me.

I slam my fist against it. A twang resounds through my prison.

"LET ME OUT!"

I pound again. There is no answer.

"LET ME OUT!" I assault the glass, eventually making sounds a rabid animal would. I beat on the glass until my knuckles break and I rend my own flesh. The sickly screech of blood on glass echos in my chambers as I slide down to the floor exhausted. There I fall unconscious.

{{TO BE CONCLUDED}}

((We interrupt your usual programming, to bring you a stream of consciousness 'story' from Dio. In this entry, Dio will type as fast as he can on any subject that comes to mind, paying no heed to grammar or spelling. He has had 5 hours of sleep in the last 48+ hours so... good luck understanding this. He will post his start and end times, just so you get an idea of how long this took. The conclusion to... that other story should be up on Monday, because... I'll probably be drunk tomorrow. Now, without further ado... A bunch of gibberish. >.>))

10:19

START!

Alright, sao I'm just sitting here on my computer like i usually do, and I realize that one the weekends, is when I relly hit the crapper with any sort of activity, mental or otherwise. I have no web comics the read, I have no friends. (At elast, not any worth hanging out with), and I ahave.... *pauses to think....* and I don't work. So, I usually juust sit at home, but now, people who are suually online, are having wild adventures without me. probably involving... pygmy maramasetts, or something.

I wish I was more motivated, to go out and explore. But then I remind myself, that I have years to do that, and I can always hurry up and live latter, right now the clock runs on Dio time. Which is right after shirtless O clock.

I remember reading a book about Einstien. I'm sure it was fictional, but it involved many different secnarios involving time. For example, time would floow backwards in some 'universe', and the person would start in their old age, and slowly grow younger, until they are an infint, and pop out of existance. Anyways, the point I want to bring up, is there is one theory.

People do not die. they have an infinite lifespan. In such a world, there are two kinds of people. On the one hand, we have people who will try everything. they will learn an endless ammount of skills, and work an endless ammount of jobs. Their rational is that thbey whjdjfghjkdfhkldfhgl thuhdfgsjklryg *Ahem,m* They ahve an eternity to learn new things, so they will make the most of that time, and experience everything.

the other kind of operson, will put off everything. they will work no jobs, and learn nothing, and spend the rest of eternity in bliss, claiming that they have and endless ammount of time to learn when the are raeafdy. The point of this, is, I'm in the later of the two groups. I would love to put off life until i died. That's me.

I do want to write, that would be my living. Just still on my PC, sprouting what ever comes to my mind. That's what I'm douign mow, but... I'd be getting paid for it.

I'm going to cut of this line of thought, before I get mushy and biographical. And start using too long of words that are hard to spell.

I got a lot to say, I was working on my darkness storty, and putting of my stream of sconiousness thing. I wonder if this will eaven be readable by the end. Oh well. It;'s fun to do, I recommend trying it. Now... for a story. Well, ruight now I'm drawing a blank. The private eye looked at his revolver, it was loaded with blanks. That double crossing partner. He was going to have to deal with that later. Right now, he had crooks to catch. He tossed his useless gun to the side, and chased after Giggins the Pimp. he had been pocketting Whores on the side to make extra cash. As one could imagine, Giggins had extremely large pockets, and he had an endless ammount of henchmen. Whym, he had half the toqwn council in bhis pocket. Anyways, I cased him down to the wharf, where he stood ready for me. he launched a pauir of rockets at my face, which I deflected with my awesome biceps. he was so scared shitless, that his jaw dropped, and I ended this story. >.>

10:30 am

((Edit: Just so we're clear, that was 575 words in 11 minutes.))

((And back to a thought out, developed, ordered story.))
---


The next day (or night), I hear the usual scratching, letting me know food is being delivered. I get up wearily, my hands feel like two swollen balloons, filled with jello, and beat the hell with a base ball bat. I wish I could inspect the damage, but only the feeling of pain lets me know what's hurting.

I stand, and walked towards the tray carefully.

"You don't remember why you're here do you?"

I jump at the voice and retreat quickly to my corner. I hit the wall harder than expected, and pain shoots through my shoulder.

"Who the fuck are you!" I shout back.

A chuckle comes from the middle of the room. "I'm you partner, Mac. Remember?"

More questions cloud my mind. Partner? How does he know my name? Does he know why I'm here? I just want some answers.

"Why am I here? Who are you? Why the fuck can't I go home?" I shout, not thinking of the rationality of the questions.

Another laugh, "All in good time Mac, all in good time. The only thing I can say for now is, it's almost over. Try to relax."

"Relax? What do you mean relax? I'm trapped in this cell, and I'm fucking blind! Don't tell me to relax!" I shout angrily.

"Blind?" The voice says, amused. "My friend, that is far from the truth."

As if on cue a blinding light fills the room. I am so shocked by the sensation, I cover my eyes and fall to the ground. I try to look at the man standing with my, but the light and my tears made my vision blurry. I could make out just a hazy dark shape.

Frantically I look around my room, trying to stay away from the lights source. I see concrete wall, cold and gray. I see clear glass. Beyond the glass is a sitting room, with chairs and a desk. There are note pads on the desk. The man is tall, nearly as tall as me, but he's two close to the light. All I see is a dark figure and a blurry after image. The last thing I see, on the wall opposite of the glass, is a small sliding wooden door. Large enough for the food, but also large enough for a man...

The light suddenly winks out of existence. Yellow and blue shapes move before my eyes, as my retina's recover. I hear a scraping once again.

"Good bye Mac."

{{End of Section 1}}
---

This story has stood up and taken a life of it's own. I want to pause this, so I can persue other ideas if I wish, but I assume you, "The Room" will return!

You really do have quite an imagination! I enjoyed reading every bit of that. (even your rapid eleven minute spurt). Hope you continue to write! I can't wait to read more.

*Reads title*

Well, that's kinda a lie. This stuff was all finished before I joined up with FoG. Some of it is a work in progress, some of it is finished.

Since I was uploading so much material in a short period of time, I figured I would make a blog post with some of the smaller stuff, and make separate topics for the larger works. I hope you enjoy. Here is my first installment of...

*drum roll*

PUN-BLISHMENT!

A special thanks to a friendly think tank who helped polish some of these: Jeremiah Pozzolo

If you would just play along and say, "Did you hear..." in front of everyone. I'm too lazy to type it out 30 times.


Did you hear...

The one about the tombstone inscriber who was eaten by a zombie?
Yeah, he made a grave error.

The one about the race car driver who only used a truck?
Yeah, it had some real pick-up.

The one about the Greek God who became a mechanic?
Yeah, he could really tighten.

The one about the anarchist who could only form simple sentences?
Yeah, he was a rebel without a clause.

The one about the poker player who took laxatives?
Yeah, he was hoping for a flush.

The one about the hunter who got advice from a psychic?
Yeah, she told him to bear it in mind.

The one about the geologist who left the gravel quarry?
Yeah, he became really sedimental.

The one about the priest who went to go exorcise a kitchen appliance?
Yeah, he said he'd cross that fridge when he came to it.

The one about the musician who would ride a mythical bird every concert?
Yeah, he was a rocstar.

The one about the narcoleptic viking?
Yeah, he always charged into battle with his warhammock.

The one about the native punk rocker?
Yeah, he was the last of the mohawkans.

The one about the toddler who became a Middle Eastern warlord?
Yeah, he was Lawrence of Ababia.

The one about the hiker who put a shield over his portable stove?
Yeah, he wanted to protect himself from the elements.

The one about the computer program who wanted to become a Jedi?
Yeah, he was called Obi-wan Adobe

The one about the trail who killed people?
Yeah, is was a psychopath.

The one about the new species of plant who got its picture in National Geographic?
Yeah, it had some great photosynthesis.

The one about the asphalt ranch?
Yeah, it had the best roadeo in town.

The one about the paperboy who was arrested for loitering?
Yeah, he was delivering stationary.

The one about the hunter who went into the sewers?
Yeah, he was looking for the aqueducks.

The one about the pyrotechnic who blew the leg off a priest?
Yeah, he was excommunicated for being a blast-phemer.

The one about the bull who caused a car accident?
Yeah, he forgot how to steer.

The one about the bill that prevented camels from being used to traffic drugs?
Yeah, it was the law that broke the camels crack.

The one about the man who bribed a psychic to tell him what he wanted to hear?
Yeah, he went to a say-wants.

The one about the barber who installed a guillotine at her shop?
Yeah, it was for customers who were very knaughty.

The one about the astronomer who asked his child the times for sunrise and sunset?
Yeah, it takes son to know sun.

The one about the banquet they had at the furniture makers convention?
Yeah, it was very chairful.

The one about the drummer who would beat on his stomach to play music?
Yeah, he played to the beat of his own tum.

The one about the lamp who would fill in for the moon when it was sick?
Yeah, it never complained once, it said it was light work.

The one about the pony who screamed and screamed because she couldn't ride the roller coaster?
Yeah, you could say she was a little hoarse.

The one about the electronics engineer who was electrocuted while working with LED's?
Yeah, he was lucky he didn't diode.

The one about the empty beer bottle who was partying with his friends?
Yeah, he was pretty drunk.

Next up on my writing list, which is another small work. A poem!

It was a poem that was written as a sort of, competition. The basic idea was, a group of people get together, and write different poems on one topic. (Hey, that's something FoG should do.) In the case the topic was, "The girlfriend you were warned about", and everyone in the group had completely different interpretations. Here is my submission, it was the only funny one. :/



Triple Horned

They said she was, triple horned.
And many suitors were scorned.
Many victims were mourned.
This is the girlfriend I was- Warned about.


I was disarmingly charmed.
She was beautifully armed.
Thought, I’d never be harmed.
This is the girlfriend my friends were- Alarmed about.


I was wined and dined.
She was unusually kind.
When she pinched my behind.
This is the girlfriend my parents won’t- Find out about.


To her home I was led.
We laid down on her bed.
She turned to me and said.
“My, what a delicious... Head.”

This is the girlfriend I was- *Chomp*

If you liked those small literary tidbits, you're gonna dig my short story. This was written entirely under duress, when I was having religious... complications.

Okay, so it wasn't as bad as all that. My point is, that my views of fate and God and religion were different from what they were when I wrote this. God does not really work in an office building.

OOPS! I've said to much, just read the hitting thing.



The Job Interview



My God!

No, that isn’t right. It should be more like “a God”. I guess He’s not really mine.

A God? Does that sound right? God’s a noun right? Shouldn’t it be, “the God”?

A God.
The God.

Hmm, try replacing God with Father…

A Father.
The Father.

Yeah, God’s a noun, so I really should be saying:


The God!

I’ve been on this bus for nearly an hour! I’m going to be late for this interview. Well, I suppose it can’t be helped. I’ll just have to hope Home Office is forgiving. I’ll just have to sit back and enjoy the ride.

I wonder what I’ll have for supper, I don’t really feel like making anything. God, I’ve had pasta every night this week.

Did it again. Sigh. That’s the thing about being an agnostic. Each one is different. I think there could be a God, but… that’s where is ends. The problem is everyday sayings like, “my God” or “God has a plan for us”, throws us into confusion. I can’t help but drifting off, adding or taking away from what I understand God to be. I can’t help but wonder-- God’s supposed to be forgiving right? So I should be fine the way I am. I rarely drink, I don’t smoke, pay my taxes, obey the law, etcetera. By all definitions, I should be in the clear. I can’t help but wonder, does this God person want more from me? What more could I give? What does He expect? What if He’s a She?

Sure, it wouldn’t take much for me to be more caring than I am, volunteer at a kitchen, give to the beggars, etcetera. Where do I draw the line? I could run through the streets passing out cash, or forgo clothing, or fast for a week. What if God himself was to descend from the heavens and told me to run through the streets with a bag of cash and naked without eating for a week? Is that what’s expected of me?

To an agnostic, God is like a fire department, or the police station. We ignore these places like they don’t exist. I don’t think anyone constantly thinks about the firemen or police officers who patrol the streets. But the second an arsonist comes to my house and sets it aflame, I call out.

"O, Firemen! O, Policemen!

Save me from this plague that has been set upon me! I don’t deserve this! I’m a good person! I rarely drink, I don’t smoke, I pay my taxes, and obey the law! Where did I go wrong?"

And we never do this.

“Dear civil servants who keep my possessions safe, and the fires out. I thank you for this glorious day you have given me, crime and smoke free. Amen.”

It seems like we don’t care unless we have a problem.

What’s Gods plan? Does he have a plan, or does he play it by ear like the rest of us? We were made in his image right? Image, not mind… right. God my head hurts. Damn, did it again.

But I can’t help but wonder--Oh, this is my stop.

I’m the first off the bus, and dash into the building. I hope I’m not too late.

“Hi, I’m Johnson Fischer. Umm…I’m here for the interview?”

The receptionist looks at me, “Well, are you or aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes I am.”

She smiles, “Well, take the elevator to the second floor, you’ll see a set of double doors at the end of the hall; that’s Mr. Neal’s office.”

“Thank you.”

I follow her orders; second floor, double doors. I tap the wood gently.

“Come in.”

I take a deep breath, and enter.
---

A bucket of sweat later, it seems that the interview is concluded.

He gives my resume a final glance, “Well, it seems you’re the type of person we’re looking for. A little tardy, but we can work on that.”

“Yes sir.”

He stands, and extends his hand, “How soon can you start?”

I stand and grasp his hand firmly, “As soon as you need me to. Today even, I have no other plans, aside from sitting in an empty house.”

Neal smiles, “I was hoping you would say that. It seems I may have a task for you.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do. What is it?”

“One of my employees is required here at the office. It seems he has volunteered himself for that program that clothes the homeless, down on 22nd. I was hoping you could replace him, that way I have him here and he knows it’s still getting done.”

I stand there, stunned and silent.

Neal looks at me, “Is that a problem?”

I shake my head, “No, no, that’s not it at all” I shrug, “God works in mysterious ways.”

“Are you religious Johnson?”

“I just might be.”

And here is the last up the blog updates. Okay, so I lied, I'm only placing one in a different topic. It's called, "The Seed", coming soon. The Seed, check it out.

Anyways, here is a short, mini even, err...

Here is a mini paragraph about writing and words, simply titled,

The Word Smith.

Enjoy.


I am a Wordsmith. My mind is a fiery forge ablaze with intent, forging letters into words, and words into life, stuff stronger than steel. My instruments are many, whether with the lead or the chalk or ink or text, I let them flow upon my canvas, my parchment, my paper, and my screen. My documents bring people together, rip kingdoms apart, sunder governments, lift peasants, and mend hearts. They can spin a tale of mystery and intrigue. Of romance and sorrow. They contain histories of the world and promise of the future. These words are limitless, and have no boundaries. I am a Wordsmith.