Today's Word: Pbbbbt
Pbbbt world!!
-- david j.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Today's Word: Race
David sat before the empty computer screen imagining the worlds he might create, longing to tap out fame or money or both from the plastic keyboard. After two hours, with nothing to show for his time beyond the byline, David decided maybe he should become a race car driver instead. Look out Gordon.
-- david j.
David sat before the empty computer screen imagining the worlds he might create, longing to tap out fame or money or both from the plastic keyboard. After two hours, with nothing to show for his time beyond the byline, David decided maybe he should become a race car driver instead. Look out Gordon.
-- david j.
Monday, September 05, 2005
Today's Word: Popular
Auzor Reece eyed the human sitting before him.
"You don't believe the All-Point is slowing drawing all matter and energy back into itself?" asked the Auzor.
"No," said the man.
"Then what, sir, is your religion? To what diety do you owe your being?"
The human stared, his eyes never moving from the old Auzor's face.
"The popular and favorable opinion of friends, family, and millions of fans around the world. That's my religion. It's the only real source of power in any society, warrel or human.
The Auzor actually considered this. It was true that popularity embued its focal point with great power. And since the great reunification was still millions of years in the future, the All-Point could not, in actuality, give a believer any type of power; not in a real sense.
Auzor Reece nodded.
"And this is why we must destroy you, sir. Your power -- your popularity -- is too great on earth. You sway the humans against us; humans who would otherwise gladly join our religion. Thank you for the lesson on true power. It has been enlightening."
Reece motioned to the guards who took the human away to the first of many deaths. In the quiet interrogation room, the Auzor sat, hands folded under chin, contemplating power.
-- david j.
Auzor Reece eyed the human sitting before him.
"You don't believe the All-Point is slowing drawing all matter and energy back into itself?" asked the Auzor.
"No," said the man.
"Then what, sir, is your religion? To what diety do you owe your being?"
The human stared, his eyes never moving from the old Auzor's face.
"The popular and favorable opinion of friends, family, and millions of fans around the world. That's my religion. It's the only real source of power in any society, warrel or human.
The Auzor actually considered this. It was true that popularity embued its focal point with great power. And since the great reunification was still millions of years in the future, the All-Point could not, in actuality, give a believer any type of power; not in a real sense.
Auzor Reece nodded.
"And this is why we must destroy you, sir. Your power -- your popularity -- is too great on earth. You sway the humans against us; humans who would otherwise gladly join our religion. Thank you for the lesson on true power. It has been enlightening."
Reece motioned to the guards who took the human away to the first of many deaths. In the quiet interrogation room, the Auzor sat, hands folded under chin, contemplating power.
-- david j.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Monday, August 29, 2005
Today's Word: Placate
In the center of the Plaza of Pride stood Nerl of Plint, a poor bean farmer who had died not ten minutes before, having run afoul of a mother bear.
"How did I get here?" asked Nerl of no one in particular since there was no one around.
"You died," said a thick, deep voice behind the farmer.
Nerl turned and found a skeleton dressed in a hooded shroud. Tall it was, probably near seven feet, and yet razor thin like a poorly stuffed scarecrow.
Nerl was not afraid. "Where's your scythe?" he asked of Death.
"I quit carrying it two hundred years ago. It's just not stylish these days."
Nerl nodded. He gazed around the empty plaza.
"Why did I come here?" he asked.
"You always wanted to visit the Plaza of Pride. And this is the best time, when you're first dead. You can't see the living folk, so the place isn't so crowded."
"So you grant wishes? I never knew that."
"No, Nerl, I'm just placating you for the moment."
"Oh?"
"Well, you do remember how you cheated Ronel the swineherd out of his ten acres that time, don't you?"
Nerl swallowed.
"I'm to be punished."
Death shrugged. "Six hundred years in the third tier of Hades, nothing too terrible. After that you can work your way up for good behavior."
"Is the third tier hot?"
"Oh, no. It's filled with poison oak and you'll be naked."
-- david j.
In the center of the Plaza of Pride stood Nerl of Plint, a poor bean farmer who had died not ten minutes before, having run afoul of a mother bear.
"How did I get here?" asked Nerl of no one in particular since there was no one around.
"You died," said a thick, deep voice behind the farmer.
Nerl turned and found a skeleton dressed in a hooded shroud. Tall it was, probably near seven feet, and yet razor thin like a poorly stuffed scarecrow.
Nerl was not afraid. "Where's your scythe?" he asked of Death.
"I quit carrying it two hundred years ago. It's just not stylish these days."
Nerl nodded. He gazed around the empty plaza.
"Why did I come here?" he asked.
"You always wanted to visit the Plaza of Pride. And this is the best time, when you're first dead. You can't see the living folk, so the place isn't so crowded."
"So you grant wishes? I never knew that."
"No, Nerl, I'm just placating you for the moment."
"Oh?"
"Well, you do remember how you cheated Ronel the swineherd out of his ten acres that time, don't you?"
Nerl swallowed.
"I'm to be punished."
Death shrugged. "Six hundred years in the third tier of Hades, nothing too terrible. After that you can work your way up for good behavior."
"Is the third tier hot?"
"Oh, no. It's filled with poison oak and you'll be naked."
-- david j.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Today's Word: Diffuse
The wedding picture created a clear metaphor.
The bride beamed, smiling her horsy teeth at the groom who lay abed out of frame. Light from a tenth story window cascaded the background, making the world seem to glow white, tinting the bride's curly locks a high shade of blonde, framing her face in its shine and setting off the vivid white of her dress. Monitors -- heart rate, pulse, and temperature -- glowed in red liquid crystal, showing the groom's heightened state of excitement. All about the bride, the world stood frozen in sharp focus, clear as her happiness and bright green eyes.
On her arm limped her father. His dull red and balding head, though out of focus, gleamed with sweat. In the shot, one can see, even in the two dimensional frozen frame, the man's pronounced limp, his dead left arm. A fuzzy aura of diffused light encircled him -- his life, his choices, his future death.
-- david j.
The wedding picture created a clear metaphor.
The bride beamed, smiling her horsy teeth at the groom who lay abed out of frame. Light from a tenth story window cascaded the background, making the world seem to glow white, tinting the bride's curly locks a high shade of blonde, framing her face in its shine and setting off the vivid white of her dress. Monitors -- heart rate, pulse, and temperature -- glowed in red liquid crystal, showing the groom's heightened state of excitement. All about the bride, the world stood frozen in sharp focus, clear as her happiness and bright green eyes.
On her arm limped her father. His dull red and balding head, though out of focus, gleamed with sweat. In the shot, one can see, even in the two dimensional frozen frame, the man's pronounced limp, his dead left arm. A fuzzy aura of diffused light encircled him -- his life, his choices, his future death.
-- david j.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Friday, August 26, 2005
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Today's Word: Curmudgeon
At a time when the echoes of war reverberated near and far, casting all the land of Leros and Den into dark pools of doubt and fear, the robber bands of Zyflos the Really Smelly appeared. Of course, Zyflos wasn't the man's real name. He HAD been Zyflux the swineherd until he took up crime as a profession and gave himself a name befitting his new robber baron status.
Zyflos and his most trusted lieutenant, Mudgeon, cut a swath of terror a hundred miles long, robbing weak merchants and powerful army commanders alike in their quest for wealth.
But when Zyflos, making the mistake of many a wealthy bandit, first began to truly trust then rely upon his no good second, the rotten Mudgeon seized the advantage, attacking Zyflos with his own former cronies, catching him out in the open like a pilfering fox.
Bound hand and foot and staring down the pointy end of a spear, Zyflos glared at his former lieutenant, incredulous.
"How dare you bite the hand that feeds you, cur!" he screamed.
Mudgeon scratched at the black scruff covering his cheeks.
"Cur," he muttered, his eyes screwed up to the blue sky. "Cur-Mudgeon. I like the sound of that. Thank you Zyf, you've given me my baron's name. Curmudgeon it is."
-- david j.
At a time when the echoes of war reverberated near and far, casting all the land of Leros and Den into dark pools of doubt and fear, the robber bands of Zyflos the Really Smelly appeared. Of course, Zyflos wasn't the man's real name. He HAD been Zyflux the swineherd until he took up crime as a profession and gave himself a name befitting his new robber baron status.
Zyflos and his most trusted lieutenant, Mudgeon, cut a swath of terror a hundred miles long, robbing weak merchants and powerful army commanders alike in their quest for wealth.
But when Zyflos, making the mistake of many a wealthy bandit, first began to truly trust then rely upon his no good second, the rotten Mudgeon seized the advantage, attacking Zyflos with his own former cronies, catching him out in the open like a pilfering fox.
Bound hand and foot and staring down the pointy end of a spear, Zyflos glared at his former lieutenant, incredulous.
"How dare you bite the hand that feeds you, cur!" he screamed.
Mudgeon scratched at the black scruff covering his cheeks.
"Cur," he muttered, his eyes screwed up to the blue sky. "Cur-Mudgeon. I like the sound of that. Thank you Zyf, you've given me my baron's name. Curmudgeon it is."
-- david j.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Today's Word: Tyro
Dickie wore the red stripped coat, tie and hat which made him at least look the part of a soda jerk, though he was merely a tyro. School had just let out and he had run all the way to beat the traffic coming out of the cross town rivals, Westside and Eastman. Mr. Peterson, the shop owner, was in the back doing something and had left Dickie to "mind the store". Dickie hoped that meant serving soda pop.
Clarissa Bell and Mary Jones bunny hopped through the door, making Mr. Peterson's little door bell tinkle. The girls giggled behind their social studies books when they saw Dickie behind the counter.
"When'd you start working here, Dickie Goodman?" asked Mary Jones.
"Today. You two want anything, or you just here to make eyes at Tony Gerondi?"
They looked scandalized and they both sneaked a peek at Tony Gerondi who sat in a corner booth sipping a Royal Crown soda, talking around the straw to his football cronies.
"You don't worry about who we're looking at, Dickie Goodman. You're here to serve us," said Clarissa, smiling mischievously at the last statement.
"Yeah, soda jerk," said Mary and the girls laughed.
"What will you have?" asked Dickie. His face was turning red, he could feel it. What could be worse than a boy with freckles blushing?
"Chocolate root beer float," said Clarissa, her voice cold.
"Make it two," said Mary.
The girls turned away from him, flipping their hair to show their boredom with Dickie.
That was fine. With them facing away, the girls never saw Dickie reach for Mr. Peterson's tin case of Ex-lax he kept under the bar.
Two crushed chocolates, a good hard shake, and revenge was sweet.
-- david j.
Dickie wore the red stripped coat, tie and hat which made him at least look the part of a soda jerk, though he was merely a tyro. School had just let out and he had run all the way to beat the traffic coming out of the cross town rivals, Westside and Eastman. Mr. Peterson, the shop owner, was in the back doing something and had left Dickie to "mind the store". Dickie hoped that meant serving soda pop.
Clarissa Bell and Mary Jones bunny hopped through the door, making Mr. Peterson's little door bell tinkle. The girls giggled behind their social studies books when they saw Dickie behind the counter.
"When'd you start working here, Dickie Goodman?" asked Mary Jones.
"Today. You two want anything, or you just here to make eyes at Tony Gerondi?"
They looked scandalized and they both sneaked a peek at Tony Gerondi who sat in a corner booth sipping a Royal Crown soda, talking around the straw to his football cronies.
"You don't worry about who we're looking at, Dickie Goodman. You're here to serve us," said Clarissa, smiling mischievously at the last statement.
"Yeah, soda jerk," said Mary and the girls laughed.
"What will you have?" asked Dickie. His face was turning red, he could feel it. What could be worse than a boy with freckles blushing?
"Chocolate root beer float," said Clarissa, her voice cold.
"Make it two," said Mary.
The girls turned away from him, flipping their hair to show their boredom with Dickie.
That was fine. With them facing away, the girls never saw Dickie reach for Mr. Peterson's tin case of Ex-lax he kept under the bar.
Two crushed chocolates, a good hard shake, and revenge was sweet.
-- david j.
Monday, August 22, 2005
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Today's Word: Buergermeister
In the infinitesimal center atom of your eye dance the waves that form all things; little strings that curve and bind, sewing up the universe in patterns of life and muted elements: suns and rocks and beating hearts.
In this mix of gyrating vacuum, where all things come together, one string reigns -- the buergermeister of all string theory -- with supreme energy of life and substance.
The frayed knot of infinity.
-- david j.
In the infinitesimal center atom of your eye dance the waves that form all things; little strings that curve and bind, sewing up the universe in patterns of life and muted elements: suns and rocks and beating hearts.
In this mix of gyrating vacuum, where all things come together, one string reigns -- the buergermeister of all string theory -- with supreme energy of life and substance.
The frayed knot of infinity.
-- david j.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Today's Word: Floccinaucinihilipilification
Astus hitched his powder-white skirt upward by the single strap cinched round his muscular right shoulder. Silver paint bled off his papier-mâché short sword, coating his palm, but the young actor ignored it.
His cue was coming. The Italian, Adolfo, had reached his single monologue, bellowing like a gelded bull before the lovely Celeste, the finest actress in the city-state. How Adolfo fawned over the young phenom. But to her credit, the buxom soprano ignored his sweaty backstage advances with the kind of cold scorn only achieved through breeding.
"What hero could save me from such a one as you?" asked Celeste, and Astus exited the dark wing, sword raised.
The crowd cheered.
It would have been a grand entrance -- his third of the day -- but the latchet holding Astus's right sandal chose that moment to unfasten. In the next horrifying instant, the young actor tripped. His fake sword slipped from his hand, spun through the air, and struck fat Adolfo in the head. The singer crashed to the stage like the very hammer of God.
Some people laughed, some screamed. But in the foremost center row the greatest theatre critic in all the world, Lord Gino Rolinsino Tremholm III, sat with his hands folded, his steely blue eyes fixed on the stage.
Astus stared into those calculating eyes and knew that, despite his many good showings in the last three seasons, all his work would be counted Floccinaucinihilipilification by this, the most influential man in any actor's career.
-- david j.
Astus hitched his powder-white skirt upward by the single strap cinched round his muscular right shoulder. Silver paint bled off his papier-mâché short sword, coating his palm, but the young actor ignored it.
His cue was coming. The Italian, Adolfo, had reached his single monologue, bellowing like a gelded bull before the lovely Celeste, the finest actress in the city-state. How Adolfo fawned over the young phenom. But to her credit, the buxom soprano ignored his sweaty backstage advances with the kind of cold scorn only achieved through breeding.
"What hero could save me from such a one as you?" asked Celeste, and Astus exited the dark wing, sword raised.
The crowd cheered.
It would have been a grand entrance -- his third of the day -- but the latchet holding Astus's right sandal chose that moment to unfasten. In the next horrifying instant, the young actor tripped. His fake sword slipped from his hand, spun through the air, and struck fat Adolfo in the head. The singer crashed to the stage like the very hammer of God.
Some people laughed, some screamed. But in the foremost center row the greatest theatre critic in all the world, Lord Gino Rolinsino Tremholm III, sat with his hands folded, his steely blue eyes fixed on the stage.
Astus stared into those calculating eyes and knew that, despite his many good showings in the last three seasons, all his work would be counted Floccinaucinihilipilification by this, the most influential man in any actor's career.
-- david j.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Today's Word: Pastiche
Larry brushed a lock of unruly dark hair out of his eyes revealing his thunderbolt-shaped scar. With a sinking heart, he raised his wand -- the one with the sphinx eye and wyvern scale center -- as the boogie-blight circled overhead, stealing all the joy from the world.
"Inconceivablous!" shouted Larry, with a flick of the wand.
The boogie-blight yelped as a ray of pure, white light struck him. Then he fell to the floor of the Chamber of Enigmas, dead.
"Bloody hell, Larry," said Lon. "Where'd you learn that?"
Larry shrugged. Could he really tell his best friend Lon about his secret classes with Professor Smartybore?
"I know where he learned it," said Dido with a prim turn of her nose.
"You do?" asked Larry, concerned.
"Of course. That was the inconceivablous incantation. We studied it two years ago at 8:15AM on a Thursday in Professor McMonical's class." Dido frowned when the boys looked mystified. "Honestly, I think you two never listen."
-- david j.
Larry brushed a lock of unruly dark hair out of his eyes revealing his thunderbolt-shaped scar. With a sinking heart, he raised his wand -- the one with the sphinx eye and wyvern scale center -- as the boogie-blight circled overhead, stealing all the joy from the world.
"Inconceivablous!" shouted Larry, with a flick of the wand.
The boogie-blight yelped as a ray of pure, white light struck him. Then he fell to the floor of the Chamber of Enigmas, dead.
"Bloody hell, Larry," said Lon. "Where'd you learn that?"
Larry shrugged. Could he really tell his best friend Lon about his secret classes with Professor Smartybore?
"I know where he learned it," said Dido with a prim turn of her nose.
"You do?" asked Larry, concerned.
"Of course. That was the inconceivablous incantation. We studied it two years ago at 8:15AM on a Thursday in Professor McMonical's class." Dido frowned when the boys looked mystified. "Honestly, I think you two never listen."
-- david j.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Monday, August 15, 2005
Today's Word: Advection
Coker bent his brown body over the flames, his bone necklace dangling precariously in the heat. With one hand he sprinkled beach sand over the fire, mumbling the ancient Rite of Rain, swaying as the words escaped him like bubbles rising from a sink full of sudsy dishes.
He seemed so certain, with his nappy hair and thick beard that rendered his mouth invisible. I hadn't the heart to tell him advection brought moisture.
-- david j.
Coker bent his brown body over the flames, his bone necklace dangling precariously in the heat. With one hand he sprinkled beach sand over the fire, mumbling the ancient Rite of Rain, swaying as the words escaped him like bubbles rising from a sink full of sudsy dishes.
He seemed so certain, with his nappy hair and thick beard that rendered his mouth invisible. I hadn't the heart to tell him advection brought moisture.
-- david j.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Today's Word: Gestalt
"I said we shouldn't box men into categories that restrict their free exercise of rights, even rights inside a maximum security prison," said Larry.
"Yes, but your point is silly, baseless, and ill-conceived. You're looking at this issue from a pea soup perspective," I said.
"What exactly is a pea soup perspective?"
"You see everything as clouded; all filled in with soup, but there are many, many extraneous factors shading this issue. It's a complex, gestalt problem that cannot be solved by addressing one or maybe a few of its periphery questions."
"I said we shouldn't box men into categories that restrict their free exercise of rights, even rights inside a maximum security prison," said Larry.
"Yes, but your point is silly, baseless, and ill-conceived. You're looking at this issue from a pea soup perspective," I said.
"What exactly is a pea soup perspective?"
"You see everything as clouded; all filled in with soup, but there are many, many extraneous factors shading this issue. It's a complex, gestalt problem that cannot be solved by addressing one or maybe a few of its periphery questions."
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