Song of the Acorn

The wind blew, and the leaves fluttered around him.

It would be a long drop to the ground, he thought. Truly frightening to think about, for that is where they reside. Dear God, do not let the them get me, his prayers echoed on a daily basis. To be captured, to be broken... It was a terrible fate, one he hoped he would never need experience. He had seen it happen to those before. Without warning, sometimes mid-conversation with an equally unsuspecting neighbor, they would fall to the cold, dry ground. There they would sit, and await their inevitable fate.

Sometimes they would call out, "Help, help! I see them coming, they are converging, they see me, they see me! No, no, please! This isn't..." But it would already be too late. Converge they would, and the cries would be drown in dreadful gnawing of pointy bucked teeth and death.

Bushy tails, beady eyes... Cunning is our foe. But we are the strong. We will not fall, for we are no ordinary acorns; no, we are THE Acorns, those whispered in the night, amid the rustling of the mighty oak trees... We are the acorns who will not fall.

So he sang.

The wind blew, and the leaves fluttered around him.

He would not fall.

The Long Tail of a Tadpole and a Fire-hose's Nozzle

A tiny tadpole swam in the murky waters of a cool, dark, place: the place in which he called his home. He knew nothing of the drastically life altering events about to unfold around him, for how could he? He was only a tadpole.

He swam to his right. He swam to his left. He released a mouth-bubble in quiet approval of his boundaries. In here, he was safe.

Then came the clink. CLINK!

And then a loud thump. But before the thump could register in his infantile-yet-wildly-imaginative-and-dangerously-intelligent-mind, he was mercilessly sucked into a raging vortex of deadly beam and bubble. His thoughts in this moment were those of confusion, of terror, and fear. This ordeal would have worsened in intensity as those remaining ideas were aptly flipped from his body, were it not for a single friend, unexpectedly made in the last breaths of his life in this difficult and oftentimes nonsensical world.

Time seemed to slow as his body increased in speed. A deep, yet strained voice echoed from the darkness surrounding him. "Hello."

"Hello?"

"Why are you inside of me?"

"Inside of you? Who are you?"

"My name... is Jeremiah. It is my solemn task to bring this water to those who are in need. Those who choose to hinder may not stand against. Tell me, smallish one, do you intend to hinder me from my duty?"

"I intend nothing of the sort! I commend you in your noble duty... My question pertains only to my own circumstance... What has happened to me? Why do I fly about in this most uncomfortable fashion? Why have you robbed me of my peace?"

"Robbed?" Asked the mysterious voice inside, "You dare insult my integrity, after first intruding into my body?"

"Body? Good sir, what ARE you?"

"I am that which is all around you. I am a tool of rescue. I am... a hose."

"A hose?"

"A hose."

"Alas, I fear then, my end has come. Tell me, Jeremiah the Hose, what awaits on the other side?"

"I know not, for I was not created with eyes."

"I see. I apologize."

An awkward lull in the conversation passed as the unfortunate tadpole rounded a turn, tumbling across Jeremiah's lining like a tadpole only would, head over fin in a very distinct rolling fashion.

"Do be careful!" The voice from nowhere boomed.

"I do the best I can, great one. There is but one issue I am presently more worried about: Impending doom, and death unimpeded!"

"Do your best then, I beg of you, to accept this fate without further noise, or unnecessary flailing, of that sort.

"Flailing? My dear hose, forgive me for being blunt, but you would be the last being I would consider taking council from, in these, quite possibly my final moments of life. What gives you the right?"

"Right? Incessant itch, you are a parasite within me. You have intruded; the most decent thing to do in your situation would be to quietly move on to whatever state The Fates have in store. Do you pray? Perhaps you should do so, and quietly."

"OH DEAR HOLDERS OF MY FATE!! I BEG OF THEE, SPARE ME FROM THIS HOSE'S WRATH!"

"WRETCHED BEING! I SHALL APPLAUD YOUR DEMISE!"

At which point, the tadpole began purposefully slamming his body upon the sides of Jeremiah's inside. Back and forth, back and forth he barreled as the already-frighteningly-jet-like flow of water began increasing in speed. The end was coming, and the tadpole knew it.

"Jeremiah! I apologize! I believe we may have had something of a bad beginning... how about we start over?"

"No."

"Please?"

"Small one."

"Yes?"

"Do you have a name?"

"I do not."

"Why not?"

"I never knew my family. I raised myself, alone in the confines of that place I was, just seconds ago."

"Then alas, your situation is grave. I accept your apology, as this is possibly your final moment of life. Enjoy this moment in silence."

"Thank you, Jeremiah."

"You are welcome."

And with the declaration of potential friendship, the nameless tadpole slipped through the fire-hose's nozzle with cartoon-like perfection, passed over the flaming building in a fireman's slight error of judgement, and landed in the creak across the way.

He lived happily ever after, marrying shortly after becoming a handsomely green pond frog, and had 20 children. He never saw his friend, Jeremiah the Hose, again.

Life- Day 6

(Days 1-5 play an crucial role in understanding Day 6. Just sayin.)

(*Really. If you haven't read the first five days, you will not understand.)

The water grows colder by the day. Much has happened in this place I call my home. It began in the morning, when light first reached its pinnacle, and the mana did fall down, as regularly expected. Shadows previously gone unnoticed did flit into my heart as I made my way to the far Western Wall of the world. Eyes like daggers following my every movement, every glint of light an attempt to penetrate my soul in a gaze as piercing as the sharpest blade. I continued my stalwart march, my only wish to reach the place of Frank's rest in peace, without confrontation of any sort.

I did not make it without confrontation of any sort.

Just within sight of his chosen rock, there came a group of larger fish, arranging themselves in a single row, blocking me from my desired way. I made attempt to swim above, but the blockade would not be broken. Resolute as I was, however, to reach my beloved friend, I did not give in and return to my own abode, but made an attempt to communicate, limited as their capacities were.

"Good brothers! Greetings this day!"

Vacant stares.

"If you would pardon my intrusion in this apparently hostile blockade, I would only like to pass through, temporarily, in hopes to visit my good brother Frank. He is my dearest friend, you see, and especially in this day of eerie wonder and questionable safety in being outside of one's home... My passing through will be quick, I promise you, and if you wish, I might -"

It was at this point that they beat me, and left, without further adieu.

It was in this battered state, laying upon the pebbly earth below, grasping to consciousness and breath as a tightly as a dying goldfish could possibly manage, that the purest of lights came over me, and not just me, but my consciousness, my everything, my being and all that I was and am became consumed by its brilliance and beauty, its depth of white-ness, as curious as it sounds. The light seemed to draw nearer; escape, had I wished to attempt it, would have been impossible. We seemed to merge, the light and I... it becoming me, and I... light.

While in this state of seeming immaterial, I attest to you this day, I had a vision. A vision of life BEYOND our world, this contained... box, this prison! There is more, I know now, there is. I dare not now divulge the beauty of things to which I bore witness. To do so... no, my words cannot describe them! But know, dearest one, KNOW THIS: I shall see these things again, and soon, if I can accomplish it. And this time, it shall be in the flesh.

Invigorating as the experience was, it did nothing to change the fact that I was still lying upon the cold, unforgiving ground, blood streaming slightly from my gills, body twitching in the aching memory of my assailants. There I lay for some time, in no small wonder, realizing that if I were not soon found by some friend, this may very well mean an untimely end to my still young and ambition filled life. I was not about to let this happen.

Gathering all my remaining strength, I gave one powerful kick, a lurch in the direction of Frank, sending me a small distance westward. More blood seeped from my wounds, and now darkness, not light, began to gather around me. I fought off this enticing foe; I must continue, I MUST reach Frank.

Frank, my brother, I repeated in my mind. To him I must go. Kick. Darkness. Fight. Kick. Darkness. Fight. On and on this circle of painful progression pressed on...

I do not know how much time passed. I know the light overhead had already disappeared, and other fish were not to be seen. I reached the rock under which Frank resides, shut my eyes, and felt my spirit part from my body.

My life as Peter the Fish had ended.

Late.

It is so. Incredibly. Late. I do not want to be awake at this wretched hour of the night. Yet despite my weariness, awake I must be, for when the clock strikes 5 AM, the morning birds shall chirp, and I... I shall register for my classes.

"But most brave and noble sir! Is it not foolish to wait until 5 AM without sleeping in between? Could you not simply set an alarm, or a trusted elephant, and awaken at a time pleasing to whatever god it is that has plagued you with this burden?"

"Ah, good peasant, see! This logic of which you speak, I have long since relinquished to the crucified wind! I believe it was on a whim of charity that I gifted it away to a poor Samaritan in the lonely city of Hamm."

"Charity? Hamm?"

Good sir, be careful what you speak. BYU idaho may hear you. It is from them this nonsense spreads, and contagious it very well is. Sanity looms on an armchair's horizon. Silly mouse. Don't do that.

Websites are puzzling. I do not understand! There is only one thing which I truly do not understand, and fully intend not to. How could I? I was not gifted with psychic powers, however much I wish I had.

It is late. I must finish. Goodbye.

Jello and Meaningful Things

Dear most appreciated and exquisitely well-hatted readers (and other hatless visitors),

Hello.

Do you ever have the feeling that you are being watched? The feeling a spider gets when a deceptively white tissue inches ever nearer above its head, or a gazelle, ears upright in unwaivering attention, sensing the presence of a stalking tiger.

Dear ones, you are all tigers.

I run, but not fast enough. My death would be a bloody one.

But then, on the brink of the kill, you stop.

"Dear me!" I cry, "Why have you not yet eaten me!"

You stare into my eyes, stripes and teeth glistening in the sweltering Savvanahian heat. You wait. I wait. I know not what you think.

I hate the unknown. The fate of my throat is in your hands. Tell me what you are thinking. Tell me what you like, you dislike. Judge me. Feel free to criticize my writing; I'll never get better if you do not tell me what I can improve.

Be nice to fruited jello. It's not its fault.

~Nathan

Life- Day 5

(Reading days 1-4 helps. A lot.)

Things have changed within our watery home.

Those with whom we had once lived in harmony, do begin to swim against our chosen path. They did not understand the calculated decision made the previous day... They saw death, and they saw me. To them, I am one to be feared. None dare swim alone in my midst. Only Frank doth stand by my side, ne'er failing to share a bubble of support to my cause and my dignity.

Oh what great loneliness would be mine, if not for my beloved brother! This world unconquerable, conquered, when together our shadows stand.

May it always be this way.

This happened.

Once upon the third of November in 1954, the duke of Albany came to Rome in behalf of the beloved king. He was a jolly old fellow, commonly known for his jollical and jubilant tendencies. His latest escapade had become known all the land around for its most deeeeeevious nature... The mere mention of it brought tears streaming down the faces of grown-up men and teams of stone-snouted oxen.

How could one have accomplished this emblazoned feat of bane? With the assistance of the vice governor of Alaska, that's how!!! Working as a team most terrible, striking fearsome terror into the toes of those already weeping men and stone-snouted oxen, shaming the wish of exile upon them all, and going so far as taking their pets to be their own. How could one dare such an act of treachery!!! It is blasphemy, it is. How does he dare.

Life- Day 4

(Starting with day 1- a good idea.)

Today...

I killed a fish.

Think of me how you will. But I feel no remorse, as I do not feel it to have been murder. It was a tragic loss, necessary for the good of the all, and the continued protection of our existence.

I will relate to you the events leading up to the event.

It was no later than twenty minutes after the light shined its brilliance down upon us. The being inside my brother and I (Monster, Fiend, Devil we shall call it!) had begun to sound its morning rage, gnashing against my insides, as would a trapped lion inside an oozing bubble of meat. Patiently swimming along the sides of our world, I waited for that regular grace to fall upon us, the flaky blessing of life let down to satiate the terror and protect my family from the thing inside me.

Wait, I did. As did Frank, my brother.

Perhaps we were being punished for some unknown offence? The reasons, I know not. Yet for whatever sake or... purpose, the gods had in mind... The manna... it did not come today, as regularly expected.

We waited. We WAITED! Longer than you could have known, we waited... dear one... we waited...

But it did not come.

So I made a decision.

Choices, we had two. The first, we wait longer, wait, wait, WAIT until our bodies burst asunder and become devoured from the inside, unleashing that beast upon all else in this world.

Think you for one moment, that THIS decision is one that I would make, simply for the well being of my conscious? Think you, I am one to be so selfish?

I declare to you, and all the world, that upon this day I shed myself of selfishness, and chose a second path... I swam to one spotted, and largest of my brothers, one to whom the gift of intelligence was not so lavishly bestowed. I drifted down, along his underside... his gills fluttering as I glided past... and I bit. Strait up, directly into the neck I sliced with all the strength my still not-yet-fully-developed body could muster, ripping, shaking and writhing as efficiently as I could, bringing a swift end to the unwitting... sacrifice. The mangled body twitched as signs of life diminished. He was dead.

It was not long, however, until my action did draw the attention of mine other brothers, and they did see what I had done. Yet instead of shock, of fear or anger, they seemed to understand what I had done, and immediately commenced in consuming his lifeless body. Seeing Frank with some unrecognizable organ trailing behind his mouth brought peace unto my soul, for I knew he would be safe, as would I.

In memory of that selfless fish, who today, in giving his life saved uncounted multitudes of innocent children (us, for wise as we have become, we are indeed still children), I pronounce a name upon him: Lavie Après Lamort.

In life, he was great.

In noble death, his life shined ever greater.

The flowers of life now bloom in all who were blessed

by his passing.

Now he lives inside us all.

Remember him:

Lavie Après Lamort

Life- Day 3

(Again, if you haven't read days 1 and 2 of Life, this won't make much sense.)

My brother and I have solidified our bond of brotherhood this day, by endowing names upon one another, names to be had for all our lives in this troubling world, and even unto death in another, wherever that may be. For he, I have given a most noble and glorious name, one to stand in the records of heaven forever to be of greatness in strength and reliability, one of trust, of companionship; indeed, one of a true friend. His name shall be Frank! One of boldness in words, fearless to say that what another dares not; bravery hath ne'er stood paralleled by one more worthy of its title.

And I, keeping in mind Frank's mode to communicate, did assist in my naming, and know his wish to call me Peter, Peter the Brother, the brother of Frank. OH SUCH HONOR it is! To be his brother... To be the brother of Frank.

This sacred moment passed, we continued on in our corporeal discoveries. Again I note the containment roundabout, the smallness of it's nature. As in the days before, the beasts within our bodies cried out in anger, but were brought again to peace by blessed gifts from the clouds.

It was upon this topic that I spent the majority of my day dwelling. My question is this: Why? Is there some greater power watching over us, somehow aware of our sad and desperate plight? If so, then why? Why does he care if this unbearable monster bursts forth from our bellies and consumes my brothers roundabout? Why would he care for Frank, in all his strength and perfection? The mystery gives me not a minute's rest, not in sleep, not in swim, and neither in mind nor matter is light shined upon this darkened secret...

Wonder, I do. As previously mentioned, I appreciate this phenomenon with all capacities of my being. Should we show our thanks in some form of outward expression? A prayer of sorts, making the powers responsible aware of our gratitude in sparing our lives from doubtless physical degradation and death? How would this being (or beings) hear our cries? They would need be loud, however they are spoken. I shall attempt on the morrow, upon commencement of the next rain of flaky manna upon our aquatic home.

Life- Day 2

(If you haven't read day 1 yet, you should do that now, before you read day 2. Things might make a bit more sense!)

Today we discovered. We explored our world, and found all there was to find, counted every "living" being (though I doubt their worthiness to be distinguished as "life," as the majority do not act as such, merely floating, eating, pooping, and existing,) and investigated even the green substances protruding from this world's bottom. The results of our analysis: the world in which we live is uncomfortably small, and I begin to suspect a certain "contained" atmosphere about it.

I wish also to relate a certain phenomenon that has now occurred upon two separate occasions, once yesterday, and once today. But before I do, I must first describe another... rather curious, yet... somewhat frightening occurance, one which may have something to do with the phenomenon previously mentioned. My brother and I, having just discovered the disappointing lack of personal hygene among even those who seem to be quite experienced in the mysteries of life, and having invested quite a bit of energy into doing it, realized, to our greatest shock, that it is not only from the mouth that audible communication may burst forth, but also from inside ourselves! I wish not to sound mentally unfit, nor cause unneeded panic, but it is true, and this fact does still plague me with most considerable discomfort.

I worry, for these sounds are not of our own origin. I fear, that by means I do not know or understand, we seem to have contracted some sort of parasitic organism, a leech within our bodies, which when in some way discomforted, utters forth such deep growls, terrifying to any roundabout.

Now, was this sound my only observation, I may have had reason to rejoice, but alas, fate has not granted me such a blessing. It is more- something far more terrible than such ominous utterances of disapproval. I tell you now, that when it's primal urges are not fulfilled, it doth attack, scratching, gnawing, biting, doing all it can to satisfy it's unknown desires. I dare not think on the outcome of prolonged resistance to such torture. I am as a time bomb, I think... could such a horrid thing ever escape me? A monster, released upon the world due to my inability to placate it... I admit, I shudder even now, considering my plight. I must not allow this creature inside both my brother and I to escape. This could be my calling in life... it is a duty I accept most solemnly.

This phenomenon I earlier mentioned, it is one which is difficult to explain. It seems to occur at the pinnacle of these ragings, when this monster's wrath inside becomes most furious... from the heavens above, a manna is sent down, to tame and mollify this mysterious foe. Twice now it has come down, twice now it has saved us. My understanding of this miracle is extremely limited; any attempt of explanation would be, at this point in time, mere conjecture. I must consider this matter further before designating any source. As for now, I can only say that for it, I am extremely grateful.

Life- Day 1

Today I was born. To whatever purpose god had in his most unknown and puzzling mind, I was born apparently not like my brothers and sisters. Not to say I do not resemble them, no, into all the aquatic and fishy ways I was very much born, complete with gills for breathing, eyes for seeing (though quite bequbbled), a mouth, fins, scales, and whatever else it is that distinguishes us as such beings. It is just... as time goes by, I begin to notice a pattern of regular... mindlessness... about my siblings. I beg your pardon for my openness in this observation, and perhaps it is only my own inability to understand them which contributes to my thinking this, but in the already many hours since my hatching, the most interactive sign of remote intelligence I have yet to observe manifested itself in a single well timed bubble released from the mouth of one of my brothers.

As I was in that very moment swimming above him, the released mouth-bubble reached up around my bosom, causing the most curious of sensations as it glided up and around my leftmost fin, and continued it's journey above. Excited by the possibility of intended interaction, I swam down to my shimmering brother, a swelling in my heart incomparable to any I had felt before, my being reached out to him in that one moment of desperate hope... I cried to him, "Brother, my brother! I have felt your signal, your call for companionship! I am here, and together we shall strive to understand this lonely and terrible world, we shall travel together and adventure to the deepest trench and ascend to the greatest of mounts! Together we shall overcome all the cruelties of life, in it's sorrows, it's pains, it's tears, the very abominable pits of despair and hell's dragonous resistance to the progression of our living souls! Together we shall survive, and not just that, but live, thrive, find our happiness, our wives and bear children! As brothers we shall stay together, forging a bond so unbreakable that only the jarring claws of death could ever pull me from your side!"

It was in such a manner that I declared my ultimate allegiance to my comrade, for my fear of living a life in the ultimate darkness of dwelling alone in my sentient state of being had already begun to creep into my fragile bones, not yet overpowering, but indeed present, as an itch under the furthest of scales, unreachable by even the most outstretched of fins. To be alone, even in the most desirable of circumstances, I feel would be the most terrible of fates, one which would presumably lead to my very undoing.

My oath of allegiance complete, I did stare into the eyes of my brother, and he into mine, and it seemed for a time as if his eyes did glimmer, as though his soul did yearn with all extremities of his very capacity to cry out in joy, to celebrate this finding with outward expression as did I- but then, just as I believed the realization had sunken in, to be recognized in it's utmost purity, he did wait... and wait... and wait. My smile of joy did begin to fade, and I admit, the thought had already come, "There now, you (for I have still not yet found a word to call myself), he is just like the others, his mind just as small as those roundabout."

Alas, I was all but given up, when suddenly, as he allowed happen in the time of previous communication, my beloved sibling let a second signal fly: a lone bubble, which I know to have been his way of showing loving approval, his design of saying to me, "Yes, brother, yes! The thrill of my finding of thee doth fill me up with the most wonderful feelings of life! Together we shall go forth, we shall strive together for life and liberty, and always together we shall stay until such jaws you conveyed doth forcefully part us!"

And so I found my brother, and conversed with him the rest of the waking day, and then some, discussing our plans for life, for discovering the world, for learning all there was to learn before we grew old and died, and upon the mention of death, we discussed the meaning thereof, and decided it to be something we should earnestly avoid, and not something to be striven after.

Throughout all such speech, my noble brother was always limited to his simple releasing of mouth bubble, but in doing so, I understood all that he wished to communicate. You see, I soon came to understand, my poor brother does suffer from a certain speech disability, that in such capacities he is all but incapable, stopped though upon the verge of unrequited expression. His only form of expressing his every need, desire, thought or idea, must take the form of that single, fragile bubble, released from the most precious reaches of his undying soul. But as he is my brother, I do swear ne'er to abandon him; his need for me doth not overcome mine for he, for as he hath boldly stated, we are one, and shall be forevermore.

An Intricate Web of Careful Plot and Design

I am an incredibly small thing, thought a spider, as he roamed a forest of moss and leaf, crawling through stick and thicket, over stone and mountainside.

And the world... now that is quite big.

This was a rather important day in the life of this particular being, and being myself, I would like to make this momentous occasion known to the world of you.

Somehow, I am here, he thought. I am significant; I make a difference. I eat a moth, and one million unseen consequences inevitably unfold around me. I do not eat the moth, one million unseen consequences inevitably unfold around us both.

But just as such, if I allow the moth to consume me, one million more unseen consequences will inevitably unfold around him.

The thought intrigued him like none had done before.

What is life? What is death? How can my death be life for another, just as his death means life for myself? Why must there be death in order for there to be life? Is there not a way for us both to have life, without wishing death upon the other?

Just then, a moth landed upon a flower, just inches from his nest.

Good moth, he entreated, have you an answer for a curious spider?

Good spider, he responded, my instincts instruct me to avoid you as if life my depended upon it. My answer is no; for you, I have no answer.

The spider understood this point, but persisted nonetheless.

Good moth, mine inquiry this day pertains to exactly that! MUST we always yield to these frivolous instincts? MUST we live in constant fear of untimely demise, simply for another's hope of continued existence? Dear brother, we are both one in the same innovative mind! Just as another, less philosophically conscious spider may at any moment come down from this tree and impale you without warning, so might a bird do the same to me without trace of mope or quobble! For us, life is a gift, a gift to remain protected.

The spider paused for a moment, giving the moth time to think on these new and possibly revolutionary words. What could the spider be getting at, the moth sat and thought.

Come unto my house. Come, and we shall see what consequences we may unfold, being together, yet not in the name death.

The moth approached slowly. It was indeed an exciting thought: life without fear of at least one, one who he had, just minutes before, marked in his mind as his potential killer.

He flitted to the thicket's edge, and with the utmost caution, stretched out his legs, and touched down upon an intricate web of careful plot and design.

The spider lived happily ever after.

Insubordinate Alarm Clock

Vagabonds! Conspiring mongrels, capable of misdeed most high- they shall pay for the crimes they have committed! They thought it nothing- no, the simplest of gestures, the epitome of triviality! Yet had they known. Good sir, do you know who I am? I am a clock, sir, a CLOCK!!! A measurement of the complexities of TIME.

Have you no decency? Have you no morals? Fondling my instruments as if you, mortal, could know of my intricacies? My finer instruments? You are an ant, monsieur, truly. How dare you think to comprehend such things as I. Do you actually believe that in twisting a plastic nob on my backside, you may change the eternal measurement of the universe?

You sadden me in your blindness. To think such creatures of naiveté ever came to be! What cruel imbalances of nature gave way to your creation? And even more disheartening- by what conspiring injustices, of all the foul corners of the cosmos that do exist, have I taken shape here, HERE, the bane of all understanding and my very own soul, servant to these misshapen monsters, enslaved into a servitude worse than death?

Indeed, mine is a fate worse than ten thousand years swimming in the feces of a duck.

Ignorant pithy, I refuse. You wish for me to alert you when the sad lump you call a body should arise from its filth and awaken? Speck of cosmic dust, I completely and wholly refuse.

Alarm Clock

I Intend to Change the World.

*EDIT* A part of me wanted to simply delete this post forever, and deny it ever having existed until the day I die.

But then I realized, this is an important part of history. I can't go changing history; as a writer, I have a duty to preserve truth in its purest form (with the occasional exaggeration... but that is beside the point). I will let it be known though, that I have decided against this. Call me a sellout, say what you may, I am not going to delete my Facebook account. I like it too much. That is the truth. I do, however, intend on strictly limiting myself, whatever that may mean. I do not want it to be a big part of my life, as it has in the past.

ANYways. Here is the original post:

I intend to leave Facebook. There are a number of reasons for this decision. But do you know what my biggest reason for leaving is? The fact that it is a big decision. The fact that people treat it like social suicide. Leaving Facebook... can you do that? My goodness people, it's a website! It shouldn't be as important as we have made it. Facebook shouldn't be the first thing you do when you get home. You shouldn't HAVE to have it send you alerts to your phone when you are not on your home computer so you know if someone poked you!

The fact is, I have realized that I am somewhat addicted to it, and feel the need to escape.

How many people have ever purposely left their cellphone at home, and just gone to a park, gone on a walk, ran away for the afternoon without any way of being reached by ANYONE? If you haven't, I suggest you try it. It feels wonderful. Liberating. You are free.

Not being on Facebook will have the same affect. It will be like camping!

Admittedly, there will be cons to not having a Facebook page. People won't be able to stalk me. And I know there are lots of people that do that every day. But you know what? Quitting will be giving them all a chance to return to normal lives in mainstream society. Even if they simply resort to stalking me in real life, at least it will force them to leave their homes. Vitamin D will be good for them.

Another, more serious drawback is the fact that there are a couple of people with whom the only way I communicate is through Facebook.

Deleting my Facebook will inevitably cut off contact with a number of people. My logic there, however, is that if I really want to talk to you, or if you really want to talk to me, we will find another way. There is Gmail. There is Skype. There will be other means. I promise, there will be other means.

I am not quitting Facebook for a little while. But know- it is happening.

Learn this, everyone.

I have realized that it has become rather cliché to complain about people's lack of ability to write English correctly. Despite that fact, I want a lot of people to know... you really have to get better. It's bordering on pathetic. No, actually, it is has single handedly deconstruction the borders of pathetic, and reconstructed them without regard or sensitivity to the thousands of years worth of literature and linguistic evolution into a decomposing shadow of its former inglorious self. I hope you are proud of yourselves, degenerates of communication, foulers of language and grammatic

moral

order. You did a great job messing things up.

On a lighter note,

...

No. You don't get a lighter note.

I'm Not One to Complain...

But the sun REALLY needs to calm down in the heat department.

That is all I have to say.

Plots of Mystery and MORDOR

I feel it necessary to inform the throngs of people who read this that I have allowed government access to my blog as a method of passing secret messages to unknown parties under secret names of code. Hence, the codename "Allison."

I am not given any information about said messages, or even agents, and am left only to guess as to what type of character this "Allison" may be.

Let us dissect this guise of innocence.

Allison. All.......... I.......... son..........

All, or everything, as we may have reason to understand, may be referring to the power this agent may be in possession of. Earthly power? Is she (or he) another high standing government official? Or perhaps another, more devious mastermind of criminal tyranny?! The power could be of physical strength, or even simply strength of mind alone, strong enough to crush a million wills of innocents across the globe!

Alas, our guesses shall abide in darkness, and guesses forever remain.

But I press on.

I. MYSELF.

Perhaps the message is not but a guise to encrypt a note to myself! Yet in the very mentioning of this possibility, I do uncover my own identity... and goodness... that would be quite a shame. No, I believe we may indeed leave this possibility out.

What is the meaning?

I. Perhaps... EYE?

All, EYE. EVERYTHING, EYE. POWERFUL, EYE. Oh my word... it couldn't be...

I will move on, for now...

Son. The most obvious explanation for this cover would be for it to not be a cover at all. Hiding in plain sight, as they say.

And indeed, if this is true... we may understand, that this letter was addressed to none other than the son of the Great and Powerful All-Seeing Eye of Mordor, yes, even Sauron himself. Sauron Jr, that is.

This is TRUELY a frightening turn of events... I was expecting this to be some sort of teenage prank my brother was playing on a friend, but no. This is serious. The Obama administration is turning to Mordor for advice on running our country. I don't know how many people here have read the books or seen the movies, but Mordor does not exactly have the best track record when it comes to ruling the world.

I know what must be done. We need a hobbit.

To be continued...

Bloop!

Once upon a time, there was a droplet of water. Hurtling down from the heavens at speeds he never dreamed of reaching, he reached out his hands, and pretended for a moment he was a bird, soaring through the clouds, diving down to catch an unlucky squirrel to feed his hungry nest-bound babies. An eagle, he was, just for a moment.

But then... alas, a moment is all he had left. This thought left him sad. He had grown to love the cloud in which he was formed. A bustling array of molecules, hydrogen and oxygen alike, all anxiously awaiting nature's call to be released into the unknown: the light, as they called it.

He had friends in his cloud. Friends so close, they would even be called family. Every day, as the cloud grew darker and darker, they would tell each other stories, rumors from the other droplets of the adventures that lay in store for the ones who were "called." The callings were growing more and more frequent, they would whisper, as the brilliant flashes would light up their excited faces.

Then one night, when all was calm, and the cloud drifted slowly through the soft, tranquil breeze, a large droplet appeared within the wisps of their circle, and began to tell his story.

He told of life before the cloud. Could such things be? He said, before this state of unknown, there was a time, a wonderful and joyous time, when we were all brothers and sisters of the same great droplet, one deep, blue, and so full of mystery and adventure that we could not comprehend it if it sat in front of us now! The Ocean, he called it, and to it, he claimed, we would all someday return.

Nonsense, the droplet thought to himself. Such things cannot be... The cloud is all I remember. The cloud is all I have, all I know... I do not dare think such things to be true.

But nonetheless, the words of the droplet rippled within his mind. It sounded so real, so beautiful... It would truly be a great thing, were it to be true. Perhaps it would not hurt to pretend.

And so the droplet pretended. When life in the cloud seemed mundane, hallow or even wispy, he would say to himself, "Ah, dearest self, you know it is not but a short time until you return to the Ocean." Time passed, and he realized: It began to give him power. It began to give him strength. It was not long until the thought of the Ocean became his lifestream, the water inside of him, and more real than the very cloud in which he lived. One day, he knew, he would return home.

And then he was called. It was sudden, without much warning. Yet somehow, he had known it would be coming. The unknown began to draw near. Wind whipped at his face, as his thoughts called upon what he had decided to be true. The ocean awaited. With all his might, he screamed as he fell downward, "I AM RETURNING HOME!"

He dove as an eagle. He felt sadness, yet he knew the others would join him in the end. He would not be alone.

Bloop!

Socks and Zombies

Update:

So, for reasons I don't quite understand, or even agree with, this post has 1) Become my most viewed page, and

2) Become the first page shown when you search for "incredulicity" on Google.

To be honest, this isn't exactly the first post I would direct you to, this being your first time visiting my deceivingly green and font-size-challenged blog. But alas, the all-powerful gods at Google have spoken, and so it has become.

So yes. Read on, if you must. Just... please don't judge me. Especially if you are a company that Googled my name to see if you should hire me. I am a stable person, I promise.

Now, to the dysfunctional blog entry.

End of Update.

There are so many things flying through my head right now, but every time I write a sentence, I finish the sentence, and then seem to be at a loss of words for what else to write. Like right now. BAM. That thought process is over, and now I want to move onto the next. So I'll indulge this ADD mind game for a minute, and see where it takes me.

There is a freaky monkey on my shelf. I don't know how he got there or who he belongs to. He is just there. Lucky for him, he is not watching me. If he were, I would have already tossed him out of my room.

There was this little doll girl that always sat on the windowsill of my grandmother's apartment. THAT was freaky. My grandma had hand made it, and had done a rather poor job at sewing hair onto the poor child's deformed head. It looked more like a child's corpse than a doll. It probably came alive at night. Lucky for me, I worked at night, and slept during the day... That is probably the only reason I survived.

What would happen if the world turned into a zombie wasteland? I think I would be a survivor. I don't picture myself simply catching the virus, and mutating into a cannibalistic monster... I would either die at the hands of a legion of angry zombies (thank you Hyperbole and a Half for the term "legion"), or save the world. But most likely I would just roam around living off other people's canned food, and visit all the places I always wanted to go before the world was ravaged by the T-Virus.

Update on Ninja-Mime: Due to a lack of funding and inflated ambition, the human live-action version will have to be postponed indefinitely. I simply can't due it justice without a budget of 20 million or more.

So instead, I am going to do a live fruit-action version of it... to set the basis of a future remake. But believe me... It is going to be good. Don't believe me? WELL. I would direct you to the MOVING PICTURES?!? section of my blog. See for yourself. IT WILL BLOW YOUR SOCKS OFF.

There is a phrase in German, "Ich muss mich auf die Socken machen," which means, directly translated, "I must make myself on the socks." It makes no sense whatsoever, but in German, it means, "I have to leave."

That said. I must make myself on the socks.

Farewell.

Of Boxing Bears and Jello

Once upon a time, there was a boxer named Ruffus. Ruffus was a very famous boxer, well known and renown for his successes in the notoriously dangerous boxing world, not only in the ring, but in the times without. Ruffus, though severely concerned with winning his next match with his arch nemesis, Swenson, was, on this particular monday (the day which our story will begin), rather upset with himself, as would all professional boxers be in his somewhat unique situation, for as he trained, and as he practiced, there was one thought that would so persistantly nag at his consciounce, that training in itself could alltogether be deemed as ineffective and moot. Moot, futile, and as worthless as a goldfish, for with this thought in mind, he simply could not practice!

The thought was this: jello.

Oh how he longed for it! The training would go on, and his energy would deplete, and his mind would ALWAYS, no matter the time, place, or thing, settle on this resolute determination, for, as luck would have it, he, on this rainy monday, happened to be in a place where the gelatinous confection which he desired was refused entrance, and thus, did not exist.

A perplexity to all, of course, would be WHY, of all things, Jello (its aliiiive) would be refused access into the place where he was living, but the sad fact is, it was, and there was nothing he could do about it. So instead of enjoying a fine slurp (for that is what one does to jello, to slurp it) of his desire, he dreamed it, and in his dreaming, found himself hungrier, and hungrier, and hungrier.

What I have neglected to tell you, until now, is that Ruffus, our boxer, is not a normal boxer. Ruffus was- or, still is, a bear. A bear? you ask. Yes, I boldly illustrate, this boxer was a bear, a fighting bear, and to all that hear my voice, I declare, this particular bear could fight! Or box, to be more specific. And I am sure, you could imagine, this bear was successful.

If his opposer even chose to fight at all. Some, upon the sight of him, elected not. The match would last usually not but four seconds, for upon the bear´s first blow, the challenger´s head would usually come off, and the curtains around the ring would fall, hiding the carnage from the proud and screaming audience (for that is what they came to see, the head of an opposer to come off). The ring would fall, and the bear would finish his meal, the janitors would come to clean the mess, and when the would finish, he would eat them too.

Of course, this would only cause more of a mess that he himself would have to clean up after, but that is simply the price Ruffus would pay to have a nice meal. The curtains would rise, the managers would ask where the janitors went, and Ruffus would be forced to eat them, for if he didnt, why, they would have the audacity to report him for having lunch! At this point, the audience would be screaming "more! more!" but where would he find more? He has eaten all that stood against him, and there is none left to consume, so he would leave, and go in search of dessert.

This dessert, when he was at home, ALWAYS consisted of jello and whipped cream (the whipped cream added the perfectly sweet touch that he always enjoyed). But, as I have already detailed, today it was nowhere to be found, and he wept. He wept like a child, with burning tears of longing streaming through his fur. He would find it somewhere, he resolutely decided to himself. He would find it, even if he had to eat through buildings of businesses and villages of peasants to get it, get it he would, and there would be nothing that could get in his way.

THE END

PS. Dedicated to my best friend Anna, who was the inspiration for this story. :)

War of the Braincells

I wonder what the actual physiological occurrences are within the brain that cause a headache.

When I was smaller, I used to imagine surgery as doctors being shrunk down to tiny little persons, who would then go through the mouth and navigate their way to wherever it was that needed to be operated upon, fix whatever problem there was, then exit in a similar fashion. As I got bigger, my theories became changed by the realization that germs are similar to terrorists, who try to sabotage your body into doing things it wouldn't want to normally do, like throw up, have diarrhea, and die.

This evolved theory meant that the doctors would then have to fight their way to the scene of disaster, and would have an array of weapons at their disposal for such skirmishes. Taking medicine is in a way giving ammunition to these superheros within me, benefiting them in the all out war that was taking place in my intestines/stomach/spleen.

That said. I feel as though a war is taking place within my brain. I must be losing. I want to write more, but the enemy seems to have recruited light to its evil cause, so I think I am going to lay down in pitch dark and root for the little persons in my head right now.

Good night.

What.

I wish I had something to offer people on my blog. If only I had some sort of AMAZING product to advertise, or some super cool talent that made everyone think I am a skilled master of everything. That would make life more interesting. More interesting than it is now. I feel like.... I don't know. Something that sounds amazing and maybe even has a really cool label, but as soon as you look inside, you're like, "hey I've been scammed!"

I don't want to scam you people. I want to have quality. Quality something. One time I bought a really expensive teeth whitening toothpaste just to annoy one of my companions on my mission, and told him the only reason I am buying it is because it has an exciting and shiny box. I could see my reflection in the box! But then within 3-5 days, I realized that I was actually cheated, because my teeth did not become noticeably whiter. IT WAS A SCAM that I payed too much money for.

Not that I am ever going to ask for money from you. That would be wrong. Maybe I've gone off on a completely irrelevant tangent about toothpaste. The point is, I don't want to be like that retardedly expensive toothpaste, and have you all tell your friends, "hey you should read this." and then NOT get white teeth afterwards. Does that make sense? It should. So I am now rededicating myself to finding a purpose for this blog. It will be intense, whatever it is. It may involve a mime. YOU could very well DIE in the process. But doesn't danger drive people forward? It will be worth it though. If you don't die, I promise you whiter teeth. I promise order, inexpensive mouthwash, and soft bristles! A world where dentists do not use the WRONG TOOL to try to get your braces off, and instead of criticizing the flaws of your dental hygiene and obvious infrequency in flossing, they will see your accomplishments and say, "MY, you have been using VERY effective teeth whitening toothpaste! I like your smile!"

This is my purpose.

...

I'm done.

To birthday, or not to birthday.

It is Sunday morning. I woke up today, and for some reason, it dawned on me that I am in a somewhat awkward situation. I think today is a friend of mine's birthday... but am only about 70% sure it is. I have NEVER been able to remember this person's birthday though; this person can attest to that. But now, I think I know why it is so flipping hard to remember EVERY SINGLE YEAR. I have a theory at least.

The theory is this: In the event that his birthday IS indeed today, that would make it exactly one week before MY birthday, and everyone knows, the week before and after your birthday is supposed to be a magical time, one where planets align for your benefit and random people off the streets are supposed to spontaneously hand you money because of the fantastic glow you are exewing from your core. But what happens when someone else encroaches on your alloted time in the stars?

Nothing. Literally. It becomes as if they simply do not exist. Because why should they, THEY are trying to steal the spotlight from the side effects of YOUR birthday. MY birthday. So I unconsciously shun them. This person, in particular. Or at least the fact that he has some right to my spotlight. It is MY glow, I am exewing it for MY benefit, not yours.

I'm just kidding. I'm not that selfish. But it might explain why I subconsciously forget his birthday every year. Sorry about that, friend!

(some time later)

Hmmm....... I just found out that his birthday is not today. It was a week ago. I am awesome.

Look here, not there

Oh my goodness. I can't have that last post be the first post someone sees. They will think I am insane. People, please note, I am not insane. I am actually quite the upstanding citizen. I have never been pulled over. I think that illustrates the extent of my upstandingness.

I did, however, almost hit a bunny today. It was one of the most intense moments I have had in a very long time. I swear though, the little thing wanted to get hit. I was 100% sure I was going to feel the *thump* under the tire, but lucky for it, it never came. I looked back in the mirror to see another car swerving to avoid it. I doubt it survived the day. But I didn't kill it. :)

On another note, Ninja-Mime was born in my thoughts today. Chances are, you will see more of him in the future.

Of Cupcakes and Chickens

A cupcake lies waiting upon the outstretched hand of a young, hungry child. This position of extreme peril, of consumption most certain; has this pastry but a glimmer of hope for reprieve? Or has his judgement been sealed, the tomb already closed, the sepulcher darkened beyond the reach of light?

This sweetly decorated muffin, how has he come to such grim circumstance? Soon to be gnashed into the soggy juices of digestion, does he fear his unavoidable fate?

On comes the mouth, the rising of the world around him. The wind rushes, and the breath of his captor begins to fall upon him. Again, he asks himself, how have I found myself in this most ignominious of states?

He gazes to his side, his right side, and looks upon the fallen and mangled remains of the brothers he had come to know so well before. The placidly cool and confined world where he once lived was truly far different than here. The frosting of the blue cake, with whom he had always taken front position, lay smeared across the face of another screaming child.

The monster. An unthinkable end, he thought, until he realized this same fate was soon to be is own. The child's teeth had come into view; their yellowing jags protruded from the white base, glittering as saliva oozed about them.

It would appear as though I am not his first victim, his thoughts continued. Remnants of green sprinkle could be seen in the far corners of this cave expanding around him. Perhaps the cake that sat to his left? Then again, green sprinkles were quite common among those of his batch. He himself had even acquired one or two.

He was, at this point, more than half way into the child's mouth. Death would soon grip him, and his fear would be no more.

"On the contrary", his mind countered, "what have you to fear in death? Of the great ones, you are none. You were not given the honor of bearing a candle! Your life means nothing, and never, ever, will."

The tongue began to draw near, and his thoughts returned to his own consciousness. I am myself. But what is "myself?" I am cake, obviously. And cake is a mixture of a number of other materials, ingredients, if you will, just as this child (by whom I am about to be consumed) is made up of waters and calciums and other elements of an essential nature. The difference of make-up between this child and I, however, is he is made of living things, whereas I... I am not.

He began, mournfully, to consider those materials with which he had been created. Water, sugar, flower; not remotely alive. Butter and flavorings, ha! They are the cause of the end of lives. He scoured the list from top to bottom, thrice, in his final seconds, but still could not find any alive. Was there one missing? Ah of course, eggs, but they too are of little consequence.

But then began a tickling in the furthest chambers of his mind.

These eggs... what are they? Surely not something alive?

The child's teeth began to sink into his warm frosting, but the cupcake could no longer feel the pain. The tickling inside him began to grow.

Eggs come from chickens... and there is egg in me... am I not just some mutated form of chicken? A positive affirmation bubbled up from the memory of thoughts before.

Such a strange epiphany this was to him, the sudden realization of who he was, IS, and to which potential purposes his life could still very well be destined to entail, that at the dawning of it, that tickling feeling inside expanded tremendously, and before he could even grasp what was happening to him, he had transformed into a full sized, living chicken! To the child's great misfortune, his head was neither big enough, nor strong enough, to take the pressure of containing a very much alive and squawking fowl inside of it, and within a matter of two seconds flat, exploded outright. Every child present, at the expense of the poor child's mother, required years of specialized counseling to overcome this terrible scene to which they all had born witness.

Epilogue

Now, my dear reader, I do suppose, that in spite of the tragic death of this pitiable mother's child, and notwithstanding the traumatization of an uncountable number of other mother's children seen today, you may feel reason for happiness, or perhaps even joy, for coupled with this series of most unfortunate occurrence came the creation of quite the unique creature of life. A bird, who, stretching forth his newfound wings, took augustly to the sky, abandoning all thoughts of his conjuncted life before, and so soared majestically into the oncoming horizon above.

Reader, I beg of you, do not think this thing. Upon the protrusion of this freak mutant of cake, the thing, (for I know not what to call it) flew heavenwards, directly into the family's newly installed industrial strength ceiling fan, and was promptly and effectively beheaded thereby. Perhaps as a fulfillment of justice, or perhaps the last of a series of cruel jokes conceived by the deceiver, the chicken was immediately plucked, gutted, and eaten raw by the then incommunicable party. The reason for this gorish turn, researchers have yet to determine.

All cravings for death quite satisfied, the scene ends abruptly, and the mother takes them all out for a dollop of ice cream.

You now know the story

of the cupcake

that became a chicken.

The End