tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75373295720343318972024-03-19T00:58:24.538-07:00Writers Without A Home Presents: The FictionThe Worlds We Wish We Lived In...Sort OfDave and Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339220150906593308noreply@blogger.comBlogger7125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7537329572034331897.post-72800531392961775292012-03-31T09:37:00.000-07:002012-03-31T09:37:32.562-07:00The Man Raised by Wolves<style>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">What
of the man raised as a boy by wolves? There was a natural misunderstanding
between the boy and his pack-or family-while growing up. The only understanding
was of protecting and hunting to consume and live together. The boy did not
understand human language, for he was raised by the animals since a month after
his birth. He did not understand the language of the wolf, rather, it was on
another plane of understanding with few, very few, similarities to that of a
human. He understood his senses-as he possessed all of them-as do wolves.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span> </span>The
boy was taken care of by the motherly alpha female of the wolf pack. She was
one that had only two pups so a third was little more hassle, and the only
problem was the human child aging slower than her pups and so stayed dependent
on her longer. She started having feelings similar to that of frustration when
it came to raising this animal she had little knowledge of, one she had to-at times-protect
from the larger-fiercer-males of the pack looking to make a meal of the helpless
infant. But being fierce herself, she was always able to fend them off. The
infant had to suckle from the teats of the motherly wolf for nearly a year
until it started to take part in eating scraps brought to it by the wolf, while
still having to protect the babe. The baby would wrestle and play with the
other pups of the pack and, at around this time, started to discover senses,
feelings, and certain understandings developed through nature though not
through language. The meanings of and the understanding of these discoveries
were not-completely-understood, as there was no understandable language to
connect the images with a language or with interactions amongst the family in
the boy’s memory. And so his world was incomplete, but he was alive. He communicated
with his pack in ways forgotten to mankind but still existed deep in animal
understanding hidden in some channel of the brain. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The boy was not stupid and could see
differences in front of him. For instance, he noticed he had less hair throughout
his body than his family, they could also contort their bodies in ways he could
not. They had sharp fangs and paws, a large snout, hearing far better than his,
sight too that was sharper than his. The boy could grasp and hold, walk upright
or crawl on hands feet and knees. All these differences of the body
that-again-he could not understand. The noticeable differences being body
parts, the understanding of what a body consists of was possible, though he did
not understand the reason for a difference nor why he had no tail and what it
was for. When he mistakenly lost a kill for the pack by being too loud, he was
treated even worse than he normally was. This he could understand. Food for the
family and himself was easy to understand. It was mutual survival. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The “boy’s mother” possessed a mate, and
he was a brilliant hunter. Because of this, the pack felt he had the right to
be the first to partake in consuming the kill. He never took more than what he
needed and left plenty for the family.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">This is perhaps what stayed in the boy’s
mind when he was found at the age of eleven by a group of herders protecting
their property. The boy recognized the men, but only somewhat, they possessed
this skin he had never seen before. Communicated in ways through more than barking
or howling. He was curious with these creatures and so when the boy’s pack
fled, he stayed to study. The men would be-understandably-completely shocked by
this boy sniffing the air stark naked and studying the men from a distance as
one would an object just out of reach in water that is too hazardous to wade
through. The men had eventually been able to trap the boy and his days running
with his pack were over.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Slowly, he learned all he could about his
life and the world he had been disconnected from for more than ten years of his
life. Language he eventually picked up. Society and the history of his world
became evident and the boy consumed much knowledge. The famous boy, since he
was raised by wolves, had been a public spectacle-with many tests run as he was
taught-and studied-by some of mankind’s greatest minds. Even when it was
determined he could live on his own in society-independently-he was followed
and studied to view his reactions to the world he no longer wished to live in,
a society that was cold and more unfair than his pack-his family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The boy-man now-would walk upright and
alone-unaccustomed to both-on a street-also something new and odd-and ponder
the world. He marveled at the achievements of mankind, but questioned the
reasoning behind most of it: like any wise philosopher or hermit-as he had
become a regular Philomath. And one time while walking-and being followed as he
was still being studied-he came across a man. This man was homeless, helpless,
and appeared to be as alone as the man raised by wolves. By this time the man
had a name: Grey. Grey went up to the homeless man perplexed to the reason why
a man would be alone on such a cold night, Grey remembered cold nights
snuggling up to his family for warmth. Grey was wearing clothes-not quite used
to underwear-and noticed this man’s clothes being worn, torn, and dirty. After
a long conversation with the man-that was never thought of much nor discussed
about in the studying of Grey-Grey had found that his species, his world was
less forgiving, less understanding, and more willing to let a man or infant die
and not share the glory and beauty that was life. He knew there were some of
his family that wished to eat him when he was younger, he had scars to remember
how close they were, but he understood the animal’s reasoning: anything to
benefit the pack-which was of a different species of the infant.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">And so the man raised by wolves could not
understand the benefit of letting a single lonely human die at the hands of his
own family.</span></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: right;">
<i><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 150%;">Justin Vaisnor</span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">-For
the nature of humanity is to impel men to agree with one another, and its very
existence lies simply in the explicit realization of a community of conscious
life. –Hegel</span></div>Dave and Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339220150906593308noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7537329572034331897.post-36827532376843055652012-03-30T23:15:00.002-07:002012-03-30T23:15:49.085-07:00A Train Ride<i> </i><b>By Dave Karp</b><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i> This is a character I'm still developing and decided to write little scene for him tonight. I hope to expand his story and thoughts and dish out a good world for him sometime in the future!- Dave</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> The night was as quiet
as a lonely road, with nothing but the echoes of far-away police sirens and
whispering wind blowing through the sky. It was a peaceful night, from what I
remember. I remember feeling some sort of presence as I stood on the platform. It
was the presence of something sudden and final. It glowed in the streetlights
and lay still on the train tracks, surrounding me with an uncertain
peacefulness. It was in everything as I looked at around me; in every rooftops,
every traffic signal, every billboard, every snap of a leaf, and it continued
to stay with me even after the headlights of the train came roaring past me and
the train car that appeared in front of me let me in with a <i>ding. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
took a seat and watched the people around me. One taller guy was kissing his
lover like it was the last day love was alive. A businessman read the headlines
of the paper, spilling news both good and bad to his eyes with black, definite
ink. He didn’t smile or grin; he just let the world be. A bigger homeless man
slept with his mouth open, drool traveling over his chapped lower lip and hung
over the seat he was lying in like a icicle off a gutter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">And
there I was, coming home from work again after another night working tables and
earning my tips to help pay the rent. It wasn’t ideal, no, but it’s was my job.
And that was good enough for me to keep plugging through the headaches and
sleepless nights in my little bed that laid cold and unwrinkled just for me to
mess it up later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
watched the city fly by me like it was in the wind itself. Light after light,
brick after brick, building after building, home after home, street after
street, person after person. All I was doing was watching out the window like I
was going on safari through the built up beauty of an urban jungle. It kept me
at peace, surprisingly. Even through the hustle and bustle of the night life
that was alive in some of the areas we passed…I still felt a quiet peace. I
felt like I was drifting through clouds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Then
the train went underground and the walls around me became whiter and the
windows became mirrors, and there sitting next to me behind the window was a
drifter; a loner; a wanderer; both satisfied and lost. He looked just like me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Occasionally,
a fluorescent light passed me by like it was in a hurry. I just watched them
out the window, shining on me every few seconds like spotlights. The light
warmed me up though. It felt right. It took me through station to station in
the darkness of the underground and kept me sane from the darkness I was really
in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">That’s
when I realized- maybe that’s what God is. I saw God in the subway lights. He
was guiding me through some sort of darkness and kept my life going. He was
shining again and again, pushing everyone on the train through. Yes, I saw God
in the fluorescent lights. And they took me all the way home as the night died
behind me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Is
this faith? Is my God a fluorescent light? Do I go through this night after
night like a broken record? Am I anywhere? What am I? Is this the dream I had
about my city life?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">And
those are the thoughts that were with me as I laid my head on my old white
pillow, shut my eyes, and said farewell to another conscious day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><br /></i>Dave and Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339220150906593308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7537329572034331897.post-38380074720753217662012-03-27T22:27:00.000-07:002012-03-30T23:16:03.129-07:00From My Dream Journal #1<b>by Dave Karp</b><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> I was sitting alone in
my living room on a green couch that seemed to be coming apart towards the
ends. The lighting, which consisted of light sockets scattered around the room
housing bulbs, was very dim, yet menacing. It hit me that there was nothing
else in the room but this couch, a rug on the spot of floor I was on, and, next
to me, a large fold out table, gray and menacing with the look of it. I could
feel the cold of the metal as I sat next to it, looking down at it as if I was
looking down at my own grave. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> As I looked up, I could feel eyes staring at me in the
shadows of this confined amount of seemingly floating space. And out of the
shadows…they came. Two men. Big. Looming. Grim.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> They sat down in chairs across the table from me and
started talking to me. At first they seemed nice, talking to me about my day
and how I had been feeling at the moment, but then they looked at me with harsh
unsettling eyes. They told me to lie down on the table and that I would be
fine. And for some reason, I obliged to their wishes. I stood up from the couch
I was sitting on, crawled up on the table, lied on my back, and then just
stared into space. Of course, a few seconds later, the two men’s heads came
into my field of vision.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> They stared at me, gave me heartless smiles and told me
that I would be fine and I would barely feel a thing. Then, though I can’t
really tell you exactly what it was they had, they pulled out tools that looked
almost like little drills. Again, they assured me that I would be alright, and
then one of them held me down as I tried to struggle, but I was too weak to
free myself. The other man then grabbed my skin and pinched it. And then, like
that, it was all done in one motion…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> He took the drill, put a sharp piece into the end, and
then slammed it down on the skin he was grabbing and pierced me through it. A
tear came from my eye, but I was no longer struggling and decided to try to
take the pain. I could see the blood squirt a little in the corner of my left
eye, the incision being in my left arm. I could feel it go through me, and they
continued to pierce my body in a different place every few seconds. I could feel the pain rush over me, into my
breath and through my bloodstream, to every nerve ending possible in my body.
My body was solely a channel for pain, but I refused to utter a word. I would
not scream.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> All I could hear is the sound of the drill, the sound of
laughter from the two men inflicting me with the feeling of physical and
emotional hopelessness, and the sound of haunting silence. It still lingered in
the air around me, as everywhere I looked above me, I saw nothing. Absolutely
nothing. Still, they continued to drill on and on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> After about fifteen minutes, it finally ended. I was left
lying on the cold metallic table, with every ounce of energy drained out of me.
I was alive on the outside (at least, the half that wasn’t covered in holes and
blood) and dead on the inside. I could not move a muscle. I didn’t really care.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> I heard one final bout of laughter before the two men
flipped the table over. I fell with a thud to the hard wooden ground, but as I
fell, I realized that I was alone in the dark room once more. No men. No table.
No couch. Just my naked body and the snow falling from the empty sky. I just
stared off into the distance until I woke up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>Dave and Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339220150906593308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7537329572034331897.post-86365062403368363062012-03-23T11:08:00.003-07:002012-03-23T11:50:11.148-07:00Voters<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Mick
tossed his nearly finished joint into the standing sidewalk concrete pot that
held several cannabis sativa plants. Julia flicked her chestnut hair back in
the bright sunny clear day. The usual downtown city noise surrounded them as
they walked down Randolph Street, heading toward the lakefront.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Are
memories coming back?” Julia asked her cousin, Mick.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Mick
kept walking but put his hand to his forehead rubbing it, as if it would help.
“No. I still don’t remember. Do you have another one of your joints? I think
you’re righ’ about this street vendor stuff.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Sure,
here,” Julia pulled out from her pant pocket another joint and handed it to
Mick. She then made a small surprised jerk and pulled out her phone from her hemp
purse. “Oh, I still have to vote.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Vote?”
Mick said surprised, “I’ll come along I guess, where’s the nearest polling station?”
Mick asked pulling out his lighter and striking it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Polling
station?” Julia looked confused at Mick-again he felt like he had said
something wrong about general knowledge-Julia showed him the screen on her
phone, “No, No. We vote on this, I guess there are polling offices for those
without one, but just with the press of a button I-anyone for that matter-can
vote for the newest law or legislation being passed.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “What?
Really?” Mick coughed after a drag, “But, wait, it’s not November!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “No…it’s
July,” Julia was again confused by what Mick said-he was starting to get
annoyed by that look-and he probably looked just as confused as she! After
losing his memory from his accident up to a certain unmemorable day ten years
ago, he had lost all memory of society’s advancement and changes since. And
Julia, bless her, she’s been trying to help him remember but nothing has been
coming back.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “So,
has…has the date for Election Day changed?” Mick asked. A light streaming through two metal
beams from the elevated train track brightened her face as it hit her. “Oh, you
don’t remember,” she said taking a drag of the joint and passing it to Mick.
She held her phone in front of her and slowed her pace, she allowed Mick to
view the screen as well.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Okay,
voting is done on mobile devices, there are some devices made specifically for
voting, they kinda look like-” she had to think for a moment nearly halting in
their tracks, Mick guessed in a deep voice after hitting the joint: “Beepers?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Yes! That’s it! Well anyway, the program
for voting allows anyone to view the law or proposals, only some voting is for
officials into a position. But the position of any office holds a lot less
power than what you probably remember,” Julia pointed to the screen. “For most
legislation there are several choices: a simple Yes or No, and two others,
Create Compromise and Search Compromises.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Compromises?” Mick arched an eyebrow.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Yeah, if you press here,” Julia taped
the screen for ‘Search Compromises’. Many newly written or previously written
versions of the single legislation being voted on that day, appeared on the screen and
could be searched through. The law being debated at the moment was the amount
of pollution allowed from the few coal companies left around the world after
they were halted in their attempt to detonate explosives to decimate mountains in
order to reach ore deep within; while unintentionally causing many health
problems to citizens possessing little ability to stop the process. With all
the renewable and green energy systems being put into place, the coal companies
were a dying and archaic industry. With some use still but the factor of harm
to the environment and people became the number one element. Jobs and work,
just simply ‘shifted green’. Mick knew this even before the day he only partly
remembers-the last day of his clear memories-till he woke up ten years later in
a hospital having lived a life he can’t remember. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Some of these Compromises-” Julia said
taking the phone away walking stiff and straight while scrolling through the
list, Mick followed dodging a group of people walking the opposite way, some
sharing a blunt, “-aren’t compromises at all but a demand for the eradication
of coal mining. Ha! Well, I’m fine with setting a bar, we need the energy until
we can become less dependent of that sickening stuff.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Mick looked to Julia as he heard disgust in her
voice when she mentioned the ‘sickening stuff’. The opinion, no stronger, the
belief he felt from her was concrete-he always knew her to side with
humanitarian ideals-as did Mick. “So,” Mick started, “Did I used to vote?” he
hated using the past, and Julia thought it weird for him to when-just two weeks
ago-he was possibly one of the most well-informed persons she knew.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Yeah,” she took the last hit of the
roach jammed-twisting-it into a potted plant that contained blooming flowers.
“When me and Tobias went to your apartment we discovered several things missing, one
being your mobile. There may be several reasons someone would take that: Tobias said
maybe for a phone number, to check the phone history or maybe the metal
materials in it.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Mick nodded, he seemed to always be in
his head-which was filled with questions. Questions not of the crime he was a
victim of however, but of this world he lived in and can’t remember, “This
voting thing, can’t people-hack into the system and-change the numbers for
their personal gain? Or what about the voting days? Are they all the time?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Usually once a week, sometimes not at
all, the news and the mobile program lets voters know the next voting day
and the subject. But the system is secured by hired government workers, they’re
monitored as well-y’know-so there’s no foul play. The whole voting system
created many permanent programming jobs,” Julia said as they crossed Michigan
Ave. “This of course was all made to promote real democracy. Or some form of
it.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“‘Some form of it?’ Sounds like real
democracy!” Mick exclaimed to his cousin.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Yeah, I guess it is better than the old
system. It was really corrupt if I remember right,” Julia took a swig of her
water bottle and put it back in her hemp bag.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Well, what’s so wrong with this system?”
Mick asked, who was having trouble thinking of a flaw. Especially when anyone
can propose anyone’s bill to the public.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Sometimes,”
Julia started, “A rational voice can be drowned out from all the proposed
compromises.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I
can understand tha’,” Mick said rubbing his five o’clock shadow when it was
three. “Bu-the old system: it was just voting for a representative that could
be backed by interests-tha’ many had no idea of. And I remember we promoted
that system as a democracy! Really it was a constitutional republic-tha’-tha'-stopped providing justice for us, us citizens. What’s so wrong with this if
both local and widespread laws are made by-populous vote?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Its
general knowledge,” Julia said explanatory. “Not everyone knows what’s at stake
in a law when they are too involved in their own mistakes, worries and dreams
to know what would really benefit everyone.” The two continued walking through
the sunny day stoned, with Mick trying to remember all he had forgotten.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Justin Vaisnor</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">(An excerpt from an untitled book I am currently writing)</span></div>Dave and Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339220150906593308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7537329572034331897.post-27514792603833071882012-03-15T23:11:00.000-07:002012-03-15T23:16:33.896-07:00What is Failure? Part 2<style>
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Stu tasted blood
and saw red stars go black and only the pain didn’t reside as he opened his
eyes to watch the train continue down the track. And now it was too fast, even
if he was ten years younger he wouldn’t make it.</div>
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Just
as he lifted his head to watch his ride leave him bleeding, aching and
penniless: laughter rang out beside him-“Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve
laughed.” A young woman said behind her hand, she was still smiling and
writhing with mirth looking at Stu’s state. She had dark skin and Stu noticed
first that-though filled with laughter after his fall-her eyes were kind.</div>
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“Shou’da
made i’,” Stu said digging in his bag of personal affects for a sock to stuff
up his nose. “Not ash spry ash I used’a be.” </div>
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“Well
you have a great attitude,” the woman said controlling her self and perking up
on the wooden bench. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
“What’cha
mean?” Asked Stu choosing his black sock and pinching his nose as he stood up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
“I
mean most people would have swore or gotten noticeably upset about missing
their train, and not to mention breaking their nose-come sit here for a moment,
I’ll watch your case,” she sprung up and swiftly lifted the suitcase to a
standing position while Stu sat on the bench in the middle of the platform. The
woman turned to him and continued, “Some people would expect help immediately or swear or spit,
curse this station the people of the world and-whatever in the world you have
in here?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
She
patted the bulging suitcase, which she now sat on, Stu noticed no ring, and
spotted her figure being thin and light. The suitcase would tear at the zipper
and seams should he sit atop the case. “Books,” Stu said simply massaging his
forehead. He asked “Ho’ bad my nose bleedin’?” “You’ll live. And I feel like
that’s your attitude, just the feeling you give off. Hughes?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
“Sorry,”
Stu responded.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
“Do
you have any Langston Hughes?” She said her hands resting on her thighs holding
her bag. Her dark green skirt hanging down just below her knees</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
“James
Ba’dwin,” Stu replied.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
“Shame,
were you trying to catch an appointment? I bet you were, you looked in a hurry.
But it’s not so bad to miss something, who ever said it was always good to be
somewhere of some imaginary importance, being anywhere-being alive!-that I
believe is important,” the woman said, looking pleasant in her wisdom and
melancholy sitting atop words written by people that must have shared in
forming that piece of knowledge. She shoved that aside, perked up and asked,
“It’s useless to ask you where you were heading, but what are you going to do
now, were you trying to sell these books earlier? At that book fair?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
“Sure,
n’Y was there yest’rday,” Stu felt safe and fascinated by this woman. Young, he
thought, but has age in the way of maturity-independent, he would describe her,
but something was wrong with her-and by wrong I mean, wronged: “’nstead of
sellin’ some of m’ books, n’Y bought some. N’Y’m a great sales’an,” she laughed. Stu asked, “Nyu don’
have ta catch’a train do nyu? Or are nyu the t’pe of person ta sit in pub’ic
placesh and watch the world go round?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
“Neither,
although I like to do the latter,” she smiled brightly-although, again-Stu
noticed a pain behind that. But she was pleasant to look at in her dark blue
blouse, her hair was loose and flowing-just above her shoulders. Stu noticed
his shirt had some blood on it’s collar, the sock was half drenched too. The bleeding
had slowed substantially, only a lesser degree of pain remained.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
“M’
name’s Stu,” he proclaimed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
“Jessica,”
she replied. “The hiding-from-her-rotten-boyfriend-Jessica, well I wish it to be
ex-boyfriend. He likes to follow me you see, but I gave him the slip and have
been here for an hour. Where were you an hour ago? I could have used a book
then.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
“’Ow
abou’ a book now?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<b><u>To Be Continued (I apologize but Part 3 will be in two weeks!) </u></b><i>Justin Vaisnor</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<b><u>-Next Week's Fiction Titled: "Voters"</u></b></div>Dave and Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339220150906593308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7537329572034331897.post-31431270510941938662012-03-11T10:33:00.002-07:002012-03-11T18:53:00.915-07:00Spunky (Part 1)<br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b>By
David Marcus Karp</b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“I don't believe in accidents. There are only
encounters in history. There are no accidents.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">-Pablo Picasso</span></i><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I
knew the first time I ever laid my eyes on Spunky that she was the perfect girl
for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">That
day is still as clear to me as every yesterday is. Let me paint the picture for
you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">I
was walking down one of the plain blue and white corridors of the Metropolitan
Art Gallery, lit by bright florescent lighting. Windows were scattered here and
there, allowing me glimpses of the busy city outside. The old, dark brown
wooden floor creaked with every step I took. All seemed calm and normal around
me. It was just me and my best friend, Jimmy, who was, at the time, interning
there at the Gallery. It was a gig he got when we both got out of art school
two seemingly long years ago. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> I had just got out of a meeting with Gil Clayton, a
potential sponsor of my work. He was one of the heads of the gallery and, with
that, Jimmy’s boss. During the meeting, Clayton seemed really intrigued with
the pieces I showed him, along with the things Jimmy had said about me to even
get an interview. At the end of the meeting, I was invited to a gala that was
taking place that night for some other new artist, and he insisted I should
come so we could “discuss a few possibilities”. After a long, nerve wreaking
meeting, these were positive words to hear and it made me feel like I was
getting a chance to go somewhere with my art. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">So,
the meeting ended on a good note. I told him I’d try my hardest to make it to
the gala and then, a minute later, I was on my way back home to relax, eat
lunch and return to my latest painting venture.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> We were about to turn the corner to a staircase that
would bring us to the street exit, when I saw her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Her tight, denim pants matched her beautiful, dark red
hair in color, with a black and white striped belt to hold them to her petite
body. She was short, irresistibly cute, and had a smile that would make even
the coldest person light up. Her eyes also had a sort of smile to them, and
when you looked into them, they made you glow and hoisted you up into the
clouds. She had a long, black overcoat on, covering a white shirt which housed
a peace symbol on the front of it, with the word “love” written in black below.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> I felt my eyes widen as I caught sight of her, and it
made me wonder if she noticed my sudden, shock-filled glance, as she looked
back at me and it made my heart feel like it had frozen in time. I felt a bit
foolish, but sometimes when you’re stuck in that kind of shock that penetrates
the heart and the mind in unison, you lose control of everything for a minute
without realizing it until the moment is far from passed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Anyway, I was stuck looking at her for a second or two
before getting control back of my thoughts. When I did, I quickly turned and
went down the staircase, a bit red from embarrassment, to the street exit,
catching up the little distance to Jimmy. I could hear her talking to her
friend as they walked behind us. Her voice was high, but not squeaky. It had a
bounce.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> We walked out the door and onto the street. We were
greeted by a beautiful day, with the sun beating down from a cloudless blue sky
and there, surrounding us, was the pleasant, cool autumn wind, hinting that
winter was not very far away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> She walked parallel to Jimmy and I for a minute. Her
voice seemed at ease as she talked to her friend, a slightly taller blonde
girl, about something she seemed excited about. I didn’t catch what it was, but
it made her voice glow a bit more, whatever it was. She seemed to be in a happy
mood. I waited until she walked a little bit past us, and then I turned to
Jimmy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> “Why can’t I meet someone like that?” I said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> “Huh?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> “Why can’t I meet someone like her?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> “Like who?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> I softly gestured to her. “Like her!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> “Who is she?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> “I wish I knew, that’s what I’m saying!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> “You don’t know who she is?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> “No, I just noticed her when we were walking out of the
gallery.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Jimmy gave out a bit of a cackle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> “I can tell,” I said, “She just seems like the kind of
girl I would fall for, you know? I mean, she’s cute, sounds like a nice person,
likes black, seems happy, and seems…spunky. She might be…I don’t know…like… the
girl of my dreams. I can always tell these things.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> To tell the truth, I could never really tell those kinds
of things, and who knew what she was really like if you got to know her. Hell,
I DIDN’T know her. But, still, she seemed to have this kind of positive vibe to
her, and it was certainly uplifting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> “Go right now, Seth. Catch up to her and say something!”
Jimmy suggested, giving me a little push and then laughing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> “Funny.” I said. It would have been a different story if
we were stuck in an elevator together or in the same waiting room together. Maybe,
then, it would seem more logical to me, and I would get the balls to talk to
her. But no. Not now. She was a random
person on the street who I just found beautiful and interesting from afar.
Running up to her was probably not the greatest idea in the world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Jimmy teased me for the rest of the walk home, and as we
made our way down the street, the beautiful girl was turning into a distant
sight, walking off into the sunlight that was reflected on city windows. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> “I really like that word… spunky.” I said to Jimmy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> “Yeah, it’s a fun word."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> “Spunky.” I repeated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> That is the moment I dubbed her the name Spunky. It fit
and Jimmy found the infatuation amusing to say the least. I had no idea what
her real name was, and was never sure if I’d ever find out but, nevertheless,
she seemed spunky. I liked spunky. I deemed her the name Spunky.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"> Then we turned the corner, and she was out of my sight
and into my memory. That was it; like that she was gone, and life kept on going.
We walked home and made some lunch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<b><i>(SEE YOU NEXT TIME FOR PART 2!)</i></b><br />
<br />Dave and Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339220150906593308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7537329572034331897.post-76548839805683626162012-03-10T09:47:00.003-08:002012-03-15T23:12:05.378-07:00What is Failure? Part 1 by Justin Vaisnor<style>
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Pain persisted to shoot up Stu’s left
arm as he carried his heavy luggage down the train station platform. The
station’s high ceilings had skylights-with a sun shining through-which shone upon
the gray concrete and light brown wooden benches. Stu trudged slowly burdened
with a bulging sack of his own clothes and other effects over his right
shoulder; and a large heavy suitcase full of books, magazines, journals and
articles in the increasingly loosening grip of his left hand. The suitcase, heavier
than when he first arrived in the city as he picked up a few more products: a
collection of Dickens, some National Geographic zines, a few medical journals
on the effects of smoking cannabis, and about half a dozen books of poetry. Now
the normally rectangular suitcase looked more like a bumpy prolate spheroid and
Stu, having missed breakfast on an already empty stomach, had a sudden appetite
for eggs.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Stu
had skipped breakfast in order to reach this train in time, just as well though
as he was carrying little money with him, for not one of the books he had
brought along had been able to sell, and instead, he had blown what little
money he had on buying more books. The problem is television and libraries, he
thought to himself wincing as the side of the suitcase bumped into his knee, no
one owns or wants to own books-if they read them at all! But he had no reason
to complain, though this may have been another failed venture of his, it was
his favorite by far. He was selling a product that was not only (in his
opinion) useful to society, but enjoyable to use himself. Much more enjoyable
than the ant farms-which had been broken open in his apartment after having
first received them. Books were also somewhat lighter than kitchen cutlery,
pots and pans. And he still had no idea what he was thinking trying to sell
hard liquor made in his bathtub (that had turned into a three night binge and
ending with a nasty wake up call in a stolen car just south of the border in
lower California) Stu, lives in St. Louis, Missouri. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
Which
is where he was headed just as soon as he reached his train, it stood down the
platform to his right on the same rail as another train-bound later for some
other city in this unfair country. The pain in his hand and arm made tears well
up in Stu’s eyes, but he fought through the pain-BUMP!-the suitcase again
slammed into his knee after he had taken a larger step and kicked the case as
the train’s whistle sounded two cars and an engine away. His left hand was red
and sore, sweaty and loose he limped and dragged his feet
forward-Bump!-Bump!-the suitcase hit his knees at each step and he now wished
he had searched for a trolley. He was now a train car and engine away from the nearest
step for his train. Stu tramped slowly on, though it was as quick as he could
bare to go-BUMP!-slip-BANG!-his suitcase hit concrete and toppled on it’s side,
but since it’s sides protruded, it rested at a angle to the ground. Stu grunted
angrily, shifted his bag to his sore and now useless left arm, stepped over his luggage,
which he nearly tripped over, picked it up with his rested right arm using his
legs to straighten upright-took a deep breath and continued to tramp on as fast
as his legs could carry him-BUMP!-BUMP!-his right knee almost knocked into his
other, he slowed his pace as he had forgotten the repercussions for striding
forward quickly.</div>
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An
engine length away and the train started moving; Stu knew he could still make
it! He quickened his pace-BUMP!-BUMP!-<i>DAMNIT!</i>
He thought his knees were going to give out, his right hand and arm were
growing sore from the swinging bumping and battering from the suitcase of
books. The train was starting to gain speed, Stu was losing it, the speed, the
ride, the stranding with no money, tears were welling up-out of frustration-he
was steps away…</div>
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He
could make it if he left the books-he couldn’t toss the suitcase on for he had
little strength left and the case was too heavy!-what then?-what! He knew one
thing: Dickens, Hemingway, Melville, Plato and Shakespeare, Cervantes and
Twain, even Ginsberg and west coast Snyder-they would never give up these
books!</div>
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Stu-with
what little strength he had-puffed out his chest-swinging his arm back than
forward while doing a little skip in his stride, he had enough power, enough
speed, but he couldn’t direct his right arm to swing the case right toward the
train and up on the steps. Instead, it hit the opening lengthwise and bounded
out hitting the platform in front of Stu, who-due to his skipping stride-could
not avoid the suitcase in time and tripped on it, falling flat on his face
breaking his nose.</div>
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<u>To be continued
next Fiction Friday!</u></div>Dave and Justinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05339220150906593308noreply@blogger.com0