Monday, February 26. 2007
The Nature of Things, Part 6 Posted by Johnny Elbows
in A Defense of My Life, by Jonathan Bicara at
15:35
Comments (4) Trackbacks (0) The Nature of Things, Part 6
I really can't say what happened next. I heard shrieking metal and shattering glass. I smelled burning rubber and billowing dust. I saw flashes of light. At one moment, my body seemed to float. At others, I felt the seatbelt biting into my waist and chest. I couldn't say which sensation was first, or which one was last. They're all a jumbled blur.
The car sat squarely on all four wheels, a considerable distance away from where the semi had crashed through the guard rail. All of the windows were gone, splintered and scattered over the road. The driver lay face down, flung from the spinning car, akimbo like a rag doll on the floor. David sat beside me, staring ahead, paying no attention to the small cuts on his face. Something seemed to snap; he turned, looked at me, and said, "Did you see? There was no driver." He didn't wait for an answer, just unbuckled himself, and began kicking fiercely at the door. "We have to get out of here." About that time, I noticed that I still had a headache. "What's going on?" My voice sounded strange, even to my ears. "We have to go. We have to get out of here. Hurry up." He braced himself, and kicked at the door with all his strength. It sheared away from the car with the screech of tortured metal, and fell onto the pavement. I watched, fascinated, as it rocked back and forth. "Come on." David's snatching hands unbuckled my seatbelt and dragged me out of the car. He started to hurry away. When I didn't follow, he turned back, grabbed my hand, and tugged me behind him. Moments later, we were running down the road. Continue reading "The Nature of Things, Part 6" Friday, February 23. 2007
The Nature of Things, Part 5 Posted by Johnny Elbows
in A Defense of My Life, by Jonathan Bicara at
03:54
Comments (5) Trackbacks (0) The Nature of Things, Part 5
"Who's this?"
The voice seemed to come from somewhere above me. It seemed foggy, like early morning after a restless night. "Claims he's the other's roommate. Don't know if that's true. He's a witch though. Not a very good one. He tried to break his friend out, and collapsed midway through the spell. Started hallucinating and talking to himself. Something about killing" "Hmm. Well, put him in the car, too. Two birds with one stone, you know?" I felt strong hands grab both of my arms, and soon, my feet bumped over the threshold as they dragged me to the car. Sitting in the car, my thoughts began to clear. I opened my eyes, and instantly regretted it. At the sight of sunlight, my headache became nearly unbearable. I closed my eyes again, gasping, but the pain didn't subside. It throbbed in time with my heart, and pulsing lights seemed to dance before my closed eyes. I heard the front passenger door open, and felt the car settle slightly as someone got in. Grimacing, I forced my eyes open. I was surprised to see a pretty girl about my own age sitting in the front seat, looking back at me. "Good morning, sunshine," she said, smiling. Continue reading "The Nature of Things, Part 5" Tuesday, February 20. 2007
The Nature of Things, Part 4 Posted by Johnny Elbows
in A Defense of My Life, by Jonathan Bicara at
13:24
Comments (4) Trackbacks (0) The Nature of Things, Part 4
I'm not usually the type to skip classes. My parents sacrificed a lot to give me the opportunity to attend school, and I've always felt like I owed it to them to attend my classes. Somehow, though, classes seemed unimportant to me that day. I called police stations all over town looking for David. None of them would tell me anything. I searched the newspapers. His name was never mentioned. I even visited a paranoid friend who spent most of his time listening to police scanners, but he could tell me nothing.
David's warning words about witches dying young ran endlessly through my brain. I was guilty. It was my fault. If not for me, no one would have known. And now, he was the victim of that rabid violence that we reserve for the things that we fear most. When night fell, I found myself sitting in my car, rocking back and forth, unaware of how I had gotten there, or what I intended to do. I started the car, and sat there in the darkness, listening to the sound of the engine. When the idea first came to mind, I dismissed it immediately. I couldn't do that! But it poked and prodded at me until I could no longer ignore it. I began forming a picture in my brain, and as I formed it, I tried, in some strange, inexpressible way, to form it into a request, and to pass that request to the air that surrounded me. The voice startled me. I can't say that I heard it, or even that I felt it. I simply knew what it said, and that the whispering was the voice of the wind. "Why?" Continue reading "The Nature of Things, Part 4" Monday, February 19. 2007
The Nature of Things, Part 3 Posted by Johnny Elbows
in A Defense of My Life, by Jonathan Bicara at
14:06
Comments (3) Trackbacks (0) The Nature of Things, Part 3
"OK, so, someday, I'm going to learn all about why the Universe is a she, and I'm going to learn about my 'mission,' but right now, I still don't get the whole partnership with the elements thing. Can we go back to that?"
"Yeah. Look, I'm sorry that this is so disjointed. In my mind this all went more smoothly." "Don't worry about it." He sighed, and muttered to himself as he walked around the living room. "OK, so . . . let's see. How about if I explain . . . yeah. That will work." He turned toward me. "Here's how it works. When you do magic, you're imagining something, and then asking the elements to do it for you. That's all." He stood there looking very pleased with himself, waiting for me to respond. "I'm asking the elements to do something for me?" "Yes, exactly." "So . . . well . . . how do I . . . what do I . . . I don't get it." "It's really not that complicated. Think of something that you want to happen, anything, but make it be something in this room." Continue reading "The Nature of Things, Part 3" Thursday, February 15. 2007
The Nature of Things, Part 2 Posted by Johnny Elbows
in A Defense of My Life, by Jonathan Bicara at
14:10
Comments (8) Trackbacks (0) The Nature of Things, Part 2
"Tonight?"
"No, I've got a date tonight." "Tonight?" "No, I've got a test tomorrow. I need to study." "Tonight?" "No, I'm going out with some friends tonight." After about a week of excuses, I could tell that he was avoiding me. I wondered how he would react if I kept bugging him. Would he give in, or would he just get mad? These are things that I should have known. It still surprises me how little I knew him. Finally, he relented. Once again, I asked, "Tonight?" This time, he shook his head. "Why is this so important to you? Why don't you just give it up?" "I uh, I don't know. It just feels important." Continue reading "The Nature of Things, Part 2" Thursday, February 15. 2007
The Nature of Things Posted by Johnny Elbows
in A Defense of My Life, by Jonathan Bicara at
02:51
Comments (4) Trackbacks (0) The Nature of Things
He took one look at my scowling face and outstretched arm, and laughed, heartily. "It's about truth, you know. Truth, and respect." He paused for a moment. "Well I suppose that truth and fear work, too, but those who use fear, are usually used by their fear. Truth, though, that's the most important part. That's the part with the power. You don't need the arm waving and the muttering mumbo jumbo." He glanced at the pitcher on the counter and it shattered, spraying shards of glass all over the kitchen. "The arm waving and muttering are for the audience, nothing else. They make weaklings look more impressive. Truth is," he said, glancing at the broken glass, and watching as it gathered itself back up, and assembled itself into a pitcher again, "it's really all about truth and respect." That's when we both noticed that there were still some pieces of glass on the floor, and the pitcher was missing its spout.
"Truth is," I said, grinning, "you're not as good as you think you are." We both laughed as he picked up the broom and started sweeping the remaining shards together. "See, magic is--" "Hold, on," I said, cutting him off mid-sentence. "When did you become an expert? I've never seen you use magic at all, and you've been my roommate through three years of college." "That's the way it's supposed to be. You don't use real magic to make flashes and bangs. You use it to get things done. You use it to get in touch. You use it to, well, I can't think of another sentence that starts with the phrase 'You use it to get.' If I could, it would make this whole spiel of mine more memorable, but yeah, you know what I mean. Magic isn't a show. It's . . . it's just magic, and I don't even like that word. Calling it magic makes it sound mysterious, but really, it's simple. Nothing mysterious about it. Nothing to whisper about in darkened rooms. Nothing to write home to your mom about." Continue reading "The Nature of Things" Wednesday, October 11. 2006Gifted And Talented
A large television screen sits in a place of honor in the middle of a shabby living room. Several young men cluster around the television, watching as Kana, dressed in the robes of a priest, speaks.
Kana: Look at them. You see what I see. They have become narcissistic and soft. They have buried their own teachings, abandoned the worship of their God, lost their principles, and enthroned the preservation of life as the greatest possible good. They have forgotten that there are things that are more important than life. They have forgotten these things, my brothers, but we have not. That is their weakness. That, my brothers, is our strength. An unidentified man peers intently at a computer screen. The camera zooms in on his screen just enough to read the first few lines of the article that he is reading: Headline: Test Results Stolen Article Text: Department of Education officials confirmed today that unknown intruders were able to access the test results for nearly 200,000 middle school and elementary school students. There is no word, as yet, what the criminals intend to do with the data. The scene changes. People hurry on foot along a dusty, dirty street lined with brightly colored houses and high, narrow apartments. Overhead, Kana's voice echoes through loudspeakers along the street. Kana: I know you. I have seen your hearts. I know that you are willing to sacrifice, to give your lives if necessary to see God's will done. Do not mistake, He will ask that of some of you. But He will protect us, His chosen people, and we will sweep the infidels from the face of the Earth. The scene changes. In a dimly lit room, a man inspects papers as they come off of a high speed color printer. Each page bears a large picture of a child in the upper left hand corner, and several lines of text off to the side. The last sheet of paper leaves the printer. The man picks up the sheaf of papers and carefully places them on top of a large (about 4 feet tall) stack of similar papers. Sunday, October 8. 2006Gifted And Talented
The camera pans around a small classroom filled with round tables. Four small chairs cluster around each table. Children, each about 10 years old, sit in the chairs, building things out of legos. There is a large mound of pieces in the middle of each table. A young female teacher threads her way among the tables commenting to the children, and encouraging them as they build. In the back of the room, near a set of large windows, two boys sit at a table by themselves. One (Khalil) is working on a carefully structured, completely symmetrical three dimensional star. The other (Ashlin) seems to be randomly sticking pieces together.
Khalil: You have to have a plan. Nothing will happen otherwise. Ashlin: God has a plan. I simply follow His will. Khalil shakes his head and laughs. Khalil: God doesn't care what you do during creation time. Ashlin doesn't answer for a moment, he is too busy staring vacantly out of the window. Then, he turns to his friend and smiles. Ashlin: Why wouldn't He? He's a creator, too. Khalil scowls and doesn't answer. For a moment, they are silent, Khalil concentrating on his design, Ashlin placing pieces at random. Suddenly, Ashlin picks up his creation and begins crushing it in his hands, pushing and pulling at it until the pieces fall off onto the table. Khalil watches in surprise. When it is mostly broken apart, Ashlin begins building a new object, concentrating fiercely, placing each piece carefully. Khalil: See, now you have a plan. Now you're getting somewhere. Ashlin: No, now I've seen a vision. Now I know where God wants me to go. The screen goes dark. Monday, April 10. 2006I Don't Claim To Know the Answer . . .
My question is: Why do we still have borders?
I don't like borders. I've crossed the border between the United States and Mexico a few times, in a few different places. I've also crossed the border between the United States and Canada a few times in a few different places. And I've dealt with visa and customs problems more times than I can even remember. I've probably wasted several months of my life standing in line so that some government official could look over someone's papers, frown officiously, and then stamp them as his way of saying that he would allow that person to stay inside of "his" borders for a little while longer. So why do we have those borders? What purpose do they serve? Do they make us safer? I don't think so. I don't have any data to back up my position, but I really have a hard time believing that illegal immigrants commit a disproportionately large number of crimes. My experience with illegal immigrants has been that most of the time, they're too busy working to have time to commit many crimes. Do they help us economically? I don't think they do that, either. Sure, illegal immigrants are willing to work for ridiculously low wages because they know that if they protest, they could be deported, but there are significant costs that come with having such low wage workers around. Health care, schooling, and other public resources are straining to deal with the added expense that comes from having so many people depend on them who can't afford to pay for them. Maybe if they weren't so worried about borders, they would be able to protest the inhumane working conditions that they have to deal with. And maybe then, they could afford to pay for the public resources that they use, bringing down the costs for all of us. So, do borders protect us culturally? Maybe they do that. But realistically, what is American culture? We don't have our own language. We don't have our own religion. We don't have anything that is really ours. Nearly everything that we think of as ours was really someone else's before it was ours. All we can really claim is the American Dream, the dream that through hard work and perseverance, anyone can succeed, and realistically, who embodies that dream better than illegal immigrants? Why do we have borders? They're a convenient way to define Us and Them. We can use them to say, "We have certain rights, protections and privileges that They don't have." Think about it though. What did you do to deserve those rights? Do you deserve them because your parents were born in the United States? Do you deserve them because you were born in the United States? So, They don't deserve those rights because they weren't born in the United States? Whatever happened to the idea that "all men are endowed with certain inalienable rights . . ." ? Is a man alienated from his inalienable rights simply because he is an alien? Thursday, November 3. 2005Revisions
I've finished the first round of revisions, and hopefully, I've addressed all of your concerns. This is what I've tried to do:
I would appreciate your input on the revisions. You can find them here. Please let me know what you like, don't like, and/or don't understand. Thanks Tuesday, October 11. 2005William Harres
My name is William Harres. I don't remember much about my first life; she reassures me that with time, my memories will return. As for my second life, those memories are all too clear. It was, like every real life, full of joy and sadness, pain and gladness. My third life began when a beautiful woman leaned over me and said, "Wake up. Here, you don't have to call me Rocio. All water flows to the sea. My name is Marea." And mine, is William Harres.
Yes, I know. It's not a very satisfying ending. There are still too many unanswered questions. But that's the beauty of this story. Even though this IS the last episode, the story IS NOT finished. So, tell me what the dangling threads are. Let me know what the inconsistencies are. And when the story IS finished, hopefully, they'll all be taken care of Monday, September 26. 2005The End Draws Nigh
So, over the weekend, I finally sat down and mapped out the remaining episodes in Hacking Existence. This could change, if I feel like I need to divide the episodes up to make them more manageable, but my current projections say that there are only 18 episodes left. I might actually make it to the end! :)
Tuesday, September 13. 2005Alone
He probably didn't even know they were there. He closed the door behind him with a sigh of relief, leaning against the door, and closing his eyes. A quick flick of his fingers shot the bolt; a quick turn of his wrist closed the blinds. Alone at last, he must have thought. But he didn't notice the smoky shadows that slithered and swirled around him.
He set the glass on the bar, sank down onto the stool. As he stared down into the glass, one of the shadows wedged itself into the glass, and stared back at him with the face of a lost love, while another whispered in his ear about mistakes of the past. As he lifted the glass, and caught the scent of alchohol, a shadow hissed to him that before long, his breath would smell like his father's. He trembled while refilling the glass; he watched as the purple soaked into the white paper towel, and a shadow's sibilant voice reminded him how much it looked liked the bruises that had covered his mother's face. "You're just like him," it whispered. Heavy and slow, he sank into sleep. The shadows wisped around him, floating on his breath, sinking through his skin, waiting eagerly for the next time when he wanted to drink alone. Friday, September 2. 2005Keb Jones
I thought I had seen the last of him, but just like a bad penny, he came back. His trademark single knock, the knock that had bothered me so many times when we were roommates, announced his arrival. I was tempted to ignore it. I was in the middle of an important homework assignment, and he would interrupt me. I turned back to my paper, but for some reason, I felt bad, leaving him standing at the door.
I opened the door and stood there, waiting for him to say something. He looked at me, waiting, I suppose, for me to say something. He glanced around nervously. Finally, he extended his hand. "Hi." I returned the handshake coolly. "Hi." Once again, we stood in silence, waiting for the other to speak. Howell kept looking around like he was nervous. "Umm, I was wondering, could you do a favor for me?" "What?" "I . . . well, see here's the thing . . . umm . .. I need to get into the Black Quarter, and I was wondering . . . " "You were wondering if I'd get you in. Hmm, let me think about this, NO! Why would I vouch for you?" His face fell. He turned to walk away, but before I could close the door, he turned back. "Please? You don't understand. See, the feds are after me, and I've got to meet someone, and . . . well, never mind. I shouldn't talk about it probably. I just. You're the only black friend I have." Continue reading "Keb Jones" Thursday, September 1. 2005Howell Clarke
Brain_Stem[19:07]: I thought I could trust you.
This already sounds bad. First Lala, now Brain_Stem. What's going on? Night_Watcher[19:08]: Huh? That's not much of a way to open a conversation. How about "Hi" or "How are you?" By the way, Hi, I'm doing fine. Brain_Stem[19:08]: You saw my life. You lived in my house. You saw how the guilt was destroying me, and you still said nothing. Brain_Stem[19:08]: I let you in. I let you disrupt my schedule, my plans, everything. And you didn't even have the courtesy to tell me. Ok, this is starting to sound like a soap opera breakup. What is he talking about? Night_Watcher[19:09]: Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt your rant, but what are you talking about? What did I not tell you? Brain_Stem[19:09]: That she's alive. That I didn't kill her. That I'm not a murderer. She? Oh. Not good. Very not good. I thought he knew. How could he not know? Doesn't he ever talk to Fair_Weather? That's all he ever talks about, all he ever thinks about. Night_Watcher[19:12]: I thought you knew. Continue reading "Howell Clarke" |
Handy LinksItems of InterestCategoriesBlog AdministrationSyndicate This BlogPowered byTheme dropdownBookmark |