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love dragon

Once upon a time there was a dragon, but instead of breathing fire, he breathed love. The king demanded the beast be slain, offering the job to every man in the realm.

The first man was a knight named Leonidas. He arrived with the morning sun on a beautiful chestnut warhorse. He wore a full suit of steel plate armour and carried an iron tipped lance raised proudly in front of him. “In the name of my one true love Genevieve” he yelled, “I banish thee Dragon!”

The dragon opened one eye to gaze at the knight. “That... is not love”, he sighed warmly. “If this human truly loved you... she would not send you to certain death... so foolishly. Go home to her... and leave me be.”

With that, Leonidas turned his horse around and rode off into the distance leaving his lance behind.

The second man was a baron named Maximilian. He arrived in the heat of the midday sun on an ornate ivory palanquin. He brought with him a centurion of gold-armoured soldiers, each equipped with a sturdy bronze shield and a deadly short sword. The sun glinted off their highly polished armor as the knight yelled out, “Surrender Dragon! We have you outnumbered a hundred to one. You’re no match for my brand new warriors!”

The dragon opened his eyes and lifted his head, studying the men in their flashy suits of armour. “BE GONE!” he bellowed, his breath hot and dry like an over-fired kiln. “These men have no love for you or your task... just the gold you’ve dipped them in. Love cannot be bought... Look.”

With that, Maximilian turned around and saw one hundred golden backs shining in the distance. He cursed the dragon and ran off to try and reclaim his investment.

The third man was a monk named Cedric. He approached the dragon on foot as the sun began to set over the hills and mountains. He wore a simple brown tunic with a cloth hat, carried an oaken staff, and wore nothing on his feet. “Dragon”, he said, “I have come to speak with you.”

The dragon opened his eyes and rose to his feet, towering over the monk. His scales flickered as a bright light glowed in his belly. “If you’ve come to kill me... I suggest you turn and run”, said the dragon. “I have traveled the world... consuming the most powerful force. I have seen it turn brother against brother... raze cities to the ground... reduce empires to ash. You... are no match for me.”

“You are mistaken,” said the monk. “Your power is nothing.”

The dragon attacked Cedric with a powerful blast. The monk stood his ground, spinning his staff wildly in front of him, directing the blast into the surrounding hills and off into the evening sky. The dragon gave one final blast and came crashing to the ground, weak and exhausted.

“But how?”, squeaked the dragon. “I have seen the destructive power... of this thing you call love. How... did you stand against me?” “I have no love for glory nor money.” said the monk. “You wield love as a weapon, but I accept it as a force of creation. You have no destructive power over me.”

With that, the dragon slumped to the ground and turned to stone.

The monk returned to the king to report that the dragon was gone, and its power had been released to the world.

[gerb-blurbs]

Located some #artsupplies at the supermarket! Thanks Bali for having everything I need to #makearteveryday 🎨 Today I bring you… Unicorn with horn that looks like a disfigured adult toy 🦄😂 #unicorn #unicornfrappuccino #horse #art #artistsoninstagram #sketch #sketchbook #doodle #characterdesign #colour (at COCO Supermarket Ubud)

[gerb-blurbs]

Done.

prompt 856

You chose cleaning up trash from around the local hospital as part of your community service efforts, thinking it would be easy. Since you’re not feeling very social, you’ve moved away from the main group. Suddenly, you see something interesting on the ground in the distance.

[gerb-blurbs]

hospital clean-up

It was his last day of community service, and Edward was sick and tired of being sick and tired of his co-workers. So much so in fact that he had put the abandoned hospital they were cleaning up between himself and them. They had recently been assigned to garbage duty at the hospital on the outskirts of town. Until today, they had been working cushy shifts downtown near the mall, where there were a number of distractions and places to eat available. He was responsible for their relocation however, as his most recent bout of slacking off had caught the attention of their supervisor, who gave him the choice of hospital or old folks home, knowing the others would inevitably blame him for their reassignment. He didn’t let on, but this was the true reason he was keeping his distance from the other workers.

A sensible man would have taken one look at this decrepit skeleton of a building and surmised that the sparse piles of garbage dotting the surrounding property was the least of its problems. They would have called in a demolition crew instead of a bunch of delinquents with plastic bins and garbage grabber things. Yet here he was at the hospital that time forgot, with the children that society forgot.

As Edward picked his way through a particularly tangled mass of chip bags, surgical tubing and what looked like fishing line, something moved in the corner of his eye. When he stood up to see what it was, his head began to feel heavy and his vision blurred. He recognized this feeling as he was prone to seizures, so he immediately lay down in the grass.

When he regained consciousness and opened his eyes, he found himself struggling to see in the murky darkness. His face was covered in mud and a light rain was soaking through his clothing. He was lying on his right arm which had gone completely numb from blood loss. Edward panicked and tried to sit up, fruitlessly supporting himself on his useless arm. When he managed to right himself and stand up, he looked down at his left shoulder and wretched, dropping to his knees in the damp mud. His arm had been replaced by a large bird-like wing which resembled that of a seagull, its bright white feathers tipped with black. The wing was hinged like an elbow, and responded like a regular human arm, bending and extending when he willed it.

As he looked away in disgust from his grotesque new appendage and to the large hospital looming in the distance, his jaw dropped. It was no longer the sad looking mass of broken windows and graffitied brick walls he had seen earlier that day. It was a perfectly normal looking, albeit dated, hospital and appeared fully operational. There were lights on in many of the windows and a large red and white EMERGENCY sign dominated the otherwise gray scale landscape. Fairly sure that his situation constituted an emergency, Edward reached out with his recovered right hand and picked himself up, trying to ignore his ghastly new appendage. Setting aside his panic, he hastily ran towards the hospital.

As he approached the hospital and became awash in the glow from the EMERGENCY sign, he noticed something moving in the lobby behind the large swinging doors. He slowed to a crawl as he made his way across the pavement to the overhang which shielded incoming patients from the elements. When he cleared the rain from his face and was able to see clearly, he took an involuntary step back. The thing inside moved erratically and quickly, darting around the lobby knocking over chairs and magazines. Its single wing was audibly flapping about as it made a dreadful cawing sound, like a bird fighting over the last bit of food waste on a beach.

As Edward watched this display in horror, he spotted a curious flesh coloured appendage sticking out of the bird’s left side. It was a human arm, pale and limp, flapping back and forth against the thing’s feathered body. It wasn’t just any human arm, however. It was Edward’s arm, with a tattoo covering the bicep and a large pink scar the length of its forearm from a soccer injury he had sustained as a teenager. Edward felt himself becoming light headed once again from the pain of trying to make sense of his present situation. His mind raced with explanations and excuses as he slumped to the ground, resting his winged arm on the pavement. A dream!, he surmised. A horrible nightmare! The sun, the heat, that’s it! I’m hallucinating. He had heard somewhere that you can snap yourself out of a dream by trying to manipulate light, such as flipping a light switch or turning on a flashlight.

As the bird thrashed about in the hospital lobby, Edward rummaged around with his right hand until he found a sizable stone which he flung at the bright EMERGENCY sign. When the stone made contact with the plastic cover, the bird stopped dead in its tracks and looked Edward straight in the eye. In an instant the creature had burst through the front door and sprinted across the pavement towards Edward, who instinctively raised both his human and feathered bird arm in front of his face. With a deafening screech assaulting his ear drums and the smell of antiseptic invading his nostrils, his heart lurched into his throat and his body froze. He waiting for what seemed like eternity for the impact of the charging bird, but it never came.

When he finally opened his eyes, he felt a bird nuzzling against his right arm. He felt the hot summer’s air and heard the wind rustling through the dry grass. As he sat up and watched the bird fly off into the distance, he took a deep breath and rubbed his left arm, appreciating the way his skin felt. He picked himself up and glanced over to the spot that had caught his attention before he passed out. There was a curious white pile of feathers which seemed to glow against the otherwise drab background of brown and green grasses. Edward approached it cautiously, still reeling from the memories of his haunting dream. What he saw made him weak in the knees and brought forth all the feelings of terror and disgust that his dream had elicited. Before him lay the corpse of a seagull, its face half eaten by maggots and its right wing snapped at the elbow. From the left side of its body grew a naked pink arm, barely larger than a human baby’s. The arm was decaying in similar fashion to the face, and a faded plastic band was hanging from the thin wrist. “Test patient, Li Wei, 08-MAR-2017” was all it said.

[gerb-blurbs]

ship

They had heard the legends and seen the drawings, but only a fool would alter their course out of consideration for childhood fairy tales. Besides, the crew of the Four-Fingers was comprised of some of the toughest sailors and pirates the continent had to offer. Folk praised them for their bravery and courage in public, but cursed them in private for their savagery. Anyone caught confusing the two inevitably died as proof of the latter. Its captain was a seasoned sailor from the Outer Ring, though no one could trace his lineage beyond that. He had begun his career as a powder monkey on a Dominion Navy battleship, eventually rising through the ranks to first mate. When the battleship’s captain died in a game of blackjack, he was naturally selected to replace him, but turned it down in favour of the Four-Fingers. The ship itself was sturdy and well built. It was constructed from a legendary hardwood known as lignum vitae, collected during a failed trade negotiation in the Southern Continent. The pirate responsible returned six fingers lighter and demanded extra compensation for his loss. Not only was his request denied but his insolence cost him his remaining fingers, and so the ship got its unusual named. The construction took a little over two years to complete and was overseen by a famous shipwright from Inoshi. In his employ were blacksmiths and carpenters from Sweetwater Bay, coopers and pitch-melters from the Outer Ring, and approximately six hundred slaves from the nation’s colonies working and dying around the clock. For tax reasons, the Four-Fingers was registered as a merchant ship, with fore-and-aft rigged sails favouring maneuverability and a shallow hull for navigating reefs. At an estimated 1400 tons burthen, however, it was the largest ship ever built at Lau Zing drydock, and well equipped for battle. It was second only in size to the fabled dreadnaughts of the Western Allied Navy, though not having seen conflict yet, their true size was still debated. Sporting sixteen cannons and two deck-mounted ballistas, the Four-Fingers required no escorts. More often than not it was itself employed by smaller merchant vessels as protection on their route to the far continents through the treacherous Hourglass Straight. Though no crew member would admit it, any one of them would have given anything to be back on dry land tonight, studying the children’s fairy tales they were so quick to dismiss. A massive war galleon lay amidships​ to the Four-Fingers’ bow, it’s masts towering into the low hanging fog and out of view. Tattered canvas sails hanging heavy in the dead still air gave the ship a terribly imposing form. Its bowsprit was covered in moss and black as coal, protruding into the night like a gangrenous finger. Beneath it hung a grotesque creature, muscle bound and bug eyed. Great twisted horns grew from its head and its massive arms were bound behind its back. The figure writhed and lurched in its iron fetters which clanged against the hollow ship, the only source of sound in the otherwise silent air. The galleons twenty-four cannons were manned by dark and still figures, barely visible, illuminated from behind by the low hanging moon. They stood at silent attention by the moss covered guns pointed low towards the hull of the Four-Fingers. The massive galleon began to creak and groan like a monster waking from sleep. One by one, the men of the Four-Fingers snapped out of their spell-bound states to prepare their ship for battle. The boatswain was the first to act, calling on the crew to furl the sails and prepare for close quarters combat. As the men readied the cannons and gathered ammunition above deck, dark things on the galleon began to hurl themselves over the gunwale and into the ocean below. The first shot from the merchant ship broke clean through the soft rotten wood of the galleon and into the ocean on the far side. As more futile shots passed through the assailant ship, the crew of the Four-Fingers began to retreat into the small lifeboats hanging from the gunwales. As they cut the ropes and descended into the black water, the figures from the war galleon sprang from the sea and into the overcrowded boats. They attacked the men ferociously, reducing them to piles of shredded flesh. Seeing his brief window of opportunity, the captain of the Four-Fingers dashed past his remaining crew towards the bow of his ship. He hoisted himself up on the forward mast and wrapped the halyard line tightly around his wrist. With one final look at his ship, infested now with dark and twisted things, he swung across the ocean onto the deck of the decaying galleon. He landed with a damp thud, barely missing one of many large and splintered holes. The captain drew two flintlock pistols and worked his way towards the helm of the ship, replacing each spent piece with a loaded one tucked away in his trenchcoat. As he approached the Great Cabin and reached for the railing leading to the helm, his leg became tangled in a heavy chain. Before him stood a mass of muscle and flesh loosely resembling a man. Its head was flat and wide, sunken into what could only be described as its torso. Two gnarled horns grew from the exposed skull which resembled that of a bull. A slender mouth spanned the length of the head, wrapping around the back and out of sight. Two empty holes existed where the gods would have normally set eyes and a heavy chain connected septum to navel. Two strong arms sprouted from the creature’s torso, each wrapped full length in rusty razor wire. It supported its weight on two thick legs, bent backwards at the knee. The beast stood still for a moment, like an animal trying to pick up a scent. Suddenly it lunged forward with unnatural agility as the captain rolled sideways into a dark hole ripped open by one of the Four-Fingers’ cannonballs. He caught himself on a wooden trunnel sticking out from the warped deck boards just as the creature collided head-first with the stairs behind him, slumping into a heap. As the captain pulled himself up, he spotted a keg of gunpowder that had dislodged from underneath the stairs and spilled out beside the hideous mound of flesh. Drawing his last loaded flintlock pistol, he aimed and fired at the bulk of the substance which ignited with a loud crack. It scorched the exposed belly of the creature and sent it tumbling overboard into the frigid ocean water. The captain climbed over the scorched railing up to the top deck, reaching out for the ship’s wheel with his remaining strength. He wrapped his hands around it and planted his feet on the clean dry deck. The bright white canvas sails blew in the cool night breeze, the ship’s rigging clanging quietly with each gentle gust. Twenty-four gleaming bronze cannons lined the port and starboard sides of the vessel, accented by blue and gold paint. The golden figurehead at the bow of the ship was a fearsome minotaur thrusting an onyx black spear into the night with its right hand, its left gripping an ornate tower shield. As the captain looked out over his newly acquired crew of strong young men standing at the ready, he reflected on the fairy tales from his childhood. Foolish indeed, he mused.

[gerb-blurbs]

no god

He grabbed and swiped indiscriminately at the soil rushing past him, desperate to gain purchase on the roots and rocks. His mouth was full of fire and dust, his body screaming in pain. As he descended, his surroundings tore him apart, stripping away his clothing, his arms and legs, his skin and bones and organs until there was nothing left. He felt naked and afraid. There was no more pain, no taste, no awareness of his body at all, as if he were floating in a soft bath, losing himself in the solitude. He existed at this time in a void; sight, smell and taste had abandoned him, the deafening sound of silence was his only companion.

Then he heard a voice. Small and weak at first, it grew to a crescendo of unimaginable strength, filling him with a primal fear, reducing him to a mouse trapped in a lion’s paw. The voice squealed and shivered, until it took on a strange quality, like an animal trying to communicate through mimicry. It was neither language nor song, but something altogether new to him. It spoke into him, the words filling the space between himself and the emptiness that surrounded him.

“I need you to listen closely”, the voice said. “I need you to understand that nothing you do now can return you to your body. You are utterly destroyed, existing for this short moment in time as a spark of energy, and nothing more. In time you will disperse and be of no use to anyone. Until then, I have some questions for you, and nothing to offer you in you return”.

The voice stopped then, awaiting his reply. When he tried to speak, the words stuck in his mouth and choked him. He tried to scream, to break through the silence and thrash about his disembodied form. “STOP!” the voice boomed. “Stop and listen. We need to know what happened to you in there. The target you were assigned to has escaped. Where did he go? Who helped him? You need to think, that’s all that matters right now.”

But he couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak. His mind was panic, his voice was silence, his body was nothing, his mind was breaking apart. He made one final attempt at speech, forming words without air, words that were sucked into him rather than projected out. I was shot. In the back. In the neck. My god, the pain. What happened to me?

“There’s no time for that right now”, the voice implored. “What did you see when you were shot? We need to know what happened!” But it was too late, and there was no more time. His mind was fractured, the thin forces holding it together dissolving into nothingness. His thoughts turned to colours, the colours turned to shapes, and the shapes turned to ash. The sound of the voice was travelling upward now, leaving him behind. “God dammit, we lost him. Let him go. He’s finished.”

As the voice faded, his faculties returned to him in an overwhelming rush, inflicting severe pain and dark, abhorrent pleasure, both of which were unbearable. He blinked into the bright light that flooded his vision, gagged at the smell of rotten flesh that crawled up his nose. He writhed in, and tore at, his burning flesh. Suddenly another voice greeted him, speaking in a beautiful steady cadence, comforting and familiar. “Welcome”, it said, “to the place that time forgot. Welcome to end, and the beginning.” The voice extended a long black hand and wrapped it around him. No… oh God no, please!

“No”, the voice said, “No god”.

[gerb-blurbs]

Noise

        “What’s on your mind.. Y___?” My phone yaps.I respond with something unintelligible under my breath. I should have just said loneliness, it’s the only thing that’s ever really on my mind nowadays. Right now I was seeing how many other words I could rearrange the letters into. The only other anagram I could come up with was “lion lenses,”and I wasn’t completely sure that worked. Did loneliness have two e’s or one? My prescription to Adderall needed refilling. My sister is getting married in June. My brother has a streak of grey hair. My dad loathes Michael Moore. My mom still tries to pass off Stouffer’s for ‘home cooked.’ My girlfriend is a bottle of Everclear. None of this was vocalized, of course. 

A young lady saw me sitting on the grass, a copy of Animal Farm strewn across my lap, and decided whatever I was daydreaming about was interesting enough to warrant conversation. She was wearing sunshine colored rain boots, a skirt, and a face full of freckles. She was, in a word, adorable. “You look like your thinking ’bout something interesting,” she hi-ho’d in a singsong rhythm that made me want to cough up this afternoons lunch. I didn’t bother with a reply, I knew she didn’t care for pleasantries, I fiddled with a pebble between my thumb and forefinger and spat out a riddle instead:

“Does a rosebush have thorns, or does a bush with thorns have roses?”

She didn’t hesitate before answering with “Well you can have the rosebud before it blooms and you just get a bush with thorns, but you can’t have a rosebush without thorns so I guess it’s the latter.”

“I forgot to set my TiVo to record Mad Men,” I said disgusted.

“Huh?”

I flicked the pebble at her feet, it bounced off the golden rain boots and landed with a soft plunk in the high grass. She giggled and sat down next to me, a glob of wet leaves jumped out of the way. Someone should be taking care of the lawn, but no one seemed to care. She whispered something amorous and put a hand up to my face. It felt warm, but unnatural; she still had her clothes on. I’d been naked for about a year now, and the worst decision I’d made in that year was canceling my Netflix subscription. Of course, I always had clothes on. Today it was a windbreaker and slacks, but my train of thought was interrupted by a slow, wet kiss on my cheek.

Gross.

The alarms in my head went off, a total violation of my personal space just occurred. I couldn’t tell you why I was so disgusted, she was gorgeous, but I think she sensed she’d erred when she felt me pull away. “What’s on your mind?” She tilted her chin and looked up at me with dreamy eyes of light brown.

“There are two kinds of people on planet Earth. Writers and readers.” I started off slightly amused, “Writers don’t have to write, don’t get me wrong, but they are the curious breed that lives in a world they can create. The writer sees the world through a lens of true novelty, everything is original and everything has meaning. It’s poetry. Writers know the freedom of a world without limits, but the writer lives in a world full of people so dramatically different from him he has to hide his true nature. He lives in a world full of people so different from him, that he can’t dare speak of all the fun he’s having. And he has to with the weight of that secret everyday, a gnawing tension that sloshes around the gut. But not readers, they know the world and how free from worry and pain it can be. Life is simple, all you have to do is listen to what works. Readers digest the information given to them; it’s passive, it’s automatic, and doesn’t require any thought. The reader, lives in a world they can discover. The reader gets to walk around happy in the world they live in, comfortable, they don’t have those shadows hanging over them. The tough questions, they don’t spend any energy asking them, they could care less. They’re comfortable and in life you’re one or the other - either you see the world as something you can create, a beautiful landscape of infinite possibilities which makes you both free and a slave, or you see the world as something you can discover, a world before you that is just waiting for it’s journeyman and the journey will always be comfortable. That’s the difference between us; you’re a reader, I’m a writer and we don’t even live in the same world.”

-lp (2013)

[gerb-blurbs]

intimacy

It only took a minute, once her bathing suit had nothing in it. In perfect synchronicity, I lost my shorts and so did he, standing there beneath the surface with our members hanging out. “I’m not gay, just so you know”, he said to me when we were close, in case I thought we might be more than bros. “Glad to hear it!” I replied, which is the truth, I would have lied if I had said that I was disappointed. Not quite sharing my relief, my partner slipped in next to me, and quietly removed her undergarments.

From here on out it’s slightly blurry, not solely from the toxic slurry of alcohol that we had all ingested. The four of us, without a word, were now involved in (what I’ve heard is) quite a seldom practiced kind of bonding. As she and I embraced and kissed, her partner and my partner failed to miss a beat and got right down to business. We rolled around, our lips locked tight, I sat her at the perfect height, to kiss the other place that needed kissing.

All the while to my right the other two were pressing tightly both their bodies into one another. I would have glanced in their direction, maybe spied this man’s erection, had I not been thoroughly occupied. The sounds erupting from the girl, with whom I was engaged, were causing quite a stir in my member now uncaged.

We took our party to the bedroom, barely drying on the way, and flopped down soaking wet upon the sheets. It was a bit of a maneuver to fit so many on the covers, being careful not to touch the man above the feet. I found myself up to my knuckles in this girl’s responsive nethers, while she screamed “Oh god oh please don’t stop!”. About this time, as I recall, my partner and her muscled thrall were engaging in the act of love-making… no. F**king. She rode him for a spell until he turned her over saying “Hell! That’s an ass that I could get behind!”

Soon I was covered in the sweat of maybe one or two of us, the air was hot and thick and damp and stale. I went against my better judgement, got up and left the room to what meant salvation in the form of lukewarm water. My partner came along with me, and in the pool we naturally got right back down to good ol’ hanky panky. While I looked on through window panes, at both my partner and this man exchanging what the Greeks apparently call ‘fylo’, a funny thought occurred to me, that it’s amazing he and she can have this fleeting moment while I’m present. Just then they both appeared outside, rosy cheeks, front and behind, as we all shared a laugh and some more wine.

This brief moment of intermission let us organize ambitions so we could get back to the conversation. As they were due awake at 2, the girl went off to try and snooze, but not before offering “Maybe cuddles?”. The three of us (me he and she) remained poolside, talked candidly, and let our inner feelings take the stage. I know you are dying to know just what was captivating so to make us take a break from all the f**king. But gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, and even though I’m speaking well beyond the point of holding back on details, some things, some moments, are so great because they don’t escape the place in which they have been shared. So let it go.

“Another beer, mate?” said our host to me, stark naked like a ghost (compared to Aussie people we’re quite see-through). I knew that I had had enough, and in the morning I would huff, exclaiming “I am NEVER drinking again. EVER”. “Sure”, I said “I’d love one, mate” thus sealing in tomorrow’s fate of coming face to face with toilet water.

But never mind the aftermath, for at this point we both could bask in watching our two partners going at it. We talked about some manly things while in the bedroom his girl clings to mine, holding her head just where she wants it. Another moment that to me is just as cool as cool can be, watching these girls enjoy their time together. The mood gets kind of tricky now. We’re staring at this thinking “how can we get back in on this girly action?”. I make my way into the room and nuzzle up against the girl, who moans and shudders as we get back at it. Her mouth fits round me like a glove, her boyfriend mounts her saying “Love, don’t stop, I know you want that d**k inside you”. I thrust myself between her lips while boyfriend grabs her by the hips, his junk dangerously close to my behind. He wraps it up and goes outside, a smoke, his phone, he’s satisfied, while I remain behind to finish up. The girls both work in unison, eventually I come within a mouth while one hand works the other end.

Our friends are now faced with the fact that in 1 hour they must act as if they’ve slept a normal length of time. Not knowing how we will get home, we say goodbye and start to drone along the back street looking for a cab. “This night was great!” we both agree, as we walk quite sluggishly, into the night together all alone.

[gerb-blurbs]

beach

The old man adjusted the depth on his metal detector and took in a deep, long breath of salty air. He was going to make one more pass, he told himself, then he’d call it a day. The beach had become a second home for him since his wife died, the seagulls and crabs as familiar to him as any of his family was these days. He peered out to sea and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the memories trickle back in, like sand through an hourglass.

He saw himself standing beside the beautiful baby blue Chevelle, firmly grasping the fuel pump as his future wife stepped out of the passenger seat. She glanced over, acutely aware of his gaze, and with a slightly open mouth, winked at him. He had never seen anyone, or anything for that matter, as beautiful as her. He remembered their wild embrace the very same night, though he couldn’t quite recall the sordid details, nor could he be sure it had happened like that at all. The memory of that day left him once again, as it does every time, and made way for another.

His father was standing over him, red faced and angry, words like ‘coward’ and ‘Commie’ echoing through the living room and drowning out the television. He was shipped off to Viet Nam with those words ringing in his ears, the fear of failure, and above all, the pain of leaving his wife and unborn child behind, possibly forever. The sand poured in torrents now as the memories of war broke through his brain and into his chest, sifted down through his gut, and shot all the way out to his 7 remaining fingers. Why the hell couldn’t he remember the good time so viscerally?

He open his eyes. He needed a break. The sun was fading now and the seagulls had all but gone. He felt a strange sense of loneliness, looking out over the empty ocean, to the empty sky, and the dull, barely visible sunset. He knew the world was full of people and relationships, conversations and laughter, yet here he was, alone, still searching for the one thing he thought would bring him closure.

Using the metal detector for balance, he lowered himself onto a log and closed his eyes once more. He repeated her name to himself under his breath, forcing the sand in his mind to solidify into her form. He saw her there, smiling, as she removed her wedding ring and placed it into the sand beside her foot. The form ran down into the water, breaking apart as it went, until it was completely lost in the surf. This was the last time he saw her alive. The last time he saw her smile. The last time he smiled. The last time he felt alive.

   He pulled himself back to his feet and switched on the metal detector. It gave a high pitched whine as it brushed over the metal eyelets on his boot. He looked down at the dirty sand, littered with seaweed, empty shells, and bits of wood. He began swinging the instrument back and forth, like he had done so many times over so many years before. He would find the ring, or he would search until it didn’t matter anymore.

[gerb-blurbs]

Late Night and Caffeine

So I don't really know where to start. This whole post was (is?) inspired by a mixture of late night internetting and caffeine, and turned into a pretty uneducated rant. I feel like the only way I'm going to be able to fall asleep is by typing all this out, because I can't stop thinking about it.

And I don't even know exactly what I'm thinking about. Just everything I guess. That sounds stupid, but I don't know how else to describe it. It's hard to comprehend the vast amount of information, material, emotion, junk and ideas floating around. It hardly seems real. The amount of time that has passed while all these events unfolded. The rise and fall of empires, civilizations. The lives created and lost and lived. The effort put into so many tasks, all seemingly for the greater good. Think of all the people who, in their own small way, contributed to everything we love, hate, or are indifferent to today. The whole history of the human race played out over thousands of years, and me lying here right now trying once again to take it all in. You can't. You never will. You could spend a lifetime devoted to understanding the complexities of social relationships and the cause of events, but you would be nowhere near scratching the surface. Perspectives are so unique and personal and subjective. How can you know if you're even on the same page as someone you wholeheartedly agree with? Who is right? What is right? I hate this argument or discussion or whatever you want to call it.

Why do we do what we do? Why do we all go about our lives playing out our roles? What are we working towards? Especially those of us who don't believe in the afterlife. The tv shows, the skills, the interactions, the pictures, the music, the food, sex, relationships, jobs, clothes, booze, roadtrips, gardens, books, collections. Is it as simple as it seems? Are we just overcomplicated animals who like to collect things? Why do we give a shit about the lives of so many people we don't know? Why do we collect information on celebrities, politicians, musicians? Why do we share so many things on the internet and love the feeling of sifting through others' personal information and experiences? Why am I even writing this? I know it's not going to change anything, and I don't want it to. I know it's all been said before. I understand the insignificance of it in the grand (and not-so-grand) scheme of things. This isn't a call to arms, or an attempt to instill confidence, or fear, or hate, or inspiration. This is nothing.

It's probably contradictory. It's probavly ful of speling mistakes and non-good gramar but does it really matter

Don't get me wrong. I think of myself as a perfectly happy guy. I have healthy relationships with my friends and family, a clear conscience and I usually have a level head. As much as I want things to change, I don't want them to. I love certain tv shows, foods, books and games as much as the next person. I like the comfort of knowing I can be warm when I want to be, clean when I want to be, eat and sleep and be entertained and do nothing when I want. I can write anything I want whenever I want. That's the only real freedom anyone has. The freedom of choice. And as streamlined as choice seems now there are still an infinite amount of choices available to everyone. The choice to say "fuck it" or "fuck you" or just to say nothing at all. Ever.

All the 'should's and 'could's we experience in our lives. All the hate, and love and excitement and boredom. All the creativity and imagination and investment and passion we all feel at different times, for different reasons. How does anyone explain any of it to anyone doing it any kind of justice? That feels kind of lonely. Experiencing everything yourself and not really being able to share it with anyone, in the most basic sense. There is so much cynicism and doubt and greed and apathy it's a wonder anything gets done. The things the human race could accomplish with a bit of cooperation and mutual understanding. Not to mention a bit of sacrifice. I'm not thinking about anything in particular. This isn't a note on climate change or "multinational corporations" taking over the world. This is really about nothing, and I don't care if that's boring or not worth a read. I would probably hate this if I stumbled upon it and wasted 2 minutes reading it. This probably sounds like one of those rants people go on when they aren't really in their right mind. But who's to say that's wrong? I'm a hypocrite; I fucking hate those rants. And here one is.

I lost my train of thought and my point, if I ever had one. I don't think I did. But it doesn't really matter. I'm not writing this for anyone or on behalf of anyone. Sure I'd love for people to read it. Having something you wrote, read. Another simple pleasure.

I'm definitely tired now. That worked. In the words of Ben Folds' dad (I think?), I may wake up here in a little while and forget what I was thinking about.