Saturday, May 11, 2002

My God sent broken ship

There is this poem that I have been trying to write for two years. I wrote it and subsequently lost it. I cannot write it again because I already used up the words that inspiration gave to me. I received my inspiration at work of all places and quickly scribbled the poem on a piece of scratch paper. It was such a great poem. I got this idea to write about this hermit who is sent this broken ship to work on and sail away. He decides not to work on it after all and dies alone on the shore of which everyone else had departed from. He tells you his regrets from his grave. How could I let myself lose it?

Thursday, May 09, 2002

A Fragmented Garden

At the beginning of this semester I wrote a short story. It's called A Fragmented Garden. I think I am done with it for now. There are many things I need to add. It has the potential of being a full-fledged novel. I have a lot of ideas on what to add to lengthen the story and make it more interesting. I can't tell if it is any good. Input please (only if you have good things to say). It's really a couple of dreams and ideas spliced together resembling a story.

I must add the fisherman and soldier’s stories. They are crucial. I'm just too lazy to churn them out. Just know that they rejected the interior of the garden by committing suicide. I must also describe in detail the interior of the garden and who exactly resides there.

Items to note:
Why a garden?
The significance of the tree.
The speed at which the sages arrive at the tree.
How old are the sages.
The two growing children and the apple tree.
How many sages are there? Are you sure?
How many people are really in the garden.
What is the interior of the garden? Who lives there?
What is this story really about???

Wednesday, May 08, 2002

My campaign slogan as God

If I were to be elected as your God [blasphemy], I shall in every ear, in every language, tell every living person on this terrestrial sphere simultaneously, "STOP, MAKE PEACE NOW!" With a resounding clap of thunder for effect, the ensuing rolling echoes reverberating into silence will be replaced by the murmurs and whispers and shouts and sighs of the people. Of course those afflicted with feeble hearts shall die of heart attacks but those left standing or perhaps at this point groveling shall ask of each other, “Did you hear that?” Every headline of every newspaper and magazine shall proclaim a new dawn, a new age of mankind. Peace treaties shall be signed in earnest and with unprecedented compromise. Synagogues, mosques, churches, temples, and every man made structure built to house my words and accommodate my constituents shall be filled to overflowing so that they may pray to me, your Lord.

Annually, a worldwide holiday shall be celebrated by the masses to commemorate this event, only so that thousands of years from now the true meaning of this day shall be obscured or lost. People will ask of themselves “what shall I do now?” The answers will undoubtedly be found in those charlatans that proclaim themselves as my profits or as speakers on my behalf; taking full advantage of my constituents in ways I can only shake my head at disapprovingly. Scholars will arise to interpret the true meaning and significance of my words. Extremist factions shall arise. The militant Stop, Make Peace Now Movement shall go around killing others in the name of peace and in the name of me, your Lord.

Maybe the next day I shall declare with the same booming voice and clap of thunder, “THE 11TH COMMANDMENT! DON’T BE A PHONY! DON’T BE SOMEONE YE ARE NOT! I HATE THAT SHIT!

If you will have me, please elect me as your next God. Thank-you.

Tuesday, May 07, 2002

When to stop watering a dead plant

There is this plant. It sits outside all year round taking in the luxuries of the Arizona sun. It died last winter. For good measure my roommate’s dog ripped it from its abode and I found it lying naked, roots exposed, lifeless. I still water this plant. Part of me believes it will resurrect itself. This is why I still water the dead stick. That is all it is – a dead stick, no leaves and no buds. Shanna gave me this plant many years ago for a birthday. It has sentimental value.

If by some miracle this plant were to blossom again, if just one leaf were to sprout from its withered fingers, I believe that this would be my signal for me to accept Shanna’s death. She died six months before I started working at the rec center. During those six months I lost sixty pounds. I ran and ran for those six months needing something to do. Part of me is still running. I don't know when I am supposed to stop watering.

Monday, May 06, 2002

A poisonous toad lives in my belly

There is a poisonous toad that lives in my belly. He likes to remind me that he is a poisonous toad that lives in my belly by passing thru my bowels fortune cookie fortunes (without the cookies) that read, "I am a poisonous toad and I live in your belly. Your lucky numbers today are: 27, 19, 20, 9"

I hate this toad. I wish he would go away. Perhaps he is the reason behind my need to water dead plants. I will explain another time.

Sunday, May 05, 2002

Who is Joseph?

A total stranger has made a comment on my page. Freaking cool!! Ryan made the first comment here. It seems I am starting to get some regulars browsing around here. I am not sure if I should be thrilled or embarrassed.

Just got off of work at the rec center. I like talking to Michelle at the front desk. She makes the shift fly by. Sunday mornings are great to work. Walking around as security I got a chance to talk to everyone. The lifeguards talk about the heat, the sun, tanning, donuts. The weight room talk about girls. The pro shop talk about concerts and rock bands. Wildkids (daycare) talk about alcohol and parties while taking care of the little tots. Then Michelle and I talk about everything and anything. I love sunday mornings. Got invited to a Cinco de Mayo party on Treat Street.