Hello! Hope you don't mind sharing your day Marta. Also, I hope everyone's summer is going well.
"Ah! Good God!" are the words I think immediatly after being startled. It only takes half a moment for me to emit them.
The man who has intruded my space and mind lets out a hearty laugh and follows saying.
"Did I scare you? I'm sorry."
He then pauses and waits for my response. I am slightly caught off guard by the fact that his question was followed by a statement. Not only that; I am still recovering from his initial disturbance. I immediatly answer after choosing to go the stoic route.
"No not at all! I was merely suprised!" I respond. Stoics are never scared.
"Do you mind if I sleep with you?"
Before I can induce humilition with an puzzled face, the man laughs again and corrects himself.
"I mean sleep here. I'm a bit lost and without the sun I don't think I'll find my way again."
It's my turn again. I laugh to signal that I am not offended by his comment and that I am open to pleasent interaction. Immediatly after laughing I begin talking to make my laugh seem genuine.
"Of course! It's nobody's land but God's." I say.
I've made a mistake. I spend an instant praying he's a Christian.
"Alrighty!"
He elongates the "All" and even more so the "right" and I realize he is not a Christian.
"Goodnight then" I say.
This man won't be my friend. I sigh. I'm lonely.
"Ok. Goodnight!"
I stay quiet.
Showing posts with label Francis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Francis. Show all posts
Monday, June 21, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Rocks
Hello. This is Francis. I've changed my name to ScotchTape to remain anonymous on my friends blog at his request.
My friend threw rocks at a sleeping homeless man once. It was a handful of gravel really. It didn't hurt the man, not physically. He got up and chased us all away. We all ran excitedly but I didn't feel the usual sense of glee which accompanies excitement. The man was rather old and mustn’t have been it quite good shape because he didn't chase us far and he held his hip as he walked back to the bench he had been laying on, muttering as he went. My friend never showed any sign of remorse and this hurt me a little because I felt both guilty and remorseful.
Phillip was my friend's name. He was a couple of months older than I was and so back then, while there was no explicit power in our friendship, I always had felt I needed to follow his lead. The time he threw rocks at a homeless man, we had been walking home from school together. We lived close by so we could walk together most of the way home. I only had one more block to walk than he did. When we split that day, I felt quite glad that I was no longer with him because I wanted time alone to think. I didn't think that telling my parents about the incident was a viable option because then Phillip would probably get into trouble with his parents and get grounded. Also, he would know that I had told on him. So I kept it to myself. I thought about it that afternoon, but I never came to a conclusion about how I felt. I simply moved on and thought about other things. The homework I had to do for the next day and watching the Canadiens game.
The next day, Phillip acted the same way he always did. He was polite to Mme. Isabelle and Mr. Paulson, our teachers, and he was dominant in the classroom. He wasn't mean or controlling. He was simply the smartest person in our class, the most eloquent and the most courageous in the eyes of his peers. He would raise his hand to answer every question and he was rarely wrong. On the dodgeball court, he had the hardest shot and it was quite a feat to eliminate him. The team he played for usually was the won to win. I was glad that he always picked me on his team. Naturally, he was a captain nearly every time.
By the end of classes the day after the incident, I had forgotten about the whole thing and hadn't a care in the world again. Phillip had a doctor's appointment that afternoon so his mother had come to collect him from school early meaning I would have to walk home alone. I was a bit frightened to run into the homeless man again. I did. This time, the man was not asleep. He was sitting upright and I imagined he was expecting us. I imagined the would grab and handful of gravel and throw it at me. I imagined that he would get up and shove it down my throat and yell, "How do you like it?"
But he didn't. I walked by him quickly and I think the man understood that I wasn't the culprit behind his assault. After I'd gotten by him, I stopped. I turned and said to him, with difficulty, "I'm sorry my friend threw rocks at you." I then scurried off and didn't look back. In fact, I ran all the way home. Once home, I realized it had been silly of me to run away. I hadn't done anything wrong. When my mother arrived from work, I told her all about the incident and what I'd done and she told that I'd been very brave and that Phillip had been very silly to throw rocks at the man. I didn't think silly was the right word. I would have said stupid or mean. Later I would learn that the adult words were idiotic and asshole. I was also told by my mother to walk home a different way. And she showed me on a map and wrote down the directions on a piece of paper in case I forgot.
The next day went by quickly and was just like any other. Mme. Isabelle taught us French and Arts and Mr. Paulson taught us English and Social Studies. During recess, we played dodgeball and I was on Phillips team and we won by a landslide. At lunchtime, someone tried to through a banana peal into the garbage from his seat and missed and Mrs. Dawson, one of the lunch ladies slipped on it and fell on her back which was quite funny. It was okay to laugh because she sprang right back up as soon as she'd fallen and her cheeks became tomato red. Then it was funny because she yelled at the student who had thrown the banana peal in front of everybody and made him go pick it up and he had his deserved share of laughs.
When the bell rang, we all ran outside, and set off to go home. I told Phillip that my mom wanted me to walk a different way home and he laughed. He told me, "Don't be a Mamma's Boy." I wasn't quite sure what he meant. He then added. "Look you can go you're Mamma's Boy way if you want, but I'm going the normal way."
I didn't feel like walking alone and I didn't want to be a Mamma's Boy whatever it was. So I went the normal way too. While we walked, I reasoned that there was no good reason for going a different way anyways. I was ten years old, I could do what I want, I thought.
We walked along and when we came around the corner, I saw the homeless man again. He was lying down but when he caught sight of us, he sat up. Phillip told me he needed to tie his shoe and bent down. I snuck in a quick smile and wave to the man who smiled back. We started walking again and as we went by the man, Phillip stopped for a moment and then whipped a handful of gravel at the homeless man. I was horrified. The man became angry with Phillip and with quickness he hadn't shown the other day; he got up and grabbed Phillip by the shirt collar before either Phillip or I had registered what happened. The man yelled at Phillip quite loudly, "Don't be a fucking brat. Rocks hurt! How would you like it?" Now Phillip was the one who was horrified.
Then I heard the wail of a siren and noticed a police car that seemed to have appeared out of thin air. The homeless man immediately let go of Phillip but it was too late. The officers were stepping out of the car and in seconds, one officer had the man pinned to the ground and was cuffing him and the other had a hand on Phillips shoulder and was asking him if he was hurt. Phillip said yes and the policemen faces took on a look of disgust and they violently shoved the homeless man into the back of their squad car. I tried to tell them that Phillip had thrown a rock at the man but they wouldn't listen. Then, then, one of the officers walked us home and the other drove off with the homeless man.
That was the last time I ever saw the man, and when I got home, I told my mother all about it and she became angry that I had disobeyed her. I tried explaining to her that Phillip had thrown rocks at the man but all she could say was, "Well of course, if the bum was attacking him." She sent me to my room and then began talking with my father about whether I should walk home alone.
Phillip became an even bigger celebrity at school and all the teachers and lunch ladies were especially nice to him. I never saw him throw rocks again though.
My friend threw rocks at a sleeping homeless man once. It was a handful of gravel really. It didn't hurt the man, not physically. He got up and chased us all away. We all ran excitedly but I didn't feel the usual sense of glee which accompanies excitement. The man was rather old and mustn’t have been it quite good shape because he didn't chase us far and he held his hip as he walked back to the bench he had been laying on, muttering as he went. My friend never showed any sign of remorse and this hurt me a little because I felt both guilty and remorseful.
Phillip was my friend's name. He was a couple of months older than I was and so back then, while there was no explicit power in our friendship, I always had felt I needed to follow his lead. The time he threw rocks at a homeless man, we had been walking home from school together. We lived close by so we could walk together most of the way home. I only had one more block to walk than he did. When we split that day, I felt quite glad that I was no longer with him because I wanted time alone to think. I didn't think that telling my parents about the incident was a viable option because then Phillip would probably get into trouble with his parents and get grounded. Also, he would know that I had told on him. So I kept it to myself. I thought about it that afternoon, but I never came to a conclusion about how I felt. I simply moved on and thought about other things. The homework I had to do for the next day and watching the Canadiens game.
The next day, Phillip acted the same way he always did. He was polite to Mme. Isabelle and Mr. Paulson, our teachers, and he was dominant in the classroom. He wasn't mean or controlling. He was simply the smartest person in our class, the most eloquent and the most courageous in the eyes of his peers. He would raise his hand to answer every question and he was rarely wrong. On the dodgeball court, he had the hardest shot and it was quite a feat to eliminate him. The team he played for usually was the won to win. I was glad that he always picked me on his team. Naturally, he was a captain nearly every time.
By the end of classes the day after the incident, I had forgotten about the whole thing and hadn't a care in the world again. Phillip had a doctor's appointment that afternoon so his mother had come to collect him from school early meaning I would have to walk home alone. I was a bit frightened to run into the homeless man again. I did. This time, the man was not asleep. He was sitting upright and I imagined he was expecting us. I imagined the would grab and handful of gravel and throw it at me. I imagined that he would get up and shove it down my throat and yell, "How do you like it?"
But he didn't. I walked by him quickly and I think the man understood that I wasn't the culprit behind his assault. After I'd gotten by him, I stopped. I turned and said to him, with difficulty, "I'm sorry my friend threw rocks at you." I then scurried off and didn't look back. In fact, I ran all the way home. Once home, I realized it had been silly of me to run away. I hadn't done anything wrong. When my mother arrived from work, I told her all about the incident and what I'd done and she told that I'd been very brave and that Phillip had been very silly to throw rocks at the man. I didn't think silly was the right word. I would have said stupid or mean. Later I would learn that the adult words were idiotic and asshole. I was also told by my mother to walk home a different way. And she showed me on a map and wrote down the directions on a piece of paper in case I forgot.
The next day went by quickly and was just like any other. Mme. Isabelle taught us French and Arts and Mr. Paulson taught us English and Social Studies. During recess, we played dodgeball and I was on Phillips team and we won by a landslide. At lunchtime, someone tried to through a banana peal into the garbage from his seat and missed and Mrs. Dawson, one of the lunch ladies slipped on it and fell on her back which was quite funny. It was okay to laugh because she sprang right back up as soon as she'd fallen and her cheeks became tomato red. Then it was funny because she yelled at the student who had thrown the banana peal in front of everybody and made him go pick it up and he had his deserved share of laughs.
When the bell rang, we all ran outside, and set off to go home. I told Phillip that my mom wanted me to walk a different way home and he laughed. He told me, "Don't be a Mamma's Boy." I wasn't quite sure what he meant. He then added. "Look you can go you're Mamma's Boy way if you want, but I'm going the normal way."
I didn't feel like walking alone and I didn't want to be a Mamma's Boy whatever it was. So I went the normal way too. While we walked, I reasoned that there was no good reason for going a different way anyways. I was ten years old, I could do what I want, I thought.
We walked along and when we came around the corner, I saw the homeless man again. He was lying down but when he caught sight of us, he sat up. Phillip told me he needed to tie his shoe and bent down. I snuck in a quick smile and wave to the man who smiled back. We started walking again and as we went by the man, Phillip stopped for a moment and then whipped a handful of gravel at the homeless man. I was horrified. The man became angry with Phillip and with quickness he hadn't shown the other day; he got up and grabbed Phillip by the shirt collar before either Phillip or I had registered what happened. The man yelled at Phillip quite loudly, "Don't be a fucking brat. Rocks hurt! How would you like it?" Now Phillip was the one who was horrified.
Then I heard the wail of a siren and noticed a police car that seemed to have appeared out of thin air. The homeless man immediately let go of Phillip but it was too late. The officers were stepping out of the car and in seconds, one officer had the man pinned to the ground and was cuffing him and the other had a hand on Phillips shoulder and was asking him if he was hurt. Phillip said yes and the policemen faces took on a look of disgust and they violently shoved the homeless man into the back of their squad car. I tried to tell them that Phillip had thrown a rock at the man but they wouldn't listen. Then, then, one of the officers walked us home and the other drove off with the homeless man.
That was the last time I ever saw the man, and when I got home, I told my mother all about it and she became angry that I had disobeyed her. I tried explaining to her that Phillip had thrown rocks at the man but all she could say was, "Well of course, if the bum was attacking him." She sent me to my room and then began talking with my father about whether I should walk home alone.
Phillip became an even bigger celebrity at school and all the teachers and lunch ladies were especially nice to him. I never saw him throw rocks again though.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Francis Bacon Part 5 + Epilogue
Quick recap: Francis Bacon and Buddy Bacon are searching the cemetery for the grave Buddy had robbed. In the cemetery, Francis is surprised by a familiar voice.
Francis Bacon was once frightfully startled and soothed when he heard the voice because he recognized it right away. The unusual combination of emotions resulted in very unusual circumstance. Francis had soiled himself a little and felt very happy. He asked quickly,
“What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“You could I suppose,”
“Well then, what are you doing here?”
“I’m investigating.”
“Oooh! Sounds fun, can I come along.”
Francis’ heart leaped and he tried to conceal his excitement but he was sorely unsuccessful. He answered in a previous unheard falsetto voice.
“Of course you can! Except, Miss Waitress, I’d like to know your name first.”
The waitress giggled at his shrill tone and then said,
”My name is Christina. But everyone calls me Tin.”
“Well, Tin, I’d be happy if you were to accompany me.
She skipped ahead and Francis found himself looking at her go. She realized he wasn’t following and turned to yell.
“Hey! I know I have a nice behind but we’re on a case here!”
The unexpected comment disarmed Francis. He blinked a few times not having done so in a little bit and smiled. He followed. The trio began to search the Jerry Dairy Cemetery as Francis told his recounted his story adding a few embellishments here and there to impress Christina. When Buddy finally recognized where he was in the cemetery, the prospect of another body’s worth of bones excited him terribly and he bolted down one of the rows. Christina ran after Buddy and Francis ran after Christina as fast as he could. Unfortunately, this was not yet very fast.
When the lawyer caught up to his pet and the waitress, his eyes widened as he was surprised yet again. In a rapid turn of events, Christina was being uncomfortably held at swordpoint by a man who Francis did not know personally and did not see at first. Christina’s captor was dressed completely in black save for a slit for his eyes.
“Ah! Ninja.”
“Ah! Big Boy!”
“What are you doing here!”
“I could ask you the same question, Big Boy.”
“Well, I suppose you could.”
“Well then, what are you doing here?”
Damn fell for that again!
“I was investigating.”
“Oh. Who’s this tart!” asked the ninja.
“Tart server!” interjected Christina.
“The tart has nothing to do with this let her go!”
“Hey!”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you a tart, just caught up in the moment. You’re not a tart.”
“Oh thanks.”
“Why did you try to kill me the other day?”
“You are working on a court case now about spilling into Lake Langston?”
“No,” lied Francis.
“It was not a question!”
“Oh, well then yes.”
“You must not win the case! You’re client, is a bad bad bad company. They are turning Lake Langston into a sewer!”
“That’s what this is about?”
“Yes.”
“Excuse me, could you put away the sword?” asked the waitress.
“No!” shouted both the men.
“Sorry, yes I mean. Put away the sword.” said Francis.
“Not before you agree to drop the case.”
“Alright done!”
“I warn you, we will follow up on you. You drop that case.”
“If I don’t?”
“You will find yourself at the wrong end of my sword!”
The man dressed in black then motioned to the waitress that she could go. She joined the lawyer on the other side of the imaginary line that divided the parties. As the parties turned to head home, the ninja became aware of what Buddy had been doing the entire time. Buddy was now chewing on part of an immediately previously and unprofessionally exhumed skeleton. The ninja tried to shoo away the golden retriever waving his sword at it and then something happened that would be terrible for everybody. The blade of his sword became wedged in an extremely thin cut in the skull of the skeleton like Cinderella’s foot in a glass slipper. The lawyer, the waitress, the ninja and the dog all held their breath for a moment before all hell broke loose.
The ninja became aware that everyone had just been made aware of his being a murderer. He then became resolved to stop the witnesses from escaping. Christina became aware that she was in danger and ran away. Francis became aware he was in danger and after the girl he liked left, he decided to act. Like the bravest of monkeys, he reached into his own underpants and picked out the excrement he had deposited when the waitress had scared him with her innocent hello, and he flung it at the ninja and started to run after Christina. The ninja let out a piercing scream of disgust and anguish and then reached into his pants and produced a pistol. Buddy became aware that his master was in danger and decided to fulfill his calling as a Lawyer Protectorate biting the ninja at the wrist and then running after Francis. The ninja took aim and fired towards the lawyer and then ran away realizing they were still unaware of his identity.
As Francis reached the exit of Jerry Dairy Cemetery, he found Christina waiting for him worried as can be.
“I’m so sorry,” started the lawyer as he wiped his hand in the grass.
“It’s not your fault. Where’s your dog?”
The pair heard a whimper and Buddy emerged from the cemetery limping. He came to his master’s feet and collapsed to the ground.
“Buddy!”
The pet had passed on.
EPILOGUE
The air of the summer night was especially warm because of the heat of the fire and the bodies dancing. Among the three people, Francis Bacon danced in full Indian clothing next to Tin who unlike Francis was thoroughly enjoying herself. The dancers formed a circle around the bonfire and on one side of the fire was a mound of earth. On the other side of the mound, an Indian chief chanted towards to the sky. The Chief held a sheet in his hands and occasionally glanced down at it. He wore brown moccasins and robes with frills which fell to his ankles. Upon his head was a full headdress.
As the chief chanted, the sky began to thunder. The wind picked up and quickly became violent to the point of whipping the tops of trees back and forth. The chief reached into his robes and took out a small vial from inside them. He uncorked the vial and poured a viscous liquid onto the mound of earth at his feet. He then motioned for Tin and Francis to cease dancing which they did. As if complicit, the wind and thundering also stopped.
Then, the three who formed the circle watched in astonishment as the ground surrounding the mound of earth cracked open and the earth on top of the mound slid into the cracks. The earth kept falling into the cracks until finally, the body of Buddy Bacon came into view. Nor Francis, nor Tin nor the chief breathed.
Suddenly, they all screamed at the top of their lungs as Buddy sprang up and shook the dirt off of his coat.
Finally, Francis spoke.
“Oh my God! I can’t believe that worked. I bought the whole kit online!”
“Wow,” said Tin and the chief together.
“Thanks for playing the part of the chief, Carl.”
“Yeah,” replied Carl.
Then the phone inside rang and Francis Bacon ran inside his house from the back door.
“Good Evening. Mystery is History; How may I help you?”
Francis Bacon was once frightfully startled and soothed when he heard the voice because he recognized it right away. The unusual combination of emotions resulted in very unusual circumstance. Francis had soiled himself a little and felt very happy. He asked quickly,
“What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“You could I suppose,”
“Well then, what are you doing here?”
“I’m investigating.”
“Oooh! Sounds fun, can I come along.”
Francis’ heart leaped and he tried to conceal his excitement but he was sorely unsuccessful. He answered in a previous unheard falsetto voice.
“Of course you can! Except, Miss Waitress, I’d like to know your name first.”
The waitress giggled at his shrill tone and then said,
”My name is Christina. But everyone calls me Tin.”
“Well, Tin, I’d be happy if you were to accompany me.
She skipped ahead and Francis found himself looking at her go. She realized he wasn’t following and turned to yell.
“Hey! I know I have a nice behind but we’re on a case here!”
The unexpected comment disarmed Francis. He blinked a few times not having done so in a little bit and smiled. He followed. The trio began to search the Jerry Dairy Cemetery as Francis told his recounted his story adding a few embellishments here and there to impress Christina. When Buddy finally recognized where he was in the cemetery, the prospect of another body’s worth of bones excited him terribly and he bolted down one of the rows. Christina ran after Buddy and Francis ran after Christina as fast as he could. Unfortunately, this was not yet very fast.
When the lawyer caught up to his pet and the waitress, his eyes widened as he was surprised yet again. In a rapid turn of events, Christina was being uncomfortably held at swordpoint by a man who Francis did not know personally and did not see at first. Christina’s captor was dressed completely in black save for a slit for his eyes.
“Ah! Ninja.”
“Ah! Big Boy!”
“What are you doing here!”
“I could ask you the same question, Big Boy.”
“Well, I suppose you could.”
“Well then, what are you doing here?”
Damn fell for that again!
“I was investigating.”
“Oh. Who’s this tart!” asked the ninja.
“Tart server!” interjected Christina.
“The tart has nothing to do with this let her go!”
“Hey!”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you a tart, just caught up in the moment. You’re not a tart.”
“Oh thanks.”
“Why did you try to kill me the other day?”
“You are working on a court case now about spilling into Lake Langston?”
“No,” lied Francis.
“It was not a question!”
“Oh, well then yes.”
“You must not win the case! You’re client, is a bad bad bad company. They are turning Lake Langston into a sewer!”
“That’s what this is about?”
“Yes.”
“Excuse me, could you put away the sword?” asked the waitress.
“No!” shouted both the men.
“Sorry, yes I mean. Put away the sword.” said Francis.
“Not before you agree to drop the case.”
“Alright done!”
“I warn you, we will follow up on you. You drop that case.”
“If I don’t?”
“You will find yourself at the wrong end of my sword!”
The man dressed in black then motioned to the waitress that she could go. She joined the lawyer on the other side of the imaginary line that divided the parties. As the parties turned to head home, the ninja became aware of what Buddy had been doing the entire time. Buddy was now chewing on part of an immediately previously and unprofessionally exhumed skeleton. The ninja tried to shoo away the golden retriever waving his sword at it and then something happened that would be terrible for everybody. The blade of his sword became wedged in an extremely thin cut in the skull of the skeleton like Cinderella’s foot in a glass slipper. The lawyer, the waitress, the ninja and the dog all held their breath for a moment before all hell broke loose.
The ninja became aware that everyone had just been made aware of his being a murderer. He then became resolved to stop the witnesses from escaping. Christina became aware that she was in danger and ran away. Francis became aware he was in danger and after the girl he liked left, he decided to act. Like the bravest of monkeys, he reached into his own underpants and picked out the excrement he had deposited when the waitress had scared him with her innocent hello, and he flung it at the ninja and started to run after Christina. The ninja let out a piercing scream of disgust and anguish and then reached into his pants and produced a pistol. Buddy became aware that his master was in danger and decided to fulfill his calling as a Lawyer Protectorate biting the ninja at the wrist and then running after Francis. The ninja took aim and fired towards the lawyer and then ran away realizing they were still unaware of his identity.
As Francis reached the exit of Jerry Dairy Cemetery, he found Christina waiting for him worried as can be.
“I’m so sorry,” started the lawyer as he wiped his hand in the grass.
“It’s not your fault. Where’s your dog?”
The pair heard a whimper and Buddy emerged from the cemetery limping. He came to his master’s feet and collapsed to the ground.
“Buddy!”
The pet had passed on.
EPILOGUE
The air of the summer night was especially warm because of the heat of the fire and the bodies dancing. Among the three people, Francis Bacon danced in full Indian clothing next to Tin who unlike Francis was thoroughly enjoying herself. The dancers formed a circle around the bonfire and on one side of the fire was a mound of earth. On the other side of the mound, an Indian chief chanted towards to the sky. The Chief held a sheet in his hands and occasionally glanced down at it. He wore brown moccasins and robes with frills which fell to his ankles. Upon his head was a full headdress.
As the chief chanted, the sky began to thunder. The wind picked up and quickly became violent to the point of whipping the tops of trees back and forth. The chief reached into his robes and took out a small vial from inside them. He uncorked the vial and poured a viscous liquid onto the mound of earth at his feet. He then motioned for Tin and Francis to cease dancing which they did. As if complicit, the wind and thundering also stopped.
Then, the three who formed the circle watched in astonishment as the ground surrounding the mound of earth cracked open and the earth on top of the mound slid into the cracks. The earth kept falling into the cracks until finally, the body of Buddy Bacon came into view. Nor Francis, nor Tin nor the chief breathed.
Suddenly, they all screamed at the top of their lungs as Buddy sprang up and shook the dirt off of his coat.
Finally, Francis spoke.
“Oh my God! I can’t believe that worked. I bought the whole kit online!”
“Wow,” said Tin and the chief together.
“Thanks for playing the part of the chief, Carl.”
“Yeah,” replied Carl.
Then the phone inside rang and Francis Bacon ran inside his house from the back door.
“Good Evening. Mystery is History; How may I help you?”
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Tequila ! Tornado!
As Peter sat in the police station looking at his shoes, he couldn't help but wonder how things had gone horribly wrong. That morning had gone swimingly. In fact, he'd spent the morning swiming to get away from the perhaps hazzardous and definately dehydrating heat. His lunch had been wholesome, delicious, nutritious and all around splendiferous. It was a bacon and eggs man with toast crust sideburns. His afternoon had been rather restful. He'd read. The problem came when he met his friends for fun.
They say the idle mind is the devil's playground. When six idle minds are put together, the devil's playground becomes the community. And so, when six underaged boys drew straws to see who would have to take his chances at the liquor store, and poor Peter Pepperidge was the unlucky looser, the community became threatened.
When the teenager arrived at the store, he walked in as cooly as he could. There was a man mopping the front of the store and Peter looked him square in the eyes to seem confident.
"Can I help you?" asked the mopper.
"Oh, uhm, uhm, no thanks" quietly answered Peter.
And he kept walking straight to the tequila. He took a liter of Tornado and carried it to the cash. He layed it on the counter and took out his wallet. He flashed the cash before being told quite cold.
"Get out, your not eighteen."
Peter panicked. He looked around and put his wallet away. The mopper was gone and the way was clear. He grabbed the bottle and bolted. Ten feet, five feet and he lost his footing. He slid on one foot while falling backwards and the suprise of it all cause him to launch the bottle across the store. The force of the Tornado ripped through the shelfs and after a few moments, Peter lay on the floor, the cashier was in shock and the mopper who'd just come out with a sign that said "watch out wet floors", let his head drop before returning into the cupboard. There was alcohol and broken glass all over.
As Peter sat in the police station looking at his shoes, he couldn't help but think, "I'm fucked."
They say the idle mind is the devil's playground. When six idle minds are put together, the devil's playground becomes the community. And so, when six underaged boys drew straws to see who would have to take his chances at the liquor store, and poor Peter Pepperidge was the unlucky looser, the community became threatened.
When the teenager arrived at the store, he walked in as cooly as he could. There was a man mopping the front of the store and Peter looked him square in the eyes to seem confident.
"Can I help you?" asked the mopper.
"Oh, uhm, uhm, no thanks" quietly answered Peter.
And he kept walking straight to the tequila. He took a liter of Tornado and carried it to the cash. He layed it on the counter and took out his wallet. He flashed the cash before being told quite cold.
"Get out, your not eighteen."
Peter panicked. He looked around and put his wallet away. The mopper was gone and the way was clear. He grabbed the bottle and bolted. Ten feet, five feet and he lost his footing. He slid on one foot while falling backwards and the suprise of it all cause him to launch the bottle across the store. The force of the Tornado ripped through the shelfs and after a few moments, Peter lay on the floor, the cashier was in shock and the mopper who'd just come out with a sign that said "watch out wet floors", let his head drop before returning into the cupboard. There was alcohol and broken glass all over.
As Peter sat in the police station looking at his shoes, he couldn't help but think, "I'm fucked."
Sunday, December 13, 2009
A long way gone (Last post)
Other than the title of a book I highly recommend, a long way gone is where I feel I've gone in my life in the last three years. It's an amazing thing time. It's incredible how before you know it, you're twenty years old and in university. I can't even imagine what it'll feel like when I'm forty.
When I look back at the last three years, I tend to think that things have not gone well for me. I grudgingly gave up on being a doctor, too soon for me not to regret it. Or at least think about it every once in a while and wonder. I've gone through a languages degree and have spoken barely any Spanish and no German since I stopped taking classes. I am studying English Literature as I try to get into creative writing and yet they've refused my admittance to the program each time I've applied. I started smoking marijuana. The list goes on.
Depression is a terribly clingy disease because as the saying goes, just when you think you've gotten out, it pulls you back in. Fighting it is a drawn out ordeal which is exhausting because it is a lengthy process which never seems there is an end in sight. At first, it takes hold of you completely and you become disinterested in everything. You stop going to class because you can't see why you should. You stop going to the movies because you can't see why you should. You almost stop leaving the house because you just can't see how anything you do will make any impact on your own well being or that of any other being. Or at least I felt that way.
The biggest danger of it all in my opinion is that when you become unproductive because you are so closed in, you start being told you are not doing things properly, because you aren't, and you start to doubt you ever could do things properly again. You get bad grades, you write bad essays, you can't pass a learner's permit exam, you can't make mashed potatoes for god's sake. You lose confidence in yourself and you suddenly can't be successful because you don't think you can be. You feel stupid, you feel impotent and you feel like you're a nuisance. Often, you are sad and either you feel like you weren't happy since the last time you were sad or you are just sad too often. Or at least I felt that way.
But all in all, when I look at my last three years, I can hardly say it's been all bad. In the summer of 2007, I went to Peru on a humanitarian aid trip/vacation with money I mostly raised with the scouts. The summer after, I went to Vancouver with the same scouts and we fund raised the trip completely. Last September, my sister moved back to Montreal after six years in Calgary. I've haven't become a bitter person. In the last two years, I've been a student while working and being a cub scout leader which is quite a handful. Lately, I've started to take an interest in learning to cook. Baby steps are the key. It's funny how when things are going badly, you think of other times and when things are going well, you don't think at all.
I'm getting better. Slowly. I've stopped smoking marijuana, I've attended classes on a regular basis, I've left the house and gone to meet friends and I've recently started eating well again and exercising some. I got my learner's permit today. But I am a long way gone from the happy about my life person I was and I need to keep getting better before I will be better.
There are a few reasons I'm telling you these things.
Firstly, if anyone feels depressed, then perhaps they can relate (sometimes it is hard to tell when people are depressed, I just learned a few days ago that one of my two best friends is feeling like I did at the beginning of my depression.
Secondly, because sharing helps. It's too much to handle by yourself. Doesn't matter who you are.
Thirdly, I want to tell you that this will be my last post as a regular member and while I might post every once in a while, I need to cut some small things out of my life. I have a tendency to bite off more than I can chew and it isn't good for me.
Lastly, don't worry too much about me if that's what you're feeling. I am a strong person with a strong mind. I know what I want and I will get it in time.
Tanks for reading,
Francis
When I look back at the last three years, I tend to think that things have not gone well for me. I grudgingly gave up on being a doctor, too soon for me not to regret it. Or at least think about it every once in a while and wonder. I've gone through a languages degree and have spoken barely any Spanish and no German since I stopped taking classes. I am studying English Literature as I try to get into creative writing and yet they've refused my admittance to the program each time I've applied. I started smoking marijuana. The list goes on.
Depression is a terribly clingy disease because as the saying goes, just when you think you've gotten out, it pulls you back in. Fighting it is a drawn out ordeal which is exhausting because it is a lengthy process which never seems there is an end in sight. At first, it takes hold of you completely and you become disinterested in everything. You stop going to class because you can't see why you should. You stop going to the movies because you can't see why you should. You almost stop leaving the house because you just can't see how anything you do will make any impact on your own well being or that of any other being. Or at least I felt that way.
The biggest danger of it all in my opinion is that when you become unproductive because you are so closed in, you start being told you are not doing things properly, because you aren't, and you start to doubt you ever could do things properly again. You get bad grades, you write bad essays, you can't pass a learner's permit exam, you can't make mashed potatoes for god's sake. You lose confidence in yourself and you suddenly can't be successful because you don't think you can be. You feel stupid, you feel impotent and you feel like you're a nuisance. Often, you are sad and either you feel like you weren't happy since the last time you were sad or you are just sad too often. Or at least I felt that way.
But all in all, when I look at my last three years, I can hardly say it's been all bad. In the summer of 2007, I went to Peru on a humanitarian aid trip/vacation with money I mostly raised with the scouts. The summer after, I went to Vancouver with the same scouts and we fund raised the trip completely. Last September, my sister moved back to Montreal after six years in Calgary. I've haven't become a bitter person. In the last two years, I've been a student while working and being a cub scout leader which is quite a handful. Lately, I've started to take an interest in learning to cook. Baby steps are the key. It's funny how when things are going badly, you think of other times and when things are going well, you don't think at all.
I'm getting better. Slowly. I've stopped smoking marijuana, I've attended classes on a regular basis, I've left the house and gone to meet friends and I've recently started eating well again and exercising some. I got my learner's permit today. But I am a long way gone from the happy about my life person I was and I need to keep getting better before I will be better.
There are a few reasons I'm telling you these things.
Firstly, if anyone feels depressed, then perhaps they can relate (sometimes it is hard to tell when people are depressed, I just learned a few days ago that one of my two best friends is feeling like I did at the beginning of my depression.
Secondly, because sharing helps. It's too much to handle by yourself. Doesn't matter who you are.
Thirdly, I want to tell you that this will be my last post as a regular member and while I might post every once in a while, I need to cut some small things out of my life. I have a tendency to bite off more than I can chew and it isn't good for me.
Lastly, don't worry too much about me if that's what you're feeling. I am a strong person with a strong mind. I know what I want and I will get it in time.
Tanks for reading,
Francis
Sunday, November 29, 2009
There's a place I know.
I cannot go there anymore.
There was a time I knew,
How to tie my shoes off the floor.
Please come to me now.
Please come teach me how
to grow old. Older anyways.
There's a boy I knew.
He simply he grew over time.
I once owned dog.
Quiet as log, but mine, all mine.
Please come to me now.
Please come teach me how
to grow old. Older anyways.
I cannot go there anymore.
There was a time I knew,
How to tie my shoes off the floor.
Please come to me now.
Please come teach me how
to grow old. Older anyways.
There's a boy I knew.
He simply he grew over time.
I once owned dog.
Quiet as log, but mine, all mine.
Please come to me now.
Please come teach me how
to grow old. Older anyways.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Hope
Don't bother dear,
It's sure to smear.
The child paints,
The dog pants.
The mother sighs,
The father rants.
The world turns.
The world burns.
In his room the child creates.
He won't listen as critic berates.
It's sure to smear.
The child paints,
The dog pants.
The mother sighs,
The father rants.
The world turns.
The world burns.
In his room the child creates.
He won't listen as critic berates.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Sonnet 2
I find myself unable to regret,
The vice manifested through my hands.
I find myself a pregnant silhouette;
A servant for my own farfetched demands.
A conscience conscious is sure to condemn.
A man condemned is sure to seek reform.
A weed may never be left as a stem.
To this alone I accept to conform.
It was through murder I relinquished grace.
His grace is not a grace I could have found.
My first crime was to my conscience erase.
To my sinister mind I am left bound.
My sinister mind does all ties reject.
To be its first kill I did not expect.
The vice manifested through my hands.
I find myself a pregnant silhouette;
A servant for my own farfetched demands.
A conscience conscious is sure to condemn.
A man condemned is sure to seek reform.
A weed may never be left as a stem.
To this alone I accept to conform.
It was through murder I relinquished grace.
His grace is not a grace I could have found.
My first crime was to my conscience erase.
To my sinister mind I am left bound.
My sinister mind does all ties reject.
To be its first kill I did not expect.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
In the Garden
The dove threatens murder most fowl,
Upon foreseeing the child's howl.
The snake silently,slowly slithers.
Unaware that its life span withers.
The boy stands, paralyzed with fear,
as the hiss of the snake comes near.
The snake reveals its ugly bald head,
The boy believes himself to be dead.
The child for a second time it seems,
Will fall victim to the snake's vile schemes.
The snake is ready now to eat.
However, this time it lacks feet.
The dove, rescinds murder most fowl.
The villain will no longer prowl.
The naive children will not yet be.
Burdened by responsibility.
Upon foreseeing the child's howl.
The snake silently,slowly slithers.
Unaware that its life span withers.
The boy stands, paralyzed with fear,
as the hiss of the snake comes near.
The snake reveals its ugly bald head,
The boy believes himself to be dead.
The child for a second time it seems,
Will fall victim to the snake's vile schemes.
The snake is ready now to eat.
However, this time it lacks feet.
The dove, rescinds murder most fowl.
The villain will no longer prowl.
The naive children will not yet be.
Burdened by responsibility.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Fine, Fine, Fine,
It is Friday today.
Oh, yes. It is Friday today.
I'll wake up. It'll be Saturday.
I would not have it any other way.
I hope the sun will shine.
Illuminate my mind.
I hope the sun will shine.
Cause then I'll feel fine, fine, fine.
My father is coming home tomorrow.
His smile will erase my sorrow.
My father is coming home tomorrow.
His strength I will borrow.
My mother is coming home on Sunday.
She's the one who taught me how to pray.
My mother is coming home on Sunday.
I pray her plane will be ok.
And I hope the sun will shine.
Illuminate my mind.
I hope the sun will shine.
Cause then i'll feel fine, fine, fine.
And if the skies are grey on Monday.
I'll be fine anyways.
Cause' my folks will be back home.
And I won't be alone.
Oh, yes. It is Friday today.
I'll wake up. It'll be Saturday.
I would not have it any other way.
I hope the sun will shine.
Illuminate my mind.
I hope the sun will shine.
Cause then I'll feel fine, fine, fine.
My father is coming home tomorrow.
His smile will erase my sorrow.
My father is coming home tomorrow.
His strength I will borrow.
My mother is coming home on Sunday.
She's the one who taught me how to pray.
My mother is coming home on Sunday.
I pray her plane will be ok.
And I hope the sun will shine.
Illuminate my mind.
I hope the sun will shine.
Cause then i'll feel fine, fine, fine.
And if the skies are grey on Monday.
I'll be fine anyways.
Cause' my folks will be back home.
And I won't be alone.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Overwhelmed
Everything in the world.
Leaves me arms curled.
Around my knees.
Someone make sense of please.
And enlighten me.
Leaves me arms curled.
Around my knees.
Someone make sense of please.
And enlighten me.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
The road to hell
There’s a painting on my wall,
of a ragged man alone,
He plays the guitar for all,
while he’s sitting upon stone.
I have met this man before,
living in the freezing street.
May not meet him anymore.
He has neither food nor heat.
There’s a painting on my wall.
of a man I might have known.
It might not have been at all,
If compassion had been shown.
Danger we want social rights,
And our protests will not cease.
We will fight all through the nights.
We have passed the time for peace!
Get the cocktails ready boys,
We want to give them a show.
Careful, don't make any noise.
Throw it there; through that window.
Not in there you fucking ass.
There might be somebody in.
In the car! Step on the gas!
God, I need a fucking gin.
Our top story of the day,
Fire kills family last night.
Police suspect foul play,
Witness claims no one in sight.
of a ragged man alone,
He plays the guitar for all,
while he’s sitting upon stone.
I have met this man before,
living in the freezing street.
May not meet him anymore.
He has neither food nor heat.
There’s a painting on my wall.
of a man I might have known.
It might not have been at all,
If compassion had been shown.
Danger we want social rights,
And our protests will not cease.
We will fight all through the nights.
We have passed the time for peace!
Get the cocktails ready boys,
We want to give them a show.
Careful, don't make any noise.
Throw it there; through that window.
Not in there you fucking ass.
There might be somebody in.
In the car! Step on the gas!
God, I need a fucking gin.
Our top story of the day,
Fire kills family last night.
Police suspect foul play,
Witness claims no one in sight.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Vincent
Vincent woke up as excited as a little boy could. He practically jumped out of his bed and into his pants and after putting on a shirt he raced to the kitchen with a broad smile on his face. His mother poured him a glass of orange juice and he sat on a chair and waited for his waffles. His sister was already seated on the other side of the table and had begun to eat already. With her mouth full, she managed to get out,"So wanna go for a bike ride? We could could ride to the park for ice cream."
-Yeah! Can we mum?
-You know the rules.
-Yeah, yeah. Helmets and pads on.
After finishing what might be her last breakfast, Maggie put her plate on the counter for her mum to wash and then led her brother to the shed. She took out both their bikes because Vincent was too small and then helped her brother put on all his equipement before hastily doing her own.
The pair set off at a torrid pace. They raced down the streets and it wasn't five minutes later that the park was in view. Vincent spotted the ice cream vendor first and yelled out in joy. The vendor saw him and rang his shrill bell to excite the boy. Maggie looked over to her right and didn't notice the light turn red.
Vincentwas jerked back into the present just as he opened the door to the pie shop so he could hear the schrill bell which reminded him of the last time he feltabsolute joy. It was worth the dirty looks from the waitress. Every time.
-Yeah! Can we mum?
-You know the rules.
-Yeah, yeah. Helmets and pads on.
After finishing what might be her last breakfast, Maggie put her plate on the counter for her mum to wash and then led her brother to the shed. She took out both their bikes because Vincent was too small and then helped her brother put on all his equipement before hastily doing her own.
The pair set off at a torrid pace. They raced down the streets and it wasn't five minutes later that the park was in view. Vincent spotted the ice cream vendor first and yelled out in joy. The vendor saw him and rang his shrill bell to excite the boy. Maggie looked over to her right and didn't notice the light turn red.
Vincentwas jerked back into the present just as he opened the door to the pie shop so he could hear the schrill bell which reminded him of the last time he feltabsolute joy. It was worth the dirty looks from the waitress. Every time.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Francis Bacon part 4
Francis Bacon was looking intently at his pet. He could not quite put his finger on it, but there was something different about his dog. Itwasn't his eyes. They perpetually glowed as if radiating small amounts of energy. It certainly wasn't his tail. It constantly wagged. The way he was opening his mouth, it almost seemed to the lawyer, that Buddy was going to speak. Then, to the absolute astonishment of said lawyer, the golden retriever cleared his throat and began to talk.
"I like bones master!"
Quite understandably, Francis let out a shrill scream.
"I like bones master! I like them very much."
"Buddy how are you talking! This is amazing."
"I like bones master! I like them very much!"
"Is that all you can say? What am I saying, all?"
"I like bones master! I like them very much. I also like to dig. I like to dig for bones."
Usually, when Francis Bacon woke up on monday mornings, a set routine would follow. He would get up and sleepily proceed to the washroom where he would shave and shower. Then, he would get dressed in his monday best and eat breakfast while reading the daily newspaper. This was followed by a return visit to the washroom where he would brush his teeth. Finally he would let Buddy out for a few minutes, get dressed for the outdoors, if need be, and take off for work after letting his dog back in and filling his bowl with water from the tap and his second bowl from the bag hidden in the pantry. On this particular monday morning however, the lawyer was unable to do any of these things on account of he was in jail. Instead, this is what happenned. He woke up startled by a strange dream. He then successfully tried to remember the dream. Afterwords, he pondered what Buddy's words could have meant.
By midday, it was deemed unreasonable to consider Francis as a murder suspect on the grounds that there was no evidence linking him to the body other than location and that no murderer would have knowingly walked an officer right to the corpse. Overjoyed to once again be a free man, he decided to take an afternoon off for the first time in a long time. After collecting his previously confiscated belongings, he returned home carrying his upper body on his legs and a secret on his mind. What thedreammeanthad become clear to him.
Usually, when Buddy woke up in the morning, a set routine would follow. He would yawn a few times, stretch his body out and shake. He would then trot into his owner's room and leap onto the bed. When the alarm clock would go off, he would roll around and make noise in a disruptive manner until his master woke up. After this, he would go into the kitchen in hopes of finding a bite to eat that had been left on the table the night before and lie down by the heater. On this particular monday morning however,he didnotdo these things. Instead,this is what happenned. Buddy woke up and immediatly remembered that his master was not there. The thought depressed him considerablyand he decided to go back to sleep in hopes waking up and discovering it had all been a hellish dream. Upon waking up a second time, he could no longer deny the truth. He yawned a few times, streched his body and shook. He then went immediatly to the kitchen and went to the pantry where he knew his dog food was kept. He pulled the bag out into the kitchen, tore it wide open and began eating his troubles away.
There was no greater joy felt all weekend and monday by master or pet than when Francis Bacon walked in. As soon as he heard the key enter the lock of the back door, Buddy's head shot up and he ran towards the door to express his excitement. Francis could not show his excitement. Firstly, because the first thing he saw coming home was Buddy through the back window lying in a pile of food. Secondly, because he was still upset with Buddy for having framed him.
The pair spent the afternoon in the living room despite the superb weather. Buddy was watching monday mass on a religious chanel and Francis was thinking. He was trying to decide whether he should investigate the conundrum of the corpse. It was not necessary. He had been cleared of all charges, but he had a hunch that the matter was not over. There was no doubt that the fact the body had not ben in a coffin meant there was some funny business going. Dark humor kind of funny though.
After mass and after supper, Francis waited impatiently for the sun to go down. As soon as it did, he fetched Buddy's leash and brought the dog out for a walk. He would no be going through the park though. The lawyer was heading straight for the cemetery. It did not taking him long at a brisk pace to reach his destination. The gates were closed, but fortunately, as a teenager, Francis had learned to pick locks one summer from an estranged uncle who'd come to vist. Strangely, the doors were unlocked and in no time at all, Francis and Buddy were in the burial grounds and set out to find unmarked graves.
Frustratingly, it was not as obvious a task as Francis had hoped. The cemetery was very large and the different sections were could barely be told apart. After close to an hour of snooping, Francis was about ready to go home for the night before he saw something he did not expect to see. In fact, it was about the last thing he could have imagined.
"Hello," said a soft voice.
"I like bones master!"
Quite understandably, Francis let out a shrill scream.
"I like bones master! I like them very much."
"Buddy how are you talking! This is amazing."
"I like bones master! I like them very much!"
"Is that all you can say? What am I saying, all?"
"I like bones master! I like them very much. I also like to dig. I like to dig for bones."
Usually, when Francis Bacon woke up on monday mornings, a set routine would follow. He would get up and sleepily proceed to the washroom where he would shave and shower. Then, he would get dressed in his monday best and eat breakfast while reading the daily newspaper. This was followed by a return visit to the washroom where he would brush his teeth. Finally he would let Buddy out for a few minutes, get dressed for the outdoors, if need be, and take off for work after letting his dog back in and filling his bowl with water from the tap and his second bowl from the bag hidden in the pantry. On this particular monday morning however, the lawyer was unable to do any of these things on account of he was in jail. Instead, this is what happenned. He woke up startled by a strange dream. He then successfully tried to remember the dream. Afterwords, he pondered what Buddy's words could have meant.
By midday, it was deemed unreasonable to consider Francis as a murder suspect on the grounds that there was no evidence linking him to the body other than location and that no murderer would have knowingly walked an officer right to the corpse. Overjoyed to once again be a free man, he decided to take an afternoon off for the first time in a long time. After collecting his previously confiscated belongings, he returned home carrying his upper body on his legs and a secret on his mind. What thedreammeanthad become clear to him.
Usually, when Buddy woke up in the morning, a set routine would follow. He would yawn a few times, stretch his body out and shake. He would then trot into his owner's room and leap onto the bed. When the alarm clock would go off, he would roll around and make noise in a disruptive manner until his master woke up. After this, he would go into the kitchen in hopes of finding a bite to eat that had been left on the table the night before and lie down by the heater. On this particular monday morning however,he didnotdo these things. Instead,this is what happenned. Buddy woke up and immediatly remembered that his master was not there. The thought depressed him considerablyand he decided to go back to sleep in hopes waking up and discovering it had all been a hellish dream. Upon waking up a second time, he could no longer deny the truth. He yawned a few times, streched his body and shook. He then went immediatly to the kitchen and went to the pantry where he knew his dog food was kept. He pulled the bag out into the kitchen, tore it wide open and began eating his troubles away.
There was no greater joy felt all weekend and monday by master or pet than when Francis Bacon walked in. As soon as he heard the key enter the lock of the back door, Buddy's head shot up and he ran towards the door to express his excitement. Francis could not show his excitement. Firstly, because the first thing he saw coming home was Buddy through the back window lying in a pile of food. Secondly, because he was still upset with Buddy for having framed him.
The pair spent the afternoon in the living room despite the superb weather. Buddy was watching monday mass on a religious chanel and Francis was thinking. He was trying to decide whether he should investigate the conundrum of the corpse. It was not necessary. He had been cleared of all charges, but he had a hunch that the matter was not over. There was no doubt that the fact the body had not ben in a coffin meant there was some funny business going. Dark humor kind of funny though.
After mass and after supper, Francis waited impatiently for the sun to go down. As soon as it did, he fetched Buddy's leash and brought the dog out for a walk. He would no be going through the park though. The lawyer was heading straight for the cemetery. It did not taking him long at a brisk pace to reach his destination. The gates were closed, but fortunately, as a teenager, Francis had learned to pick locks one summer from an estranged uncle who'd come to vist. Strangely, the doors were unlocked and in no time at all, Francis and Buddy were in the burial grounds and set out to find unmarked graves.
Frustratingly, it was not as obvious a task as Francis had hoped. The cemetery was very large and the different sections were could barely be told apart. After close to an hour of snooping, Francis was about ready to go home for the night before he saw something he did not expect to see. In fact, it was about the last thing he could have imagined.
"Hello," said a soft voice.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
The Joker and the Thief
The key, to creating good comedy, Terry discovered, was to take something very common, that everyone is familiar with, and to introduce a fantastic element. It usually, creates a situation that is laughable. If you’re very good, the situation is hilarious. If you're the very very good, you make people shoot the drink they bought to keep them fresh during the whole show right out their noses. Any better than that and you start making people do things that will embarrass them.
The chief difference between him and most comics was that Terry was his own audience. The secondary difference was that his shows were of the unorthodox variety. In fact, the shows were of the never before seen variety.
He had tried the daunting standup comedy. He tried making people embarrass themselves, or at least shoot milk out of their noses, by telling that the week prior; he was in the garden with his daughter raking the leaves. After he'd finished his pile, his daughter jump into the pile only to step on the rake and make the handle shoot up into his crotch. It didn't work. He didn't have the talent for it. When he told that joke, for instance, he actually said crotch instead of opting one of the funnier substitutes like balls, nuts or the baby twins. Another problem with his routine was that he had a uncommon sense of humor. What made him laugh was other people's pain. The rake to the baby twins being one example. Being robbed being another example. Hearing about people being robbed, did not generally make people laugh. Terry, at the expense of his stand up career, did not realize that what made him laugh did not make others laugh. So, he had to find another way to make a living.
He did. Other than having a morbid sense of humor, and a crippling lack of showmanship talents, what set Terry apart, was that he had a rather fantastic ability. He could, at will, erase memories from his mind. He had first manifested it in his early teen years. His parents, having stayed married despite not wanting to be, for the sake of their son, had built up so much resentment in thirteen years that they could no longer be discreet. They would yell in the house and he would naturally, find it unbearable. He would then dream of it. That would be worse. But, he found that if he focused, he could suppress his dreams. It was hardly a stretch from their to suppress memories. He could never explain his secret, but he knew how to control the ability. He got better and better and eventually, he could erase more precisely. He could forget details. He could forget faces if he wanted to.
With the formula in mind, that adding a fantastic element to a common situation equaled success, he set out to make a living. He was his own common situation; a young man, plain, unfunny, with no particular talents, living in Montreal in a pitiful situation. His ability was the fantastic element. The next thing was how to put the two together to create a punch line. According to Terry, what stops most people from stealing, is their conscience. They cannot live knowing that they hurt this person or another. His ability was a loophole. He didn't have to know who he robbed from after he robbed them. He figured then, that he could pose as a common person, who no one would suspect. He would earn a living. And the best park, the true punch line, was that the idea he could do this, tickled his sense of humor like the most delicate touch of a feather. It made him, really, embarrass himself.
The chief difference between him and most comics was that Terry was his own audience. The secondary difference was that his shows were of the unorthodox variety. In fact, the shows were of the never before seen variety.
He had tried the daunting standup comedy. He tried making people embarrass themselves, or at least shoot milk out of their noses, by telling that the week prior; he was in the garden with his daughter raking the leaves. After he'd finished his pile, his daughter jump into the pile only to step on the rake and make the handle shoot up into his crotch. It didn't work. He didn't have the talent for it. When he told that joke, for instance, he actually said crotch instead of opting one of the funnier substitutes like balls, nuts or the baby twins. Another problem with his routine was that he had a uncommon sense of humor. What made him laugh was other people's pain. The rake to the baby twins being one example. Being robbed being another example. Hearing about people being robbed, did not generally make people laugh. Terry, at the expense of his stand up career, did not realize that what made him laugh did not make others laugh. So, he had to find another way to make a living.
He did. Other than having a morbid sense of humor, and a crippling lack of showmanship talents, what set Terry apart, was that he had a rather fantastic ability. He could, at will, erase memories from his mind. He had first manifested it in his early teen years. His parents, having stayed married despite not wanting to be, for the sake of their son, had built up so much resentment in thirteen years that they could no longer be discreet. They would yell in the house and he would naturally, find it unbearable. He would then dream of it. That would be worse. But, he found that if he focused, he could suppress his dreams. It was hardly a stretch from their to suppress memories. He could never explain his secret, but he knew how to control the ability. He got better and better and eventually, he could erase more precisely. He could forget details. He could forget faces if he wanted to.
With the formula in mind, that adding a fantastic element to a common situation equaled success, he set out to make a living. He was his own common situation; a young man, plain, unfunny, with no particular talents, living in Montreal in a pitiful situation. His ability was the fantastic element. The next thing was how to put the two together to create a punch line. According to Terry, what stops most people from stealing, is their conscience. They cannot live knowing that they hurt this person or another. His ability was a loophole. He didn't have to know who he robbed from after he robbed them. He figured then, that he could pose as a common person, who no one would suspect. He would earn a living. And the best park, the true punch line, was that the idea he could do this, tickled his sense of humor like the most delicate touch of a feather. It made him, really, embarrass himself.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Days
Monday: Marta and Jordano
Tuesday: Bernard
Wednesday: Jessica
Thursday: Tabia and Davina
Friday: Emlyn and Max
Saturday: Mike and Audrey
Sunday: Charles and Andrea
Tuesday: Bernard
Wednesday: Jessica
Thursday: Tabia and Davina
Friday: Emlyn and Max
Saturday: Mike and Audrey
Sunday: Charles and Andrea
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Getting Started
->You can post anything as long or as short as you want for your date, about any subject, any theme.
->Optional assignments will be posted Saturday Mornings for the arriving week.
->When you post your piece, please tag your name, so as it becomes easier to divide our work.
->Adult content is on, so don't shy away from profanities.
->Try not to use the tags for anything else, I think we can all imagine the tagging tool clogging up the sidebar if all of us started using multiple ones.
->Take one day, and stick to it. Do not post on other days.
->Optional assignments will be posted Saturday Mornings for the arriving week.
->When you post your piece, please tag your name, so as it becomes easier to divide our work.
->Adult content is on, so don't shy away from profanities.
->Try not to use the tags for anything else, I think we can all imagine the tagging tool clogging up the sidebar if all of us started using multiple ones.
->Take one day, and stick to it. Do not post on other days.
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