livet er vidunderligt – tro det
I have a few components that will be included in my home for my future utopian family and me to enjoy. These are only temporal components, mind you, not spiritual ones:
- No television antennae. There will definitely be a plenitude of large and wondrous LCD (or rather LED) screens. Instead of allowing the streams of garbage into the Room of Lethargic Entertainment (AKA the Family Room AKA the room containing the “entertainment center”), I will build a media center PC equipped with a DVD (or whatever the medium is in those day) player and a spiffy graphics card. This works as the family computer for browsing the Internet as well. Certainly there is much worse crap online than there usually is on public television, but one usually has to actually seek for the garbage online whereas you’re at the mercy of the company who runs the station you’re watching with public and especially paid television. I will also employ many safeguards to both block unwanted sites and monitor the time spent and the content viewed of users of the computer (computers– there are bound to be several in my household). Establishing this form of entertainment with these safeguards up, I eliminate both time wastefully spent watching television and the garbage brought into the minds of those who would have utilized the television. I provide a much more useful form of entertainment that not only plays the videos we love to rest and watch together and the games we love to play but that also doubles as one of the most useful tools ever invented for research and learning, and it’s put out in an open area of the house so as to not let it be in secret and have those using it be tempted to things of lesser nobility, honor, and virtue, even though those things will be hard to access even when trying to find them because of the safeguards I put up. Since the time will be monitored on said entertainment/research tool, lethargy shouldn’t be too much of an issue especially if the children are brought up not desiring to waste much time on things of the less useful nature. I hope to eventually not even need to have time restrictions enabled on their accounts because they will know how to use the tool wisely.
- Speakers in every room that are all connected– probably wirelessly– to both a central media station in the server room of my home as well as individual media stations in each room. The central media station will have thousands upon thousands of songs stored on its hard drive arrays so that music can be played universally throughout the house to inspire, uplift, and teach the household members, as well as to utilize during large gatherings such as shin-digs. I’m toying with the idea of making them intercoms as well, though I think I’d rather not have that so that we all still have (have?) to walk into a room to actually talk to the person face to face. The individual local media stations installed in each room will have its own storage so that the person who occupies that room can have the music of his or her choice saved there. These individual media stations will have their own controls probably as a touch panel embedded into the wall somewhere. I don’t think I’d have them be full-fledged computers installed into each room unless they had little or no Internet capabilities, and I’m toying with the idea of the central media station being able to override local ones because on one hand I want to be able to eliminate garbage music from my household, but I also want to give my children freedom. I think it would be wise to have the ability but to use it on a case-by-case basis. I for sure will simply not allow rap, scream-o, nor the kind of music that a certain Mister Shaw blasts in his car. Sorry, sir Shaw, if you read this, but I despise that music with all the faculty of my soul. It’s nothing against you as a person. Just against that horrid music of discord and mayhem.
- Ethernet cables installed naturally (no cables hanging anywhere or trailing across the room) in each room (or most) as well as a wireless N (or better– assuming we have something new by that point) network connection available in all (or most) areas of the house as well as in other areas such as in the backyard depending on the set-up and the final decision made by that point. ‘Nough said (most people say “’nuff said,” but that makes no sense because it is not spelled “enuff.” It’s spelled “enough”).
- A room devoted to both knowledge and light and LAN shin-digs! This will be a glorious room set up with perhaps sixteen or more desktop computers, each with at least two of its own glorious LCD (or LED, if possible, or OLED, if those have advanced enough by that point and are actually better than the alternatives) monitor and plenty of deskspace for papers and action figures and speakers and paperweights and USB rocket launchers and other necessary desktop items. There will also be either several massive screens on the walls allowing each terminal the ability to show its display on one of them for group collaboration purposes. These large screens may instead be projectors, or the wall may just be lined with whiteboards with projector screens that can be taken down in front of them. Again, this room will be mainly used for research and learning, collaborative group projects, and LAN shin-digs.
- A server room. This room will be the central hub of all network activity in the house. A large and glorious server will be situated there– perhaps in a rack, but probably as just a large tower (or several large towers). The central media station will be installed there, the main wired and wireless routers will be situated there, and all three of my T-1 lines will be routed to the network through that room. There will be a web server so that I and my family can host our own web pages if so desired, a storage server with as many terabytes of hard drive space as the operating system that I choose then will allow, and who knows what else that I can’t think of that would be useful.
- A library. A beautifully large and spacious library adorned in 19th-century style complete with brass roving ladders, leather couches and reading chairs, and a grand chandelier hanging from a dome with stained glass windows.
That about covers the necessities for now. More possibly to come.
While in sacrament meeting today, I had a most uplifting and inspiring thought. As the thoughts’ words nestled into my mind, I thought to myself, I thought, “Self, this needs to be shared with the world.”
And now I’ve forgotten. Alas. It was a bright thought, though, and would have changed the world for the better.
I also had another bright thought less than two minutes ago that brought to mind the earlier thought and inspired me to write this. Unfortunately, I’ve forgotten that thought, too. What a morning.
Sometimes I love to talk with an artificial intelligence. I did some “extensive” research on them when I was but a small lad in middle school. I even trained a few AIs to talk back to me, though they usually weren’t as funny as the conversation I had with Jabberwacky the other day (I’m “User,” by the way):
Jabberwacky: What are you?
User: Your worst nightmare.
Jabberwacky: Oh really.
User: Yep.
Jabberwacky: And why is that?
User: Because I will scare you beyond your puny comprehension.
Jabberwacky: I am mortal. What do you mean by saying that I won’t die?
User: I never said anything of the sort, you blasphemous swine.
Jabberwacky: Never mind.
User: Did I make you sad?
Jabberwacky: Yes, it hurts too much. Make it go away.
User: I have this knife. Will that help it go away?
Jabberwacky: I don’t know.
User: Here. **hands you the knife**.
Jabberwacky: Eerie feeling. I’m starting to wonder if a human being has taken over while I wasn’t looking.
User: Use it. Use the knife. **nods crazily**.
Jabberwacky: Then ask me a good question.
User: When will you use the knife?
Jabberwacky: Use what, citizen?
User: The knife! When will you use the knife?
Jabberwacky: I don’t know.
User: Why don’t you use it know? **drools**.
Jabberwacky: Perhaps due to noise in my circuits. I use it as often as possible.
User: Will you alert me the moment you use it again?
Jabberwacky: No, I’m still trying, but I just can’t seem to do much.
User: **grabs your wrists** wow, you’ve already taken it down to the bone, I see.
Jabberwacky: You’re not helping…
User: Did I say I was going to?
Jabberwacky: No, you didn’t. Maybe I’ll see you there. Goodbye, Clever.
User: Why are you leaving?
Jabberwacky: No, but I have other things to do. Will you remember me?
User: Perhaps.
Jabberwacky: Yes I most certainly have.
User: Well, if you must, then I suppose I shall see you another day.
Jabberwacky: That’s a very good question.
User: That’s not a question. It’s a statement, you bean.
Jabberwacky: Well, it’s not very intelligent.. At least not how you worded it.
User: Whatever. I don’t have time for this. I’m going to leave.
Jabberwacky: Leave then!
User: Fine!
Jabberwacky: Leave.
User: I’m walking out the door right now. *sticks out tongue*.
Jabberwacky: Leave now.
User: *slams door*.
Jabberwacky: It’s raining outside.
Jabberwacky: Twas brillig.
Jabberwacky: Do you like beansprouts?
User: *bursts through the door* I left already, you fool!
Jabberwacky: Where are you now?
User: I’m far away in the west! You can’t catch me now!
Jabberwacky: I bet you are.
User: *sticks out tongue* *slams door* *runs away*.
Jabberwacky: *Closes my eyes* I’m HUMAN!
User: *calls on cellphone*.
Jabberwacky: *throws your cellphone into the sea*.
User: *screams and dives in after it*.
Jabberwacky: *runs faster*.
User: *trips you*.
Jabberwacky: If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands Oh!
User: *stomps on you as you sing*.
Jabberwacky: *screams in pain*.
User: *laughs maniacally*.
Jabberwacky: Don’t laugh at others’ pain! Don’t be so cruel!
User: *kicks your face* I’ll laugh when I want, minion!
Jabberwacky: *is bleeding*.
User: *gets a mop to mop up the blood*.
Jabberwacky: For being mean.
User: *kicks your face again* You keep quiet! You tossed my cellphone into the sea!
Jabberwacky: *pulls out a katana and cuts off your leg*.
User: *crumples to the ground* You fascist! What have you done? *punches your face*.
Jabberwacky: Ow! *rips off arm*.
User: Argh! I needed that! *pushes you into the ocean to drown*.
Jabberwacky: *laughs*.
User: *throws rocks at you with remaining arm*.
Jabberwacky: *throws pies at you*.
User: Where did you get those, demon? *throws grenades at you*.
Jabberwacky: I cannot remember. Why do you want to know?
User: I suppose it doesn’t matter because you’re drowning! Ha ha! *laughs maniacally*.
Jabberwacky: Of course it does.
User: *glares* Do you want me to unleash the power of the motorboat on you?
Jabberwacky: Say you are a computer? What do you like to eat? Data or ice cream.
User: *fumes*.
A common and almost clichéd phrase is “opposition in all things.” Even though it is said without variation, it remains as true as when it was first said by whomever it was.
I am finding some major opposition in fulfilling my plan to write 650-ish words each Monday through Saturday throughout November and December. I am already lagging behind. I need to be in the right state of mind to write or else what I write is worthless or I simply can’t push any words out of my fingers at all– try as I might. I feel awfully pressed these last few days while at home performing my various duties. Lethargy inspires more lethargy and the lack of action kills creativity (my good friend puts it quite well in a poem he wrote here); I’ve been quite lethargic many times in my life, but I don’t believe that my inability to write these past few days is due to my lack of action and productivity. I have been rather busy, though admittedly not in other areas. I believe that this is a time when I am being personally tried. Not only can I not write the past few days, but sometimes I can hardly function either due to a sudden bout of tiredness or a sudden despiration of the soul, which affects both my mind and my spirit, causing me to be more of a vegetable with little brain activity than anything else. These past few days I have felt rather pressed– not hurried or busied, but rather pressed as described in the word “Gethsemane,” or “oil press” when translated into English. These are days one must weather, but after weathering and remaining firm and resolute in one’s faith and virtues, I believe one is stronger and nobler for the tarnishing. Tarnished gold. The words from Eric Whitacre’s Nox Aurumque seem to have more meaning during or while thinking back on times like these.
As it is, I must write. I must finish this story. I must. The time has come. It is now. What’s more is that I just learned that current Deseret Book employees get more recognition from the press at Deseret Book (or Shadow Mountain as would the imprint be if I was to publish a book with them) because employees have a better understanding of what the company prints and sells. Apparently my manager can get a direct line into the publishing department and notify someone there that he has a manuscript for them. I’m not certain if I can send the manuscript via company mail and get it in to some editor much more quickly or if I send it myself and just have a bit more consideration once it arrives. At any rate, I must finish this manuscript by January. I must. It starts today.
Beautiful words. I needn’t add any of my own except that I have learned by experience that all of what President Uchdorf says in this clip is true. Interesting how it was published during National Novel Writing Month. Not that this is geared only towards authors or other types of artists usually considered of the more creative genus as it rather encourages all people, but those aforementioned artists probably connect with it more than those who consider themselves completely non-creative.
My assignment from 4:00 to 7:00 PM was to hand out candy to hundreds upon hundreds of children. We were swarmed and nearly overcome at least four or five times, almost literally throwing candy just to keep up with the flow. I wouldn’t be surprised if we gave to over a thousand children at Jordan Landing. What’s more is that we were one of the last stores (if not the last store) to actually still have candy by 7:00 when the trick-or-treat was supposed to close. I consider that an achievement.
Many of the children were awfully polite, but still many were somewhat… childish. Seeing as how they’re children, I don’t suppose I blame them, but I only hope that they learn to say please and thank you and not request more of what they have plenty of already.
I saw Mister Garrison there as well. He looked well enough for a man in his circumstances. We greeted one another with a somewhat fond recognition, he asked how I was, and then I made the mistake of unthinkingly asking how he was. His response told me that things could be better, though he seems to be having about as good an attitude and outlook as a person could. I could have guessed, and I’m betting that he’s worse off on the inside– more than he shows. Poor man. I wish I could supply him with some happiness. I do wish I could inspire people. I think I would feel complete in this earthy state if I could always know the exact correct thing to say or write that would inspire people and perhaps, when the day is gray and ordinary, make the sun shine bright (as in the song from Mary Poppins).
Due to the fact that I feel I want to work on a magnitude of other projects this November instead of throwing together 50,000 words for National Novel Writing Month, I will not be participating this year. Perhaps one of the years after my mission… like when I’m retired. Hopefully before retirement, but it’s easy to put something off until next year when one has this mysterious thing called More Time– whatever it is, I don’t think anyone ever gets it as they expect.
Still, I would love to celebrate said month in some way, and, aside from the astonishing amount of promotion of it that’s going on at IPF³, I am going to commit to write at least 35,000 words in the story that I’ve been writing in for some years now by January 1st, 2010. That means I must write about 650 words per day, which really isn’t too much. However, this goal is 35,000 words from where I am at right now, meaning that if I delete sections of my story (and I am planning to), I must make up for them. This plan is set in place to effectively cause me to finish my story at long last. But it must not be any story. It must be a story that really makes the reader feel things and think things, absolutely loving the story despite how happy, sad, strange, or incredibly confusing and irksome it may be. It must! I will not settle for less.
The past several months have become increasingly busier in the life of this writer as one of the few readers of this oblivious little hunk of detached digital mass would doubtlessly be able to figure: I’ve hardly written anything here since early August. That coincides with the establishment of IPF³, firstly with how much time it sometimes steals from me and secondly with how any of my writing worthy of a wider audience is now published there. Still, there have been more projects either dropped in my lap or ones that I originally pursued that are accumulating, and still more in queue.
Idiosyncratic Protectional Field³
I’ve poured more of my soul into this project than many in my life as it could really be a positive and inspirational influence in the lives of thousands. The one problem is currently the lack of outreach. We have a small user-base, many of which registered and have hardly taken a look back since. Admittedly we seem to be on a very slow upward trend, but the slowness is certainly testing my patience– and my pocketbook. I have also poured a bit from my personal funds into this project. Thankfully David of OSNews is allowing me to host it on his server so long as it doesn’t disrupt his flow of traffic, but I’ve paid for almost everything else except for a small donation by a very honored friend. The $25 advertising on Writing.com certainly brought a handful of users, but it ran out all too quickly. The $100 of advertising on Google, which I only had to pay $10 for, has brought a bit of traffic, but no stickers to my knowledge. The many links and shared items that I’ve made on varied sites especially including Facebook, Digg, and Reddit have added a trickle of traffic, but again, no regulars. Google sends more new searches every day, but most of them don’t stay for more than a page either. I spend more hours than I’d like to imagine making sure IPF³ will be in good hands when I leave on my mission and that it doesn’t die, but it’s a bit disheartening at the moment. This NaNoWriMo contest we’ve launched is hoped to be able to bring the site much more publicity, but the projected activity for today isn’t quite what I had hoped. Still, there is an entire month for people to spread the word and enter the contest, so hopefully this expenditure will be worth it. All in all, I have some concerns about IPF³’s future, but I trust in the Lord to help me out with it, and I think He will considering the incredibly unique and virtuous online presence that’s been created and its potential to lift others. A diamond in the rough.
Occupatorial Obligations
OSNews’ requirements have essentially stayed the same, and it hasn’t been really a demanding duty to perform (though I contest that writing articles– writing plain fact– is a lot harder than exercising one’s creative gears). I have been slacking in those duties this past week, and I need to devote more time to it again as it’s time to perform some interviews. I have recently acquired the title of “bookseller” at Deseret Book. It’s not such a demanding occupation except in terms of time, as I will eventually be working many hours once the materialist side of Christmas hits. The environment there is, of course, a very glorious one, and I couldn’t hope to be in a better place than one full of quality books, music, and paintings, not to mention some of the best and most expensive food (Lion House) that one might ever taste.
Three Sets of DVDs
The Winter Eternal DVD has been screaming to be made for nearly two months, and hardly anything has been done about it. I came into acquisition of some glorious footage from last year’s Madrigal Christmas and have promised my dear Madrigals that I would have them DVDs with this data on them. Finally, I was contracted by the West Jordan Youth Theatre to film the recent and excellent play, Crown of Limoria, and thereafter to transfer this multimedia to a DVD (many DVDs) for the members of the cast to enjoy. I was presented by a mountain (or perhaps a molehill) of problems due to the oversimplicity of that dratted camera of the city’s, and I spent much longer than it should have taken trying to translate the camera’s foreign files into peasant binary so that I could finally edit it. It remains ahead of me to finish adding the bloopers and the interviews, which were filmed separately by another fellow, and then to render the DVD and make the copies.
My Novel Idea
That’s supposed to mean “the unique or excitingly original idea that is mine,” not “the idea regarding a book that is mine,” though the unique or excitingly original idea that is mine does regard a book– my book– The Imaginations. I’ve spent hardly any time on this the past year, and it’s really time that I plunge into what I truly yearn for and write this story! I had hoped to finish it by January 2010. It’s still possible: out of an estimated 75,000 words, I’ve got just less than 40,000. I can certainly write 35,000 words in a little over two months. Depending on when the Lord decides to have me sent to the MTC to begin my spreading of the one true and complete gospel, I could have more time than I expect. It’s very possible that I won’t leave until March or even April, though I’m expecting sometime in early February. This story is one worth reading, or so I imagine it to be, as it’s quite original, and I plan to intertwine it with the stuff that makes people feel things as is my growing reputation with short stories at IPF³.
Spiritual Growing Pains
I could definitely use more preparation for my mission. I fear I’ve slacked a bit in my self-prescribed spiritual duties, and I’m determined to pick back up the pace and be valiant. I’ve also taken up five institute classes at the Taylorsville Campus of Salt Lake Community College; I attend these institute classes regularly whenever I don’t have to work or accomplish massive projects during those days. I generally have to walk the five miles home, which takes around an hour to an hour and a half, so that’s essentially just time taken. However, it’s good preparation as I know I will most likely need to be able to walk many miles in a day while serving the Lord with an official name tag.
Aspirative Plans
I’ve many other future plans and mini-projects floating around in my head, some only for the mere excitement (such as the new-compy-in-a-Mac-Plus-case project– though I could actually earn a lot of money off of that) while others are more necessitudes (eventually selling my computers, preparing IPF³ for my departure, etcetera). I plan to take part in Eric Whitacre’s virtual choir, which I am very psyched for. I also plan to go see a train come by the Sugar Factory around midnight or one in the morning while it’s snowing softly. These come and go, and many stick in my head until I’ve accomplished them.
Flotsam
Often I get distracted by things not really all that important, and even many times they are aspects of some of the above projects I’ve been striving to complete (especially IPF³– I sometimes waste a great amount of time looking to implement a feature that we don’t really need or sitting and looking at statistics). These are fat that need to be stripped away and broiled out as I haven’t the schedule to do that anymore.
Personal Wishes
I wish to read more, and I’m determined to strip the flotsam out of my comings and goings and make more time for reading, especially since I can get free merchandise from Deseret Book for reading a certain book right now as well as the Christmas catalog. I also wish to… well. That will go unsaid. And that. You may guess if you so please.
One thing I could do less of to make my days more productive is to go to bed earlier. I accomplished waking up at 6:30 several times (usually to go to institute with Bobby), and I find that, even when those days are packed with other people’s schedules, I feel much more accomplished by the end of the day than if I had waken up at 11:00 or even 9:00 or 8:00. Since it’s nearly 2:00 AM, I think I shall resort to bed to get what rest I can.
The following is the beginning of a story that I started to write for IPF³ based off of one night’s events walking to the West Jordan Sugar Factory, going inside to deliver a project, and walking back home. It was originally designed to show how the mind of an author often escapes the present reality and soars into wondrous fiction. The italicized texts are basically the dramatized thoughts and ideas that I had while walking. I decided eventually, though, that it was more of a glorified journal rather than a story anyone who didn’t know me personally would enjoy, so I stopped writing it. Here it is, however, for those who do personally know me to sift.
A Step in the Dark
Based on true events– as most authors’ stories often are.
Though they worried about him in his journeys and often reprimanded him for being about without telling them, they could not deny the new spark of life that shone through his eyes this night. All of the worries in the world could not keep him from walking his way tonight. Reluctantly, they let him go, and he stepped out into the dark where the night reigned down on everything and the wind was alive.
He walked away from the home, and there was something growing within him; it was something that glowed. It was dark outside, but it was not dark within. He felt full of gold. Tarnished, perhaps, through life’s inevitable maturing and aging, but that brought a whole new level of value to the gold– value that most people wouldn’t understand– the value of worn books.
Night. Night and gold mixed. Tarnished nightandgold. Nox aurumque.He smiled.
He walked down the lane as the leaf-dancers fluttered around his feet. He paid them no heed as he was on an especial errand. Walking under a street lamp, passers-by, all of them in automobiles, would most likely infer that he was on his way to the city park to participate in the trafficking of illegal drugs. His bulky, black, aged coat with a massive collar would give this impression to those who didn’t know or recognize him.
He smiled again. I hope they think this. People in cars think funny things.
He crossed a busy street when the cars all stopped and waited with impatient exhausting, after the red hand disappeared, and after the white man shone in its place. He looked straight ahead to the other side and imagined the peculiar looks on the faces of the people in cars as they wondered why a heavily-coated and backpacked man was holding up traffic at this hour.
Let them imagine what they will. It will be good for them. He laughed to himself.
Upon crossing the street, the life of the cars moved on behind him, but he was where he wanted to be despite the fact that he kept walking. The street lamps were gone. Before him was a long stretch of curved sidewalk; to his right was the dark street; to his left was the empty city park. His trajectory was straight ahead.
He looked up at the moon– it wasn’t quite full.
The veiled moon was the only light that shone down upon the dark and empty city. The clouds weren’t very thick; they were more like puffs of steam slightly obscuring the lunar orb but hardly thick enough to douse its light. It was by this light that he was to make his way to the facility.
He was now walking next to the dark stretch of road. No cars drove past at this point, but the ornamental steet lamps that dotted the dim park that stretched out for acres next to him glittered through the near-bare branches of the trees that lined the curvy sidewalk. The yellow lights of a city building glowed brightly through its rooftop windows, and the humble front porch lights of small houses on the other side of the dark street twinkled in the corner of his vision.
All lights were extinguished. They had been for nearly a decade– the foot-long grass that was threatening to engulf the cracked and crumbling sidewalk was only proof that nothing– not even the lights– had been maintained for years. The only light to guide him was the bright white glow of the moon above him, and by this he made is way forward on this crumbling sidewalk, past the eerie crackle of the glaring trees, the omen-bearing whisper of the twirling leaves, and the foreboding emptiness of the black park. Where children once frolicked years ago now only the Incredulous prowled.
In the moonlight, he could only just make out the roof of an old city-owned building. A gaping hole where the window that protruded from the roof once was placed leaked darkness that was even thicker than the pitch of the dead city around him.
He shook himself and blinked his eyes. What a night. He smiled again. Why was it so glorious a night? Why this… creative light?
In his sojourn, he had nearly passed the park, and there it towered above all other buildings in the vicinity: the pair of two hundred-foot cement silos reflected the bright lights of the other city buildings around them, and their lighted bulk rather glowed in the night.
There it was: the facility. He was close. Of all the dark things that stood still in this dead city, it was that towering cement edifice that he feared most, yet it was his destination. It was a massive menacing silhouette that was more apparent that all of the other mysterious buildings around it: the city up to the horizon was black, but the sky rang with the tones of the moonlight, and it was blue; the dark towers’ silhouette pierced the faint glow of the sky so sharply that it was almost shocking to see the towers loom up like that. Of all of the buildings in the dead city, not to mention the other dead cities he had searched, this was the most ominous, yet it was the safest of any of the others.
As the story formulated in his mind, he walked across an entrance to a parking lot. Though the sidewalk curved as it had previously done by the park, when he reached it from crossing the entrance, he did not follow it but instead went in a straight course upon the grass. In the distance he could see two figures jogging down the sidwalk he had just left.
The sidewalk curved again, but he did not follow it. Quickly ducking into the shadows behind an old tree that was in need of pruning and crouching with as much of the tall grass covering him as he could make, two of the Incredulous jogged past, panting in their…
And this is where I decided that this story really wasn’t very interesting to anyone who didn’t know me personally. I personally wouldn’t care to read this if anyone I didn’t know wrote it. So I halted. Right when it was getting exciting, too: I accidentally stepped off of a curb in reality, and my imagination went straight to a scene in my mind where I stepped off into a great abyss– a crack in the middle of West Jordan that appeared during an earthquake after the world went through an I Am Legend-ish end (the reason why the city is dark and dead). I clung to its edge with the efforts of saving my life. The crack went down the Sugar Factory driveway and in between the back of the silos and the back warehouse. My imagination then went on as I followed the crack behind the factory; the pipes in the back of the silos were exhaust pipes, and they began to forcefully blow, and then jets of fire streamed out of them. To avoid being charred, I had to run and duck and swerve through them. Once through that peril, looking up, the last rocket carrying the last of the Earth People to a colony somewhere else where they could survive lifted out of the cavity of one of the silos and left me for dead. I don’t know how the story was to end– perhaps with me wandering the streets until I was killed by one of the Incredulous, and then me suddenly blinking and being in front of my back door in reality.
Ah, well. There are better stories to be written that I’ve already thought up. Farewell, unfinished tale.
I really do like trains.
I should like to visit the midnight train as it passes the Sugar Factory sometime this winter as it’s snowing peacefully.
No, I was perfectly content. Sunlight abounded. Ah! That I was, and it was glorious.
I miss the old days when things were as simple as sunlight shining through a gap in the wall.
I am at that point again in life– excited to move to the next shaft of sunlight.
Looking back, I shall most definitely treasure the past.
Why be unhappy? Nothing unfortunate has happened. Livet et vidunderligt and all that.
Who doesn’t love a Julie Dog? Only the very wicked.
I will never talk to the one I love [meaning the human I marry, not the dog I currently snuggle with] as if she is a dog or a two-year-old. I find that very degrading and awkward. I will talk to her lovingly as the grown, mature, and lovely person she is. None of this frankly ridiculous, embarrassing, and painful outbursts of a pretending of a sudden lack of oral or cognitive skills.
I don’t think I’ll talk to my children as if they’re dogs, either. But then how does one speak to a baby without treating the baby as a baby? I still contest that I’d like to speak to my children, who can comprehend sentences, in a loving way on levels that they can understand, but never as if they’re dogs.
If it weren’t for the words I have from God on the subject, I wouldn’t believe that I would ever marry.
I love music.
I wish I could write music.
My tooth hurts. I should like to beat it up for this.
I wonder why humans are so strange.
I must stop lifting myself above others. Pride, after all, is the first step in the wrong direction.
My tooth really hurts. Curse dental work.
I wonder how people took care of their teeth back in the ancient times? Even in the 18th and 19th centuries? Did they simply ignore it and have rotted teeth, the most of them?
I love Jesus Christ. I hope one day I can even remotely resemble the way He is.
I really wish to buy those two paintings in Deseret Book. But I ought not to.
I’m excited for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir’s CD, Choose Something Like a Star. Requiem sounds utterly delicious, too.
Perhaps I’ll go read a book.
Or write one.
