Monday, October 25, 2004
 
God in the Shed

Ben was only eight and afraid of the dark. One evening his mother was cleaning the kitchen and wanted to sweep out the hall; so she asked him to fetch her the broom from the shed. Startled by such a suggestion Ben turned to her and said, "But, Mum, I don't want to go out there; it's really dark." His mother looked at him with a reassuring smile and said, "Now you know you don't need to be afraid of the dark, Ben. God is out there. He will protect you; so go on, and sing on the way." Looking quizzically at his mother, Ben sought further confirmation. "Are you sure he's out there?" "Yes, of course I'm sure. God is everywhere, and he is always ready to help if you need him," answered his mother confidently. Ben thought about this for a few moments and then walked cautiously toward the back door. Slowly he opened it halfway and peered through the gap. Then, raising his voice, he called out, "God? If you are out there, would you please fetch me the broom from the shed?"


- posted by -g @ 6:34 AM | | 0 rocks in pond



Wednesday, October 20, 2004
 
And why does it seem that the hungry get lost in the problems of those who are satisfied?

That is a wonderful question. Thank you Lindsey!

Any answers children?




- posted by -g @ 11:07 PM | | 0 rocks in pond



Monday, October 18, 2004
 
Excerpt from Duisterville

(Duister is latin for darkness, so Duisterville is the city of darkness)

Todd Vals raised his voice above the pandemonium that reigned for a short while in his house, threatening to tear it down. "Everyone," he called several times. "EVERYONE!" he finally yelled at the top of his voice. "EVERYONE, PLEASE SETTLE DOWN! There's plenty of pohon left, and we can certainly keep making more. But if you tear down the house, you won't have anything!"

Perhaps it was the appeal, or perhaps it was Todd's charm he exuded even while yelling at the top of his lungs, but it worked. The vastly overcrowded house of revelers gradually grew quiet as they turned to quieter conversation and once again formed a line to fill their cups with more of the pohon.

"Todd-"

Todd was now looking through the crowded living room area for Piper.

"Todd-"

Todd turned around to hear who was calling him. It didn?t sound like Piper, but he wasn?t sure. There were people pressing against him from all sides, and he couldn?t tell who had called his name.

"Todd, can I speak with you for a moment?"

Todd whirled around to find himself staring directly in the face of Tomma Torstig. She was a tall and very skinny girl with dirty blond hair that she didn't seem to worry too much about arranging properly, at least as far as what many of her friends considered fashionable. Now she was intoxicated with the pohon to the point of having difficulty standing straight. But even still, she looked nervous and distraught over something.

"I think there's a problem with the pohon-."

"What do you mean?" Todd replied, turning on the charm as best he could. But it didn't help.

"My eyes- I think they?re turning a different color- like- kind of reddish."

"What? You've just had too much to drink."

"No really, I've noticed others- I mean- I've noticed that other's eyes are turning too-."

"So? Don't worry about it, it will be gone in the morning," he replied callously, turning to look for Piper again. But Tomma grabbed his arm and turned him around, squeezing too hard so that his face turned ugly. "What are you doing?" he yelled at her.

"It's the pohon," she cried. "It's wrong...it's changing people...it's turning their eyes red!"

Todd's big eyes now flamed out of their sockets. "Are you accusing Dr. Reproba of wrongdoing? How dare you! Look who he is, a world famous celebrity. Physicists come from all over the world to hear him speak. The pohon will change the world! And you? You?re nothing! You probably won?t even graduate!"

Tomma shrunk back in horror. She was devastated by his harsh words, feeling rejected by someone she had looked to as a leader. But it was worse than that, for not only had he completely denied the obvious, but she could clearly see that his eyes too were turning red.


- posted by Bruce @ 8:29 PM | | 0 rocks in pond



Sunday, October 17, 2004
 
Inaccuracy

The past is inaccurate, because we cannot determine how it was in fact, no matter how hard we try. We must rely on people's memory, which is treacherous, because memory is constantly juggling and revising the data of experience. Even when people say they were present when something happened, one cannot trust them, but usually they simply repeat as a fact what they heard from other people. In telling about an event, we ourselves cannot avoid revising it, because our narrative simplifies and composes a whole out of selected components, while omitting others. It suffices to compare our knowledge of facts with their depiction in chronicles, journalistic accounts, memoirs, to understand the need for fantasizing that is somehow inscribed in the language itself, and which draws us into the forest of fiction.


- posted by -g @ 2:26 PM | | 0 rocks in pond



Saturday, October 16, 2004
 
What is more important?

Being good at many things or being great at one thing?

While you can accomplish many tasks by being a Jack of All Trades you are a Master of None. However, by being a Master at something your other talents are diminished.

Would you be satisfied with being good at many things or being great at one thing?

Isn't life just ironic sometimes?


- posted by Julia @ 1:21 AM | | 0 rocks in pond



Wednesday, October 13, 2004
 
This reminds me of Allie:

For the truly creative mind in any field is no more than this -a human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create - to create - to create - so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of beauty and meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create. He must pour out creation. By some strange unknown pressing inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating.
-- Pearl S. Buck

I am still working on identifying all those mugs!~


- posted by -g @ 9:26 AM | | 0 rocks in pond



Sunday, October 10, 2004
 
I am going to follow up your "Pensive; Contemplative" with a little bit of

Adorable; Tasty



All you need is love.
We all need love.


- posted by Allie @ 8:12 PM | | 0 rocks in pond



Saturday, October 09, 2004
 
I Know

I know this German man who smokes Prince and Keeps fish. He is the answer to a complicated puzzle. The question becomes: HOW?


- posted by -g @ 8:57 PM | | 0 rocks in pond



 
Pensive; Contemplative



- posted by -g @ 6:36 PM | | 0 rocks in pond



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