Visitors

  My creative writing class was recently visited by some students studying abroad from China at MSU. My friend Hannah and I were accompanied by two girls named Tiffany and Helen. They were firstly surprised by how little we go to school and that we actually switch classrooms as opposed to our teacher switching. They remarked on how Americans got more freedom and that it was something they longed for. They talked about how they didn't have a lot of time for hobbies or fun where they are from. We then gave them a tour of the school. We showed them the gyms and the auditorium and the science wing. They found our school to be fun and open. I found their company to be pleasurable and informative. I'm not gonna lie, I'm kind of beating my head against my keyboard for content here. They were just people. They had boyfriends and passions. They laughed and smiled and even opened up to us a little bit saying that they aren't always happy. It was nice to learn about their culture, but my favorite thing was that they were just like us in what they wanted or enjoyed. I learned a lot about customs along with everyday life where they're from. They were kind people who valued us as people as well. I think that is how I am going to remember them best. 

Raiders of the Lost Art

This is a picture of a square. A square that goes by the name of
Kathy Stephens. She's a babe, but she is also a buzz kill. Love
her to death.

 I've always found this courtyard to be beautiful. 
The trees and the compilation of stone make it so calming. 
I suppose one could expect nothing less from the art courtyard. 

This is Danielle Romay. She helped me to see that I could
perform my poetry and people would actually enjoy it. She gave
me a lot of confidence in performing and I am very grateful.

Connor Peters is a jerk. He is crude and unsympathetic
and I think that is probably why I think he is so funny.
Our jokes push the boundaries of what is morally acceptable and I love him for that.

This looks like a plate that has absorbed the souls of people
 who have peered too longingly upon it and compiled their faces
to stare and compel others to do the same.

Hayley Fraser is my life. Like literally, I want her job.
She has been one of the biggest supporters of my career as an
English teacher. I hope that one day I can teach a
class and connect with students in the way she does.

This picture of nature is the most authentic depiction around my school.
It reminds me of the woods behind my grandmother's house.
Minus the trash, of course.

Football is great and all but I will always see baseball as the most American sport.
It is so ingrained in our history that you can't go through any
history class it seems without discussing it.

The nostalgia runs deep with this picture. I was on the Speech and Debate
team for two years, and I loved it. If I had the ability, I wouldn't have quit,
but it ultimately wasn't going to help me on my career path.

This is a photo of a teacher filling out an evaluation on an A+ Tutor.
The importance is that it's a positive one. It gives me hope for my
generation and our ability to not be shitty people.

This is a picture of something round. That roundness comes from
our school mascot. Our school mascot is a chief. Like the Native Americans.

I hate people who can't park. Being a high school student this
is very much an uphill battle. It is not that difficult to park in a straight line.
You had to do it to get a license so prove it.

I found this to be an interesting angle. Mainly because the angle is
located in the science wing. Also, the science wing happens to be the
only section of the school that is not based on right angles and symmetry.
It bothers me.

Alright, there is no way you can tell me this elevator
phone wouldn't be interesting as hell to some little kid
with an iPhone. To them it's from the stone age.

I will never forget this bloody Tyrannosaurus. I've included 
him in music videos and innumerable pictures. His 
ability to just sit there will never be truly rivaled.

Real Life Questions

1. Should people write about what they know? I think that they should, yes. On the same note, I don't think you have to be good at something to be good at teaching someone else about it. For example, not every coach could participate in the sport they represent, but a lot of them are damn good. I think that having the ability to help somebody else with something you struggle with is a valuable skill, worthy of martyrdom.

3. Would I ever write for a newspaper? I have heavily considered it as a career. I really enjoy researching, informing, and upholding my opinions in respectable ways. Although it is dying, I think that the newspaper industry is one of the most valuable sources of information that we have. I feel as though I could contribute positively to both the knowledge and well-being of the people around me if I were involved in such activities.

9. What makes someone a "hottie" to me? That is the loadedest of the loaded questions. I can't say that I prefer beautiful women because then I am in some capacity a misogynist, yet if I mention that I like intelligent women I am being pretentious about my own intelligence. Nonetheless, that is my preference: somebody that I consider to be beautiful and intelligent. I also believe that everybody is beautiful to somebody. Tastes are different with everyone.

14. Is there a such thing as true love? I believe wholeheartedly that true love exists, just not in the traditional sense. I believe that there are individuals in which exists an imperceptible connection that trumps even the most perfect matches. I'm sure that somewhere someone has an equation to calculate that kind of stuff, but I really don't think that there is only one of these individuals per person. We all have multiple opportunities for true love.

22. Is life full of disappointment? How do I deal with it? The short answer is yes. Life is full of failures and disappointments and generally shitty scenarios, but what keeps me going is knowing that it gets better. At some point I get to lie down and sleep. At some point I get to relax and reflect and learn from what has happened. Don't get me wrong, I get pretty depressed from time to time, but I've discovered that not fighting is the only way to stay sad.

26. "Love isn't a feeling. It's an ability." Is this true? You know, I think so. To love someone isn't just the butterflies when you see them looking pretty. It is also the burning in your stomach you feel when they get hurt. It is the sick feeling you get when they are gone. It is the will to take care of them when they need you. Having the ability to love someone is having the ability the brunt of life's hardships for someone else to keep them at your side.

"You talkin'a me?"

"Yo Adrian! I did it!" -Rocky Balboa

"One particle of unobtainium has a nuclear reaction with the flux capacitor - carry the '2' - changing its atomic isotoner into a radioactive spider. Fuck you, Science!" -Greg Jenko

"You don't know about real loss, 'cause it only occurs when you've loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much." -Sean Maguire

"Oh no, not my friend Copper. He won't ever change." -Tod the Fox

"I see you're drinking 1%. Is that 'cause you think you're fat? 'Cause you're not. You could be drinking whole if you wanted to." -Napoleon Dynamite

Across the Reel

  I could never peg a single movie as my favorite. I think Rocky would be the top contender, but I am watching Across the Universe as I write this so my opinion is swayed a bit. I love both of these movies for vastly similar reasons. Rocky has always been an instant source of happiness for me. It is so inspiring and pure that I have never watched it without crying. Across the Universe is on the same level solely for the genius imbued in the making of the film. Taking a track list from an artist, and some others that are related, and turning it into a beautifully moving musical is absolutely amazing.
 
 With this in mind, I find it difficult to enjoy unintelligent movies. There usually has to be some concept or point which requires you to think or delve. This could be psychologically through a characters thoughts and feelings or large plot points that regard social issues or other such matters. I don't have to watch a pure artistic movie like We Need to Talk About Kevin, but I find difficulty in watching movies like Rock the Kasbah (I forgive you Bill Murray).
  I will sometimes see a movie in theaters if it is one I think I will really enjoy. This mostly consists of comic book movies or ones I would generally expect to be good. I (currently) work at a video rental store so I have started to rent movies and watch them at home. In case you hadn't figured out by my mentioning that I am currently watching a movie, there almost isn't a time when I'm not anymore. I just need a somewhat quiet, comfortable area and I can watch movies forever.

 I took the personality test and the results were surprisingly accurate. I am about 17% emotionally stable, I like violent movies, and I am open to new experiences. So, according to this test, I am basically Travis Bickle. Don't worry though, I haven't met any Palantine's. Other than the violent implications, it was surprisingly accurate in that I love intelligent movies and adventure movies.
  
If there were a movie made about my life I would most definitely be played by either Andrew Garfield or Jesse Eisenberg. There is no one else who could be as charming and as dickish. It would probably include my moves to show my relationship with my mom and my several instances of self endangerment with my father for that relationship. Then probably some of my debate tournaments. I think the most important to me would be the instances where I am helping my friends. I haven't quite discovered the overall conflict yet, but I would hope it would have a happy ending. The name would have to be something like "Studying English." I could get behind that.

Running Bride

I do.
Not for you.
This is for my kids.
My friends have made their bids.

For you there is only hate.
For me you can only berate.
One day, I will win.
That should be my only sin.

You have no power over me.
I am as strong as I could be.
Beat me, cut me, turn me red.
I will not leave them, not matter how much I've bled.

The cowl comes up and I see you start.
I finally see you fall apart.
I haven't felt this good in awhile.
Because now, you see me smile.

Culture Shock

Dear Bingley and Blythe,
  I am bundling this letter together because it will feed into my discussion with both of you, but I assure you I still value both of you. With that in mind it seems as though your perception of Americans may have taken a hit. We also watched the scenes from What Would You Do? and the episode of Wife Swap, and that is what this letter will regard. I believe that there are both adamant fallacies and painful truths weaved into the fabric of those shows. You must understand they have to do what is going to get them a positive reception from viewers. As much as it displeases me there is a heavy bias in media towards entertainment as opposed to education. With that said, I do think that they bring to light important issues here. I hate that there is such a large weight still on the shoulders of women in my country. I am the only boy in the women's rights club at my school. I think that Wife Swap does a good job at showing the importance of the mother and the woman in general when it comes to the functionality of a household. Branching off from that, the What Would You Do? episode that focused on the Muslim woman showed just how scummy people can be. I do like that show because it shows both the good and the bad in everyday people. The woman receiving help when her breasts were partially exposed and then becoming ignored when they weren't infuriates me. I like to think that I am a helper. I sit down with my friends all the time and do what I can to stand as an intermediary for their problems and do what I can to keep them happy. My personal belief is to always put other people before you. It has always helped me fell better about myself. Depression has consumed my life for a long time, side effects of being a writer I suppose, and it helps me want to prevent others from facing that same fate. I truly enjoy seeing people helping one another and do so myself as much as possible. Are there a lot of conflicts in your school or your life? If so do you think I am crazy for wanting so badly to help people? I look forward to hearing back from you both.

Yours truly,

Dakoda English

Artist Profile: Odd Nerdrum

  Odd was born on April 8, 1944 to Johan and Lillemor Nerdrum, although his biological father was David Sandved. He was the result of an affair while his father was at war. He was born in Helsingborg, Sweden. Both of his parents were freedom fighters. He had one younger brother. He began private school at the age of seven and eventually went on to study at the Art Academy of Oslo. He has never been married. He has lived through WWII, Korea, Vietnam, the JFK assassination, Watergate, and many other controversial events. Johan was always supportive of Odd but kept his distance. His parents were also divorced. Odd was actually raised under the practice of anthroposophy. This was a spiritual study that stated that one could enter a spiritual world through inner development and willpower. His paintings are usually on a large canvas and question societal norms. He is part of the contemporary period. Three of his more well known pieces are "Sleeping Prrofit", "Lunatics", and "The Kiss". Two pieces I enjoyed were "One Armed Aviator", which depicted a shirtless man wearing an aviator's cap and looking up, and "Running Bride", which showed a woman in a wedding dress with a bloody mouth.

Lunatics

One Armed Aviator

Theodosia

Standing has grown difficult.

Walking out from behind the counter even more so.

I do a final sweep.

I walk outside.

The sun stands to be my only comfort.

The setting orange and yellow are the brightness to my day.

The cicadas and birds no nothing of what goes on around them.

I suppose this invokes some joy.

I breathe in the smell of fifty years.

Gasoline has plagued my lungs to a point of utter affection.

I lock the doors and sit upon the step.

No customers today either.

Opportunity has been the rise and fall of my wealth.

I built this town only for it to cut me down.

The people I raised have become my Brutus.

My sorrow begins to bleed through my eyes.

Once you hit a certain age you become expendable.

I am no longer a human being to these people.

I am no longer worthy of their breathe.

Now I am but a number.

I leave the keys on the porch.

I stand and take one more glance at my life.

It was all I had left.

I walk.

Top of the Rock

Violets and crimsons at war

Over emerald hills.

The sapphire water links the sky and earth.

Just below lies the chapel.

On my left sits a couple,

The woman in a cocoon of beauty,

The man in a suit of debt,

Feasting on sixty dollar steaks.

I then notice then a small boat.

It seemed to be in flight upon the water's reflection.

A man appeared behind the sail.

His shirt flowed and his hair bloomed in the wind.

I put my hand upon the glass,

These are the times that I beg for an escape.

The sun finally disappears

And so to do my hopes of freedom.

I look up at the stars and imagine

How I could feel such openness.

The lights go off all around me,

And with them my illusions cease.

Little Letters from Across the Way

Bingley/Bings

I am a silent person. I am not very good at interflowing with other people. However, some sincere friends are my most precious fortune and some gifts from them are heavy for me. Such as watches album and evergreen tree and so on. In particular the watch is the most signal to me.

The watch comes from my first love who is a lovely and considerate girl. The watch is made of iron and has a red heart on the surface, which symbolizes our heart will being together forever. But reality won’t be act as you imaged. After we finished The College Entrance Examination, we are apart and our affection having been broken. Now I still remain the watch, it suggested me our enjoyable time in the high school period. At least encounter with you is my most fortunate thing in my long life journey.

Another precious gift is evergreen tree, it was my best friend gave me on my 13th birthday. He told me that whenever our heart will be together. No matter where we are. We are concerned each other. To my moved is once I got a cold and had a high fever, but my parents were out and left me alone. When I felt afraid, he came into and carried me on his back as soon as he found I am in sick. He does things like this, say less but do more no matter how difficult the thing he has promised is he would make it.

Reply:

This is rather touching, Bingley. You seem to be fluid with your emotion and willing to accept the importance of feeling. I have also had relationships, both friendly and romantic, that have been important to me. They always seem to end for me in one way or another. The ability to hold onto those types of relationships is not only a valuable skill, but I see it as a strength. I am glad to here that you have somebody that is important to you. I have a few friends of my own that I could call lifelong. One would be my friend Ethan and the other my friend Alec. The three of us are superbly nerdy. I actually just got back into reading the Naruto manga. What things do you like to do with your friends? Also, if it is quite alright with you, I would like to know what dating is like in your culture. I look forward to hearing from you again.

P.S. Would you be alright if I called you Bings? I enjoy giving people nicknames.

Blythe

Author note: Many memories can not only exist in our brains but also be recorded by
some cards. The reason why I write this essay is that the cards come from my friends
and senior school classmates and they represent our friendship.
In our society, there are all kinds of people. Maybe they are shy, they are
outgoing or other personalities. But in any case, everyone must have many beautiful
memories which were probably related to the past or happened recently in his or her
mind. Of course, I am no exception. As for me, I have a good habit that collecting
meaningful things in a specific box, and just because this habit that I can soundly
store these cards which come from people who I would never forget. These cards bear
the most beautiful memories.
I can say that I almost have all kinds of cards. In terms of their shapes, there are
circular cards, rectangular cards, rhombic cards and cordiform cards, etc. Besides,
every card has a beautiful design on one side, it may be a cartoon type, archaic type,
romantic type, literary type or whatever, and the other side is covered with their
congratulations which they want to tell me. Among all these cards, my bestie’s card
impressed me most. Her card is in a fresh style which gives me an eremitic sense.
What she wrote was the story between us. It began with our encounter and ended with
her congratulations. I remembered when I read it, I almost could not forbear crying.
Every time I saw her card, I always miss her, after all, we are so close in the past, but
now we are in different universities.
Effectively, when I open the box seeing these cards, they remind me of not only
my bestie but also that particular party for me. It was two years ago, at that time, I
was in senior two and our class were preparing for our school’s chorus competition.
On my birthday, the whole class practiced singing as usual and I was also serious in
practices. But suddenly they all stopped, I thought that it might be time to take a
break, to my surprise, they turned their voice and sang Happy Birthday to me. After
singing, our monitor gave me a stack of cards. I instantly realized that these cards
were from every classmate. I could not control my emotions so I was moved to cry. At
that moment, warm and happiness filled with my heart. I felt that the whole world was
saying the congratulations to me and I was a flying bird in the sky because I was too
happy. No word can describe my mood.
These cards gave me a sense of belonging and let me believed that there was real
love between people. To be honest, I really miss that class because it was like another
family for me. Although we can not meet everyone everyday now, I believe that the
feelings between us are as before. Finally, I wish everyone lead a happy life.

Reply:

I truly enjoyed your essay, Blythe. It brings me great pleasure to know that you have known such happiness. There is a beauty in being able to cry in front of one's friends; one that I am all too familiar with. The relationship between a person and their friends is one to be treasured and kept close to the heart. I hope that we can achieve a level of friendship that requires me to send a card. With that in mind I would love to get to know more about you. What are some of your hobbies? What kind of music do you listen to? What types of film do you like? Anything you would like to know or tell me is welcome. I look forward to hearing from you again.

Boy With Twig

Sound. Rhythm. Vibration.
This is all so new.
I spy a hollowed log and I begin to tap it.
The rocks under the water accept this new beat.

I run around tapping my log.
The small waterfall beside me follows along.
Then the birds begin to sing.
The trees sway with my sounds.

The winds whistle through me.
I can feel the vibrations in the ground below me.
Then it all slows into the twig in my hand.
I have fallen for music.

Aerial View

  Destruction, pain, desolation; these are just a few things that pop into mind when I look at this painting. To me it appears as a few different images. I see a barren, desolate land, plagued by warfare and ill times. I see the people roaming this wasteland in search of some sort of salvation or mercy. I also see purity; a white grace that is slowly being consumed by the darkness around it. A final peg of hope that is being ripped apart by the corruption that surrounds it. There is also a hint of fiction here. It looks like an image that somebody is trying to understand. It has this feeling of fogginess, like someone confused by a premonition or slighted by a difficult decision. This painting saddens me.

The Man In Wolf's Clothing

  The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel. Agent Wilbur Mulligan stood at the edge of the shoddy wooden structure, surrounded by what was once a glorious trade port for early Bostonians. He wore a black suit that made him look like he was hunting aliens and always had his butterscotch colored hair perfectly combed to the left. There was a soft April breeze coming from the shore that bore a distinct smell of oils and heat. 
  He heard a car door from up on the highway behind him. The road was about ten feet above the platform on which he stood, making him uncomfortable with any height advantages one would have on him. He focused on the image of the Russian gangster, Isaac Barishnikov, as his face and outfit began to warp. Within a matter of seconds his stature was shorter and rounded. He no longer looked like a six foot two government agent that was designed on a computer. The accents were rough though. It was the only thing he couldn't change. 
  Three men descended the stone stairway to the platform. All three were in business suits harboring handguns. Wilbur stood there looking as disdainful as possible. The men quickly eyes the large silver briefcase at Wilbur's feet. The man in front had blonde hair and piercing green eyes, making him resemble a serpent of some kind. The other two were large and built much like the one in front but there slick brown hair and sunglasses made them seem unreal. 
  Wilbur had contacted these men in search for a lead on the disappearance of his older brother Garrett. Garrett was Wilbur's partner in a private detective agency that they opened after the second Korean war. They were part of a special experimental unit that did super soldier tests in hope to make the perfect insurgence agent. Only five participants lived through the experiments. The project allowed them to reconfigure the cells in there body to match any figure that they've come into contact with. Two of them were killed in the war. Wilbur, Garrett, and an Asian man named Matsuki were the only survivors.
  "Is it all there?" The serpent man asked. Wilbur just smirked and grunted, picking up the case. He clicked it open to reveal $70,000 in cash. The serpent man smiled and motioned for one of his lackeys to produce something from their jacket. The man to his right conjured a small envelope and handed to Wilbur. Wilbur handed over the case and gave a slight bow, bidding the men goodbye.

  He quickly opened the envelope as they left, revealing a large stack of pictures of his brother's head, no longer attached to a body. The pictures also showed a man who had butterscotch hair clutching the severed ligament. It suddenly all made since. They had made more and they wanted Wilbur dead. Then there was a chance that his brother left willingly. There was a chance that he could still fix this.
  Just as he was coming to a conclusion on what to do next, he noticed that there had been no car door shut. The men had not left. Something was wrong. He began shuffling through the pictures of gore and bloodshed. There were easily two hundred pictures. Then he found one with something laced into the back. He flipped it over to reveal a paper charge. Paper charges were an advancement made in counter-insurgence that the American government had employed to take out informants without raising alarm. He dropped the sack and ran over to a nearby hovel of boards and boxes. As he ran he twisted his face into one more dirty and hairy, sliding into the hut as if it was the winning hit of the World Series. There was a drastic pull, and then a pop, as Wilbur was thrown twenty feet into the air, landing hard on a pile of trash behind a warehouse off the port. He heard the ring of steel against steel as a far door clanged shut.

When the Future is Yesterday

  I recently sat in on a magazine presentation. It was a local magazine and they focused on the indigenous people of "417-land", putting a distinction on the people. They work around the clock to produce a work of literature littered with ads and stories and places that rip you from where you are and take you to where you could be. I have a personal affinity for magazines with more educational purposes like TIME or National Geographic and if I had to choose I would much rather work there. With that being said I think there is a beauty in the work that they do. It got me thinking about where I could go.

  Jump forward to next year. I'm drudging through my second semester of college and am in desperate search of love. I don't go to parties so my chances for interaction with the opposing sex is limited. I make do with the income from my part-time job at Family Video and I spend as much time as possible at friends' houses. My ambition is rivaled only by my laziness as I do everything in my power to pass my classes and still be an amateur gamer and writing enthusiast. My diet consists of usual college kid things; pizza, pizza rolls, pizza pockets, pizza sliders, and pizza fries. My depression hasn't fully subsided and some days it is a struggle to get out of bed whereas others I cannot wait to carpe diem. The path to being a teacher is truly ironic to me. I can't wait to be done with school so that I can go and work at a school.

  Four more years pass. I'm finishing my first year teaching at Kickapoo alongside my favorite teachers from when I was here. It is quite different from what I expected. I have both more and less control than previously presumed, and I fear I am not as exquisite as I had planned on being. I get along with the students fine but the computers are showing to be more of a hindrance on my abilities than a help and I'm not sure what I am going to be doing for a living for the rest of my days. I finally acquire a girlfriend and we plan on moving in together within the next month. I have tossed around proposing to her, but I have no idea if I'm ready.

  Tack on five more years. I am almost thirty, married to the love of my life, twin boys with a girl on the way, and life couldn't get any better. I finished my masters in poetry and there is talk of letting me teach a class centered on the subject as a communication arts elective. I have never been so well-respected in my life and I'm not really sure how things got so easy. My house is bigger than I had ever hoped, and I had finally saved up to buy a Porsche. Her name is Virginia and she is electric blue.

  Forty more years go by. I am now sixty-eight years old. I have lived with the death of my wife for thirty-eight years. My kids are all through college and working various jobs. My son Malaki and my daughter Au-Riel are both married but my other son Carter hasn't yet settled down. I retired fifteen years ago and I've never remarried. I got involved in politics and am planning on running for office for Missouri. My books have won various awards and gotten me plenty more death threats. Life is hard again. I am lonely, my kids are gone, my wife is gone, and I am stuck fumbling around, barely being able to wipe my own ass. Somehow I miss the days of ignorance and inspiration. I miss the color and the emotion. I am tired, and every single today makes me miss all of the yesterdays.

Between the Lines

 "The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel." -William Gibson

  William Gibson is a science-fiction writer who is regarded as the father of cyberpunk and even coined the phrase cyberspace. He was born on March 17, 1948 in Conway, South Carolina. He was the first winner of the science-fiction "triple crown", which is made up of the Nebula Award, the Philip K. Dick Award, and the Hugo Award, for his novel Neuromancer (1984).

  Neuromancer is a book about a former hacker named Henry Dorsett Chase, who also happens to be a drug addict, that is dragged back into the mix of dastardly deeds involving computers when he is given promises of a repaired self and cures for his addiction.

  I really think that I would enjoy this book because I love scenarios that deal with certain "what if" situations, and I have a personal affinity for all thing related to science-fiction or fantasy, especially when the tone is dark or hyper realistic.

"He heard the ring of steel against steel as a far door clanged shut." -Richard Wright

  Richard Wright was born in Roxie, Mississippi on September 4, 1908. He was commonly known for writing controversial pieces of realistic fiction about racial tensions and was believed to have had an impact on racial tension in the mid 20th century.

  His book Native Son (1940), was about a young man named Bigger Thomas who is responsible for taking care of his mother and his siblings during the 1930's and finds himself caught up in an altercation with the law.

  I would most definitely want to read this book due to my passion for knowing everything ever and for the sole fact that it would give me an informed glimpse into the life of a black man during the early 1930's.

K.I.L. Team

  Now was the time. PMB and I were code named the Korean Infiltration Leader team, or K.I.L. team for short. Puppymonkeybaby joined the force three years ago, just after my internship turned into actual employment. We both started as field agents and were quickly placed together. They called me Bull-Moose Party because of my distant relation to Teddy Roosevelt and in part because I look like him. We had now been tasked with dismantling the nuclear situation in North Korea.
  PMB deployed just before me, right above Kijong-Dong. We had received intel that Kim had been using the location as a front for an underground nuclear sight. I grabbed my parachute with a BMP embroidered on the lip, strapped in my .50 cal revolver, and followed suit. It was nighttime and our stealth bomber was nearly invisible. We swiftly descended to the ground and met no opposition. PMB pulled his heat sensing goggles out of his diaper and placed them on his muzzle. He always wore a pink bow on his tail for these missions. He said it gave him good luck. He was easily the greatest agent I'd ever seen.
  After routine checks of a few of the buildings, we found one by the crappy Eiffel Tower rip-off with an elevator. It asked for a key card but PMB ripped out the device and it took us down promptly. Th elevator was see-through so we got a good look at the facility as we descended. There were hundreds of men armed with rocket launchers and hazmat suits. There were three large battle mechs at the far end and a large straight walkway to the control panel for a massive warhead. I knew that we'd have to fight our way through them some way or another.
  I turned to PMB to tell him we should be stealthy but he jumped through the glass before I could. I knew I couldn't let him go in alone so I had to jump out after him. There were flashing lights all over the place. It looked like a silver disco club decorated with a nuclear holocaust. PMB killed seven soldiers before I even hit the ground. They noticed us rather swiftly and began firing missiles at us. Puppymonkeybaby pulled out his gatling gun and began stopping the projectiles mid-flight. I also stopped quite a few with my revolver. After a swift period, we had slain all of the rocket goons.
  Then, not even a split second later, one hundred ninjas appeared from various vents and corridors. PMB and I began sprinting to the missile. He was grabbing swords and slaying ninjas left and right with his inhuman agility, whereas I had to rely on my vastly over sized handgun. The ninjas almost overtook us but PMB finally used his laser vision and finished them off. The ninjas scattered the floor from end to end. Then they began beeping. Every single one was a bomb. PMB activated his super speed and defused all one hundred of the bombs before they could detonate.
  That is when the mechs activated. They were each twelve feet tall and mounted with a gatling gun and rocket launcher. They formed a defensive perimeter around the hundred foot missile. PMB was about to pounce when they all began to move together. They met in the center of the pathway and formed a ring. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Kim Jung-Un himself jumped into the middle of the robots. He was easily ten feet tall himself with a stomach the size of a smart car. He was wearing nothing but a sumo belt bearing the North Korean flag. He extended his arms to either side and fused with the robots. He turned into a twenty foot, mechanized, Korean, ninja, pig. He spawned two eight foot katanas and charged.
  PMB jumped up and pulled his six foot katana from his diaper and engaged the brute. I began running around to the back of the beast but the samurai-like armor seemed to have no weak spots. PMB was holding his own like Yoda fighting Dooku. He was flipping and spinning and cutting. I began firing my Revolver into a small chink under Kim's right arm. The giant began to cry out in pain as PMB followed up by chopping off the ligament. We had gained the upper hand. The robot began trying to step on me out of desperation and I lost my rounded glasses in the tussle.
  Then he picked me up and I thought all was lost. PMB jumped onto his head and stabbed straight down. The body grew limp and fell to the floor. We had won. I ran over and set the bomb to detonate without launching and we climbed out. PMB activated his pocketcopter as we ran and we flew. I heard the explosion in the distance as a single tear fell out of my eye. We sang the "Star Spangled Banner" all the way home.

A Piece On Six Word Memoirs

Caloric intake doesn't mean a thing.

Black, gray, pink; my favorite colors.

Dad is gone, mom isn't here.

Wrenches, screwdrivers, still can't fix it.

A strong mother challenged by Atlas.

They don't get it, do they?

Diving right in. Please love me.

Bones crack below roaring car engines.

Fix son cereal, change the world.

All us nerds will rise up.

Forged in fire, softened by love.

On the Record

"One war at a time." 

-Abraham Lincoln

"I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear." 

-Nelson Mandela

"Ask not what your country can do for you but what you can do for your country." 

-John F. Kennedy

"With great power comes great responsibility." 

-Ben Parker

"Daddy needs to express some rage." 

-Deadpool

"You can't just make me different and leave." 

-Miles Halter

"No one in the world ever gets what they want and that is beautiful." 

-Wade Watts

"I've gotta go see about a girl." 

-Sean Maguire

"No matter what people tell you, words and ideas can change the world." 

-Robin Williams

Writers as Readers

  I'm going to be real here, I'm about to spoil some books into the ground. If you have any desire to read these books without knowing some of the larger plot twists then you should skip the paragraphs beginning with their names. 
  My favorite book is easily Ready Player One by Ernest Cline. It is a book about a bunch of nerdy shenanigans between a depressed anti-social gunter with no money and his friends who turn out to be far different and vastly similar all at once. Let us start with your most pertinent question: what in sam hell is a gunter? Well I am going to tell you. In the year of 2012 the OASIS is released. It is a virtual reality gaming system that was designed to be able to grow indefinitely by user contributions. The man who creates it kicks the bucket and leaves all of his fortune to who ever can find the easter egg hidden in the game. The players who seek this out are deemed gunters. This book is my favorite because it is littered with nerdy jokes, nerdy references, nerdy love stories, and nerdy social awkwardness. It is a bundle of joy and despair and badassery that cannot be ignored by modern readers.

  My second favorite book is Looking for Alaska by John Green. When I finished reading Looking for Alaska, I was angry afterwards because that's not how you end a book. You can't kill off my main character's love interest and not provide me with an answer to whether or not it was a suicide. That's just a dick move. In all honesty, the book is beautifully and crudely worded while maintaining the interest of the ignoramus and the intellectual alike. It is a study in love and despair and grieving, taking you through the life of a boy named Miles as he falls in love with a girl, proceeds to make out with the girl, and then falls apart because she dies. Bundles of joy from John Green, folks.
  I think that it is important to read alot because just out of these two books I have received worlds of inspiration. I firmly believe that the more you read the more effectively you write. There is something to be said about the fact that authors like John Green, Ernest Cline, Stephen King, Maya Angelou, John Steinbeck, et cetera, were all well-read. After all, there's no sense in expecting people to read your baffling and bullshit if you aren't willing to step into theirs.

Release of the Lonely

I felt no shame about masturbating. Thanks to Anorak’s Almanac, I now thought of it as a normal bodily function, as necessary and natural as sleeping or eating. 

I've always been one for shock value. Whether it be in the form of comedy or gratuitous horror, I have found it to be a necessity that you do something to maintain a reader's attention. I have truly never found a bit of random dicktitude (my made up word for the action of dicking around) to be of negative affections. It is easiest to get your message across when your readers, or listeners, are paying attention. Even in our favorite books I can guarantee that we have all had to skim through some less than interesting groupings of monotonous lettering. One of my favorite examples of throwing a curve straight out of left field (I know nothing about baseball) would be the section of Ernest Cline's Ready Player One devoted to the importance of masturbation. It reads like so:
AA 241:87—I would argue that masturbation is the human animal’s most important adaptation. The very cornerstone of our technological civilization. Our hands evolved to grip tools, all right—including our own. You see, thinkers, inventors, and scientists are usually geeks, and geeks have a harder time getting laid than anyone. Without the built-in sexual release valve provided by masturbation, it’s doubtful that early humans would have ever mastered the secrets of fire or discovered the wheel. And you can bet that Galileo, Newton, and Einstein never would have made their discoveries if they hadn’t first been able to clear their heads by slapping the salami (or “knocking a few protons off the old hydrogen atom”). The same goes for Marie Curie. Before she discovered radium, you can be certain she first discovered the little man in the canoe. 
It wasn’t one of Halliday’s more popular theories, but I liked it.
Now, whether I choose to agree completely with these words I feel like there is something to be gained by them. In listening to what he has to say it is easy to see the oppression us nerds have come to face from those who deem us unworthy of attention or sexual activities. This could be taken a step further to say that, on the whole, we aren't even considered functioning members of society by most. I know that personally I've had to adapt to a number of different social norms to obtain any kind of companionship. We aren't allowed to be us and masturbation is just one form of coping. Even if you are against it you have to admit that it's better than getting drunk or being high all the time. We thrive off of the noble sacrifice of adult performers and sleezy internet perverts. We make bank on the devices in your pocket and the words in your head. Now I want you to think about all of the people you have oppressed, you can't say that you haven't because at one point everyone has, and tell yourself all the ways you could've made them a little less lonely.

On Pillows

  The room is full and lonely. I sit up and admire the mementos of camaraderie. The times passed that brought me solace in company. I see the Statue of Liberty and the time I went to New York with friends from school. I see the debates trophies and all the acquaintances that provides. These are just a few of hundreds of small things I have kept over the years. With all these memories of other people, perhaps the loudest memory is just behind me. I turn to lay back down and peer at the fluff and cloth that I have become so dependent upon. It at first reminds me of years of pain. As a child I always isolated myself from people, and I suppose I still do, for any reason that struck my fancy. I cut off friends because I hated losing people. Rather ironic is it not? I cut off family because I saw myself through their eyes as nothing but a disappointment. I cut off the world entirely that lay outside the four walls of the room in which I was assigned. 

  I would stay in my room and play with Legos, usually Bionicles. Sometimes I would play video games. I say sometimes because I was often grounded. My pillow quite often saw the worst of me. I would cry into it, scream into it, beat it up, and sleep soundly it. The pillow became a sort of benchmark I suppose. It began to symbolize so many different things. It has supported my entire life so far. I love too hard and care too much and the only thing that has let me hold onto it indefinitely is that shitty, crumpled, blue pillow from Wal-Mart. I suppose you can infer a number of things about me from that. I'm a hopeless romantic and I guarantee that there are enough dried tears on my pillowcase to fill a small pond. 
  With all that darkness in mind it has long been a symbol of hope and security. There is a lot of achievement in returning home and lying down and feeling your feet breath a separate sigh of relief. The highlight of my day is lying down and letting the words flow through my head and listen to the thousands of poems and stories that fill my brain that could never all be transcribed. That pillow has heard more of my thoughts, opinions, and words than anyone in my life ever will. I know that I am at my happiest when I am burrowed in the solitude of cracked memory foam and broken zippers. My pillow is shitty. My pillow is blue. My pillow is from Wal-Mart. I love the hell out of my pillow.

The Good Fight

  As I fall, I thought nothing would catch me. The miles there were between my falling face and the ground with which I would soon grow intimate. This fight was not one of rage or pride but one of passion and love. The man before me is dating the love of my life. He is a disrespectful brute with no regard for others and a lack of concern for the value of a female. He also happens to have just punched me square in the face. Now I am not small I would say but he is considerably larger than me. I finally made contact with the ground, feeling a buzzing in my hears and getting dizzy as my head bounced off the cement. 
  I jumped up as quickly as I could, not completely stable but also unwilling to show weakness. I swung at where I knew he had been and caught him in the jaw. He did not go down but he was obviously shaken. My head was still spinning and I barely notice his next flurry of punches in time to get my hands up. He drew back for a big hit and I was able to hook him in the kidney and gain some ground.
  He was on the wrestling team and I was a boxer, so I knew where I had to keep this fight. He quickly realized that he would be too slow for me on our feet so he tried to tackle me. My head was beginning to clear however and I just barely moved. He whipped and whirled and I hit him right on the temple. I pictured the times he had beaten her. I heard all the times he had diminished her. I felt all the times he had broken her heart. I smashed his face in a little more for every little thing that entered my mind. 
  I began to notice that a crowd was gathering around us. The air was crisp and the sun was hot. My fury lightened and the world rushed back in. I stood back from his unconscious body, smelling the freshly cut grass and absorbing the cries of appraisal coming from the mass of flesh around me. And I felt bad. I had never wanted to be the guy that humiliated somebody else. I had promised myself that my fighting was only for self defense and letting off steam. 
  I sat on the curb as he began to stir. That is when she showed up. She looked at me and then at him and back. She had always doubted my ability to fight him. I stood and smiled and walked over to her.
  "You don't have to be worried anymore," I said, "it's over.
  Her eyes began to water and I spread my arms for a hug. A tear rolled down a bruise under her left eye, no doubt left by him, and she left out a few sobs. She slapped me. She never said a word to accompany the humiliation. She just smacked me in the face and ran over to him. 
  I stood there with my arms hanging, taking the brunt of the rejection. I wish that he would get up and just kill me now. I close my eyes and picture being lost, ending all of this and being happy. I picture him getting up, slamming my skull into the ground, and ending my suffering. I convince myself that if I dream long and hard enough, it will come true.