Puppies! So CUTE~

Puppies! So CUTE~
They're my cousins, my auntie's baby gave birth to them! The father is some random doggie from the pet store!



This one is MINE! Whoo! His name is Jacob! He's going to sleep on my tummy~

Alice in Wonderland: 3

Chasing white Bunny
Girl Alice finds Wonderland.
Taste pleasure, drink pain.

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Down a deep dark Hole
Falling past Beasts with two backs.
Past too fast to touch.

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When do cats eat bats?
Who gets high from eating pie?
Dreaming as she fell.

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సర్ Sarah

యు'రీ లాఫింగ్ ఫర్ నూ రీఅసన్
బ్రిఘ్త్ సున్బెఅమ్స్ ఫిల్ డి ఎయిర్
యు స్మైల్ దీస్పితీ డి సిఇజన్లూ
మై ఫింగెర్స్ తాసీ యువర్ హెయిర్.

శీ'స క్రయింగ్ ఇన్ డి కార్నెర్
ఎఎస్ రెడ్ ఫ్రాన్ మౌర్నింగ్
ఐ కాన్నోత్ బార్ తూ లిఇవ్ హర
మై తోంగుయే లూన్గ్స్ ఫర్ డి తస్తింగ్.

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yu'ree laaphing phar noo reeasan
bright sunbeams phil di yeyir
yu smail deespitee di siijanloo
mai phingers taasee yuvar heyir.

shee's qraying in di qaarner
yeyes red phron mourning
ai qaannoot baar too liiv har
mai tonguye loongs phar di tasting.

Rock-Paper-Scissors-Lizard-Spock

Research has shown that 85.762% of rock-paper-scissors contests between people who know each other well end in draws. Thus, it is proposed that two additional choices, Lizard and Spock. Learn how to play Rock-Paper-Scissors-Lizard-Spock from the diagram below.


Rock blunts scissors, scissors cut paper, paper wraps rock, rock crushes lizard, lizard eats paper, paper is too low tech for Spock, Spock vaporizes lizard, whose tail grows back after being cut off by scissors, scissors cuts Spock, but Spock vaporizes rock.

Mmm this is just so I remember how to play the game, actually.

Die, Lizard, Die!

For two Indians. And I wanted pictures on my blog.




One day, I was eating my sandwich happily. I like peanut butter.


But then suddenly a lizard was flying to me.



I killed the lizard with my lunch box. The brand was Tupperware. I was trying to catch it, but I only caught the back half.



I should have signed at the bottom of my artwork....

Dear Nina

Because you linked me, and said "Make my hard work worth it." (Or something like that)

I was just thinking. If I hadn't sprained my ankle that night, I would have gone hiking the next day with Denise and Aaron Sim. I would have been training with Candice, maybe we would have joined a marathon together. I would have been in the basketball and handball team. The biggest competition of the year is coming in a month's time. I won't be able to play.

There's so many other could-haves and maybes. How different would it be? That alternate reality where I didn't wear shoes to play. I'm blaming my shoes. I never would have landed awkwardly barefoot. I would have felt Aaron Woon's foot under mine much earlier and shifted my weight appropriately. How much better would that life be?

But I was just thinking, in that life, I would never have talked to you.


Yours,

Jared.


P.S. I said the exact same thing to Marielle. You two are the people I know from Facebook chat!

Dear Kristy

I can't write to you now. People make jokes about the wheelchair, about me hopping around. I laugh. I really am... happy. I wouldn't let a sprain stop me from being happy. But it's the reason I can't write.

You're one of the only people I'm completely honest with, you always have been. I didn't want you to see my despair. The frustration.
It's not just the ankle. It's more than that. It's about being weak. It's about what I am.
The injury just gave me too much time to think.

I'm holding back on you now. I can't tell you everything. I'm sorry. I'll talk about something else.

...

Why do we seek help in times of weakness? Why do we seek God? I say "we", but I mean other people. They say it is God's way of showing us that we need him. I'm not arrogant. Not in this matter, at least. I just don't feel the need to depend on someone else.
In fact, I feel furthest from God when I'm weak.

Do you know that story about magic? I read it in some old fantasy anthology. The book didn't even have a cover.


It was about two boys who wanted to learn magic. They went into the desert where a magician lived in a tower, and asked him to teach them. The magician gave them chores, and only taught them the most basic methods of meditation.

One day, he took the boys out into the desert, for a stroll. When they reached the top of a dune, they saw a large monster. Unfortunately, the monster saw them too. The magician could have fought it, but he closed his eyes, called upon his magic, and flew into the sky.

The monster was getting closer. One of the boys remembered a small cave, too small for the monster, that they had passed a while back, and turned around, ran to it quickly. The other boy closed his eyes. Desperately.

In the sky, the magician told his pupil, "Magic comes to those who need it."


Yours,

Jared.

Sheep

I can't sleep. But thinking of sheep makes me think of a bunch of other things.

Church. Argument. Nice Normal. I'm too lazy to explain.

Argument. What is it for?

I'm thinking of being a father. I never want to make my kid do something "because I said so." How could I be so hypocritical? I want my children to choose to do what they do because they believe it is right. Because they have understanding and knowledge.
I don't want sheep that do what they're told simply because they're told what to do.

What happens when we disagree?

Wild

Taking in my first breath of cold morning air;
stretching out as the sun's warmth hits my face;
feeling the air rush past as I run;
listening to the staccato taps of my feet touching the ground;
smelling the earth, the plants, the bird poo...as I
hungrily suck sweet air through my nose;

The muscles in my legs coil and just for a moment, I'm flying.

I break the surface and I do not fall. It's almost another world. So peaceful. It's just another type of flying as I push myself through the water.

The sun is truly out now and the world is hot. I smell the sweat on my body and my belly growls for food. But the ground is cool and soft.

Under a leafy tree I sigh and bite into an apple. Crunchy, juicy, sweet.

Then a moment of reflection, alignment with God,
emerging with a knowing. Doubts melt away.

An enticing scent,
a wonderful view,
an engaging talk,
then a tasty meal.

The Accident

It roamed through the mess.
It moved without rest.
Not knowing how long it had roamed.
It knew all there is to be known.

Nothing beyond reach.
It would fit no niche.
An existence with no meaning.
There can be no such thing.

It raised the Phoenix from the ashes.
A babe suffers thirty-nine lashes.
He said "You are mine to barter."
She said "You are not my master."

It is perfect. Is it good?
Do not ignore its need for food.
It is complete. Is it whole?
Something solid does not have holes.

Questions without answers,
might put you in danger.
But how can you trust,
someone who's a stranger?

Holy Communion

He stands in front of her. Naked.

"This is my body."

He raises his arm. Bites deep. Eyes meet.

"This is my blood."

Hesitant still, she is.

"Come, taste and see that I am good."

.
.
.

She feeds. The light in his eyes fade. A weak whisper.

"Remember me."

Smile like you mean it.

OooOooOoo sma-aile like you mean it,
Oh cause then you'll really feel it,
Feel that sickening disgusting jooo-oy...
You know, it's imaginary
and chemical reactory
It's as real as bunnies flying in the bree-eeze...

And you get haiii-igh-igh-ighy....
Feel the rush of eating pie-eye-eye-eyey...


(Repeat over and over again forever and ever Amen.)

This is a song. If you don't know how to sing it you need to ask me how. But if you find a tune that fits, then...


OooOooOoo sma-aile like you mean it,
Oh cause then you'll really feel it,
Feel that sickening disgusting jooo-oy...
You know, it's imaginary
and chemical reactory
It's as real as bunnies flying in the bree-eeze...

And you get haiii-igh-igh-ighy....
Feel the rush of eating pie-eye-eye-eyey...

Pressure

This burning inside me. It demands to be free.
I fight it, push it down. It always comes back stronger,
should I set it upon the world, be rid of it?

No, I will not.
Finally, I understand, I accept, it is Mine.

The pressure boils upward, the pain is dreadful and exquisite.
Limits expand, I see the edge of the world.
How could I smother the fire again?

The Smell of Aged Adventure/ INFIDELS! *fist up*

Introduction
This is a story that Denise wrote, and I finished. As you read it, keep in mind the questions, "What is the smell of aged adventure?" "How does this story have anything to do with INFIDELS?" and "Who the heck names their daughter Ike?"


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“I’m home!” I heard my mother say as she closed our front door and headed to the kitchen with the groceries that she had bought for the week. They usually included just enough for two, she and I. Ever since we moved here, my father hadn’t been spending much time with us. Every night, he’d come home when everyone was already asleep. It did not look like my parents were at the greatest point of their marriage life.

When I heard the door slam, I groaned to show her that I had heard her and then continued trying to solve the problem that was in front of me.

“If the train moves west at a speed of 25mph, what time will it reach its destination 30 miles away?” I mumbled to myself, trying to apply the notes we had taken during class earlier that day.

I could hear the sounds of pots and pans knocking against each other, evidence that my mother was cooking dinner that night. She didn’t always cook dinner; there would usually have to be a special day or event for her to bring her culinary skills to the table.

Before long, dinner was ready and the table was set. What confused me was that there was a third placemat set. Could my father be coming home to eat? If he did, it would be a first in the last six months.

“Mom, why is there a third placemat set? Is Dad coming home to eat?”

“Oh, no,” she said, with a mischievous smile, “We have a special guest today.”

“Who is it?” I asked, while trying to figure out who it might be.

Could it be Aunt Linda? Or perhaps Grandmother decided to drop by, I thought. I loved it whenever Grandmother came to stay with us; she always bought me presents and would personalize it with a note of encouragement, usually about my studies or my family.

Mother refused to budge and so I gave up. Because the mystery guest had not arrived yet, I decided to continue on my math. I somehow felt excited about the special guest, yet there was a tiny feeling deep inside that was worrying. I wasn’t sure what it was that was causing it so I tried to forget it and focused on math.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang and my mom ran excitedly to open it. I looked at her in curiosity as she passed, wondering what, or rather who, might be the cause of all her sudden happiness. The door opened. I heard murmurs, as if this mystery person and my mother had planned this surprise all along.

My mother was laughing as if she had no cares in the world. Walking arm-in-arm beside her was the mystery guest. It was a man; a handsome one at that. They were walking towards me and suddenly the thought entered my head, “Mom is having an affair!”

My breathing began to increase and the room suddenly felt like an oven. Thoughts began to rise rapidly in my head. My head was spinning. I could not believe I had never thought of it earlier. Mom was an attractive and lonely woman. He was a good-looking man, but there was something about him that I did not like the second I laid eyes on him. Was it the permanent smirk-like mouth he had on while walking towards me? Was it because when he stepped in the house, he smelled like aged adventure? Or could it be that he just looked almost too perfect? The color of his hair told me he was at his 50s - a dark hue of brown that was turning grey. Even so, he didn't seem to be short of charm and attractiveness.

I kept reminding myself not to make assumptions. There must be a logical explanation to his visit. Maybe he was just a really close gay friend that my mother had made at work? Or some old acquaintance passing through town that my mother felt obliged to entertain over dinner? My head continued to spin even faster as I saw them approaching in slow motion. I wouldn’t have minded if I could have fast-forwarded to when I would be alone in my room thinking about what had just happened.

They finally entered the dining room, where I sat, dumbfounded at all that was going on. I pinched myself as a reminder that they could see through the transparent expression on my face. They stood, while I sat, in silence for awhile.

“Hi,” I managed, with a put-on smile, “I’m—“

“Honey, this is your father,” my mother interrupted me.

I screamed hysterically. How else did my mother and this strange stranger who could not be my father expect me to react? I jumped violently from my seat onto the table and shouted into my mother’s face, “What is wrong with you?! This is not Dad! Dad is fat, balding and smells of beer and cheap perfume, not aged adventure!”

“Calm down, Ike.”

I was calm. What had just happened? I was confused, but no longer hysterical. My mind felt like a lizard under a hot afternoon sun; sluggish, slow. The racing thoughts of a moment before were now floundering in a viscous, murky soup.

“I am your father,” said the man who looked too perfect. And smelled like leather and books. Soft, old leather and musty, forgotten tomes. The smell of aged adventure.

I believed him. I didn’t know why. Who was the person I thought of as “Dad”? Why did my mother marry him? What were we having for dinner? I never found the answers to those questions.

My father told me that I believe because I know. I know that I’m different, that I don’t belong. 15 years ago, he came to Earth to begin an experiment. It was time to bring back the results.