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Marvelous Bob, assassins and prisons, and desire for the finite
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kelwyn: Marvelous Bob: Bob isn't from another planet, he wasn't given powers by a blue midget. He's not carrying on a family legacy. He's just a guy, who lives his life, who does things as best he can, who happens to have more power than anyone could imagine.
This is a wonderful, powerful, comic-book style story, updated once or twice a week bymbuonauro. It's well worth the read, from Current Storyline on down, and in the future.
Last night's dream, of assassins and flooded prisons:
I am an assassin, and I find myself in an office building atrium. In this building is my target: a friend, an associate, a fellow assassin.
I find him outside, by a chain-link fence, near a hedge and high grass. We talk, calmly. We brandish our pistols; mine black, his silver. I cock and uncock my own, chambering and clearing rounds, several times. There is no shooting yet.
We hear noise coming from the other side of the fence, and learn that it's a local gang. This presents a risk to both of us, so we hide in the high grass. He tries to talk me out of my task, and I think he fails. However, I don't know his fate.
Later, it is night, and I'm at home. The doorbell rings; I look about, seeing an array of toys and weapons, including my black pistol. I hide the gun under the bed, leaving the only weapons visible a pair of water guns. I answer door to find the sheriff, with questions about an "unlicensed package" received at this address. I briefly consider shooting him and running, but I don't.
Later still, I find myself in an old prison--dimly lit, tiled in green and white, floors of cracked concrete. This prison has something of a problem, though--it's flooded to a depth of several feet, and sprinklers are raising the water level more. I and a companion walk down the hall, unconcerned as the water rises to neck level, meeting more people as we walk.
The water drains, revealing a long hallway, then a set of long tables. On the tables are neat piles of clothing, mostly running-suit style, jackets, pants, and shorts. Looking through the shorts, I find several Larges, then one Small--normally my size--but by the time I determine that a S is too small and an L too large and baggy, all the pants are taken. I manage to find something that fits, and despite being soaked previously, the clothes quickly dry.
Further down the hall, there is food on the tables, albeit rather bland and boring. We all sit to eat anyhow, and better food appears among the bland. As I walk down the table to the right, I find plentiful fresh fruit and fruit salad; someone asks for pork chops, and lo, at the table, there they were.
i wander into an adjacent corridor, and while there, I hear our captor arrive in the food area. He sounds like a nice old man, but he's gone before I return.
So why does mankind still desire the eternal, holding the never-ending as the ideal all must be sacrificed for? It was many years later before I learned the answer - men are afraid to live. Mankind hasn’t created Heavens and Paradises out of fear of death, but out of fear of life. To live is to accept that all the purpose, all the pain, all the beauty, all the laughter, all the hate, all the love that can ever be known is contained in the fleeting heartbeats between birth and death, and there is nothing more.
And for the grammarians in the checkout lines..
kelwyn: Marvelous Bob: Bob isn't from another planet, he wasn't given powers by a blue midget. He's not carrying on a family legacy. He's just a guy, who lives his life, who does things as best he can, who happens to have more power than anyone could imagine.This is a wonderful, powerful, comic-book style story, updated once or twice a week by
mbuonauro. It's well worth the read, from Current Storyline on down, and in the future.Last night's dream, of assassins and flooded prisons:
I am an assassin, and I find myself in an office building atrium. In this building is my target: a friend, an associate, a fellow assassin.
I find him outside, by a chain-link fence, near a hedge and high grass. We talk, calmly. We brandish our pistols; mine black, his silver. I cock and uncock my own, chambering and clearing rounds, several times. There is no shooting yet.
We hear noise coming from the other side of the fence, and learn that it's a local gang. This presents a risk to both of us, so we hide in the high grass. He tries to talk me out of my task, and I think he fails. However, I don't know his fate.
Later, it is night, and I'm at home. The doorbell rings; I look about, seeing an array of toys and weapons, including my black pistol. I hide the gun under the bed, leaving the only weapons visible a pair of water guns. I answer door to find the sheriff, with questions about an "unlicensed package" received at this address. I briefly consider shooting him and running, but I don't.
Later still, I find myself in an old prison--dimly lit, tiled in green and white, floors of cracked concrete. This prison has something of a problem, though--it's flooded to a depth of several feet, and sprinklers are raising the water level more. I and a companion walk down the hall, unconcerned as the water rises to neck level, meeting more people as we walk.
The water drains, revealing a long hallway, then a set of long tables. On the tables are neat piles of clothing, mostly running-suit style, jackets, pants, and shorts. Looking through the shorts, I find several Larges, then one Small--normally my size--but by the time I determine that a S is too small and an L too large and baggy, all the pants are taken. I manage to find something that fits, and despite being soaked previously, the clothes quickly dry.
Further down the hall, there is food on the tables, albeit rather bland and boring. We all sit to eat anyhow, and better food appears among the bland. As I walk down the table to the right, I find plentiful fresh fruit and fruit salad; someone asks for pork chops, and lo, at the table, there they were.
i wander into an adjacent corridor, and while there, I hear our captor arrive in the food area. He sounds like a nice old man, but he's gone before I return.
So why does mankind still desire the eternal, holding the never-ending as the ideal all must be sacrificed for? It was many years later before I learned the answer - men are afraid to live. Mankind hasn’t created Heavens and Paradises out of fear of death, but out of fear of life. To live is to accept that all the purpose, all the pain, all the beauty, all the laughter, all the hate, all the love that can ever be known is contained in the fleeting heartbeats between birth and death, and there is nothing more.
And for the grammarians in the checkout lines..