Peredhil

Rubbing his nose (and leaving a smudge, Peredhil shakes his head in amazement at Wyvern's continual and consistent quality posting. Does that Almost Dragon ever *have* an off day?!?

Still burrowing through the back rooms, Peredhil comes out blowing dust off a book. Opening it, phantasmal forces whirl above the pages and the aged thread unspools it's fun. We should do things like this more often. And to think, Bhuren was only an Initiate when he did this...

Remember when the Quincunx wasn't? Spread out across multiple Archmage servers... Looking at this with distinction, I wonder if there hasn't been a blurring?

A gem from the past. Nice riddle and Zool's analysis - w00t! When I grow up, I want to be able to analyze like that!

I like it too. And I've often asked the same questions of myself. I find it too easy to look at others disparagingly because they think differently than I, only to find the only person I can change or influence is me. Good Poem.

Using the filter criteria at the bottom of the page, he sorts on Topic Starter and reaffirms his memory - Salinye has been active in starting a number of provocative threads, supporting other's threads, and having the courage to ask good questions. Scratching his head, he wonders from where her boundless creativity springs, and if he can buy some. 1) I could cheat and take the words literally, and dodge with the truth - I don't believe in random. But I think I understand the intent of your question, and will answer that with a Link to life-direction changing event, so that I don't clutter up this thread with a terribly long answer. Heh, y'all know I'm a Holy Roller nut anyway, so it should come as a shocking surprise. 2) Control... Unfortunately, I find I have a great deal of control over my life when I'm not thinking about it. Despite the opinions of some about my intelligence and wisdom, I seem to make some of the stupidest most foolish decisions in my life that someone can make and still live. Then I get to live with them. The perils of Free Will - I can only control myself, and influence others, but I have to be responsible and accountable for everything I do or say. It would be nice to shove responsibility off on other people ("You made me mad!", "How could I study with you making all that noise - that's why I failed!"), but I've found it just isn't true, and I can't really practice that level of self-deception after I found it in myself. Consequences. Forgiveness can be easy, but those consequences... "I forgive you for jumping off the bridge when I told you not to jump, but those rocks at the bottom are still waiting for you, forgiveness or not." waves goodbye In my ideal situation, I do things God's way, to the best of my understanding, and I know that my challenges (for there are ALWAYS challenges) will have a way through them that has the best resolution for all involved. I don't mind a difficult dark climb up a mountain-side if I'm guaranteed a warm sunlit view at the top. As someone who's a Stabilizer, I dislike sudden change with no assurances. Which is a change in itself - I used to be very much a Changer. Realizes he's babbling from fatigue again, and shuts up.

August 2003 response to the many many people at my 25th High School reunion (class of 1978) who simply could *not* reconcile the "me they knew before" with the "Army me they knew now." How it came to be... Strangely enough, a true story. In my experience, God has a sense of humor, and doesn't mind questions as long as you obey... In 1984, I was happily living life as a Drone. Drones are those male bees that live off the fat of the hive, idling away their hours, until they get to mate once and then die. That was me. I'd come to a reconcilliation with God in 1982, but still really hadn't found a purpose in life. I'd been dating Kerry off and on for a while, but held her at an arm's length. I lived in my parent's basement bedroom, occasionally took odd jobs when I wanted money, and played games. All sorts of games. RolePlaying Games, fantasy, science-fiction, etc. Board games, "die-cut-counters" war games, games, games, games. It's something I've always loved and I have a certain skill which is often hidden because for me, the joy is in watching the possibilities of the game unfold, reguardless of who wins, while others seemed upset if they didn't win. Anyway... The beginning of 1984 had rolled around, when God began putting it onto my heart to go talk to the Army recruiter. You've GOT to be joking. My Dad was a World War II Drill Sergeant. My Uncle had been in a MASH unit in Korea, and although he won a Silver Star for Morale (from the stories at the VFW, he was one of the primary inspirations for the character Hawkeye Pierce in the movie MASH,) he'd hated war. My Grandfather had been in WWI, etc etc. And all of the family history has emphasized the downsides of the military. Bloodthirsty neanderthals, subintelligent or on the other side, cunningly manipulative tyrants who abused power. Military reservations were to keep these savages away from normal people until a conflict - "break glass in case of war". So I delayed and put it off. But God kept bringing it up. I've learned the hard way not to ignore this sort of thing - God seems to always arrive at His destination, and I'd rather be a wheel than a speedbump in His plans. Finally decided, "Hey, maybe I just need to witness to someone there, and that's the only place to meet them?" So I went down to the Army Recruiter's office. I figured I'd try to spike the cannon before the battle, so I walked in prepared... Stepped in - no one but the Recruiter, and after two sentences, I could tell he wasn't the one to which I was to witness(notice how stubbornly I keep trying to turn each command into something I wanted. ). So I played my trump card up front. "Hi. God told me to come talk to you." I figured - they won't want me if I'm crazy, right? Little did I know that Recruiters are ALWAYS pressed to meet their quotas in a volunteer Army. I'll cut through most of the conversation - but bottom line, he wasn't turning me away. In fact, finding that I'd graduated High School, with only two "B"s and in the NOVA (special smarties program some of us were forced into) program he was happy. Finding out I had around 30 semester hours split between three schools (Graceland, Iowa; Universitiy of Idaho; LCSC), with a current 4.0 at LCSC, he was even more thrilled. Didn't do drugs, healthy. He was Very Happy that I could check of all sorts of Quota blocks for him. If I'd been a black or Amerindian female, I could've made his Quarter right there. Toward the end, I was getting a bit nervious. This was sounding serious, and I simply KNEW the Army wasn't good enough for me. Then he asked about my ASVAB scores. I'd never heard of them. Turns out to be a Military test that determines your strengths and weaknesses, and correspondingly what job skills for which you are eligible. A very important test. A very VERY important test. I scheduled it for three days after my current semester's final exams. I stayed up cramming for the exams, then played games for three days straight, living off pizza and Mountain Dew. By the time I got into the ASVAB testing center, I was buzzingly exhausted, but in a good mood. Heh, I may talk to the recruiter. I may take the test. FAR be it from ME to disobey God... but I'll make sure I get my way too! I was so wiped, it took me two minutes to fill in the bubbles on the mark-sense form for my name. The test passed in a blur. Since I didn't really care, I was speed reading the questions and marking down whatever answer I noticed first. I'd finish in five or less minutes, and then wait for everyone. "Heh!" I thought, "Try getting me into the Army on THIS!" I slept well that night. A couple of weeks later, the Recruiter called. Turns out that the test is on a scale of 1-145, in a number of areas, with 100 considered good. On the GT (General Test over math and english. this base value combines with each of the other scores to determine your potentials,) I received a 143. My lowest score was a 128. All the rest were in the 130-140 range. I sat in shock as he burbled happily that I was eligible for any MOS(job skill) in the Army. No! How could this be? Apparently, I'd gotten myself out of the way enough that God could provide the answers. This was NOT looking good. The next and final step was to bus up to Spokane to the "MEPS" center in March. This was where the final decision was made. Would you join or not? Did they want you? What MOSes were open that fiscal year, cause you can't get a job unless there is a place to put you. My last chance... It was warm that spring. At the time, I had hair down to my shoulder-blades, and weighed in at a whopping 128 pounds on my 5'10" frame. I schemed... I wore the same bluejeans and shirt for two weeks. On top of that, I wore my Dad's old Army Field Jacket. I took long walks. I slept in those clothes. I was so nasty, I couldn't stand myself, as normally I have this thing about keeping clean. Heh, heh, heh... The bus ride to Spokane. I sat in the back of the bus - everyone else sat up front with the windows down. I read one of the many books I'd brought. I was feeling pretty secure- I found out I'd get $15 for bussing up and back, I needed the money for a date. Thought I had it all figured out - God knew I'd need the money waaaay back then, and this is how I'd get it. Yay God! I love being spoiled. The others huddled from my funk up front the entire trip. Heh, heh, heh... Went into the MEPS center, with the five recruiting offices all off a large open room. I sat in a corner reading. Finally, the Specialist calls me into talk to the Master-Sergeant. As snottily as I could, I demanded one of their three computer jobs, actually, one of their two as the third was for senior ranked enlisted soldiers, known as senior NCOs (Noncommissioned Officers). He looked me up and down and with a delighted smile told me the Army didn't have an opening for me in computers - how about infantry. With a final sigh of relief, I popped to my feet, saluted, and said, "Nope! Thank you so much!" I went out to read and wait for the bus back, already dreaming of my shower (I planned on running the hot water out) and my upcoming date. The Air Force guy had gone through his people, and was looking at a clipboard. He finally came over and spoke to me. "You Wilson?!" Obviously the record before him with all these great scored didn't reconcile with the bum in front of him. Heh, heh, heh. "Yup." The conversation went back and forth as disbelievingly he listed off each item that made me a prime recruit, and I confirmed they were all me. "Wanna join the Air Force?" He said it as if he were in pain. "Nope, God told me to join the Army, and they don't want me. I'm free and clear now." Silly me, giving out all the truth like that. But I was relieved! He gave me a funny look and went away. Now, what I didn't know at the time, but found out later is, he and the Specialist from the Army office had a bible study every day at noon. When I said that, he had the funny look because beyond all belief, he believed me. The Air Force guy went back over by his office and the Navy guy started kidding him about being desparate, referring to me. The Air Force said in a loud whisper, "No, that's WILSON!". They both looked at me in disbelief. Then the Navy guy came over and asked if I was interested in the Navy! I made the same reply, and he went away. The bus couldn't come quickly enough. The Coast Guard guy started over but didn't make it through the body odor cloud. The Marine guy had been standing outside his office at Parade Rest (a modified form of attention), looking really sharp in his red and blue uniform. Unlike the others, he had no clipboard. He marched over to the Navy and Air Force guys, who were still whispering in disbelief, and listened for a moment. Then he marched over to me, while in the background the Air Force guy grabbed the Army Specialist and began whispering and pointing at me. The Marine almost got me that day. He was SO sharp. He marched up to a normal speaking distance and looked at me. I was drawn to my feet, and he shook my hand and didn't wipe his hand on his pants. I don't think *I* could've done that, I was so funky. He then looked me slowly up and down, and told me, "You look like hell. I don't know what happened to you, but you have the scores and you're healthy. If you join the Marines, you'll always be part of a time honored Corps, you'll never look like that again, and you'll find every limit you have - and all your strengths. You could be someone. Are you up for it?" I was astounded. The discipline he had, the sales pitch, it really resonated with my wastrel life. It was with great regret I told him that if God hadn't told me to join the Army - who didn't want me - that I would've become a Marine that day. "Can't argue with the Spirit Commander in Chief," he said, then did an about face and marched away. Just then, the Army Specialist came back and told me the Master-Sergeant wanted to please speak with me again. Found out later that, based on the knowledge that God wanted me to join the Army, he'd done a long song-and-dance of my scores and all that stuff, and convinced the Sergeant that the Army needed me. So I went back in, and the Sergeant says with a big fake smile, "Son, I think I was a bit hasty before. I've been on the phone with the West Coast Commander down in San Diego, and I have permission to get you any job you qualify for, which, heh heh, is all but the ones reserved, heh heh, for the senior NCOs. Up to a year out, you can sign up now and go active duty when the job slot opens. You wanted computers right?" The rest passed in a blur, I ended up signing to be in the Army as a Computer Operator as of October. I went back, proposed marriage to Kerry (badly), and ended up marrying Kerry on October 5th, then signing in Active Duty on October 16th and heading off for Kentucky for training. And the Army has turned out to be nothing like it was in my ancestor's days, and has turned out to be a great blessing in many ways. So it turned out that it was a good choice for me after all. And I can just imagine God, on that day at the MEPS center, looking down at me with all my plans to sabotage the whole thing without actually ever disobeying, saying, "Heh, heh, heh".

There is something to be said for endurance. It's those weeks when you think you're on empty, and yet rise to the occasion that show you your boundaries are wider than you'd thought. (Not to be confused with being happy with it all, but self-knowledge is too hard won a gift to reject because of the taste.) Happy Friday... I've noticed a pattern in my life - when things become challenging enough that I might consider them a disaster, nearly all my emotional support structures(ESS (family and friends)) have a period of time filled with challenges as well. Rather than lead to competition (my life is worse than yours), or cruelty (snarling and lashing out of inner pain), I've found it's worth it to try to help the ESS and allow them to help me (as much as we can for each other, and then the challenge is not to drain them like a sponge, or to resent that they don't have more to give, or get hung up on little flaws in how they gave or...). It's a lesson and a challenge in rising up beyond the glum, exhausted, or bitter feelings of the moment, feelings trying to suck me down so deeply inside myself that it's difficult to even push words out (and you thought I'd never shut up), feeling contrary to the choice of being a good friend. It's a challenge to chose how to act, what to say, to stay sensitive to others when interiorly numb or hyper-sensitive and vulnerable. But in the long run, it has proven to be worth it. I feel a rebuttal snarling up within - is it hypocracy to act in the loving manner of a friend, instead of displaying the honest angry cruel feeling of the moment? I'll leave that for another Friday. This Ramble prolly should've been expressed Under the Oak Tree, but I didn't want to waste energy clicking that many times... Peredhil draws himself up, and heading into his third day of insomnia, decides to be productive and run errands.

bump

Peredhil staggers in after having been up 49 hours so far, singing "Wild Thing" by the Trogs. Happy Birthday! That's a GREAT age, if you can put up with your parents! fifteen hugs and away

Nice. I read this as a commentary on the hypocracy of teaching intuition and creativity by lock-step fascist teaching.

As a request, could you make additions in new posts? When I'm in a hurry, it's much easier for me to blitz down to the bottom of the thread than jump through the post. I know it kinda breaks it up, and is a minor point, but if a person doesn't ask, the answer is always "no", isn't it? -P

Very nicely said. As a side-note: The Greenroom is only available to members of the Pen - one of the benefits of bothering to join. Glossary of terms: Player - the Real Life person. Character - the persona in the thread. May share characteristics and attributes of the Player, or be completely different. NPC - Non-Player Character. Someone with whom the storyline can interact, but isn't played by a Player. rp - Role Playing. A Player playing one or more Characters. rper - one who Role Plays frp - Fantasy Role Playing ic - In Character. "On stage" - all writing from Character's point of view. ooc - Out Of Character. The Player communicating with other Players and Initiator. Initiator - The person(s) who are providing context. Initiator may play all Characters without a Player (NPC), and/or provides the descriptions, actions, and reactions of the Role Playing environment. Initiator has the context of on-line written play. dm - Dungeon Master. The Initiator of the thread. Original term from D&D. see gm/initiator. Has context of real-time interactive play. gm - Game Master. see dm/initiator. A renamed 'dm' as play expanded beyond dungeons and set-scenarios. char - Character. The persona/view/vehicle through which a Player interacts with the Role Playing environment and other Characters. pm - Private Message. The Pen private messaging, email, or IRC. Godmodding/God-mode -1) Playing a Character in an unnatural way or letting the character act on information the character wouldn't possess; 2) Playing a character who is so badly unbalanced compared to the rest of the characters as to be invincible (Superman vs. the Smurfs. Godzilla vs. Bambi); 3) One who hijacks the thread from the Initiator; 4) An Initiator who attempts to too tightly control a thread. Often causes by inability to separate the Player's ego from the Character. As an example of some out of hand Godmodding, see Akabar's interactions in The Inn of the Assassin Magi. In some game-systems, generates bad Accounting or Karma, which can affect future interactions.

Yet another English 102, 13Jun1996 Assignment. Actually did this one as an in-class writing test. As a word of explanation, much of the procrastination for this class was due to recovery from doctors accidently misdiagnosing me - and sending me toxic on a medication to treat a condition I didn't have. Heh, and I never missed a day of work... This one I titled "Child Brainwashing, or the need for Serenity." Serenity may be considered as a beneficial attitude or frame of mind, a balance of thought and emotion. the old saw states in part: "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change." Serenity does not depend, therefore, on circumstances as much as on the mental view a person takes of those circumstances, their assessment of what can be gained or lost. It also depends on how much power said person feels they possess to alter the situation, to affect the odds. Why is serenity needed? It is a Good Thing to question; serenity provides a recovery period, a chance to reassess a situation, ultimately a means to survival in the modern world. A strong claim, survival, let's examine a typical college situation. A student's mind is presented with a dilemma, such as the blank page at the start of an English essay assignment. The body reacts to the stress by releasing a chemical wash. The chemicals enable the body to rise to meet the challenge of the moment. Effects include the pulse accelerating, bringing nutrients and oxygen to the brain and muscles. The hands and feet cool as blood is diverted away from vulnerable extremities; in the case of an injury to hand or foot, there will be less bleeding. Digestive processes nearly cease - there will be time to digest if the body survives. Diarrhea purges the body of extra weight in case the situation calls for a run. All these are reactions to stree, useful reactions, selected by breeding survivors of other dangerous situations, such as Latin or Greek examinations of yesteryear. However, if the stress response is carried on too long, paper after paper, class after class without relief, the body suffers. The immune system weakens, resistance to disease declines, allergies abound, colds increase. Joints ache, and digestion becomes a chancy process; indigestion and ulcers abound in this intense chemical environment. The student mind, once a sharp instrument to keenly cut to the heart of the topic becomes fatigued and dulled. Because the mind on completion of one topic begins anticipating the next, the body is not allowed to recover, the stress response continues, with subsequent consequences for the mind once again. Symptomatically, the mind fugues into daydreams, skips erratically from one topic to the next, unable to light deeply on any one thought. Judgment suffers as the attention span decreases; the decision taken may be whatever is uppermost in the mind at the moment. Emotionally, moodiness and temper are difficult to avoid, the chemicals which reflect and support anger and rage already washing through the body. An ugly picture of our English student emerges, brooding between assignments, yet the continuing distress directly impacting his ability write the next required paper, by diminishing his concentration and creativity. If he seeks to burn off the chemical coursing through his blood by releasing anger at a spouse, he definitely will not have the stress-relieving opportunity to attempt reproduction in the immediate future. But the English course MUST be taken screams his mind. The essays must be written, and written well to achieve the grade, which leads to degree, on which the job, the future of his children, and perhaps the future of mankind rests! Well, perhaps not mankind, but it can feel that way, and the FRAME of mind is that to which the body reacts. Aha! A class which must be taken, a situation which cannot be changed. Time for a cooling wash of serenity to seep in and empower this dull clod of a student, breaking the prolonged stress cycle asunder. A mental review of the situation, a reevaluation of the importance, a more realistic assessment of future consequences, in thought's processes such as these lays escape. Pulling back mentally to look at the tast instead of the enormity of the task enables the fevered mind to quit spinning in circles, to quit sending impassioned signals of distress to the body, which, now signaled from the realistic mind that the emergency is over, is allowed to recover. Digestion improves. Extremities warm. Yes, a warm fuzzy glow permeates the body of our English student. The relaxed body feeds the brain soothing chemicals of calm which allow the slow large thoughts of thesis and plot to bubble to the surface of creativity, like escaping air from hot chuckling murky subconscious mud. By stopping to reassess the situation, the student is enabled to deal with the situation. Thought therefore preceeds thought's actions. Now that we know the necessity of serenity, what are some useful ways in which our student can obtain it? Distraction seems to be primary. Mentally removing himself from the immediate, thinking of anything that, for him, is not a threat. Poetry, games, still limpid pools, raging waterfalls, the sound of one eye blinking or believing prayer, all these can distract the mind from the immediacy of the essay, the virginity of the paper awaiting pen, the urgency of the grade... The inexorable sweep of the hellish second hand around the clock's smiling face. Breaking his mind's fixation on failure's consequences, breaking the chemical results of future's lost, our student can accept the situation and achieve soothing serenity. And, as in this essay, the proud student having achieved serenity, may alter the situation to one that may be overcome. Now that the lurking situational snakes and roaring loud lions of our society are identified as mental challenges, now that we know the importance of cultivating an ability to achieve an essential serene attitude, we may deal with knowlegably with future quandaries. And like our now serene non-suffering student, we will find that the blank page of life has yielded easily to a simply plodding pace of one step at a time, and that time, as in this class essay, has come to an end.

13Jun1996. English 102, topic: Facade or Irony Example of finding out an hour before class that the assignment is due that day. Early in meandering the paths of life, for each traveller there comes a time when they misjudge a situation, and must face that they've mistaken their perception of reality ofr reality itself. Some blithely pass on, repeating the experience again and again. Others begin travelling purposely, dedicating themselves to the pursuit of Truth. A Truth which hides behind the facades of misperception, the kernal knowledge of an absolute reality which may not be misjudged or mistaken when applied to situations. This pursuit of absolute Truth may itself take varied paths. As one enters the broad street of Outer Senses, they may encounter various sects of scientist-priests happily using enhancing instruments to strip away veil after veil of Nature. Nature as perceived through the five fallible senses, the world outside the Self. One heirophant after another presents hypothetical truths, Aristotle, Newton, Einstein and more. Each speaking for Nature herself, a coy mistress, seeking to strip bare her essential self. Tricksy wench, she always has more hidden, smaller and smaller particles, larger and further stars. The hotblooded pursuer of the micro and the macro is happiest in the chase and fleeting glimpses of Truth in Nature. For those who notice the men behind the curtains of Outer science, a dissatisfaction creeps within. Are these outer ways meaningful? Applicable? Do they answer the questions inside of a solitary heart? Leaving the street, the Seeker passes to the courtyard of the Inner way. Pursuing the mind beyond the brain, seeking its residence - liver? heart? brain? The thoughts restlessly pass dependent on the senses, but process independently of them. What wellsprings give rise to the emotions, the thoughts, the motives of behavior and interaction? The "whats" and "hows" and "whys" of the Inner Selves, the primal causes of nature and nurture, serial and financial killings. The High Priests of Modern Inner, Freud, Jung, Skinner, lay out the Truths, each different, each reasonable. A thousand reasons why your spouse burns your toast, your child wets the bed. Many love these toys, and play with them on any occasion, with little excuse - happy to analyze life, freed by observation from the burden of living lives of their own. Behind the Inner veil, lies the Ultimate Answers of Life and Death, Life or Death? The twin Priests of Non-Senses, unknowable by any sense we possess. Needing an ultimate answer the Seeker finds an ultimate truth: All die. What lies there after? In Seeking Life we've listed shades of meaning and found no answers. The only scientific proof or study depends on pursuing death, whose answers are bought at a cost and may not be shared.

Happy Birthday Jareena Faye Birthday wishes on your day, May your life and love be bright And filled with growing light And all your horsies neigh.

Heh, It's nice to see fun silly poetry here too.

After failing to correct Uncle on that first occasion, he was afraid of the beating he'd receive if he corrected him later. He saw how Mordecai forced the Voices to do things, and while they couldn't stay away from him, they resented him too - especially the high Singers. When Mordecai was asleep, he'd whisper to the Voices, and try to listen to them. The longer he travelled with Uncle, the more it seemed he could almost make out the words. It was so strange, it was when he let the sounds go out of focus, like watering eyes of the mind, that they started making sense. But if he suddenly listened, they were just another note singing. After the testing, Mordecai had forgotten his slippery shoes. Uncle hadn't noticed when he asked them to come back, paying with heavy breathing and soft whistling to pay their price. It was the hard high Voices of the stars who told him of the town they were approaching. Could that be why Mordecai was traveling more and more slowly?

Reads Valdar's post, which, when combined with Monty Python's Flying Circus flashbacks, has him too weak from laughing to post. Luxury... That's what it was....

Iehova was blind on one side from the meteor strike. It reflected wryly that this new condition would've fit Odin much better than itself. It was fortunate, it reflected, that it had been given more intelligence, more memory, more of everything, as befit the bearer of the best hope. Hope was a fragile thing, but Iehova had never lost hope in its life. Jesuit trained from birth, it was no stranger to the follies of humanity, but hope had sustained it, maintained it, and caused it to volunteer for this. That and a sense of humor. Iehova Latin, Creator in relation to its creation, the bearer of life. Jesuit trained, first in all the classes, and forever denied service in the priesthood due to gender. It had tickled it to know that God on the new planet would be Mother. They'd eradicated gender, but left the humor - wherein the identity had hidden. And the cosmic jest, the rogue meteor. Galatic abortion in the first boosting stage. Perhaps God in his trinity divinity had decided to punish it for its hubris. Or perhaps not. It had taken a spin to look in all directions, a dizzying tilt-a-whirl, but it used nearly all it's remaining fuel to take a fixed look at Europa. Small insignificant Europa, about the size of the moon destroying the birthplace of life it was fleeing. There was an oxygen atmosphere. Not much true, and caused by the smashing dust in Jupiter's magnetic fields destroying the icy sheath. Not biological but chemical. But oxygen. It flew into rapid calculation and used all but two percent of the remaining fuel to set a looping gravitic course toward Europa. Although the surface was a chilly negative 145 degrees (it had to pause a moment to laugh at itself, even a biological computer apparently couldn't overcome its lack - it still couldn't think in Farenheit,) there was a slurry subsurface water. Caused by Jupiter's heat, sunlight, it didn't care. Two-hundred kilometers of oxygen, slurry water, protective ice crust. It made rapid biochemical insertions into its SOUP and used the remaining fuel to accelerate. The impact sent a gout of water into the atmosphere, a pillar which immediately froze into an obelisk of entry. cracked open like an egg thrown too hard, Iehova penetrated the frigid lunar ovum and released its seed. The SOUP was forced by the heat and pressure into thousands of small pockets concentrically surrounding the place where Iehova died. A thousand potentials that died. Except one. A microorganism, a small organism that grew in the cupsized SOUP and endured the cold enough to sustain the minimal reactive basics of life. Iehova never knew. And the organism never grew. Iehova died in birthing it. It never left the slurry womb, despite the intense radiations and fluxing magnetic fields, it never changed. After only a few decades, it died, godless, cold, and alone. De mortuis nil nissi bonum.

Hmmm. I'm over forty years old now, and I've finally come to the emotional realization (I'd intellectually give mental assent to the idea, but deep inside there was a part that (incorrectly) *knew*) that not everyone constantly thinks, no matter what they're doing. Or thinks about thinking. Or thinks about thinking about what others are thinking. Or thinks about what they're dreaming and 'tweaks' it to make it neater. Or thinks about the sensations and still thinks when they're drunk to the point of insensibility. In other words, I may *NOT* be able to understand exactly your plight, but I think I may have empathy with it...

I apologize for losing power when we were discussing this on IRC - but very pleased to see the product. You are a delight to read.

Heh, I'll pat you on the back simply because you have the courage to post! I remember my fears about posting, how I simply *knew* I had no talent, and the anticipation of pain I'd feel when the skilled established poets would "do a nose-job on my baby" without anathesia. Then when they liked it - I felt like a fraud, sure that the next piece would be the one that revealed me... Now I've learned to smile and say, "thank you", answering my failure to reach the perfection for which I yearn with the warmth of my Pen friend's approval. It's nice to have a place where the corrections are suggestions on how to become better, not attempts to show-off the ego of the critc at a poster's expense. Oh, yes - I'm glad you posted this, and look forward to you posting more. Don't be held back by fears of spelling and such - it's important to get the feeling, image, or inspiration out of you and down on paper, and *then* start fixing it up. Getting past that inner critic, as Elder Wyvern reminded me earlier tonight, is essential. Welcome to the Pen

You have such power and raw talent; I hope you can find a more gentle and happy muse. Actually, you remind me of some of Job's speeches...

Wow... I wish my first poem had been half so well done... Welcome indeed.