Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Dragon's breath and tears

 You may have heard of dragons,
compared to legends of old;
they are not fictional jargons
as many have been told
Indeed, they are actual!
Not as they have been perceived,
For the safety of a damsel 
Dreamers this thought conceived. 
They exist in each of us,
In their own separate form
Some are true and zealous, 
Others, dark like a rainstorm. 
Sometimes, we meet with our dragon
Their hot breath pours over us, 
It's acidic and blazon,
More beautiful than the lotus;
because it was meant to be.
When it has consumed all, 
It begins the work on thee.
The eyes are the last brawl.
Slowly but surely they burn,
And tears closely ensue
It is not a concern
For just then comes rescue
As water tends to do.


To soothe the burn, a tear, my dear. 





Saturday, November 10, 2012

The "Daddy?" story

A story composed by a friend of mine..... read on, ye yet uneducated.



Once upon a time, many moons ago, back in a time where people were good, the women were fast, and the chrome was thick, people would go to a ski resort to enjoy themselves. I worked at this ski resort, as a lane attendant for the snow tubing lanes. Sometimes I'd waste hours walking on a treadmill, other times I'd sit on a snow tube & watch the sky, other times I did hundreds of pullups off the c

eiling to keep myself occupied. On special occasions I'd have the luxury of throwing fat bodies who melt onto their tube 30ft from the edge down a mountain to their occasional demise. Such times were truly what kept me going, and I scarce have better experiences.
One night I had the rather unfortunate yet interesting role of sitting at the bottom of the mountain and watching people plummet to their eventual stop, whether it be violent or uneventful. Me and the other guys working that position were telling old war stories of our various close encounters with the guests of this tubing mountain. People like angry guests, naked tubers, drunken customers, Unidentified flying fat abominations (UFFAs), and the like. One friend recounted his near death experience, another how a 400lb man got stuck in a net, another how he had his knee caps sheared off several times trying to stop collisions. We were bragging about who was better at their job, when some radio chatter buzzed into our ears... "Breakaway, Breakaway!" we heard. The one guy, with his stunna shades and slicked back suave hair and new shiny ski pants threw his head back over his shoulder and said, "Gentlemen, please. I got this. Watch and learn." Naturally, due to my skeptical and analytic personality, I figured I'd back him up, just in case he acted a fool. Surely a guy so eloquent in speech and smooth in style could handle himself, the others thought. I looked up the hill to see a big daddy separate from his child. They had been holding onto each other's tube, but the rigors of simply holding onto his daughters tube had proved too much, and he let go of her... They had a considerable velocity before the inevitable descent, so once they hit it the daughter made a quick shoot down. She came to a soft and gentle stop, where she attempted to sort of hip thrust to try and get out from the enveloping tube. Eventually she defied gravity and rolled to the side, and made an attempt to grab the lanyard which distracted her from seeing her imminent demise. Like a grand symphony, a series of events were happening all at once in majestic ridiculousness.
The father's weight was substantial. He was in or around a plump 300+ pounds, with varying reports of upwards of 600 lbs. Guys like him have a very gradual descent, at least initially, but once their potential energy converts to inertia, a weapon on par with the MOAB is spawned. So much weight was on the tube, that the ice beneath it was being compressed to the point of subliminating to gas, which errupted from behind his descent of death like a white volcano of ice, water vapor, and perhaps plasma. This subsequent vortex merely added to his aerodynamics, and exponentially his speed multiplied about 16.7x the speed of a fat guy falling down a hill, squared. A low slick rumble proceeded from him. Reports were that it was his face contorting due to the rigors of supersonic flight, or that the gravity of falling down the hill at such speeds compressed his lungs and super-heated the gas in his lungs, producing the supernatural sound, or it could have been the mechanical energy produced form the sheer weight and speed of his fat vibrating and hitting the resonance frequency of the snow tube. Either way, he was moving, and smiles quickly turned to looks of horror and fear.
I Looked at the Big boned baby basher plummeting towards his daughter, looked at the innocent, pink clad young girl no older than 4, looked back at the fat body, looked back at the snow bunny angel, and looked at the 17 year old fonz schlepping towards his death. At that very moment, I was forced to make a choice. I could back up the "bro" and attempt to stop the monstrosity that was beginning to shake the ground I stood on... Or I could run and snatch his daughter up like a bed intruder. I had to weigh the options, as I always do. I considered the young boy who would surely have his face melted from the super-heated gasses, at the very least, or perhaps he would contribute to the primordial soup which would coat 50 square feet. Or... I could resign him to his own fate, since he did brag that he "gots this" as any respectable human being would. Faster than a sow returns to her mire, or a dog to its vomit, thoughts turned to action.
I abandoned that kid and ran for the little girl, with the single hope that she could withstand the 6 G's fo force I was about to thrust upon her. I stepped off, snow and ice turning to water from the force of my feet exerting supernatural pressures. Time slowed down... my coworkers were stunned- unable to move, or even yell "look out!" Their faces grimaced and contorted as they realized their man cards were spontaneously combusting before their eyes. Paralyzed from fear, the best the did to help was turn sheepishly to witness the spectacle unfold. Legend has it that one of them let out a squeak indistinguishable from a mouse having it's head stomped on. As I forced my body to mindlessly run towards a little pink baby, which went against about every instinct I have, I observed my co-worker bro-hannah montannah squat down to catch the father and save the day. He got into a position like he was a mime sitting upon a horse. Low to the ground, ready to help and earn his money. He looked up and finally had the realization that he was a fool, and had bit off more than he could chew. He looked down into the depths of the fathers stomach, because his face skin was being forced back from the wind. I remember seeing for but a second a small mushroom cloud erupt just upon impact as the noob was impacted by big daddy. A shock wave came from them, like Goku going supersaian or Neo punching the ground, and I turned away just in time to save my eye sight. In that very second, I was sure I saw a flash of light and a smile upon that fathers face as it rammed through the noobs chest. I pushed with every muscle in my body, veins bulging in ways even body builders dream of. Seconds became minutes, and I jumped appx 19 feet off a birm, landing but a few steps from the girl.
In that moment, from the shock-wave, the smell of burnt flesh, or perhaps human instinct, she slowly looked over her shoulder. Her face wasn't that of a young child having fun, but of a naive, innocent, and curious girl merely looking to share her joys with her dad. In that moment I saw true beauty and obliviousness. As she turned, she looked up and layed eyes on what lay behind her... An suave, aspiring young man turning into chili, the tubing mountain looking like mount doom, me, mid air, racing towards her, and her father, bathed in blood, flying at her. In that moment, with so much happening for that young girl, the most she could do, all she could say, was...
...Daddy?
I snatched up that girl so fast I felt her arms dislocate from her sockets, and my foot was caught by a passing doom train of a dad in disaster as they blew by. I landed and placed the little girl down, and looked over at the travesty which just occured. I saw a red streak where my co-worker got pwned, a snow tube that had melted into the net and was steaming, and the father had easily hit 70mph and was wishing he'd had a Delorian instead of a snow tube.

The end. ish.

This story has been ingrained into my mind for the duration of my life, but now it needs to be burned into your retinas, so you can say that you've truly lived and seen it all.
Feel free to offer corrections to how the story happened, since the very fabric of space-time was fractured that day, it's hard to say what really happened.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

President-worthy Slogans!


“More stories and less textbooks!” was the cause for which educator Charlotte Mason rallied. She claimed that stories and fun sayings kept things in your head better than reading the dull facts off of a page. She was right. Even a child can pick up a funny phrase or a slogan, and repeat it back on demand. Ask a child today what the McDonald’s slogan is, and I’ll bet he can sing the catchy “Badadada, I’m lovin’ it!” jingle at any moment. This basic philosophy was also used by the Presidential candidates throughout the years! Starting with the Van Buren vs. Harrison elections, most Presidents have had slogans. 

Sometimes, the slogan professes something that is not fulfilled (“Barry Goldwater - In your heart you know he’s right”). Sometimes, it states an incredibly brief version of what that president stands for (“McKinley - A full dinner pail for all!”). Though very often, the slogan is senseless (“Stay Cool with Coolidge”). So what is the point of this jingle? What is it about those few words that nearly all of the presidents since 1840 just had to have them? There are three primary reasons.

Have you ever had just a few words of a really annoying song stuck in your head? Those songs are often called cognitive parasites. It’s not that they are actually parasites, but they do fill in the brain’s need for rhythm or pattern. The same philosophy applies to slogans. If you repeat something often enough, you begin to sort of like it. Imagine hearing Dwight Eisenhower’s “I like Ike” slogan being chanted at a rally or something of the sort. It would get lodged in your mind, where it would begin to grow. There is also the never-diminished fact that these slogans give candidates something to put on t-shirts and bumper stickers.

Did you ever notice that young children love to repeat a word that sounds cool, or plays funnily on their tongues? I myself was obsessed with the word “popsicle” for a week a while ago. I repeated it often and loudly, regardless of others in the room. I didn’t even know what it meant. So my family put up with a week of sporadic repetitions of the word, imagine if it was something like “I like ike” that I was repeating. My parents would have heard it constantly, and conversation might have formed around it.

In the end, political slogans are beneficial to the political candidate because it is, in a way, a form of subconscious mind control. It could even make or break a campaign. Slogans are a tradition dating back to William Harrison, the cries of “Forward” and “Believe in America” echo in every part of the United States! 

Here’s my slogan for this post: 

“Slogans: an unbroken tradition since 1840.”


I used three articles for this research:

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Why I Do This.

Would everyone like to know why I blog? There's no money in it. I don't do it for the readers; sorry. I blog when the weather or my state of health doesn't agree with my going  on a very long run. It's serious stress relief. A lot of times I need to get my thoughts out. I don't even care if people read it, to be honest. I think the only real reason people read it is because they experience the same feelings that I put into words. Else, I'm an interesting writer, which I doubt. Else, they want to learn about me.

I think I'll make a poll. 

Not Reasonable, for a Reasonable Blog.

One of the greatest joys I find in life is doing something that no one says I can. As a matter of fact, the most exhilarating moments of my life come when I hear someone say "You couldn't handle that." or "That's just not practical.". Because I can do it. I can do what I set my mind to. I don't need any more motivation than proving someone wrong. Obviously, things that are immoral or biblical are out.

 The fight always come inside my own head. I often lose practicality when challenged to something. It doesn't matter if it's something as unrewarding as an arm wrestling match, I have a hard time turning it down.

Now, sometimes that's a bad thing.

"I'll bet you can't walk on that roof." 
"I'll prove you wrong."
A broken bone and an ER visit later, nothing has been proven. 

 To a point, it's a good thing. 2 Timothy 1:7 says that "God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline." 

 Power, to me, is a fighting emotion. It's not something that just comes to you. We don't always want it, and sometimes it's humiliating. I'll say that I've never felt more powerful than when I'm riding a horse, but I've never been more humiliated than when I fell off a horse. When I go out running, I feel awesome. When I listen to a song and the rhythmetic part of my brain is soothed, I feel at peace. I'm full of emotions, but power is the common denominator betwixt them all. I embrace challenges because they're real. I can feel power behind accusations of "You can't!" and I want to kill that power before it gets to my own mind.

"That voice inside your head, the one that whispers 'you can't do it', is a liar." 

I'm not a timid person. I am strong, I am outspoken, I am no quitter.


This is a post that does not agree with the title of my blog. "Amo Causam" means "I love reason", but this is not a reasonable post. I'm putting into words the irrational, human, part of my brain that loves to be challenged. It's not always reasonable, but I'll tame it, and shape it with self-discipline. Because that is the spirit that God gave me. Amo Causam.

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Villains and Heroes, but mostly Villains.

 In my family, I'm often teased about liking "bad guys". The accusations hold substance, though. I do like villains. From Ursula in "The Little Mermaid" to James Moriarty in Sherlock Holmes, they're the most interesting part of the story. So what is it that draws me to them? These bringers of injustice and instituters of wrongdoing?

 Well, what would "The Little Mermaid" be without Ursula?
"Once upon a time, there was a fish girl who was in love with a human, but she couldn't marry him because she's part fish and that's just not socially acceptable."
 If someone told me that story, words would come to my mouth such as "Well... isn't that... umm... interesting?". There's simply nothing to hold my interest. Insert Ursula and the plot becomes more deeper.
"Once upon a time there was a fishgirl. She loved a human, and she wanted to marry him, so she went to an evil octopus. The fish girl traded her voice for humanity. She married the human and they lived happily ever after."
 I'm not saying that the bad guy is what makes the "happily ever after" (even though that's pretty often the case), but I am saying that they make the story a whole lot more interesting.
 Often, the bad guy doesn't contribute a lot to the plot, but they complicate the current story. Let's take Sleeping Beauty for example. Aurora might have found her Prince Charming, even if she hadn't pricked her finger on a spinning wheel.

 James Moriarty is perhaps my favorite villain: 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-9sP-8O-9Y&feature=watch-vrec

Here's a quick explanation for those of you who aren't familiar with him. He's Sherlock Holmes's rival. Not to mention, he's brilliant. 

"Every fairy-tale needs a good, old fashioned villain." ~James Moriarty

[Pictures below, James Moriarty {Sherlock Holmes}, The Master {Dr. Who}, Bowser {Mario Bros}, and assorted disney villains]