ABE SAMSON, fellow with ideas

I saw The Graduate, started listening to Simon and Garfunkel

2008-04-12T22:29:00.002-05:00

I've decided recently that I'll grow my hair out. One of my friends said that longer hair of mine would naturally turn to dreadlocks. Clearly, she understands little of Jew hair. I guess that for some reason, since I've been feeling more secure in my college situation, I should just generally tend to my hair less. Seems collegey to me. Initially I was going to "go for the fro," but I wonder if this mass on my head will turn into something wholly different. My control over it is dwindling. More on personal news: got new shoes, saw drunken master (jackie chan, 1978), and have been feeling generally better. DePaul's been sending me so much mail, my world is turning into that scene in Harry Potter where all the letters flood in from every orifice of the house. Depaul's owls are many...

I'm also considering switching this site from blogger to wordpress.

I always make up stories and characters and universes in my head. I develop things, play things out, et cetera. Essentially, that's what this blog is for. I've been getting more critical of my imagination lately, though. I don't know why. Getting a better look at my creations, I see that they aren't really as great as I want them to be. I've also had less of an urge to put them down here, possibly because of illogical fears of embarrassment or plagiarism. These things just hang around in my mind, acting as daydreams and fantasies, but I just can't bring myself to make them anything more. I want to manifest them; I want to really bring them to life. Maybe I need a good angle and a steadfast direction...
Those apparitions have existed for years, though. I'll get them out into the world sometime somehow.

I've had a stronger urge to lay off the scifi and fantasy genres and focus on more realistic subjects. There are a few ideas in the table right now, such as a lengthy story of a young man building and dating a robot, set in the near future. It feels like there's some good potential there. In an effort to satiate my love of violence, I'm also considering a story of an extremely skilled and successful assassin, in a modern setting, likely written in an interview-format. I might start soon on the former idea.

Regressing to less productive subjects of frustration (once again), I'll mention that picking a path for my life isn't getting any easier. My options are too many, and my desires too fantastic. The fact that I still try to express my persistent imagination should sway me in one direction. Yet still, I feel responsibility to get involved in politics, as well as passion to gain expertise in math and science. I guess my future is a lot like those ideas I wrote about earlier. I keep getting more and more, and I want to embrace them all. They all feel so wonderful; they could all be so great. But, they are all intangible, and intangible have they stayed. When I try to pursue just one, I never reach the satisfaction I was looking for. Satisfaction in these matters I have never known.

Oh well. I may not know exactly where I'm going, but at least I know I'm going.

New Things

2008-03-09T19:19:00.002-05:00

Well it's about time I made another post. I'll be updating more, just because I should. Here's something small, but expect more soon. I might do a spoken word version of this later.

"The Fly Waiting For The Frog"

Observe the fly, resting idly on the lily pad. There is much in this universe; yet as a fly, little could be known. This is the domain of the frog. Is the fly unaware of the approaching danger? It must be... Then what business could it have here? The fly fully understands the situation. It waits for the frog. So, a frog comes, and with a masterful lash of its tongue, the fly is devoured instantaneously. The fly feels only the slightest pain before its demise, as it is engulfed by a sticky red-pink mass, pulled into a cavernous mouth and swallowed down. No, the fly doesn't end there. The fly witnesses with awe as it shoots down on through the twisting tunnels of the frog's system at luge-like speeds. The fly grows more and more distanced from the digestive systems of the frog, as it moves further along, it finds itself traveling deeper and deeper into the fantastic cosmos-- approaching enlightenment with each passing star. Soon the fly encounters god, and becomes god. It sees all things and all time, becomes all things and all time. It can see the galaxies and planets, it can see the spirits and their magic, it becomes one with all wisdom. It sees its former body being digested, excreted, merging with the soil. From the soil a wealth of different organisms rush in to feed on the nutrients. The fly was glad it had decided to indulge the frog. Meanwhile, the frog hopped along looking for more food. It lived and thought simply-- after all, there is much in this universe; yet as a frog, little could be known...

A Continuation, I'll call this one, "Yorick?"

2007-11-23T21:27:00.000-06:00

As they raced down joyously to the city limits, something shining caught their eye. Seng and Marin, sidetracked, curiously trotted over to a strange object, which was half buried beneath the dry sand. Seng unearthed it from the ground to reveal what appeared to be a mangled mechanical forearm, with an old battered robotic hand still loosely attached. As he held it up to examine further, a small mountain of sand poured out from either end. A few spots of rust had burnt holes through the metal, with a few frayed wires hanging out from where the forearm had been presumably detached from its other parts. The sand had rubbed a myriad of small, thin scratches into the metal, but it was still clear enough to noticeably reflect the sunlight. Marin, looking over Seng's shoulder, made a barely audible "Huh."
Affixed on the arm, slowly, they both looked up directly ahead. Strewn about the plane ahead of them was a scattered collection of similar semi-visible metallic components, glinting analogously with each other and the piece in Seng's hands. In wordless impulse, the two spent the next half hour walking around collecting the various pieces. The horses stood in the background, aloof, occasionally paying attention to watch their masters toil.
Finally, Seng and Marin dumped their armfulls of metallic parts into the cart. They wiped their sweaty, dirty faces, though their shirtsleeves weren't much better. Marin stumbled over another small piece. He picked it up, cleared the sand out, and beckoned Seng over. In his hand, Marin held a metallic piece reminiscent of a human skull. Clearly from an android, though it's dark, empty eye sockets told of a very sad story of past dismemberment and abuse, as if these parts once composed a human being. They got back on their horses, and rode to the city's entrance. Marin rode with the metal skull in his lap, pondering it all the way.

A monday night's dream (dear readers)

2007-11-07T20:42:00.000-06:00

So there I was, face to face with the assistant principal of our school, a woman who at one time was my kindergarden teacher. Thanks to my blatant omission of diplomacy, the conversation we were holding quickly heated up. As is the norm in reality, I proclaimed several rude, yet truthful, remarks; and in keeping with realism, I no longer recall exactly what I had said. Luckily for you, dear readers, this is where the realism ends. It just so happened that my assistant principal was the shogun of this particular dream realm. I realized her status all too late, for at that moment I noticed three imposing samurai standing nearby, radiating the unmistakable aura of rage. Their hairy, manly, contorted faces conveyed to me the emotion of "What the fuck did you just say?" I followed the shapes of their traditional armor down to their weapons, conveniently drawn. Oh, how I loathe that familiar sinking sensation. I bolted off, and of course, I was zealously chased down. Let me tell you, dear readers, never disrespect a shogun in front of samurai, I can attest to how fucked you will be, based off of personal experience. It wasn't long before the samurai had caught up with me. They swung their blades through my neck, and my head rolled off my body. Somehow, I had survived my beheading. I (now nothing more than a head) was picked up and presented to the shogun. Just then, I burst into a rabid, spiteful fit, spewing profanity, concurrently scaring off my killers. Apparently, an angry severed head shouting insults is surprising. I ferociously chomped onto the petrified woman's ear, and succeeded in ripping it off. After that, the dream started to fade away. I suppose I taught her a lesson in the end, and while I did claim a few small triumphs of my own, I was still left as nothing more than a detached head. Not too admirable.

A little poem about a big problem

2007-10-26T23:05:00.000-05:00

That old crazy miss Jane
They locked her away, and called her insane
She spoke out of place
The news hid her face
So from her speech she was forced to abstain

That nutty old mister Brent
Silenced by the government
He told all with many tears shed
Not long after he was found dead
It's not a conspiracy, he just didn't pay his rent!

Now there's traffic in the skies
Everyone sees through the lies
Now it is the dawn of a great new age
Our cosmic friends helped us turn a new page
Finally Humanity can truly begin to rise

But what of Brent and Jane's noble plight?
See, it turns out that they were right
For all that they fought
Against what was taught
I fear their stories may never be brought to light.

I am not in the mood to title this

2007-09-12T18:44:00.000-05:00

Seng and Marin had been walking for days now, with no beginning or end in sight of the wild desert sands. Luckily they had a cart to carry their extra supplies in, and it was a hover, which meant toting it around wasn't too labor intensive. Last morning they awoke to the blatant absence of their horses, and since it was the desert, there was no trace of what had happened whatsoever. The two were overjoyed with their luck. They noticed later that there were a few new dents on the cart-- perhaps someone had tried to crack it open. This mood amongst them carried well into the following afternoon. You could nearly hear the heat radiating from the sun, as it harshly attacked everything in reach. Marin was in front, pulling the cart, Seng closely behind. Seng had been thinking to himself a great deal lately. He paused, and looked up to Marin questioningly.
"So you think it was bandits or something that came around and took them?"
Marin sighed, and shrugged.
"Must've been. It looked like someone tried to break into the cart. We had those horses secured down, and they were acting fine."
"... But... Why didn't they try anything else? They could have captured us or taken the whole cart or something."
"Idunno. Maybe they just cared about the horses."
"Oh well..."
They started walking up a sandy incline, the relentless sun beating down on their redding skin. The two were sweating profusely.
"Our food supply won't last us much longer..." Said Marin between his heavy breaths.
"We might be okay if we ration it better. We just need to find some help, or at least a way to know which way we are going." Said Seng. As they reached the top of the mound, they caught sight of a large distant rock. By the time they reached it, the sun had almost completely set. They set up camp along side of the large rock, near a presumably dead, black gnarled tree. To save fuel they started a fire the old fashioned way, using the dry fallen branches of the black tree scattered on the ground. For the sake of their new rationing rules, they went to sleep without eating dinner. They had to keep the fire going, and they had to bundle up before sleeping, as the desert can grow painfully cold after dark. Even through all this trouble, the night remained serene and peaceful. The crackle of the fire, the quiet shadows, the glowing stars. They were slipping into sleep. A quick chilling breeze blew past them, and then they felt an eerie presence nearby. Seng and Marin opened their eyes, slowly looked across the fire, and were startled to see two strange creatures beaming menacingly at them. Scrambling upright, frantically trying to compose themselves, Seng and Marin felt around the darkness for the gun. The creatures were seated like animals, but seemed to have humanoid shaped bodies. Their faces, though, were far from human. They had large ears, like a wolf, but flatter faces with green, shining cat eyes. There were faded red tribal markings all over their short, dark fur. The gun was nowhere to be found. There was a tense silence between the two parties, neither moving at all.
Hesitantly, Seng asked "Who are you?"
The creature on the left turned his head quickly, directing himself at Seng. "We are the people. We govern these lands in accordance with natural law. You intruders have entered our territory without our permission. Identify yourselves and your business here."
As Marin began to speak, both of the creatures snapped their attention to him in anticipation. "Uh, well it's kind of a long story, but we've been lost for days now. We weren't aware this place belonged to you." Marin paused and gulped. Before he could start talking again, the creature on the right interjected, "That is incorrect. We the keepers and guardians of this place. All life is equal, this land belongs to no one." "Oh, okay..." Marin started up again, "Well anyways it wasn't our intention to offend you or anything." The creatures were listening silently. "And then just the other day, we lost our horses, and we can't find our way to any nearby cities. Can you help us?"
"What have you to trade? Perhaps something from that cart." Seng and Marin looked at each other. They covered their mouths and whispered to each other.
"What else do we have? Food?"
"No, not the food, we need that too badly."
"Well we have to do something, just give it to them!"
"Gah alright but not too much"
Seng went to the cart and brought some of the sweet bread they had been saving. As he walked to hand over the bread, he felt a quick gust and saw a blur in front of him. He blinked, and looked down at his hands to see them empty. The creatures were seated, already eating the bread.
"This will be sufficient for now. Are those two horses over there the ones you spoke of?"
Seng and Marin leaned to the left to see the horses standing idly near the side of the rock, behind the creatures. Seng looked at Marin and raised his eyebrow. "Hey! You stole them in the first place, didn't you?" He motioned at the creatures, munching on their food. "And we gave these guys our rations! What the hell?" Without responding, Marin addressed the creatures.
"Thank you for giving us our horses. Do you think you might be able to help us find our way to a city? The sooner we do, the sooner we'll leave here." The was another silent pause. There was no light or sound for miles, only the orange crackling fire illuminating the silhouettes of the campsite amongst the pitch black, quiet night.
"Very well. We will provide you with a map. There is a city for your kind on the edge of these lands. We will monitor your passage. If you leave with a fast enough pace, no harm will come to you." When the creatures spoke, their sharp fangs would be slightly exposed. It was unsettling. The creature on the right reached behind his back, and handed Seng a rolled up brown map. Their campsite's rock was well marked on the paper. "Go northwest until you reach that white structure marked on the edge." Seng and Marin saw a large white circle with lines intersecting though it on the end of the top section of the map. There was a gust, the fire wavered, and the two beings were gone.
The following morning, Seng and Marin set out with their horses, following the map as closely as they could. They noticed that the horses has been returned to them fed and well groomed. They ran out of food the next morning, but in only an hour two of traveling, the great city had become visible. Seng and Marin were overjoyed to finally have found civilization. They ecstatically raced to the city gates, eager to finally, truly rest.

(As of yet untitled, a work in progress) Part 1

2007-08-16T01:08:00.000-05:00

I wondered if dreams of such grandeur held any more weight in reality than the spotty, fleeting, seemingly random dreams that occupy our slumbers on most occasions. So commonplace, yet so uninterpretable, too many ignorantly deem these small dreams to be mundane. Ignorantly, indeed. How can they be blamed? Going about their simple lives, such an abundance of phenomena which escape their threshold of reality are overlooked quite easily. To them, these things are nothing more than part of the daily routine. After all, they've worked hard all their lives to create such a comfortable eggshell of reality. Nothing in nor out, except on a few rare occasions; pay no mind to those. Ah, but to the dismay of too many, in truth it is the worthless little dreams that bear more significance in this great cosmos than all they had learned in their lives...

But-- those numbering too many... They never included me. As a disturbed young child my dreams were all well recognized, and heeded dearly. I lived in two worlds, my mind, and the public's. What had caused me to be self-titled as disturbed began when I noticed that these two worlds, which I walked ever so cautiously, were merging together. In unspeakable horror, I contemplated with my young innocence what such a massive integration might imply. Imagine, if you will, your childhood monsters running amok in the real world, with no real cause. The unanswered mystery frightened me more than any other aspect of the ordeal. As I continued to observe the procession, I grew utterly suspicious that the two worlds were never separate in the first place. Needless to say, I was always slightly distracted in my earlier years.

I sat upright, my sheets, pillows, hair, and awareness disheveled. Drenched in sweat, but no longer sweating; I never knew how to deal with the aftermath of sleep-sweat. Some dream... Awake and catching up to my body, I glanced at the digital clock. So curious how we are often called upon to instantly go from lofty sleep to electrified alertness, as if simply switching on a light. 6:13 A.M.

The sky was a dark cloudy grayish-blue, still completely void of the upcoming day's arousal. I sighed and rubbed my face with my hands. My alarm was set for 6:30, and normally I fight quite a battle to leave the bed. This wasn't the case. Well, at least I was jolted enough to get up faster. I set on the kettle for some tea, just like always. Even in my warm apartment, the bitter cold from outside could still be sensed. The tea helps. The dream still had me shaken up, though my recollection of it was fading fast. Oh well. I turned up the lights a little more. Looking around the place, I was reminded of how dirt poor I was as the result of my college debt. I walked over to the single, large window, and observed the Chicago scenery. At least the view was good. The kettle began to murmur. Then, looking over the tops of the buildings, I noticed a gigantic, strange symbol taking shape. It was as if it had always been there, sunken amongst the shapes and patterns of the city, only now revealing itself to me. Familiar... The kettle was whistling to a crescendo. A patch of my dream flashed into my mind with overwhelming speed, the symbol cemented in the vision. Was it mere coincidence that the symbol of my dream was identical to the one I was staring at now? The kettle's screech grew deafening. I snapped out of my trance and tended to the tea. The slightly bitter green leaves were calming. I put on my coat and scarf, gathered my pocket items, and got ready to leave. Before closing the door behind me, I checked back on the window. The symbol was gone. Whatever it was, I could feel it speaking of something ominous.

Walking down the road, I kept turning the symbol over and over in my mind. I couldn't make it out clearly. It sat there like one of those optical illusions, requiring you to gaze out in order to view the hidden 3-D image. Arriving at my first destination of the day, the bus stop, I checked my watch as I did every day. I looked to my left to see a strange man in a black fedora hat, a long black trench coat, black leather gloves, and in his left hand he held an open umbrella above him. It wasn't raining, and I assure you it was depressingly far from sunny. I searched his hidden face with an unintentional look of confusion upon mine, yet his I could not find. He turned his head to me, clearly sensing my stare, and greeted me with a cheerful smile. Realizing my rudeness, I smiled back politely. I happened to notice his footwear just then-- a pair of pink rubber sandals. Already a little on edge that morning, the surprise had me taken aback. This was getting very awkward. Then, the single dark gray cloud looming overhead began to sprinkle a warm rain. It contrasted with the biting cold, and slowly generated a gentle fog. The man let out an easy sigh, pleased that his preparations were justified. Looking around with a slight grin, he wiggled his toes. My eyes instantly locked on to them. What a weirdo... Nice pedicure, though. We could see the rain cutting through our breath in the cold. His breath produced a much thicker steam than mine. The bus arrived. He gestured kindly for me to step on first, and I gave him a nod and another polite smile. Peculiar though, his face was so generic-looking, it seemed completely unmemorable. I couldn't quite pin down what his face was like. He could be anywhere from twenty to forty years old. The husky black bus driver had a look at the unimposing man's feet, tilted her head back, and raised an eyebrow at him. "It's too damn early," she thought. The man just smiled at her and progressed down the bus...

... And out of every other empty seat on the bus, why the hell did he have to sit across from me?

PART ONE- END.

Tribute Seminar

2007-08-04T16:52:00.000-05:00

"OW, THAT FUCKING HURT! ...THAT WAS AWESOME!"
There are only two kinds of people in this world who would interact in such a way: Masochists and Martial Artists (Although honestly I don't see a difference anymore). All day saturday and sunday I will be attending an annual tribute seminar to the memory of my teacher's teacher, Luis Orbegoso. Every year, we invite martial artists from all around, get as many people as we can, and go crazy for a weekend of violence. Amongst some of the regular teachers who attend the seminar is the honorable grand master of Kosho Ryu Kempo (my art), Bruce Juchnik. There's very little one can say to accurately describe his abilities as a martial artist. His movements are so tiny, so seemingly insignificant, that the average person sees no movement at all. Yet these few small movements are all he needs to generate incredible power, and cause immense pain. Truly, watching him demonstrate is a spectacle. So, I have been, and will continue to, going around with all sorts of different teachers, and learning all sorts of techniques and concepts. We beat each other up, back and forth, taking in all that we can, all in good spirits and friendliness. We have a mighty good time, and it is ever more evident when at the end of the day, everyone releases a zombified grunt upon sitting down. So far, as of day one, it has been a fantastic experience. Sticks, knives, swords, staffs, striking, feeling, throwing, Aikido, Kempo, Arnese, Kenjitsu, Goju Ryu Karate, Hapkido, fun, fun, fun. More tomorrow.

"... I'd follow him to hell and back I would!"

2007-08-02T13:18:00.000-05:00

Well, we visited the University of Wisconsin in Madison. The drive is so long that the visible light spectrum actually breaks down. If you could stand on your house and look at those fancy little badgers from a telescope, they would appear to be only red, as the other color frequencies would have dissipated through the immense difference in space and time. On the other hand, of course, red is their school color. I think they picked that to symbolize how fucking long of a drive it is to their school, because even if you live a mile away from the campus, it's still probably a three-hour drive. Nice school, though.
In other college news, I began looking at the essay questions for the University of Chicago application, and they are fairly interesting. I'm a little confused as to wether you have to do all of the essays, or just pick one. If it's the former, then for the "make your own" essay, I plan to write several pages on the intricacies of Futurama. It seems as though I would be perfect for the University of Chicago, but so far they have made it seem easy for me... Perhaps... Too easy... There's probably going to be a trap door or a wall that shoots poison darts when I go in for my interview.
Moving on, I have discovered an enigmatic question, one that has vexed mankind for millennia: All scholars and scientists agree, like the Earth, the internet is flat. But, what is the end of the internet like? Perhaps it is great convergence of all the tubes, producing one final tube, where a waterfall of internet fluids cascades out a massive opening into the infinite abyss of eternal nothingness. Perhaps it is a 4Chan page. Who knows?
However, there is one thing we can be certain about. A man would have to be daft to sail such a distance. Indeed, that we can be sure of.

The Wee Hours of the Morn...

2007-07-30T18:33:00.000-05:00

My brain feels a little fried right now. I went to bed at around 6 AM for no reason, and got up about 5 hours later. I don't feel quite as exhausted as I feel eerie. There's something offsetting in itself about having an unnatural period of sleep, and then going about the next day somewhat normally. Kev's house was fun. Now I feel motivated to steal more music, and to finally get my license. I should really take the opportunity to drive more, just for the sake of driving. I feel overcautious in my dad's sporty Acura, and I absolutely can't stand my mother's old Toyota. The near-functionless brakes, the air conditioning spewing smoke and greasy foam from the vents, the god awful steering, whatever the hell sound the engine is making now... Her car has so many things wrong with it, that nothing more than a slight breeze could tip the fragile balance of its sickly equilibrium, hurling us (the unlucky passengers) into oblivion. When I actually do get to the DMV, I will likely have to take the driving test there, which is further discouraging. I will likely turn the experience into a nervous hassle, and I'm pessimistic about the time it will take to get out. So, the next step: when I have my license. I don't and won't have the money for a car. My family has no car for me to use that is not needed already. What need is there for a license when there are no cars to drive? What motivation is there? So then, why should I care so much? Why should I rush? What the hell would I do? Right now I'm more deterred by the bullshit of the DMV than the motivation for the useless item I would receive for the work.
The day is winding down, and I think after ranting I'm starting to feel the effects of sleep deprivation creeping on. Oh, and don't forget: college, college, college, college, college, buttsex fucking shit piss ass whore damn crap hell bitch dick, college.
STEP ONE: COMPETE WITH EVERYONE ELSE ON THE PLANET.
STEP TWO: CRITICIZE LIFE.
STEP THREE: PLACE SELF ESTEEM IN BUCKET TO YOUR LEFT.
STEP FOUR: PROFIT.

Glug glug glug glug...

2007-07-30T00:45:00.000-05:00

More work on the site coming up. Snakes on my internet. Planning to have a links section, once these stupid features start working. I could always just change webtron addresses, because I still don't like taking part in something so popular, yet so annoying. I'm not really the kind of dick head who calls themselves a "blogger," and I don't plan on it. I'm not really sure why I'm in Facebook, although Facebook seems to radiate less "dumbass" appeal. Nevertheless, I need to put all of my shit somewhere, and paper media is too flammable. We'll find out sooner or later.

The Brown Dirt Road

2007-07-29T18:26:00.000-05:00

The Yakuza have their orders. Weapons drawn, they surround the lone man, smugly enjoying their confidence in the matter at hand. They gaze sharply with dark intentions at the man. His ragged straw hat casts a partial shadow over His emotionless face. His plain, loose fitting clothes suggest a life of modesty. What is a lowly peasant even doing with swords like those? Such a waste!
The boss, his arms folded, looks upon the scene intently. This shouldn't be very difficult. Odd... Not but a moment ago, the sun seemed to be setting. Just as it was about to complete its ritual of sinking beneath the depths of the landscape, it has suddenly stopped just short. The man and the gangsters pause, preparing for battle. The sun pauses with them. It was a very windy day. Now, the wind is dead. The dusky summer air grows thick with a stagnant humidity.
The first four raise their weapons, yelling fiercely, they charge at the man. His hands slowly creep to His sword. They slash wildly, He moves with slow finesse, dodging the blades by only a few centimeters. The gangsters cut nothing more than a blurry trail, and they stumble forward in surprise. He crouches ever so slightly. Quickly, there! He draws with blinding speed! A flash from the steel's reflection, He slashes about the backs of the clumsy attackers before they can move to block. He stands upright, His sword lowered. The overzealous attackers drop their weapons in horror. The boss is taken aback. The four shakily look to the man. As if acting on a queue, blood sprays chaotically from their torsos, and their bodies slide apart. The clean-cut fragments thud to the ground. The wind starts up again.
All at once, the gangsters run at the man screaming loudly. Blades swinging from all directions. He crouches, no trace of any expression. He swipes His sword upwards at an angle, spinning to the left, whipping a great behemoth of a cut through the crowd, creating a high-pitched howling "Whoosh," while His after-image trails closely behind. An ocean of blood bursts out from the masses of opened flesh into the air, creating a bloody downpour as the defeated fall to their knees. Clean-cut pieces of torsos, heads, and arms litter the brown dirt road.
He turns to the next section, their terror-stricken faces reflecting off of His blood coated blade. To say the least, the remainder is a bit disheartened. The man looks up, revealing His eyes. Dull, without shine, staring out into nothingness. His eyes are filled to the brim with ash. Ash from a mighty blaze, indeed, a fire that had burned all in it's path to the ground without mercy or compassion. The shaky gangsters drop their weapons, scattering in every direction. The sun finally resumes it's business, and continues to set again.

"COWARDS! COME BACK AND FINISH HIM!" Yells the boss.

The man now walks calmly to the boss. Ah, the boss is not so supreme now, is he? See how profusely he sweats! The boss widens his eyes, his weight on his heels. The boss throws his hands up, walking backwards fearfully.

"WH-WH-WAIT! I... I CAN GIVE YOU MONEY! DON'T YOU WANT TO BE RICH? PLEASE! JUST D-DON'T KILL ME!"

The man stops in front of the boss. This boss is the controller of nothing now. The ashes disappear from the man's eyes, and sentience begins to shine in His face. He looks at the boss.

"You will leave this land, all of you. If there are any others left in your gang, tell them. You will be their one and only warning. From now on, if I see any of your gang, I will kill them without hesitation. You have two days to leave before I see out your gathering places. Do not forget, and tell the others, I will kill every last one of them. Now, I want you to run for your life, as fast as you can. Go to them, and hurry, before I decide to kill you."

No living thing runs faster than when its life is in danger. The boss fades into the night's shadows. An ominous breeze rolls through the grass, rustling the trees. The wind would have kicked up dust from the brown dirt road, but now the dirt and blood have mixed into a thick, muddy concoction. He flicks some of the blood off His sword, pulls out an old rag, and slowly wipes the blade. Quietly, He guides the sword back into its sheath. He takes a deep breath. He exhales.

His clothes remain spotless, completely free of blood. He looks up at the stars. Night is so nice and peaceful. He moves on to the town ahead, down the brown dirt road... Should be a place to stay there.

~End of segment.

2007-03-28T14:20:00.000-05:00

Alright, well, this is basically a test site. Seeing as I don't really blog, I'm going to try to use this site to kick off my podcast-to-be. If it actually becomes a podcast, and it actually becomes popular, then I guess I'll use this site for real stuff. So uh all the stuff I put up here is ©Abe Samson most rights reserved? Okay well anyways, if I get my podcasts up here, tell everyone you know. It's a work in progress but I've been getting positive feedback so far.