Hair Today, Gelled Tomorrow

It had come to me in the middle of the night that hair is an alien entity. Look at pictures throughout the ages, from the white wigs to hide whatever was going on under there, to the greasy hair of the 50’s, the bee hives of the 60‘s, the wacky-wavy-puffed out 70’s hair, to the evil mullet and rats tails of the 80’s, transforming to the gel crazed 90’s with razor etchings and braids and now the wind blown atrocities that mire today’s culture. People gel their hair and make it go in a hundred different directions.

Has no one wondered about this important topic? Why does all other hair on our bodies end up in wavy matted clusters in a chia pet fashion? Yet our hair on our head has a mind of its own, naturally parting in the middle, sides or none at all. And then when we age, the hair changes colors like the fading of youth or just unroot themselves and leave.

Hair is its own life form, containing your life story in its cells and giving the outside world a visual diary of your life.

A letter to everyone

Dear Americans,

Why do we have to choose a side of Republican or Democrat? Can’t you see through the bickering over issues that don’t get resolved-the constant tug of war of words, of bitter agendas over hawks or doves, left or right, conservative or liberal.

Pull back the curtain. Can you see what is making all those cogs and pieces work in this bloated machine we call government? The damn thing is plugged into the Capitalistic Super Computer. Banks, pharmaceutical companies, insurance companies and copyright holders fund both sides and push their agenda.

They want us to bicker and be evenly divided, so nothing changes except laws that restrict all of us.


Your ever faithful friend,

DavidG

The Final Thought Before Obliteration Of The Thread

My friend, Namik. The reason why I introduced Adam and Eve into the conversation was to demonstrate that two well known books have inconsistencies in them but the message behind both is still intact. Of course Jesus and Magdalene weren’t brother and sister but if you took the story of Adam and Eve literally than they would be.

You say that the Bible condemns any who changes a comma or word from the bible. Just in America the Bible has been revised first in 1816, 1827 (changing the word Baptizein to Immersion), 1830, 1835, 1836 (changed immerse/immersion), 1838 and so on until 1973. Now logically speaking if the Bible hadn’t wanted even a comma removed or changed, than it could never be translated.

I don’t care for Patterson but his philosophy on Freedom does not hinge on Oedipus’ brother in law. His message is that slaves are the only ones to know freedom, translated: you don’t know what you got until you lose it, and breaking it down further: we take things for granted.

Who cares that this guy won an award? It’s a trophy. Read the book and move on to another. There’s way to many books to get through in one lifetime.

I can not comment on Mr. Pone’s book because I have not read it.

There are some things I agree with Freud on and some I think are unsound. I haven’t read much about his theories on freedom, so I withhold comment.

So, let’s discuss the term freedom. Is it a state of being, where an individual can make up any choice, he or she wants? But if this is the case, then in some instances that choice infringes onto another, taking their freedom away. If this is so, than there has to be limitations to freedom, creating laws-you have the right to choose, but it can’t infringe on others. If there are rules than there isn’t absolute freedom.

Another instance that our absolute freedom is erased is in our body's need. We must eat, we must drink and we must sleep. These are the rules that govern our body.

Are we truly free? No. There isn’t an utopia.-DavidG

A Crazy Forum Conversation

I've been a member of an online forum for a few months now and just had a conversation with a scholar in Kosovo about a rare book there. I've never read the novel but still debated the merits with this gentleman. I've taken out his ten page essay, due to copyright infringement. But what follows is priceless.-DavidG


Susan

Extreme Veteran

Posts: 352

Hi there:

There's a book section to discuss books. However, you post is so long that I got lost and confused. Are you trying to promote this book? I'm not really sure what your post is about. 

-----
On the Write Path,
Susan
______________________________________
http://susanlittlefield.blogspot.com/

~Robert~

New User

Posts: 9

Location: Massachusetts

Hello there,

Thank you for your feedback. Here's my answer to your comment:

1. The point of my posting was to discuss none of the two books (Freedom and The Rose’s Tears.) The former is a famous book, already discussed and commented on for several years now. The second is an unknown one and by an unknown author and I can’t expect writers and editors to discuss about an unknown book, which doesn’t even exist in English. If you read my posting more carefully, you should have noticed that it was addressed to the editors with the hope of helping me with publishing the two posted essays translated from this unknown novel in some literary magazine, because I personally find them very interesting and informative. My first line of the posting says "Dear Editors".

2. As to your comment that the posting is too long, there’s no limit as to the length of the postings. If someone gets bored because of its length, he is free to stop looking at it.

3. If you “got lost and confused” by my posting, as you say, I think it isn’t the text’s length to be blamed for, as long texts aren’t necessarily confusing. On the contrary, my text is quite clear. In it I say, in the clearest way possible, that it is about an author who has spotted certain errors in a distinguished American book that has been awarded the 1991 National Book Award Prize. There’s nothing ambiguous or confusing in all of this, except for someone who deliberately wants to judge it as such. If you wish to take this posting as “promotion”, this is your business. One who is a real lover of literature and culture, would have dwelt a bit longer on the core of the matter: the protagonist of a foreign author’s novel points out certain errors he finds in an American author’s book: Freedom. What is confusing here? The errors appear in the very analysis of the tragedy of which the author of Freedom himself says, "the West has come to view with a reverence close to that reserved for Scriptures...". The question is: is this unknown author right, or he distorts things. And whether he is right or not, let editors, writers or readers jugde it. This is what I expected from you as a writer or editor, if you happen to be one. In a forum of writers, writers are supposed to behave amicably towards another writer, who is a friend, a colleague, even though he might be an unknown or a foreign writer. He is, at least, honest in what he writes. And I think it’s not fair to cast shadows of doubts by feigning to “get lost and confused” in texts that are very clear.

Regards,
Rob

Edited by ~Robert~ 2007-03-10 4:22 PM
Member

Posts: 25

Location: South Jersey Shore

HUH?

~Robert~

New User

Posts: 9

Location: Massachusetts

Hey Tolaf,

What do you mean by "HUH"? I believe this is a serious forum, of serious members, who must, at least, express their thoughts clearly.

Regards,
Rob

TheRazor
Extreme Veteran
Posts: 360
Location: Connecticut

Quite right my fellow writer. I've been trying to tell these writer's on this site to get serious and stop joking around. Your due diligence in pursuing the pontification of your thesis on the novel, The Rose's Tears is sound, though his views on freedom are black and white and rely on esotericism and give rise to a flat world view.-DavidG (BURRRRRPP)


Edited by TheRazor 2007-03-10 7:03 PM

Susan



Extreme Veteran

Posts: 352

Wow ~Robert~ I guess you told me!! Why such a hostile tone? I could not not tell whether you are for the book or against it, hence the question on promotion. As for clarity of your posting- I asked questions because it is not clear to me. My questions had nothing to do with word count.
Well, goodness, thanks for answering my questions as to what to your content, but there was no call for putting down my character.


-----
On the Write Path,
Susan
______________________________________
http://susanlittlefield.blogspot.com/


~Robert~
New User

Posts: 9

Location: Massachusetts

Dear David,

Thanks for your reply and for being the only one so far to appreciate my humble efforts! I liked that novel awfully, but I can't burden myself with advocating the author's views on freedom. A hundred people may have a hundred views on a certain topic or notion.

My main point in my posting has been overlooked, i.e. the author's pointing out some inaccuracies on Antingone's analysis in the National Book Award winner, the book Freedom.

Regards,
Rob

TheRazor


Extreme Veteran

Posts: 360

Location: Connecticut

Well, it is noted by many respectable theologists that the contradictions between the Creon and Antigone are well documented by Antigone's motivation by religion and Creon's by the good of the republic. The very contridiction in Antigone's freedom is adherent in the ambigious nature of humanity. For life is unanswerable with no true right or wrong.-DavidG (BUUURRRRPPP)

~Robert~
New User

Posts: 9

Location: Massachusetts

Dear Susan,

I'm sorry, but again you're misunderstanding me. It's not in my character to be hostile to unknown people, especially to honorable ladies, sincerely speaking.

I'm surprised you don't understand that I am in favor of the novel. This is quite clear. I just got an answer from Mr. David, who had clearly got my point.

I'm sorry to tell you, but in your original post you had only one question, "Are you trying to promote this book?". If you had concrete questions, I would have gladly answered them.

I had no intention to put down your character. This forum is not about discussing people's characters - it's about discussing people's views and ideas.

So, in conclusion, please believe me, there was nothing personal in my previous reply to you.

Regards,

Robert






~Robert~. 


~Robert~
New User

Posts: 9

Location: Massachusetts

Dear David,

Thanks again for your reply. If we engaged in talking about Antigone, it would take a very long time. What I am discussing here is:

The author of Freedom, in his book, has blundering errors about Antigone's kin relationships. I'm giving you only one instance: Mr. Patterson says that Creon is Oedipus' brother, which, according to all the scholars of the world, is NOT true. This error only, let alone others, creates confusion among readers, students, teachers, etc.

The basic principle of any book must be factual accuracy and truth!

Thanks,
Rob

~Robert~

New User

Posts: 9

Location: Massachusetts

Dear Susan,

Thanks for your understanding. Have a pleasant evening!

Kind Regards,
Rob


TheRazor

Extreme Veteran

Posts: 360

Location: Connecticut

Quite right, quite right my fellow co-patriot. Creon plays different parts in different plays. In Oedipus the King he embodies reson. In Oedipus at Colonus, he is the epitome of evil. I rolled my eyes when Orlando mistakened Creon for Oedipus brother when everyone knows he is his brother in law. But the slip can be construed to mean that the clear definition of Creon is undefined, like the various roles and his undecisive manner.-DavidG (BBUURRPP~Robert~
New User

Posts: 9

Location: Massachusetts

David,

I am not a scholar, I'm just a reader. You're right that Creon plays various parts in different plays. But his relation to Oedipus is invariable: he's always and everywhere Oedipus' brother-in-law.

I'm sorry, but I find your effort to defend Patterson to be lame. What we're dealing with here, is a gross mistake, and frankly speaking, I don't see why you're being evasive. I don't think Orlando did it on purpose, as you say, because he has no right to misrepresent characters known all over the world for more than two thousand years, just to prove what point he might wish! As he compares Antigone to the Scriptures, he is bound to be very scrupulous. Hence, I don't think you would pardon Orlando, for example, if he had presented Jesus and Mary Magdalene as brother and sister!

Regards,
Rob

TheRazor


Extreme Veteran

Posts: 360

Location: Connecticut

Though Oedipus married his mother, the relationship is convoluted to begin with. My defense of Patterson is insubstantial since you overlooked my laughter at his omission of the fact. I will give you a free pass this time but other drastic oversites into my hypothesis will have to solved only by a duel. My good man, I do hope as civilized men that we can discuss this oversite like gentlemen, but to be assured that I mean to defend my honor.-DavidG (BBUURRPP)

~Robert~

New User

Posts: 9

Location: Massachusetts

David,

As far as I got you, you admit that Patterson is wrong. If the matter comes to some duel :-), it's true that I'm a fan of The Rose's Tears' author (Stavri Pone), but it would be fair that you challenge him into a duel instead of me, as I myself have some other duels I need to take care of. :-)

Have a nice evening!

Rob



Namik
New User

Posts: 2

Hello folks in the Forum!
I am Namik from Kosovo(it was than part of Jugoslavia), 63 age, and I fled from Albania some 40 years ago across the border among bullets of Enver Hoxha (diktator of the Albania for 50 years) solders, and I was wunded, but thank God I didn’t pass away my soul. I survived, but my family back in the Comunist Albania has undergone terrible ordeals in concentration camps. And I lived for many years underground as Serbains turned back to Albania them who fled to Jugoslavia. I’m a book dealer and I’ve recently red the novel The Rose’s Tear, but not book Freedom.

I followed the exchanges on your forum and I can only say that Mr Robert is write to raise two points from the novel to have them to discusse about. He is right because the novel The Rose’s Tears, among other topics, deals also with a book written by a real American author, not an invented author. Otherwisey, why should Robert have propposed for disscusion in the Forum, issues from a novel that is not in English and is writtein by a foreing author completly unknwon in America, even in Ballkans?

But I’m surprised for the poore level of discussing matters by some persons. And where? In a writers Forum! It’s a shame for a writer like Tolaf to pronounce himself only with an ironical “HUH?”. And he calls himself a writerr! Poor him for the education that he has received and the education he givs others in his books!! As if he is deaf. As if he deosn’t see what the problem is about. And Mr. DavidG is right to cirticize him. Only Mr. David is wrong to defend Pattersons mistakes, which are very clearly pointed out in Viktor’s essays. And he is wrong to present himself as competent on the definition of freedom. As nobody in the world is. Nor Patterson. Nor Pone. God alone is able to definie what freedom is. As He alone has given it us, no matter that we humans grab it form each other! Of all mortal people and scholars only Sigmund Freud was right in defining what freedom is, as he jugded it in the God’s spirit!

The essence of Viktor’s cirticism of Patterson’s view is: Has Man been born free or NOT! God made Man free! And Freud, who is a greater scientist that both Patterson and DavidG, has said: "The liberty of the individul is no gift of civilization. It was greatst before there was any civilization." But those people in the Forum who are biased and not really have democratic spirit wnant to defent their idol, which is Paterson! As if Patterson has got the monopoly of freedom definition! And all others mustt shut their mouths on what freedom is! Lets suppose Patterson is OK, and great, I have nothing with him and with his bookk Freedom, which I have read not, but for this sake that he has won a big Prize, should others people have no right to speak thier thoughts on what freedom is? And except for this, shoud we close our eyes at his mistakes in analysing Antigone tragedy? Viktor says clearly: As Creon and Oedipus are brothers (like Pattreson wrongly says), and as Creon and Antigone are brother and sister (like Patterson wrongly says) then: as Oedipus and Antigone are brother and sister (which is true accodring to Oedipus myth), and Creon and Oedipus are brothers (contrary to the myth), then Creon, Eteocles, Polyneices, Antigone and Ismene = siblings. See what confusion results from Mr. Patterson gross erors! And Mr. DavidG concocts theories that Patterson purposely presented Oedipus and Creon as brothers! What is his point than, to make a mess of the whole tragedy, and Creon to be against burying not only Antigone”s brother, but his own brother too!?

And none member of the Forum wish to ponder and think seriously about such matters. And none is bothered that Patterson is wrong, thogh he has got a big Prize. Let him enjoy it, OK, he might be a great scholar. But it is not honest to mock a guy named Robert, who proposes a serios problem for discussion, that is: weather is Patterson wrong on a specific issue, and not on all over his book! And Roberts gets replying him with an humiliating “HUH?” from Tolaf. Why so, Mr “HUH?” Do you think Mr. Pattreson is God Almighty, and nobdoy has right to criticize something in his book? You only show publicly what a character you have Mr. “HUH!”

The discussion posted by Mr Robert is deep and beyond myself too, even thogh I’ve read hundreds of books. This is a discussion for scholars and learned people, not for a certain Susan, the Extreme Veterane, that gets confused in such prufound matters! She doesn’t understand that the debate on a great book refers to Freedom, not to Pone’s book! Why then dose she poke her nose into discussion if she finds difficult to understand what the matter is about? You’d better deal with pulp fiction and Agatha Christy-like novels, dealr Susan, rather than try to understand things you cant understand!

And please, everybody, be polite and civilized and don’t put down a book of an unkwnon author living somewhere in this world, and dont prejudice his work withou even having a look at it. It is not ethical and humanly. As for the book, I can tell that it can make one’s hairs stay on end! And it has received exraordinary press reveiw in Albania. Look if you wish at his back cover.
Respcet for all,
Namik from Kosovo


TheRazor


Extreme Veteran

Posts: 360

Location: Connecticut

Namik, my friend from Kosovo, I understand your frustration with the lack of good rhetorical responses to Roberts essay. Your trials and tribulations in your opening paragraph deserve respect and admiration but I can’t except your portrayal of me not being competent on delivering the definition of freedom. You say that God is the only one to describe freedom. But God and Philosophy are at odds with each other. This can be seen with Prometheus’ Socrates meets Jesus. http://www.unm.edu/~humanism/socvsjes.htm Yours and Robert’s attack on Patterson’s viewpoint and his right to define freedom, is evidence of freedom. I agreed with Robert that Patterson had made a mistake with naming Creon, Oedipus’ brother not his brother in law but that should not discredit the overall message: That only someone who has lost their freedom, truly knows what freedom is.

You are a man of God and thus believes in the Bible and thus in the story of Adam and Eve. If so than everyone is one’s brother and sister, so lets drop the finger pointing and nit picking over Patterson’s mistake. He was awarded with the Walter Channing Cabot Faculty Prize twice, National Book Award, Sorokin Prize, and Ralph Bunche Award and is a learned man but a man. Like another great philosopher has said, “we’re only human, born to make mistakes.”

Now, to consider Susan to be confused in such a profound situation is both inconsiderate and demeaning. Would a mechanic call you an idiot for not knowing the rear brake ratio? Susan was trying to spark a conversation with a new member of the forum, that’s all. If you want to point a finger, point it here, not at someone on the out-skirts, trying to say hello.

In final thought, Patterson has made mistakes in his justification of his theory on freedom but the mistakes do not derail the message that slaves are the only ones to define freedom. This by definition is a philosophical viewpoint and your defense that God is the only one to define freedom has its own faults in the aforementioned Prometheus work.-DavidG

Susan

Extreme Veteran

Posts: 352

Namik - 2007-03-11 1:20 PM

The discussion posted by Mr Robert is deep and beyond myself too, even thogh I’ve read hundreds of books. This is a discussion for scholars and learned people, not for a certain Susan, the Extreme Veterane, that gets confused in such prufound matters! She doesn’t understand that the debate on a great book refers to Freedom, not to Pone’s book! Why then dose she poke her nose into discussion if she finds difficult to understand what the matter is about? You’d better deal with pulp fiction and Agatha Christy-like novels, dealr Susan, rather than try to understand things you cant understand! And please, everybody, be polite and civilized and don’t put down a book of an unkwnon author living somewhere in this world, and dont prejudice his work withou even having a look at it. It is not ethical and humanly. As for the book, I can tell that it can make one’s hairs stay on end! And it has received exraordinary press reveiw in Albania. Look if you wish at his back cover. Respcet for all, Namik from Kosovo
Excuse me, Namik- might I ask what prompted you to write the above? I did not in any way put down any book, anyone or anything- that is in your perception only. This is a discussion forum where everyone is welcome. We are all allowed to ask questions, especially if we do not understand the subject matter- participation has nothing to do with whether you are a scholar, etc. I don't understand the hostility around this thread.

-----
On the Write Path,
Susan
______________________________________
http://susanlittlefield.blogspot.com/

Namik

New User

Posts: 2

Dear Mr. DavidG,
I’m glad you deigned to give the discussion a seriuos path, and that is great of you. Besides, you were the only one to make that ironical Mr. “HUH?” hush, and least for a while. He has no rights to make a sarcastic question, whitch is obvious even for small kids. Let me begin with your last question – what prompted me to write the messag above. I was prompted because, despite that in his indroduction concerning a novel he has liked very much, Robert stresses his intention clearly, some people claim theu don’t understan him. So I wished to back him. His point is very clear: a foreign novel features these traits: 1) the protagonist’ (who is not an American) parts in company with Patterson (who is an American) as concern his thesis on the origin of freedom; 2) he disagrees with certain Pattersons’s analysises on various topics besides freedom; and 3) he points out certain critically errors in Patterson analysis of Sophocles’ tragedy Antigone. Robert also posted two essays from the novel. But his posting was meeted with queer “hi there” from Susan’s and with her feedback of not understaning his point, and also with another sarcastic and shamefull “HUH?” from another member of the Forum. In addition, I was prompted by your personal efforts to defend Patterson in two points: a) that his definition of freedom is right and unshakable, and b) that his mistakes on Antigone don’t blurr his greatness (which I’ve never implied to be true!).

Now, for the theory on freedom “that slaves are the only ones to define freedom,” even thou it is a “philosopical viewpoint”, I agree with Mr. Pone, the author of the “The Rose’s tears”, that is, I don’t think it to be true. With all the respect of the author of Freedom, a book which I’ll begin to read in Albanian (as it’s been translated some years ago, but I haven’t read it already) based on the essays posted in the Forum, I hold the theory the protagonist of the novel does hold. But I don’t intend to enter here into a discussion on what freedom is. What I want to discuss here is that no one man, even the greatest philosopher, has no right to hold the monopoly of the definiton of Freedom. Of all learned men, I hold only one man that has come very close to the exact (more precis) definition of Freedom, and he is Sigmund Freud, whose definiton I dont’s want to repeat here one more time, as you have it in the posted essays from the novel.

You say, “God and Philosophy are at odds with each other. This can be seen with Prometheus’ Socrates meets Jesus.” All in all I can say that you are quite wrong in opposing philosophy to God. You must first make clear which philosophy you refer to. Is Christian philosopy at odds to God? Is Paulian philosophy at odds to God? Is Saint Augustine philosophy at odds to God? Is Samuel Pudendorf philosophy at odds God? In general, is any theological philosophies at odds to God? If you admit this, it’s your own business, but you are wrong. Besides, even Einstain’s theory is not at odds to God. And many other philosophies. This is only your personal thought. Only the Marxist/Comunist and some other nontheist philosophies are at odds to God. If you happen to be a Comunist or an atheist, I beg your pardon, and I’ll withdraw from the whole discussion with you.

You say, “Susan was trying to spark a conversation with a new member of the forum, that’s all. If you want to point a finger, point it here, not at someone on the out-skirts, trying to say hello.” It is Susan, dear DavidG, who contemptouslly says “Hi there”. To whom refers this lady with her “there?” in the Forum? Is that polite? If you and Susan really want to point a finger to anyone discussing in the Forum, and also on the issues raised in it, they are two: Robert and me, and as to the issues, they invlove the definition of freedom and Antigone’s analysis. If you really wish to discuss, put the finger on those two topics and let’s discuss. But on the condition that none of us dodge these two cardinal points.

I dont’ believe in the Bible, for I’m a muslem. But I’m not ashamed to confess that I’ve read the Bible and any other Christian theologians (as we folks here were Christians some 5 centuries ago) and I persoanlly respect the Bible greatly. Even though It has certain untrue statements, or a least controversial, which the protagonist of the novel The Rose’s Tears puts them very clearly to inmate, who’s a priest, I hold It to be a great book. The protagonist’s questions are very sharp, and even the greatest theologian philosopher cannot answer them. But I don’t intend to go here spinning a yarn about this topic. When I read the novel, I said to myself, “The Bible has miriads of other merits, and despite any shorcomings, they don’t detract from Its magnificence...”

It’s very easy to say “lets drop the finger pointing and nit picking over Patterson’s mistake”. And you begin with giving a list of the Prizes Mr. Patterson has been was awarded with. This is a very infantile defense of you on his behalf. I don”t deny that he has deserved those Prizes. I don’t deny that he must be a great scholar, and a very greatly honored man too. Or, as you put it, simply and rightly, a Man. But with all the Prizes he has won, it doesn’t necessarilly mean that what he says is gold and diamonds, and nothing of his thinking can be put to question. I’d advice you to be more modest about yourself and about Mr. Patterson as well. For, when such a great philosopher like Socrates, some two thousands years ago, has said, “All I know is that I know nothing”, at least you as a person should be more modest. Be so clear-minded, Mr. DavidG, as not to consider neither yourselves infallible, nor anyone else, even though you try to use justifying expressions in an effort to cover up your conceit. As, for example, for mentioning a great philosopher as saying,“we’re only human, born to make mistakes” you either forget, or you make up in not knowing that this great philosoph isn’t the author of this saying. It’s been the Latins some 2000 years ago before him to have put it: “Errare umanum est”. So, don’t try to sell an old silver jar for a brand new one.

As to the mentiong of a “thread of hostility”, it’s not you personally entering it in the discussion, but two other members: Susan and Tolaf. I’m not hostil to any benevolent discussant, neither am I to the ones who are hostil to Robert unduly. Susan drops the hint that Robert is doing some promotion of the novel The Rose’s Tears. No, Robert’s idea is to make it known to those editors and writers, who might be interested in a book in which something interesting has struck him: the protagonists writes e-mails to Patterson discussing his ideas of freedom in it. If none of them is isnterested, that’s OK. But it’s not fair to say that Robert’s introduction is not intelligible. It’s quite clear. And Susan and Tolaf, instead of asking any questions humanely, begin to mock at him. Isn’t this attitute hostile and impolite? What is it that is not understandable in Robert’s introduction? And isn’t the promotion issue Susan asks out of place here? What’s the idea of promoting a novel of an unknown author from a small country! I understand promotion as advertismenent, as efforts to trying for sell something. Robert’s idea may also be to make this novel known to a douzen of Albanian-speaking people in the USA that would be interested, so, if it it is “promotion”, only a douzen copies of this novel (in Albanian) would be sold. See what gains! But his entering in such a Forum it is not promotion. No matter that the novel in itself is a very great work, Robert knows that no American publisher would be interested, even not merely thinking about venturing to publishing it merely for following reasons: a) the author is anknown; b) he is from a small country, nearly unknown to the Americans; c) no appropritate translator could be found to deal with such a huge novel with such a difficult and rich vocabolary, poetic expressions, and deep reflections to render its beauty in another language; c) the huge costs of translating it, and so on. Even the bravest publisher would never dare to undertake that enterprise. So, the promotion issue is out of the question here, but it is just to cast doubts on Robert’s honest intention.

And, finally, don’t make an idol of no one as these could be very with danger to the culture in general, Mr. DavidG, however great he might be. If Patterson is a great scholar, I really congratulate and greet and honor him. But, you, too, at least, not for mercy, but out of humanity, must show respect for an author whom, in spite that you know nothing of him, is at least a weriter, and so allow yourself to suppose that he too toils and racks his brains like you, his colleagues. And it’s not fair to be prejudiced and hostil towards him beforehand, without knowing nothing of him. At least he hasn’t made any gross mistake in his novel. You might suppose the contrary, Ok, it’s your right. But it’s Patterson, no matter how many Prizes has won, has made some mistakes in his Freedom, which he himself compares it to the Bible. Just for this spotting of mistakes alone you should pay honor to Mr. Pone, if you are really unbiased and friendly and objective. And he is not in the least hostil towards Patterson in his book. On the contrary, he is such humane and broad-minded and civilized… He debates with him, yes. But let the public know who is the right. And don’t bring forward Patterson’s titles and Prizes and degrees to show that he, throughout the Freedom, is right. You must rest sure that Mr. Pone never belittles him in his novel. And if you don’t want to understand what Robert’s point is about, its your business. And if you want to defend Patterson with all the ways and means, that is, fanatically, again that is your business, too. But this doesn’t shows that you are right. And I can’t demonstrate, too, that Mr. Pone is right in his theories about freedom. But please, let others think freely of the two viewes. It would have been better to let readers see the two books, but this is an impossible mission, as Mr. Pone’s novel will hardly have a chance to appear in English. But that doesn’t mean that it is not a work worthy to be compared with a book that has win a great Prize, though it has wan no prize, besides the admiration and kindness of those readers who have read it.
REspect for all,
Namik

TheRazor


Extreme Veteran

Posts: 360
Location: Connecticut

My good friend Namik the definition of Philosophy is the rational investigation of questions about existence and knowledge of ethics and derive from the Greek word Philos, meaning love and Sophia meaning wisdom. I am always in search for the truth in life and have always been of the nature to question everything. With an analytical look at your point that only God can define freedom is unjustified and you have given no evidence to counteract my rebuttal. I did not need to define the specific genre of philosophy to show that the two are at odds, for I pointed you to a particular paper, written by a particular theologian.

Is the conversation we are having here on Patterson’s obvious mistakes or on the definition of Freedom? Because I have already stated many times that I agree that he has blundered. But if it is the latter than we shall discuss. I am neither a Marxist nor a Communist nor do I worship idols and demand that you refrain from suggesting that I hold Patterson as such. And again you misconstrued the premise of showing you Patterson’s awards only to follow it by saying that he has the same faults as us all. I am merely bringing Patterson down to a level of the common man.

Though you don’t believe in the Bible, the Koran has the story of Adam and Eve in it. We are still brothers and sisters no matter if you are a Muslim or Christian. And thus Jesus and Mary Magdalene are brother and sister. You have dodged the question that I have posed.

I am not an expert on religion, philosophy nor Patterson’s work. But I know what freedom is because I am an American. Do not patronize the work that Americans have done throughout the world in fighting and upholding freedom. The blood of my father’s are on the grounds of Europe and the war for Kosovo to free its people.

The irony of this thread is that you are attacking Patterson’s monopoly of the definition of freedom and yet you scour on Susan for speaking. Instead of freedom we should discuss respect. I respect your opinions but your words of: Poor him for the education that he has received and the education he givs others in his books!! As if he is deaf, why then dose she poke her nose into discussion if she finds difficult to understand what the matter is about? You’d better deal with pulp fiction and Agatha Christy-like novels, and dealr Susan, rather than try to understand things you cant understand. Do you not see that these statements are demeaning and hold no value but to ridicule?

I have not read this little known book, The Rose’s Tears but I pose a little known work that you and Robert have not read either, The WD Forum Guidelines.-DavidG

maria

Veteran

Posts: 216

Not that this isn't fascinating but I'd like to put an end to this thread since it's really not the place for it. For general discussion, please post in the Writer's Block Party above and let's try to avoid political rants.
Maria

Interconnected

The urban legend phenomena is interesting. The internet has connected us all through email. How many of you received an email a few months ago about boycotting Exxon? Stories are being circulated and read by millions of people around the world, without a publishing house or agent. Shortly after I read the Exxon email, I heard it on NPR, that’s creating news. Viral videos, urban legends, photos and stories are bouncing from email to email in an on-going cycle forever.-DavidG

My Spidey Sense Is Tingling

Peter Parker and Steve Rogers walked in silence down the wooden pathway leading to Captain America’s hideout.

“I don’t care. How long has it been? Two years? You really must tell Mary Jane the truth. She at least deserves that,” Steve said.

“I’ve tried to. Man, she almost spotted my outfit a couple of times,” Peter chuckled. “But every time I’m about to, I freeze.”

“We’ve been close friends for a long time now. You owe it to me to tell her.”

Peter looked into Steve’s determined eyes and then gave in. “I’ll do it. I promise. I won’t let you down.”

They hugged and Peter left.

Two hours later and back at Peter’s apartment, Mary Jane sat in front of her make-up mirror. Peter entered the apartment and shut the door.

“Mary you here?”

“Yes, honey. I’m in the bathroom getting ready for my television show.”

Peter opened his backpack and entered the bathroom “Honey I want to have a serious conversation.”

“What is it?” she asked.

He tossed the red and black uniform on the makeup counter. She lifted it up and stared at him.

“What is this supposed to mean?”

“I’ve been living a lie since the time we met,” he started.

“You’re Spiderman?”

“Yes but what I wanted to tell you is that I’m in love with a man.”

Dakota Sky

Justin sat on his front porch watching the sun sink. His father was inside watching a ball game on an old twenty-four inch television and drinking a beer. Justin had never been into sports. They were either boring or just plan silly and he would rather go out fishing or do something outside that didn't require chasing after an object until your breath grew hot and your body collapsed.

He wasn't out of shape but he rarely cared what he looked like unless a girl happened to be passing. He had inherited his dirty blonde hair from his father but the rest of his traits came from his late mother, who had passed away six years ago.

The distinct sound of a car without a muffler echoed before it could be seen and a white hatchback kicked up a whirlwind of dust as it sped down the dirt road. Katherine’s long blonde hair danced about as she zoomed by, tapping the horn when she saw him and Justin waved as she vanished.

Katherine was his closest neighbor. They had grown up together and  he had helped her father out on their farm tending horses but this summer Justin was unemployed.

Taking the last swig bit of warm beer, Justin opened the screen door to see what his father was doing. He had fallen asleep on the recliner and his snoring overpowered the announcers of the ball-game. Justin went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. He spotted the Polaroid picture of his mother on the freezer held there by a Mickey Mouse magnet.

He did miss missed her but more than that the house missed her more. It was different now. Things didn't work like they used to. The well-oiled machine sputtered along, occasionally needing a jumpstart.

There were chores that Justin he could do. He named a few in his head: dishes, lawn, maybe dinner, maybe laundry. Justin wasn't a heavy reader but he did like losing himself in a book for a few minutes. But instead of chores, he took up the phone and called Frenchy. He waited for it to ring and stared at the calendar tumbtacked tacked to the wall.

Interesting, today's date is circled. Justin couldn't remember why.

"Hello?" answered a woman’s voice.

"Hi. Is Frank there?"

"Sure, hold on. FRANK!!"

"Hello?" came Frenchy's crackled voice over the telephone. "I got it."

"Hey, Frenchy. What ya up to today?"

"I'm playing a videogame and waiting for dinner. Why?"

"Thinking we could go to the ballpark, maybe drink some."

"Alright. Meet me here by nine."

Justin put the phone down and stared out the kitchen window into the fenced in backyard. He noticed that the weeds had sprung along the edges of the fence. It was time to work on that yard, so he opened the screen door and headed over to an eroded tin shed in the far corner of the yard. When he opened the sliding door, the smell of gas tickled his nose . Jumbles of miscelanous spare parts were stacked upon each other, so Justin grabbed the handles of the mower and gave two good tugs to pry the machine from the grasp of a transmission. The mower had rust holes in it and looked older then it was, but with one pull of the cord she sputtered into life.

Justin daydreamed as he walked around the yard. He passed the dead garden that his mother had once made beautiful. In the middle of the garden a ripe tomato caught his eye. It seemed so odd among the dead plants and weeds. He let the mower die and he walked over to it. He stepped carefully, keeping an eye out for snakes hidden in the tall weeds. It was the largest tomato that he had ever seen and it was almost fully covered by the grass.

"What are you looking at?" shouted a voice from the kitchen window. Justin turned to see his father's head poking out .

"There's a huge tomato growing in mom's garden. Should I pick it?" asked Justin.

His father ducked his head back in and came outside, heading right over to the garden with a beer in hand. When he got to the edge of the garden he stopped. Justin, on one knee, held the tomato in his two hands. "Should I pluck it?'”

"Naw, just leave it," he said and then he took a look at the rest of the garden. "This place is a real mess. Mom would of been pissed if she saw it this way but she knew I was all thumbs when it came to gardening," he said, as he took a swig from his beer.

"Yea. Remember when you sprayed two cans of Off on her plants to stop the bugs from killing 'em."

"Oh shit. She nearly got the gun out on me that time." He seemed to want to change the subject and started looking around the yard. "I'll get the weed-whacker and hit the edges while you mow."

"Sure." Justin stumbled out of the garden and started the mower back up. The sun was setting and the sky began to turn purple.

By the time he had finished, Justin was covered in a layer of sweat that made his white tee shirt transparent. His father was already in the house. Justin could see him through the kitchen window cooking and when he had put the mower away his stomach rumbled.

As he opened the screen door, he saw the kitchen table was set and the smell of hamburger filled the kitchen. His father passed him a plate with two cheeseburgers with mayonnaise dripping off a soggy bun.

"Who won the game?" asked Justin before biting half the burger.

"Don't think it ended yet. Did you ever get a call back from that quarry job? I haven't heard you talk about it for a week now."

"I don't think they want me. Besides, I don't think I want it. The job seems a little boring for my tastes. I'm thinking about looking into something in Semersville at the mall there."

"That's a half hour drive from here. The quarry is ten minutes away."

Justin picked up his second burger and decided to let the conversation die. His dad must have noticed his aprehension and switched subjects.

"What you doing tonight?"

"Going out with Frenchy. Probably shoot some pool."

"If you get a chance, pick up a newspaper."

“Sure.” Justin got up and put his empty dish in the sink and rinsed off his greasy hands.

"I'm gonna take a shower."

The warm shower felt good and seemed to wake up his senses. He began to anticipate leaving and doing something, no matter what it was.

Twenty minutes later, Justin jumped into his car, a small green Geo. It used to be his mother's and the interior hadn't changed since she died, the same yellow tree dangled from the rearview mirror and the same amount of change was in the arm rest arm-rest conpartment. The only thing that had been added was a small picture of his mother that he taped next to the speedometer.

The way to Frenchy's house was all back roads, but everywhere in this town would be considered back roads like all the roads here. Frenchy’s house was gigantic and looked new like it was still wrapped in cellophane. There wasn't a house in town that looked like it. Frenchy's parents were originaly from New Hampshire and they couldn't part with all the stuff they had there.

As soon as Justin knocked on the door, two small dogs started barking. Frenchy's mother opened the door and they ran out the door and tangled themselves in his feet.

"Hi, Justin. Frenchy is upstairs. Just go right up."

"Thanks, Mrs. Patterson."

Justin found Frenchy in his room in front of a television playing a videogame.

"Come on, Frenchy. Don't you get sick of that thing?"

"What's up? Justin. I'm just getting through this level, hold on."

Justin looked around Frenchy's room. It reflected something a ten year old would have.

"You need to redecorate this room. It's like your little brother's room."

"I'm gonna move out soon, and my little brother wants this room when I do, so it would be just a waste of time to do anything to it."

"How could you bring a girl up here and lay her down in on your Transformers bed sheets, Mr. Casanova. Hurry up." Justin threw a pillow at Frenchy's head, causing him to drop the joystick.
"Okay, let's go." Frenchy grabbed a gray hooded jacket and walked out before Justin could get off he bed.

They drove downtown, which consisted of four stores and a gas station. Justin parked the car in front of a large wooden shack. A wooden sign nailed above the door read: Milford's General Store.

Mr. Milford was a gentle old man who always wore overalls and a plaid shirt. He was frail and creeped around the store with a sloth's gait. Justin loved the man and some of his fondest memories were of Justin and his friends riding their bikes to the general store to buy candy with their spare change. Old Milford would sometimes come out and talk to his friends, often times handing out candy to the ones who didn't have any money.

Inside, the lights were dim and the air was damp. The floor boards creaked under Justin’s feet as he approached the counter where Mr. Milford stared at his inventory list.

"Hello, Mr. Milford. Dad wants me to buy him a 12 pack of beer and a newspaper."

Milford stared up, noticing a customer. "Oh, hello Justin. What's that....beer....sure, hold on." He turned, around and went opened a walk in refrigerator door and entered. A minute later he placed the twelve pack of beer on the counter. "How's your pop doing? He working yet?"

"Nope. He's still looking. He got a few calls from Sherryville but it was too much of a trek for him." Justin paid for the beer. "Take it easy."

"You to. Tell your pop that I said to stop by."

"Alright, Mr. Milford." Justin headed to the car.

Once in the car, Frenchy pulled out a beer. "Want one?"

"Naw," Justin said as he sped down the road.

"I'm gonna miss school. Everyone is about to go back in a couple of weeks but I never thought I would say that I miss it. What about you?"

"Yeah, I'll miss it but I'm not gonna miss the work, not one bit. But the socializing and the girls, that's what I'm gonna miss."

"Yeah, the girls." Frenchy pulled back the longneck bottle.

The long curvy roads were lined by stretches of barbed wire fences and vast open fields and the car's headlights sprayed a glow on the tall grass. They pulled into a park and Justin killed the engine, then reached into the twelve pack and took out a beer, grabbed the box and placed it underneath his armpit. They both walked in silence onto the field, as crickets cheered like fans in the darkness of left center field.

Justin proceeded to the home dugout and sat on the bench. While he taking a swig, Justin saw Frenchy toss a baseball into the air. Frenchy launched the ball so high that it disappeared and then caught it as it came careening back like a shooting star.

"My Dad's been giving me a really hard time lately," said Frenchy, throwing the ball back into the air and then taking a sip of beer before it came back down. "He wants me to either go to college or join the army. I ain't for the army. Look at me." Frenchy was skinny, tall and lanky, but his father was the same built and he’d went into the army.

"Then go to college and get out of this town." Justin stepped out of the dug out and reached his hand out, calling for the ball. Frenchy tossed it in a high arch and it landed over Justin's head.
"What are you gonna do? I wish I had your dad. He isn't forcing anything on you."

Justin ran to get the ball and threw it back to Frenchy but he dropped it. "He's not gonna tell me what to do if he can't even figure out what he's gonna do. I kinda wish he would put a foot down, or at least show some sort of interest."

"Yeah but my dad said he'd kick me out of the house if I didn't get my shit straight."

"You could live with us if that happens."

"Right that‘ll happen. Are you gonna go to school?" asked Frenchy, searching for the ball.

"It's to your right," directed Justin. "I don't think so. I'm no doctor and I ain't no biologist. I don't know what I'm gonna do. It's only been three months since we graduated."

All of a sudden headlights flashed over the baseball field. Justin’s first instincts screamed Cop! But he could hear a radio cranking out rock and roll. the headlights beemed directly at them and blinded him, so Justin so he couldn't make out who it was.

"Hey, Justin. What you doing?" said a girl's voice he recognized as Katherine’s.

"Nothing. Turn those lights out. I can't see a damn thing," yelled Justin, shading his eyes with his arm.

The lights died out and Justin could see that Katherine had two other people with them her, Daisy and George. They had all hopped out of the dirty white hatchback and started to stroll onto the baseball field. George staggered and needed Daisy's help to keep upright. Daisy, Katherine's best friend, was dating George.

Katherine approached Justin with a bottle hidden in a paperbag. She extended it to Justin.
"Want some?" Before Justin could respond, Frenchy grabbed the bottle and took a sip. His face gave a convulsion and he gave the bottle to Justin.

Justin took a sniff and the odor of Bacardi 151 overpowered his lungs as if he had taken a shot. He took a sip and gave the half empty bottle back to Katherine.

"What are you guys up to?" asked Justin, who headed back to the dugout to get a beer from his stash.

Katherine followed him and plopped down at the end of the bench. She watched George and Daisy fall to the ground near the pitchers mound and they both just stared at the sky. Frenchy had sat indian style on top of the mound.

"We’re just driving around, bored off our asses. There was a party at Trinkle's field but it got boring, so we took off."

Justin opened his beer and washed the taste of the 151 off his pallet. "Trinkle had a party?"

"Yeah, a sort of end of summer party."

"Didn't he graduate with us?"

"Nah, he failed English, and so he has to take it again. He said that he's gonna quit school and go to work butchering cattle."

"Sounds like Trinkle."

Katherine laughed. She looked like a dark shadow from where Justin sat, but a pretty one at that with her high cheek bones and a her round face. Katherine and Justin were very close when they were little, but by the time they entered adolescence, things changed. Suddenly they had found each other attractive. This scared Justin a little and he began to avoid Katherine as much as possible. One time when he had worked on her father’s farm they had made love in one of the barns. It was their first and only time it had ever happened and ever since then he was very nervous around her. Even now.

George had struggled to his feet and waddled to the dugout. "Hey Kathy. Why don't we go swimming at the pond up the road."

She hopped up off the dug out "Sure that sounds like fun. You gonna come, Frenchy?"

"Hell, yeah." And with that Justin was going.

They all piled into their cars before Justin could get the rest of his beer. Frenchy had a huge grin on his face when Justin pulled out of the parking lot.

"Why the hell do you have that huge grin on your face?" asked Justin, turning down the radio.

"I think Kathy likes me. What do you think? She's not the hottest chick around but she's cute. Right Justin?"

"Why don't you ask her out or something?" Justin began felt jealousy rise within him. He didn't know why, he had always avoided Katherine even when he knew that she really liked him.

"I just might." Frenchy beamed with confidence.

The two cars pulled into a dirt road just opposite a large cemetery. The road wiggled up to a small pond. Katherine’s passengers stumbled out of the ride and made their way to the edge of the pond, sitting down and taking off their shoes.

Justin wore pants and didn't want to jump in, so he found a comfortable log and sat down and opened a beer. Katherine was taking off her shoes and he noticed that she hadn't changed physically in the past year. She had always looked older than seventeen. She wore bright blue soccer shorts and a white tee-shirt. She didn't play sports but she looked like she had worked out on the farm all summer.

She waded into the pond and then dove under. Frenchy jumped in right away, splashing Daisy and George, who were almost done undressing. They stood up, hand in hand, and charged in. Frenchy swam after Kate, trying to grab her feet as she tried to sped away.

"Why don't you come in, Justin?" begged Katherine, splashing Frenchy in the face.

"I don't want to get my jeans wet. It'll take forever to dry."

Justin watched Frenchy and Katherine play in the water for a minute or two until he couldn't take it any longer. He stood and went for a walk up the dirt road.

By the time he came to the end of the road, he had finished his beer. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out another. He could see the old cemetery across the street and was drawn to it, heading up the small slope and over the knee high guardrail.

The cemetery had an old horror movie feel to it. This was the biggest cemetery in town, and his mother was buried here.

Justin worked his way up the steep incline and his feet led him in the direction of his mother’s plot. He zig-zagged between tombstones and stood forty yards from the site when he noticed that someone was already theret of his mother's grave.

The figure was kneeling so that his face was level to the engraved words: ‘Sarah Martha McDurmount’. Justin tiptoed forward and ducked behind a large gray tombstone and peered over. He tried to hold his breath so he could make out the low sounds coming from the stranger.
Justin could only make out that it was a man and great sobs made his inaudible as they were swallowed back into him forcibly. The man held a rose in his hand and had placed it on the ground. As the stranger stood, Justin could see that it was his father.

What was he doing here?

Justin had never seen his father cry, until today, even when they were at his mother's funeral. Justin wanted to go over and comfort him but the idea felt foreign. He had never seen his father so vulnerable.

His father walked off and Justin saw the lights of his father's car exit the cemetery. Once it was dark, Justin went over to his mother’s grave. A long stemmed rose was placed at its base.

Emotions rose like a geyser, as he tried to swallow them back into his stomach, but they were unquenchable and he fell to his knees. To see his father so vulnerable destroyed Justin's shell. He hadn't felt this way since the news of his mother's passing.

Then after a few gulping breathes breaths, a calm consumed him. His tears dried up and Justin looked down at his mom's name.

He stood up and thought to himself, "It’s okay. I'll be okay."

He turned to go back to the pond, then threw his head and hands toward the stars and yelled. "We'll always love you."

When he got back, Frenchy had made a small fire. The swimmers were drying off.

"What got into you?" asked Frenchy, sitting down on a log, his hands extended over the flames.

"I needed to get some things out of my head," answered Justin. He squatted next to Frenchy and looked at Katherine across the fire. She was beautiful with her hair wet.

"Justin, what have you been up to this summer? I haven't seen you around. and you usually work on my Dad's farm," asked Katherine, as she circled the fire and stood to the right of him. "He wanted to know if everything was alright and if he could do anything for ya."

"I've been thinking about my options. I don't know if I should try college. I just don't think I could take another four years of school. I need a break."

"After this year, I want to travel the country in a van with George and Daisy," said Katherine.

"That sounds like fun, could I go?" Frenchy jumped in. Justin could only imagine what Frenchy's mother would say when he told her that.
"Sure," Katherine replied.

George had his arm draped over Daisy's shoulder and they shared the warmth of the fire. There was a few minutes of silence as the conversation died down. The three of them watched Daisy and George make out. Night slowly crept by and the group shifted closer and closer to their cars.

"Well, give me a call, Justin and maybe my dad can give you some hours."

"Alright right," said Justin as he opened his car door and got in.

"I'll call you too and see what you're up to," Frenchy said awkwardly.

Justin shut his door and waited for Frenchy to get in. As soon as he Frenchy shut the door, Justin floored the gas, kicking dirt into the air and they rocketed down the road.

"You might as well take me to your place, because I don't want my mom to wake up," said Frenchy.

Translation: I don't want to get yelled at by my uptight mother.

"Sure, but you've got to sleep on the fold out."

They cruised back to Justin's house and the night sky had grown dark blue. The first thing Justin noticed as he shut the engine off was that the living room light was still on and a shadow was moving back and forth inside.

They both walked up the porch stairs and sat down on a pair of rocking chairs, admiring the sky's dark shade of blue.

"Justin, is that you?" called his dad from inside.

"Yeah, it's me. What are you doing up so early?" Justin called back.

"Getting ready."

Getting ready? For what?

Justin let it go. He was busy thinking about what to do next month. He had to do something.
Then the screen door opened and his dad walked out, dressed in a business suit. Justin didn't even know his dad owned a business suit.

"Wow, Mr. McDurmount. Looking snazzy," said Frenchy.

"Thanks, Frenchy." Justin's dad handed both of them a bowl filled with salad. Now something is definitely strange. Salad. He never eats salad. Justin looked in the bowl and saw chopped lettuce and diced bright red tomatoes.

Where did he get the ingredients to make a salad from?

"This salad is awesome," said Frenchy, devouring the meal as if the fork and bowl were edible. "These tomatoes are delicious."

Justin looked at the tomato at the end of his fork and put it in his mouth. The taste seemed to explode. This was a great salad. Justin sat back and watched the sun rise, eating his bowl of salad.

Justin's Dad walked out to his car and waved good-bye.

"What you gonna do today?" asked Frenchy getting up to go inside.

"I'm gonna call the quarry and set up an interview," said Justin, as dawn crept its way over the Dakota sky line.

The Velvet Black Box

Donald Templeton tugged his dog from the curb and steered him onto the grass. The dog hopped over a snow bank and squatted.

“About time,” he muttered. The green grass was just visible through the melting snow. He noticed the edge of a black box peeking out of the snow. “What’s that?”

He bent down and retrieved it. Elegant designs lined the velvet outside covering and when he opened it an origami of an ostridge rested inside. Stetson began pulling the chain and Donald gave a sharp tug. Underneath the lid of the box were the words: Open it.

He looked around and didn’t see anyone. The old ranch style house remained quiet. He opened it, revealing the words: In the mailbox.

He hadn’t noticed backing up until his heels hit the curb. Edging closer to the mailbox, he began debating whether to open it. He took a deep breath and pulled the tab and saw a sack stuffed inside. Again he peered around, sure that this was some game but it was to early in the morning on a weekend and he had not seen a person up this early. He grabbed the sack and pulled it out, closing the mailbox behind him.

Walking away, he untied it and looked in. A shovel and a piece of paper sat inside. He pulled it out, reading: Clean up your dog poop! Donald turned toward to house and a man in a bathrobe stood on the porch and flicked him off before retreating back inside.

Percival Chapter One Part Eleven

“This Saturday I thought that we could go out to dinner somewhere,” he said. She stopped what she was doing and turned to face him.

“You mean a real date?” she said. He could tell she was surprised.

“We haven’t been out since we met. So what do you think?”

“Sure. I got to run though.” She ran into the bathroom and in a few seconds she was springing out the door and he could hear her heels clacking down the stairs.

He sprawled out on the bed, happy. Tomorrow, he’ll go out and buy her a dress, nothing too fancy but something other then the slutty outfits that she wears now.

Percival Chapter One Part Ten

She giggled.

“Why are you laughing?” he said, sitting up. When she continued to laugh, he grew angry. “What’s so funny?”

“I thought you were gay.”

Percival shot out of bed. “What? How could you think that?”

“Well, you didn’t show any response to me coming on to you?” When she sat up he saw that she was naked. She looked beautiful.

Percival took it that she was attacking his manhood. He wanted to grab her right there and kiss her but crushed that idea. He slipped out of bed, put on his slippers and walked over to the fridge. He pulled out a container of milk and drank.

“How did you get it?” she asked.

He could just make out her outline in the darkness. “My mother was a drug addict and she gave it to me.”

“You mean you’ve lived with it your entire life?”

“Yep. I take around fifteen pills a day to keep everything in order.”

“You’re pretty lucky to still be around this long.” Percival was taken aback.

“I’d like to have it over and done with to tell the truth.”

“That’s shit talk. If you wanted to die, why didn’t you just kill yourself?”

“I‘m chicken shit.”

“I have something that I want you to know,” she said.

“What is it?”

“My name isn’t Candi. It’s Clarrisa Brown. Candi is my stage name.”

It was nice to talk to her when she wasn’t drugged up. She had a very sincere personality and when she was under the influence, she seemed to be inside a shell and rarely ventured out of it to conversate. They talked for much of the night until a faint light chased the shadows across the ceiling.

He wondered if she was coming over tonight. As he threw the joystick to the ground. He was bored and there was still plenty of time until Clarrisa shift ended. His stomach growled, so he went to the fridge and pulled out his food that he took from work. He sat down on the floor and ate, while Jeopardy was on. Once he finished eating, he crawled under the sheets and slept. He dreamed about marrying Clarrisa and moving out of this crap-hole and into the suburbs. They’d have children together and he’d have a job where he would wear a suit.

It would never work, a kid born in the world with a disease, sentenced to death and a stripper, addicted to drugs that anchored her into a world of stripping. Why was he kidding himself about this woman? But he wanted to help her, he didn’t know why he put such an effort into a futile project. They were way beyond saving.

Then there was a soft knock on the door and she walked in and his heart began to beat faster.
“Hey, honey.” She started calling him honey, a sign that they had established a type of relationship.

“Hi. There’s some food in the fridge from work.”

“Thanks. I’m starving.” She opened the refrigerator, pulled out the rest of the leftovers and skarfed it down. “I need to head back out but I’ll be back around two. I’ve got a party to go to.”

He didn’t like hearing her talk about her work and wanted to imagine that she was a bank teller rather than a stripper. It made him feel better about their odd relationship.