New World Order

Dear Prime Minister,

I am a Turkish filmmaker living in Ireland. It has come to my attention that the Bilderberg Group are holding their next meeting in Istanbul this year, between May 31 and June 3rd.(1) I have known about this group since 1993 and have been following their activities over the past 14 years. According to many sources, since its inception in 1954 by former Nazi S.S. Officer Prince Bernhard of The Netherlands, the Bilderberg Group have been covertly continuing the Nazi policy of creating a New World Order (a global totalitarian dictatorship). (2)

Likely to attend this year's meeting are Paul Wolfowitz, Dr. Henry Kissinger and Donald Rumsfeld:

o As U.S. Deputy Secretary of Defense, Paul Wolfowitz was one of the major architects of the Iraqi War (3) and is still a member of PNAC (Project for a New American Century). PNAC is a neo-conservative think-tank which called for a "catalyzing event" for their policies "like a New Pearl Harbour" exactly a year before 9/11.(4) Mr. Wolfowitz is currently being questioned on charges of corruption and has been asked to resign as head of the World Bank.

o As member of the Steering Committee of the Bilderberg Group, Dr. Henry Kissinger is also likely to attend. According to many sources, Dr. Kissinger is a mass murderer who implemented and defended the decision to run 600 illegal bombing missions in Cambodia ("Operation Menu"), causing the deaths of over 500,000 Cambodians between 1969 and 1973. Under the U.S. constitution, this secret bombing campaign was illegal without U.S. Congressional approval. (5)

Two months after striking a peace accord with North Vietnam in October 1972, he authorised 129 B-52 bombers to bomb North Vietnam for 11 days in a "demonstration bombing" as a public relations exercise to appease South Vietnam (called "The Christmas Bombing").

Former U.S. Ambassador to Indonesia David Newsom, and a Senior CIA Officer both confirm that on December 5th 1975, Dr. Kissinger, along with President Ford, held a meeting in Indonesia with President Suharto. Transcripts of this meeting prove that he gave the greenlight to the subsequent Indonesian Invasion of East Timor. This lead to the massacre of over 100,000 Timoreans and violated the U.S. law on arms trade. (6)

Recently, a French judge subpoened Dr. Kissinger about U.S. involvement with mass-killings in Chile, Operation Condor and General Augusto Pinochet. He still hasn't attended the hearing and has been evading the subpoena ever since.(7)

o Bilderberg member Donald Rumsfeld is also another PNAC member and was the main architect of the Iraqi War. As he is a regular Bilderberg attendee, there is a possibility that he may attend this year's meeting in Istanbul.(8)

My main concerns and therefore my questions to you are:

(a) Why are war-mongers the likes of Paul Wolfowitz, Henry Kissinger and Donald Rumsfeld being allowed to hold a secret meeting in Turkey this year, without the Turkish people's knowledge or approval?

(b) Why are the Turkish newspapers not discussing this event which will be taking place in Istanbul?

(c) It is obvious that a secret meeting of elite minds and warmongers like these is likely to result in the manufacture of another war for profit. I would therefore like to know whether they will be holding this meeting to plan the next stages of an upcoming war with Iran? Will they be using Turkey as a chess-piece in this next war? Also, as Dr. Kissinger wrote the book "Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy" and admits that he is not averse to using nuclear weapons in a war situation, will they be involving us in a nuclear one?

One journalist who has been invited to this year's meeting is Mr. Cengiz Çandar. However, in my opinion, he will be providing a complete whitewash on this year's event. Being a former lecturer at the Istanbul Bilgi (American) University (9), and a good friend of Paul Wolfowitz during the 2003 Invasion of Iraq, it is obvious in my opinion that Mr. Çandar has been invited to attend the conferences due to his loyalty to Bilderberg, and will most definitely be writing pro-Bilderberg articles. (10) Therefore, it is my belief not to trust him to make an accurate appraisal of this year's meeting and I ask that independent Turkish journalists attend this year, so that the Turkish people know exactly what is taking place in their own country.

I am completely appalled by the total lack of discussion in Turkish newspapers about the upcoming Bilderberg meeting, by the huge level of secrecy and denial surrounding it, the total lack of transparency of these meetings, and by the high level of ignorance Turkish people are showing about the Bilderberg Group. A secret meeting is being held by the world's most influential warmongers, right under our noses! This is an outrage.

As a Turkish citizen, I am deeply offended that my own government would allow this secret meeting to take place on Turkish soil without our knowledge or approval. I therefore ask you that there be complete journalistic transparency at the upcoming Bilderberg meeting in Istanbul this year. If the Bilderberg Group have nothing to hide, then we must be allowed a full transcript of their meeting. Therefore, the Independent Turkish Press must attend the meeting this year. If this is not possible, I ask that you, as a servant of the Turkish people, not allow the upcoming Bilderberg meeting to take place in Turkey.

As a public servant, I expect your reply within 10 working days of receiving this Open Letter.

Yours sincerely,

Timuçin Leflef

A very concerned Turkish Citizen

From an Angry Soldier

From an Angry Soldier
Date: 2007-04-10, 1:00PM PDT


I'm having the worst damn week of my whole damn life so I'm going to write this while I'm pissed off enough to do it right.

I am SICK of all this bullshit people are writing about the Iraq war. I am abso-fucking-lutely sick to death of it. What the fuck do most of you know about it? You watch it on TV and read the commentaries in the newspaper or Newsweek or whatever god damn yuppie news rag you subscribe to and think you're all such fucking experts that you can scream at each other like five year old about whether you're right or not. Let me tell you something: unless you've been there, you don't know a god damn thing about it. It you haven't been shot at in that fucking hell hole, SHUT THE FUCK UP!

How do I dare say this to you moronic war supporters who are "Supporting our Troops" and waving the flag and all that happy horse shit? I'll tell you why. I'm a Marine and I served my tour in Iraq. My husband, also a Marine, served several. I left the service six months ago because I got pregnant while he was home on leave and three days ago I get a visit from two men in uniform who hand me a letter and tell me my husband died in that fucking festering sand-pit. He should have been home a month ago but they extended his tour and now he's coming home in a box.

You fuckers and that god-damn lying sack of shit they call a president are the reason my husband will never see his baby and my kid will never meet his dad.

And you know what the most fucked up thing about this Iraq shit is? They don't want us there. They're not happy we came and they want us out NOW. We fucked up their lives even worse than they already were and they're pissed off. We didn't help them and we're not helping them now. That's what our soldiers are dying for.

Oh while I'm good and worked up, the government doesn't even have the decency to help out the soldiers whos lives they ruined. If you really believe the military and the government had no idea the veterans' hospitals were so fucked up, you are a god-damn retard. They don't care about us. We're disposable. We're numbers on a page and they'd rather forget we exist so they don't have to be reminded about the families and lives they ruined while they're sipping their cocktails at another fund raiser dinner. If they were really concerned about supporting the troops, they'd bring them home so their families wouldn't have to cry at a graveside and explain to their children why mommy or daddy isn't coming home. Because you can't explain it. We're not fighting for our country, we're not fighting for the good of Iraq's people, we're fighting for Bush's personal agenda. Patriotism my ass. You know what? My dad served in Vietnam and NOTHING HAS CHANGED.

So I'm pissed. I'm beyond pissed. And I'm going to go to my husband funeral and recieve that flag and hang it up on the wall for my baby to see when he's older. But I'm not going to tell him that his father died for the stupidty of the American government. I'm going to tell him that his father was a hero and the best man I ever met and that he loved his country enough to die for it, because that's all true and nothing will be solved by telling my son that his father was sent to die by people who didn't care about him at all.

Fuck you, war supporters, George W. Bush, and all the god damn mother fuckers who made the war possible. I hope you burn in hell.

* it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests


PostingID: 309485032

Thou Shalt Always Kill

Thou Shalt Always Kill Humorous (and somewhat insightful) musical guide of rules to life.

Stories Not Reported In Mainstream Media

Halliburton Charged with Selling Nuclear Technologies to Iran

Source:

Global Research.ca, August 5, 2005
Title: “Halliburton Secretly Doing Business With Key Member of Iran’s Nuclear Team”
Author: Jason Leopold

Faculty Evaluator: Catherine Nelson
Student Researchers: Kristine Medeiros and Pla Herr

According to journalist Jason Leopold, sources at former Cheney company Halliburton allege that, as recently as January of 2005, Halliburton sold key components for a nuclear reactor to an Iranian oil development company. Leopold says his Halliburton sources have intimate knowledge of the business dealings of both Halliburton and Oriental Oil Kish, one of Iran’s largest private oil companies.

Additionally, throughout 2004 and 2005, Halliburton worked closely with Cyrus Nasseri, the vice chairman of the board of directors of Iran-based Oriental Oil Kish, to develop oil projects in Iran. Nasseri is also a key member of Iran’s nuclear development team. Nasseri was interrogated by Iranian authorities in late July 2005 for allegedly providing Halliburton with Iran’s nuclear secrets. Iranian government officials charged Nasseri with accepting as much as $1 million in bribes from Halliburton for this information.

Oriental Oil Kish dealings with Halliburton first became public knowledge in January 2005 when the company announced that it had subcontracted parts of the South Pars gas-drilling project to Halliburton Products and Services, a subsidiary of Dallas-based Halliburton that is registered to the Cayman Islands. Following the announcement, Halliburton claimed that the South Pars gas field project in Tehran would be its last project in Iran. According to a BBC report, Halliburton, which took thirty to forty million dollars from its Iranian operations in 2003, “was winding down its work due to a poor business environment.”

However, Halliburton has a long history of doing business in Iran, starting as early as 1995, while Vice President Cheney was chief executive of the company. Leopold quotes a February 2001 report published in the Wall Street Journal, “Halliburton Products and Services Ltd., works behind an unmarked door on the ninth floor of a new north Tehran tower block. A brochure declares that the company was registered in 1975 in the Cayman Islands, is based in the Persian Gulf sheikdom of Dubai and is “non-American.” But like the sign over the receptionist’s head, the brochure bears the company’s name and red emblem, and offers services from Halliburton units around the world.” Moreover mail sent to the company’s offices in Tehran and the Cayman Islands is forwarded directly to its Dallas headquarters.

In an attempt to curtail Halliburton and other U.S. companies from engaging in business dealings with rogue nations such as Libya, Iran, and Syria, an amendment was approved in the Senate on July 26, 2005. The amendment, sponsored by Senator Susan Collins R-Maine, would penalize companies that continue to skirt U.S. law by setting up offshore subsidiaries as a way to legally conduct and avoid U.S. sanctions under the International Emergency Economic Powers Act (IEEPA).

A letter, drafted by trade groups representing corporate executives, vehemently objected to the amendment, saying it would lead to further hatred and perhaps incite terrorist attacks on the U.S. and “greatly strain relations with the United States primary trading partners.” The letter warned that, “Foreign governments view U.S. efforts to dictate their foreign and commercial policy as violations of sovereignty often leading them to adopt retaliatory measures more at odds with U.S. goals.”

Collins supports the legislation, stating, “It prevents U.S. corporations from creating a shell company somewhere else in order to do business with rogue, terror-sponsoring nations such as Syria and Iran. The bottom line is that if a U.S. company is evading sanctions to do business with one of these countries, they are helping to prop up countries that support terrorism—most often aimed against America.

UPDATE BY JASON LEOPOLD
During a trip to the Middle East in March 1996, Vice President Dick Cheney told a group of mostly U.S. businessmen that Congress should ease sanctions in Iran and Libya to foster better relationships, a statement that, in hindsight, is completely hypocritical considering the Bush administration’s foreign policy.

“Let me make a generalized statement about a trend I see in the U.S. Congress that I find disturbing, that applies not only with respect to the Iranian situation but a number of others as well,” Cheney said. “I think we Americans sometimes make mistakes . . . There seems to be an assumption that somehow we know what’s best for everybody else and that we are going to use our economic clout to get everybody else to live the way we would like.”

Cheney was the chief executive of Halliburton Corporation at the time he uttered those words. It was Cheney who directed Halliburton toward aggressive business dealings with Iran—in violation of U.S. law—in the mid-1990s, which continued through 2005 and is the reason Iran has the capability to enrich weapons-grade uranium.
It was Halliburton’s secret sale of centrifuges to Iran that helped get the uranium enrichment program off the ground, according to a three-year investigation that includes interviews conducted with more than a dozen current and former Halliburton employees.

If the U.S. ends up engaged in a war with Iran in the future, Cheney and Halliburton will bear the brunt of the blame.
But this shouldn’t come as a shock to anyone who has been following Halliburton’s business activities over the past decade. The company has a long, documented history of violating U.S. sanctions and conducting business with so-called rogue nations.

No, what’s disturbing about these facts is how little attention it has received from the mainstream media. But the public record speaks for itself, as do the thousands of pages of documents obtained by various federal agencies that show how Halliburton’s business dealings in Iran helped fund terrorist activities there—including the country’s nuclear enrichment program.

When I asked Wendy Hall, a spokeswoman for Halliburton, a couple of years ago if Halliburton would stop doing business with Iran because of concerns that the company helped fund terrorism she said, “No.” “We believe that decisions as to the nature of such governments and their actions are better made by governmental authorities and international entities such as the United Nations as opposed to individual persons or companies,” Hall said. “Putting politics aside, we and our affiliates operate in countries to the extent it is legally permissible, where our customers are active as they expect us to provide oilfield services support to their international operations. “We do not always agree with policies or actions of governments in every place that we do business and make no excuses for their behaviors. Due to the long-term nature of our business and the inevitability of political and social change, it is neither prudent nor appropriate for our company to establish our own country-by-country foreign policy.”

Halliburton first started doing business in Iran as early as 1995, while Vice President Cheney was chief executive of the company and in possible violation of U.S. sanctions.

An executive order signed by former President Bill Clinton in March 1995 prohibits “new investments (in Iran) by U.S. persons, including commitment of funds or other assets.” It also bars U.S. companies from performing services “that would benefit the Iranian oil industry” and provide Iran with the financial means to engage in terrorist activity.
When Bush and Cheney came into office in 2001, their administration decided it would not punish foreign oil and gas companies that invest in those countries. The sanctions imposed on countries like Iran and Libya before Bush became president were blasted by Cheney, who gave frequent speeches on the need for U.S. companies to compete with their foreign competitors, despite claims that those countries may have ties to terrorism.

“I think we’d be better off if we, in fact, backed off those sanctions (on Iran), didn’t try to impose secondary boycotts on companies . . . trying to do business over there . . . and instead started to rebuild those relationships,” Cheney said during a 1998 business trip to Sydney, Australia, according to Australia’s Illawarra Mercury newspaper.

Percival Chapter Two Part Four

The cab he got into smelled of vomit and he rolled the window down as far as it could go, which was only halfway. leaning his head toward the fresh breeze coming in, he studied the Cabbie from the driver’s side mirror. He was a Middle-Eastern man, and had on a large collared seventy’s shirt. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead and when Percival sat back in the seat, an aroma of Polo cologne mingled with the vomit smell.

“Where to, sir?” said the cabbie in a rough accent.

“To the mall,” he answered. He could almost taste the smell in his throat. The ride was excruciating and when the car stopped out front of the mall, he hurried out and paid trough the window.

He pulled his shirt to his nose and prayed that the smell didn’t stick to him. There wasn’t a trace. As he paraded around the mall window shopping, he eyed the mannequins in the windows, checking the clothing, and when he saw a long black lace dress, he knew that this was the store. Several tall, pretty women were trying to dress a mannequin. It lay naked on the floor as they took out a silk blue dress and slipped it over its head. They then propped it up and wiggled it onto the stand, a metal bar jammed into the rear of the model, they giggled while pushing its shoulders to secure it.

He looked at all the pictures scattered on the walls of happy women, dancing and jumping into leaves with a blonde and a buffed cowboy bending over to help a woman back to her feet. His eyes wandered over to the corner where a woman stood smoothing a dress. She eyed herself in a large mirror, her companions gushed her with compliments. She did look fantastic and he pictured Clarrisa in that dress. That was the dress. He hoped they stocked the same one if the lady bought it, which looked like she would. Her fingers slid over the price tag and her bright eyes lost its shine. Her face grew disappointed. She said it was too much and her friends egged her on, but when one of them looked at the price tag, she gave a whistle and rolled her eyes. The lady in red sulked back into the dressing room and came back out in jeans and a tee-shirt, placing the dress on a rack.

As soon as they left, he sprinted over and looked at the price. Four hundred dollars. His eyes almost popped out. He put the dress down, as if the red of the dress were hot coals. He couldn’t see himself buying that for her and he set out looking for a sensible dress. After an hour of searching through two floors of the mall, his mind kept going back to that dress and the way it looked on that woman. He found a few other dresses but they did not have the pizzaz of the red dress.

He went back to the dress and felt a surge as he approached the cashier. He carefully put it down and she picked it up. “Is this it, sir?”

“I can’t afford anything else,” he said and she looked at the price. She didn’t give a reaction and Percival thought she must be used to people spending thousands of dollars here. She placed it in a bag and handed it to him.

“Good day.”

He knew that Clarrisa would love it. He had felt for the first time in his life that he was in a relationship. He heart beat faster. Exiting the mall, he went over to a line of cabs waiting for customers and hoped that one didn’t smell. He found one with a fresh tree air freshener on the rearview mirror and hopped in.

“Where to?”

“Summerset Motel. And there’s an extra ten dollars if you make it there before two.” He was on top of the world.

Abuela's Tribute

Here is a link to my Grandmother's tribute. She passed away this past Saturday.

Rejected Katrina Money

Geyser

The Truth Seeker Chapter Three

Midway through the third day of traveling, Aveion started to recognize the familiar sights of his hometown, Kilsinger Falls. Log cabins lined the Kilsinger River, each with a dock and small skiffs that lapped up against its side . They had turned off The Outskirts Highway and merged onto the Kilsinger town road.

Muddy children dashed into the road and ran along the side Aveion’s wagon. He smiled back and tossed them some sweets from his saddle bag. They resembled chickens as they swarmed and bobbed up and down for the wrapped candy on the side of the road.

The road slithered along side the river for several miles until it veered to the into the tall trees that canopied the road. Sunbeams cascaded through the open branches and spotlighted the passing wagons loaded with fresh cut timber, making their voyage to the river to float down stream to the mill.

Cabins appeared where Aveion had known only trees and the road widened to allow enough room for three wagons abreast. He could remember riding in his father’s wagon stuffed with produce, on their way to the shipyard. During the trip, they wouldn’t encounter another person until in eyesight of the docks. Now he dodged on coming traffic and a few people cursed at him for being to slow.

The road led right into the heart of town. Buildings lined both sides of the street with little room between them. Carts with colorful signs displayed wares and their occupants screamed at the milling throng, out dueling the competitor across the street.

Aveion was amazed at the sight of how much the town had changed. He felt a stranger in his own town.

He had dreamed of being recognized as he arrived and people would mill out to surround him and give him a hero‘s welcome. But all the faces were unrecognizable. He still noticed The Gathering Tavern, though twice its size. His father used to take him there. Aveion would sit on the wooden porch with his friends while their fathers drank and talked.

As Aveion passed the tavern, he peeked inside and saw a line of men sitting on the barstools. A small red headed boy, sitting on the same bench he had twenty years ago, tossed a ball into the air and caught it.

Aveion rode a few more blocks to The Maple Inn, a converted mansion. It was originally the first mayor of Kinslinger’s home but his estranged wife turned it into an Inn after finding him at a brothel.

A black iron fence surrounded the property and bright flowers that bloomed in the gardens lining the brick pathway leading to the house. When the wagon approached the front steps, three boys ran out from the stable yard on the side of the inn and grabbed the reins. Two adolescents trailed behind and helped unload the chest and other luggage from the wagon.

Aveion and Roddick walked up the steps and through the double doors, entering into a gigantic study. Bookshelves lined the walls and a fireplace that could fit a horse sat unused. A few merchants puffed on cigars, some eating at scattered tables, while others read. Servants glided by with trays of drink and food. Near the stairway, a woman sat behind a desk and dipped her pen into a bottle of ink, jotting down something in a large black book. She looked up and jumped at the sight of him.

“Is that Aveion? My, oh my, look at you,” said the old lady. She waddled around the desk and hugged him.

“Hello Madam Weaver. It is nice to see you again.”

“Come. Come. You and your friend must be hungry.” She showed them two empty chairs beside a small round table. “Dezeray go and get these gentleman some food and a bottle of wine. From my collection, dear.”

The young serving girl vanished through a side door.

“I am so glad that you are here. We all thought you would make it back home and boy look at you. You left a scrawny thing and now you’re a man.”

Roddick grinned; it left his face as soon as Aveion looked at him.

“It is nice to be back. Things have certainly changed in ten years.”

“Oh, yes. People have been flocking here by the hundreds, mostly from down south. Houses have extended back through May Graves property now and more are going up everyday. We’ve been through three schools already.”

The serving girl came back with two plates, steaming with sliced turkey and black beans. Roddick didn’t hesitate to scoop a forkful into his mouth.

“I’ll let you finish up your meal,” Sharli said and turned to go.

“Before you go, I was wondering if I could get a message over to Dewart?”

“Sure, sweetie. I’ll go get one of the stable hands to run it over for you. You can use the paper and pen at the desk here,” she said, turning to go and nearly bumped into a stable hand. “Kelvin tuck in your shirt you lack wit.”

Aveion hurried to get the letter written before she returned. It was short and to the point, letting his brother know that he was in town and staying at the Maple Lodge.

Minutes later, the same boy that had helped him with the horses took the letter and ran off before Aveion could pull out a copper piece from his pouch.

Roddick slurped down the final scraps of his meal with wine, as Aveion started his. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his coat and belched. Several well dressed men eyed him with raised eyebrows.

“What?” Roddick said to them.

“Try to act accordingly,” Aveion said. The turkey melted in his mouth.

“I’m going to check on Roast. Those kids probably don’t know his head from his rear.”

Aveion shook his head and went back to concentrating on eating. The turkey had a slight hint of honey to it. It had been a very long time since he had a nice home cooked meal. The serving girl came back, refilled his glass and took the empty plates.

“Aveion,” called Sharli from behind her desk. “I have booked you two rooms on the second floor. I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you the south side rooms but we have some contractors that have booked that whole wing.”

“Any bed will be fine compared to the military cot. I’ll take Roddick’s key. He went to check on the horses,” he said and took the keys from her.

“Just follow Dezeray and she’ll show you the rooms.”

“Thank you so much.”

He followed the swaying hips of the serving girl up the stairs and to his room. Slipping a copper into her palm, he asked for some tea and honey. The room had everything he needed, a small desk, a comfortable bed, wash basin and a window with a view of the maple trees out back.

He settled in and took off his riding boots and a knock came to the door.

“Come in,” he said.

Dezeray brought in the tea and excused herself. He poured himself a cup and set it on the desk to cool. Pacing the room, he finally felt the weight of what he had to do. His father could be as stubborn as a wild stallion and he had to convince the man that he had made the right decision to desert the family business. He knew Dewart was more than competent to take over the business. In fact, Dewart was the born farmer, picking intricacy of farming twice as fast as him.

By the time he had unpacked and stretched out on the bed, Roddick knocked on the door and entered.

He held a sealed letter in his hand and handed to Aveion. “This just came in and the horses are fine,” he said and looked out the window.

Aveion opened the seal of his brother, two wheat plants forming an X. It said that they would meet him at The Gathering Tavern after sunset and that he was happy that Aveion had come on such short notice.

“We‘re to meet him at the tavern at sunset,” Aveion said, crumpling the letter and throwing it on the desk.

“I’m ready now,” said Roddick. “I hate wine.”

The Truth Seeker Chapter Two

Dismounting their steeds, Aveion and Roddick approached the gates of the Chamber’s office, a stone building in an outpost called Numeron, a four hour ride from their encampment on Bullon Hills. Aveion received, the formal letter during breakfast, giving him only time to change and trim his beard.

The Chamber’s office was in the center of the small town. An impressive structure from the outside, The Chamber’s office held towering ornate colonnades with two life-like statues of a robed bald man holding a chalice on one side of the entrance and a robed bald woman holding a pitcher on the other.

Roddick followed on the heels of Aveion, as they took the steps up the colonnade and toward the dark entrance. He stopped at the archway as Aveion entered. Rows of pews wrapped their way around the room. Torches flickered along the horseshoe, filling the room with a dim glow. A small wooden platform sat in the center of the room where the Answerer would stand to begin the questioning.

The room was empty and Aveion took a deep breath before stepping onto the platform. Once both feet were on the platform, figures entered from the dark entrances behind each pew. Their white hooded robes hid their downcast faces. They sat in high gilded chairs and when all were in place, they removed their hoods. Bald headed women of varying ages eyed him.

The oldest woman with deep wrinkles and drooping skin, sat in the seat in front of Aveion and held the title of, The Questioner.

“Aveion, with no last name, you have come here to ask permission to go home. Why?” She asked.

“I received a letter yesterday saying that my father is ill and I wish to see him before he goes.”

“He has stripped you of your last name. You are no longer part of his family. Why would you want to see someone that considers you a stranger?”

“I hope to regain my name.”

“What is done, is done. You must except your punishment.”

“I need to ask him for forgiveness. There are many things that I need to say before he goes and if I don’t, I’ll never forgive myself.”

A silence filled The Chamber as the women looked towards the floor. The woman at the beginning of the row to his left lifted her head.

“You may go,” She said and bowed her head.

“You may go,” said the woman to her left and bowed.

“You shall not go,” said the next.

“You may go.”

The questioner did not speak, but the next in line rose her head and said, “You shall not go.”

“You may go.”

“You shall not go.”

“You may go.”

Then the Questioner rose.

“The Chamber has spoken and you will have leave to go back to your home but as a stranger. You must respect the decision Sir Plowman’s has made. You have been stripped of your name but we also understand that mistakes can be rectified. So go, but heed your steps.”

They stood and turned, exiting through the dark entrances behind their seats. Aveion stepped off the platform and headed outside. Roddick watched the whole procession from the doorway.

“This place always gives me the shivers,” Roddick said.

“We must pack and be ready to leave as soon as the papers arrive.”

They left that evening and Aveion slid under his blankets with only a sliver of night left. Tossing and turning he dreamt of the day his Father had thrown him out.

Aveion awoke to a tapping on his cot and he opened his eyes to see the streaming sunlight silhouetting Roddick.

“What time is it?” he asked

“Three hours since daylight,” Roddick replied.

“You should have wakened me hours ago.”

Roddick extended to him a handful of papers.

“This just arrived. I believe it is your leave papers.”

“Good.” Aveion stood and placed the papers on his desk. He filled his washbasin with the cold water from an iron pitcher and began to trim his beard.

“Send me Telivar Fisherman,” he said, scraping the razor down his neck.

Moments later Telivar arrived. A stork of a man, near twenty-five years of age and not a scar on him.

“You called for me, sir,” he said and tapped his heels together, placing a fist to the side of his head.

“I am going on leave. You will be entrusted with command of the company.” Aveion handed Telivar the pile of papers from the desk. “These are the orders and forms for supplies.”

“Yes, sir,” he said. A grin slinked across his face as he took the papers. “Is everything alright, sir?”

“Yes. Everything is in order. I have full faith in you and your training. Make the most of it, for I too was in your position and rose in rank because of it.”
“Thank you, sir. I will.”

“I’ll be leaving soon. So the company is yours. You may go.”

Aveion waited until Telivar left before saying, “I hope he doesn’t trip on his own feet. He is a good boy but a little overzealous.”

“I agree,” said Roddick. “Maybe this will settle him down a little.”

“We shall see. Now there‘s are a hundred things I must do.”

Aveion summoned the servants. They arrived dressed in plain brown wool. They lugged out the large chest from beside the bed and folded and stacked his clothes inside until it took a hefty swing to close it. The trip would take several days and they needed sufficient rations.

Roddick set down a small bag tied to the saddle of his white and black mare, Roast. He waited while the servants finished tying the chest to a small wagon that would follow them. Grabbing the reins, he helped attach it to Aveion's gelding, Wisp.

Within the next hour, they were set to go. Telivar saluted as they spurred their way down the slope of Bullon Hill and followed the dirt path leading to Numeron.

“How are you going to approach your father?” asked Roddick after the watch towers faded out of sight.

“I have been pondering that same question myself. I truly don’t know. I must go there as a stranger. So the first step is to arrange an invitation.”

“Do you think he will except?”

“In my heart, yes but in my head, no. He is a stubborn man. I hope for the best though,” he said. “Either way it will be nice to see my family again.”

“You haven’t mentioned them before. What are they like?”

“Oh, it’s been ten years now and Dewart is married and has a son. Herald, my younger brother, is now eighteen and a man.”

“Will they except you when you arrive?” asked Roddick.

“I know Dewart will but Herald is another story. He always followed my Father like a hungry kitten.”

“Then we shall see.”

“So we shall.”

Back To School

David Blane's Street Magic

The Truth Seeker Chapter One

The Truth Seeker: Chapter One


Sitting at his desk, Aveion chiseled away at the enormous amount of tedious inventory paperwork before him. His lieutenant’s tent spanned twice the size of his soldiers but it still only fit a desk, chair and fold out bed. The desk and chair came apart to fit into a traveling chest.

The new candle he had lit was now halfway melted when he finished the first series of lists. He sealed them with his signet, a wheat and a sword that formed an X. There was still a daunting pile of paperwork to get to but he needed to stretch his legs. Exiting the tent, he passed the sentry outside and the man stiffened and saluted. Aveion nodded and the soldier brought his hand down with a swish.

“How goes it Roddick?” he said to his long-standing.

“All is well, sir,” he replied.

“I’m going to check the lines. Make sure no one enters unless it is vital.”

“Yes, sir.” Roddick kicked his heels together and put his fist to his ear.

His company was charged with protecting the high ground of an area named, Bullon Hills. This stretch of land rolled, like waves and had become a strategic position to hold since it bordered Saltarun, a constant adversary.

This particular hill garnered the name, Grandfather’s Grave, since the blood of their grandfathers was spilled over it. It is one of the highest hills in this expanse and from its crest one could overlook miles in each direction, a vital strategic position.

Aveion patrolled the tents that formed perfect lines. Men gathered around fires and waited for their dinners to be cooked. His breath came out in puffs of smoke in the chill air.

The men quieted as he neared. However, he didn’t stop and they continued their idle banter after he passed.

The large red tents of the Brotherhood, rivaled his in size and stuck out among the small plain white ones of the soldiers. Men in varying degrees of red robes, which defined their class among the Brotherhood, busied themselves with chores. They paid him no mind.

Making a circle around the crest of the hill, he stopped periodically at the outposts, large wooden towers that held four archers and he made sure they were alert. As he finished his circle and arrived back to his tent, Roddick emerged through the flaps.

“Sir, a messenger has just arrived.”

“Thank you, Roddick.” Aveion lowered his voice. “Is it urgent?”

“I believe it is of a personal matter,” he whispered and positioned himself in his normal stance at the entrance of the tent.

Aveion entered and the messenger with sweat dripping off his face and panting, stood.

“Please sit,” Aveion said.

The young boy sat. He wore the standard messenger’s outfit, green tights with dark brown wool shorts and matching thick wool shirt. The boy fished out a letter from a black casing attached to his belt and handed it to Aveion.

The letter had seal of blue with the symbol of wheat on it, his family’s seal. He hadn’t received a letter from home for over five years.

“You’re excused,” he said. “Tell the gentleman outside to supply you with a meal.”

The boy rose and exited in silence.

Aveion sat at his desk and turned the letter over in his hand, pondering its contents . He had left home on bad terms and his father had stripped him of his last name, Plowman, the worst punishment a father could impart upon his son.

His father had intended him to go to the University and take over the family farm but halfway through schooling, he joined the military. Furious, his father had considered that Aveion had thrown away the responsibility of the eldest son to take over the family business for a career in killing.

Aveion’s grandfather had died in the war and his father had resented it. So he stripped Aveion of his last name and disowned him. Aveion Plowman became only Aveion to the rest of society. Loss of his last name brought a taint that carried over to the military; for him there were no further promotions with such a disgrace.

Aveion broke the wax seal and ripped the letter open. It was written in his brother‘s hand and said his father lay on his deathbed. If he wished to say his last words that he had better come home.

Aveion and his brother, Aleial were close even through the name removal. Aleial had tried valiantly to persuade their father to take him back but the old man’s stubbornness would not relent.

Time was running out. He had to make amends or he would regret it for the rest of his life. But it would be like fighting an opponent on higher ground. There would be plenty of work for him to take a leave. The first step was to set up an appointment with The Chamber and that would take a formal letter.

Aveion dipped his pen in the ink jar and started on the letter. Once he was finished, he asked for the messenger to take the letter to the nearest Chamber. The young boy entered with his face covered in gruel.

“Wipe your face, messenger,” said Aveion and tossed him a handkerchief. The boy placed the letter in the case on his belt and wiped his face with the cloth, extending it back to Aveion. “Keep it as incentive to get that message to the chamber as soon as you can.”

The boy bowed and exited. Aveion was sure that the leave would go through. He hadn’t taken one during his ten faithful years of service. That wasn’t the hard part; seeing his father again would be like climbing Mount Krendle.

Mass Murderer's Plays

It is really interesting looking into the mind of this mass murderer. Check out two of his sadistic plays. http://newsbloggers.aol.com/2007/04/17/cho-seung-huis-plays/

To Those That We Lost

Virginia Tech.

Every culture has this fascination with death. The Muslims strap explosives to their chests and blow up innocents, the Asians strap themselves to the seat of their plane and crash into the enemy and Americans strap themselves with ammo and gun down children and then kill ourselves.

It does seem that this dark cloud has loomed over America for the past decade. Kids killing in schools, Old men shooting Mormons, and now this new incident. I don’t think this is just an American problem, every culture possesses these tendencies. We have more access to the guns and the best press coverage in the world.

Imagining stepping over that line is inconceivable. The snowballing of emotions that must be going through your mind and the total narcissism. To take life so indiscriminately is so rehensible.

America’s freedom comes with a dark side. Evil is allowed to fester and grow, then given free reign to do what it wills. But humans deep down are moralists, compassionate and nurturing. Its just that the bad seeds get the airtime.

Intelligenceless

When looking at Iraq, it seems like we have not learned anything from 9/11. The seed of the problem was a bad C.I.A. policy. In the 80’s they waged war against the Soviet Union by funding small radical groups in Afghanistan, not caring of their convictions or beliefs. In the end one of the groups we helped support slammed two planes into our sky scrapers and killed thousands.

Four years ago the C.I.A. creates one of the worst botches of all time in the Iraq war and is now using the same useless cold war tactics against Iran by funding small tribes to fight. It is hypocritical to fund radical groups like the Jundallah group. This group is kidnapping Iranian officials and executing them, attacking in an Al Qaeda mold.

To change the image of America, we first have to stop these tactics. The rest of the world is catching us, talking out of both sides of our mouths. There needs to be accountability within the C.I.A. and their dead ideology. Combating evil with evil changes nothing.

The saddest part of all this is that nothing has changed. No one is questioning, why are they mad at us? There is no discussion. The crumbs of ineptitude leads to the C.I.A.

Percival Chapter Two Part Three

The companion looked over and their eyes met. The urge to kick the six doctors working on him welled up. He wanted to yell, scream or tell them that their priorities were out of whack and they should go help that sick man. The companion’s gaze moved back to his partner and he massaged his back.

Percival hated himself for not doing anything. What had he done with his life? He was living on borrowed time, wasted time. He did nothing but sit and rot in his motel room. Sure he went to school but he knew that it was for show. He wasn’t ambitious and lingered around because he knew death loomed over him. A transcript to the State University collected dust under a stack of old book reports. His attention once again returned toward the companion, who began to look agitated. He paced back and forth behind his partner, biting on his fingernails, stopping when the doctor said something. A minute later, he leaned over and whispered something in the sick man’s ear, kissed him on his bald head, and headed out of the laboratory.

“Percival, I’m giving you a new antibotic and we’re going to trace its pathway through your body. That means you must come here sometime next week. Is that possible?” The doctor’s voice broke him from his reverie.

“Yea, sure. How about Wednesday? “ he said and broke his gaze from the sick man.

“Same time then?” said the doctor.

“Sure.” The doctor marked it down in a black book lying next to the computer monitor. Another doctor walked up with a needle. Percival lost track of how many needles he had taken today, and the doctor, with the smell of aftershave, plunged the needle into his bicep.

“You can get ready now. We’re all done here.”

Percival put his shirt back on and headed out to the receptionist. She gave him an envelope with his check in it and exited. The casual dressed gentleman was just outside the hallway as he closed the door. He looked pretty disheveled with his eyes counting the tiles in hallway and his back pressed against a bulletin board poster of a child saying no to drugs. He had an unlit cigarette in his mouth.

Percival wanted to say something to him but he passed by and pushed the button for the elevator. He could feel the gaze of the man against his back. But he couldn’t turn around. He was about to curse the door for not opening soon enough, when it dinged and opened. He rushed inside and let the doors close.

He felt ashamed for not achieving anything with his life and when he looked into those saddened eyes of that stranger, it seemed to tug at him. He let this disease live his life and he it frustrated him. The elevator stopped at the lobby and he shuffled his feet onto the marbled floor where he his reflection of a young man looked up at him, from the floor, very different from the zombie two floors up. He wanted to spit on his reflection.

He thought to himself that he was making a difference that he’s fighting for the cause of AIDS that he might even help with a cure, but as he walked outside, he’d his only motivation was to Clarrisa.

He grew excited on getting her a dress and he conjured a picture of her dolled in an elegant red dress. He needed to buy himself something smooth as well, so he headed down the sidewalk torward a busy intersection where a branch of his bank was so that he could cash his check and call then call a cab to get to the mall.

Percival already planned on getting reservations to the La Pierre Restaurant. He had heard about it was excellent from Philip, who had taken a date out to there and that it was a very upscale. He wanted to wow Clarrisa, make her eyes bulge and her heart thump. He exited the bank with a thousand dollars. He was going to go all out.

Percival Chapter Two Part Two

“You’re not going there, man? They give out free pot. The real good shit. You know, government shit.”

“Why are they giving you pot?”

“They only let you smoke it there. You can’t take it with you. Then they give you a bunch of weird stuff to do, like throw a ball into a basket or read something out loud. Like I said though, their full today, so you’ll have to come again next week. Shit, they got enough stuff for twenty more people.” The kid turned and swaggered down the hall.

The Disease Lab Three that he entered was on the other end of the building. He entered a spacious lab room and was greeted by Dr. Marcowitz.

“Mr. Watkins, so glad to see you,” he said. He put down his clipboard on the table and reached out to grab his hand, shaking it violently.

“Same here. So what do you have planned today?”

“Just some routine tests and needle work. We’ve got to see how that new drug is holding out .” Percival assumed that he was going to go through the usual needle probes but he went through the formality of asking. He wouldn’t be surprised if they wheeled out a large mouse wheel for him to run on.

The first few tests used a variety of needles. Each time the needle pierced his skin, he would think about how Clarrisa voluntarily shot herself up. When he was a child he couldn’t look at the needle, but after the first hundred shots he grew fascinated with the process, how it first indented his skin, then slip inside like a parasite and slide out with only a slight sting. It really didn’t hurt until it left your skin.

Then the scavengers began to circle. Six doctors hovered over him, working on six different projects, while he rested on the cushioned examination table and watched the chaos around him. The doctors, all wearing protective suits and gloves, performed a choreographed dance, where one doctor would take a vile of plasma, and another would inject a drug into his shoulder.

They all talked to him as if they were close friends. “How are you feeling lately?” , “Have you been excersing because you look in tip top shape?” , “How’s school going?” Percival kept his responses to a few sentences each. These men weren’t his friends.

The only good thing that coming here did for him was to stop him from using illicit drugs because they would catch it in one of their tests. Anything that they found would go directly back to Philip and he didn’t want to disappoint him. A year ago he had arrived at the laboratory a little tipsy from a rare night with Franco and the doctors were pissed because they couldn’t get their tests done. The alcohol would mask some of the results, they said.

The tests switched over to the physical section. They attached wires to his bare chest and he jogged on a treadmill. They gathered around the computer monitors to watch lines bob and weave, giving them some type of information. Percival held his breath and watched the lines rise drastically and when the doctors looked at him, he would wave.

Halfway through the jog, two men entered the lab holding hands. A tall gentleman wearing a buttoned up dress shirt tucked neatly in a pair of browm' slacks and his friend, a bald pale-faced individual, that looked like the walking dead. They both took a seat in two chairs near the section of the lab were the paperwork was filled out and put away. They talked to Dr. Marcowitz. He gave the sick man a folder and a pen and the two men bent over and flipped through it, writing inside periodically.

The zombie coughed into a dark blue hankerchief and his companion kept patting him the back. During a loud cough, a glob of phlegm leaped from his mouth and splattered on a page they were working on. He smeared the stain with the hankerchief, while the well dressed man apologized to the doctor.

Percival felt the treadmill speed up and his legs strained to keep up. One of the doctors asked if it was up to high and he nodded no. I’ll show you, he thought and ran until his legs burned. This must have amazed them because he could hear murmuring from behind the monitors. Then the machine slowed to a stop and he hopped off. They removed the wires and gave him a bottle of water, probably putting a new prototype drug into it.

His eyes kept wandering to the sick man across the room. The man peeled off his shirt. His pasty skin was pulled so tight that his ribcage showed. His companion looked into his eyes and by the way he held him steady made it obvious that they shared a stronger bond then that of a family or friend.

Only a solitary doctor overlooked the dieing man, while seven worked on Percival. Percival was fine now but at any moment that could be him, fatigued and just hanging to a sliver of life. If it wasn’t for some miraculous barrier that prevented the disease from destroying his immune system, he would be dead.

Percival Chapter Two Part One

The alarm clock buzzed and Percival opened his eyes, dangling his arm off the mattress, searching through dirty socks and work shirts to shut it off before it woke Clarrisa. Slidding out from under the covers he went to the sink and poured himself a glass of water and threw down his daily pills. He only had an hour to get to Kermises.

Ever since leaving the orphanage, he was paid for his weekly visits to the doctors there. They took vials of his blood, ran bizarre tests and hooked him up to gadgets. At first they sent over one doctor to see to his tests, but soon after the discovery of his immune system the attention grew weekly. Now the team measured in the thirties.

The doctor's names flowed in and out of his head. The only one he retained was Dr. Marcowitz. There was something in the lead doctor's old eyes. He looked at Percival like a lock that he needed to break. They beemed a look of sympathy with consternation.

At the age of seventeen, the last at the orphanage, he waited for the ten doctors to finish their tests on him. Every other day they came and applied tubes, wires and needles to his body, circling around like vultures. He grew tiresome of the ordeal and with one frustrated swipe, he tore the wires out and turned to face the nearest doctor.

“I’m done with this. I’m not one of your mice. Am I sick? Or am I healthy?,” he asked, getting his shirt.

“Calm down Percival! What’s the problem?” asked Dr. Marcowitz, the scrawny head doctor who looked scared that his prized possession would scamper away.

“Listen, it’s been seventeen years. If you haven’t figured it out yet than thats your fault. What am I getting out of this? If you’re not helping me stay alive then you can all go Fuck Yourself!” He walked out.

The next week he got a phone call from Philip.

“I’m fed up with all their antics,” said Percival.

“I know it must be hard on you but you’re doing a very heroic thing.”

“I don’t want to be a hero. I just want to be left alone. They have been at this for seventeen years and what have they found out? Nothing. Absolutely nothing and what do I get from it all? Diarrhea from their stupid pills.”

“Would it make a difference if they paid you? It could help you get on your feet while you leave the orphanage.”

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.” The money tempted him. All he had to do was to go over once a week for a few hours and they would run several tests on him.

The cab picked him up and traveled just outside of town to an industrial park. The Kermises building was impressive, two huge glass spires thrusted out from a domed building. Paying the taxi, he walked up the staircase and entered. The lobby was pristine, with shiny marble floors, matching pillars and several potted plants that lined near the windows. Three large security gaurds lounged at the security desk. One grabbed the radio attached to his belt and spoke. As he walked past them, one of the monstrous officer’s tipped down his silver tinted sunglasses. Percival paid them no mind as he pushed the up arrow button on the elevator. The door dinged and opened. He waited for the business men to funnel out, briefcases in hand. Once inside he hit the third floor button. The door opened into a hallway. Posters plastered the walls, calling for roomates, used cars and volunteer work. He an arrow on a sign that read: Disease Three Laboratory.

Kermises Enterprises’ best known for its’ male enhancement and cancer drugs. Waiting for his lab work one day, he took a walk around. Most of the place was under very strict security. As he headed down the endless hallways, a long haired man walked towards him. The young man wore a pair of jeans with a large holes showing his knees, and a Widespread Panic shirt. Before he walked by, he stopped and faced him.

“You going to the lab?” he said. “Because if you are, they’re full today. They turned me away. Next week I’m getting here two hours early.”

“What are they doing in the lab?”

The Truth About Dishwashers

1. They do not wash pants. It is true that it would be easier to do the pots and pans and still do the laundry but this should not be attempted.

2. Do not use conditioner. Even though it makes sense that using conditioner should make those glasses have a glossy and shimmering exterior, it would be best to avoid this combination.

3. It does not eat food. Salad, sandwiches, steak and corn can not be digested by this machine.

4. Ten times around will not clean that crusty dried oatmeal stuck to the bowl. If it goes through twice, it is a good time to resort to the old fashioned way and find a sponge.

5. The bin on the door is for soap only and not for dirty change from the car cup-holder.

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.”