tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25235135604247081392024-03-13T21:02:16.441-07:00Decidedly RandomMukorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907849221044310161noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523513560424708139.post-61036909927089371732012-01-23T16:22:00.001-08:002012-01-23T16:22:46.385-08:00Man<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><u><b>Man</b></u></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He haunted the night</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A ghost</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He haunted my dreams</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A spirit</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He haunted himself</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A phantom</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He haunted his past</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A wraith</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Never at peace</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Looking at the world</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Aghast</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Disdain in his tired eyes</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He was a demon</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">To a small child</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Down the street</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A ghost</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A spirit</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A wraith</div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Barely a man.</div>Mukorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907849221044310161noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523513560424708139.post-83971732138395673932012-01-23T16:20:00.001-08:002012-01-23T16:20:14.858-08:00War<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><u><b>War</b></u></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">There go</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The soldiers</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Marching</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">To war</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">There go</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The soldiers</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Marching</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">To battle</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">There go</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The soldiers</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Marching</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Into fire</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">There go</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The soldiers</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Marching</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Alongside Death</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">There go</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The soldiers</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Marching</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The brave soldiers</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Moving</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">For a cause</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Their country's cause</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Not their cause</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Not their fight</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">There go</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The weapons</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The people</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Are no more</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">When </span> </div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">The soldiers</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">Go marching</span></div><div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">To war.</span></div>Mukorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907849221044310161noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523513560424708139.post-52087915365343433992012-01-23T16:15:00.001-08:002012-01-23T16:15:38.378-08:00We Have a Problem<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><u><b>We Have a Problem</b></u></div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in; page-break-before: auto;"> An airy, sunny day in NASA's Houston spaceport. Technicians and engineers scurried across the complex. Preparations, calculations, precipitation- it was raining. I finished my lunch and began my long walk toward the shuttle. I was an astronaut, and this was to be my first time in space. A simple orbit around the Earth to everyone else, but to me, it was the biggest day of my life. Er... sorry, son.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> I reached the shuttle and climbed into the cockpit. My job was to monitor internal systems, fuel, oxygen, that sort of thing. My partner, Alan Richards, would be handling everything else. I thought he was a lucky sod, but I wasn't experienced enough to do anything he would, so I let it go. Alan had been with NASA going on thirty years. He was a living legend, infallible, practically Jesus in a space suit. Alan climbed into the cockpit not long after me. He turned to me and spoke.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “First time?” he asked, a sly smile playing on his face. The Al Rich smolder. the women in engineering called it.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Yeah,” I said. “Have to admit, I'm nervous as hell. Is it always like this?”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Heh, yeah,” he sighed. “I remember my first time,” he looked distant, nostalgic. At first I though he had fallen asleep, but then he spoke up again. “You can keep a secret?”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Er... sure... yeah. Definitely,” his question had more an air of a statement, but I still felt compelled to answer. A secret from Alan Richards? I felt like a teenage girl meeting... whoever's famous these days.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Alan smiled, then turned that smile into a chuckle. “I like you,” he looked away, still smiling. “I crapped my pants my first time in space.”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> What. What? “What?” Before I could pursue this weird as hell topic further, the countdown began. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Well, here we go,” Alan said. Six. Five. “Might want to hold your breath, I always piss myself right as we take off.”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “WHAT?” I could not be hearing this, this was not happening. Two. Sure enough, I began to smell asparagus. One. Jesus Christ... liftoff.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Space. The final frontier. It really is as amazing as I had imagined it would be. The light of the stars played against the slightly reflective glass of the windows creating a beautiful effect. But before I could enjoy it too much, the smell of Alan Richards' urine assaulted my nostrils again. </div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “How old are you, Alan?” I looked up from the gauge I was monitoring.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Fifty-six,” he looked nostalgic again. I couldn't tell if he was peeing. </div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “That's not really the age I would expect a man to need an adult diaper.”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Nah, I don't wear those. But the suit's got filters, see. Clears the waste right out. Like a giant... diaper...” Alan quickly looked away from me as he finished. I couldn't believe this. The top astronaut of our time peed himself. Or did all astronauts do this? I shuddered at the thought. “You should try it,” he was speaking again. “It feels surprisingly free.”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “No thanks, I was potty trained, besides, I don't need to go- wait.” The oxygen gauge was blinking red. This either meant a leak, or tomato soup had been spilled on it. “Oh crap, look at this, Alan.”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Leak? How could that happen?”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Well, I know how it happened with you at least,” I laughed at my own joke.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Alan backhanded me. “This is no time for jokes, kid,” Alan's expression was surprisingly severe. He finally looked how I'd always imagined him.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “All right,” I said, surprised at his sudden change. “Uh... I'll check the tanks,” just as I said that, I heard a loud creaking,t hen a crash. Murphy's Law: Anything that can go wrong, will. I could feel sweat begin to form on my brow, then trickle down the side of my face. No oxygen. In space. Where no one can hear you scream. “I'll... call mission control.” I pressed a few buttons. “Houston, Houston! We have a problem! A big god damn problem!” I finally managed to put the call through, but got nothing but static.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Son of a bitch,” Alan groaned. “How much left?”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> I checked the gauge. “Five, six hours maybe?”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Alan yelled out in anger “Son of a god damn bitch!” This was definitely how I imagined him A “real badass.”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Stop, you'll use up the oxygen faster by yelling like that,” I said, in spite of myself.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Alan sighed. “This is all your god damned fault,” I didn't question him, as much as I wanted to, not wanting to use oxygen arguing.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> A few hours passed. We had been breathing as little as possible, and were both beginning to feel light-headed as the oxygen thinned.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “How much longer?” Alan said, his voice whispy.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “One or two hours, maybe,” I said.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Ugh,” Alan groaned. We sat there for a few more hours. Then, my eyes lit up.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Oxygen tanks! Don't we have oxygen tanks for our suits?”</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “They were with the air, and that's gone,” Alan crushed my dreams.</div><div style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “We probably have spares, we have too,” determined to not give up, I went around, checking behind every crevice and corner, sure enough, I found one tank. But a small one. Definitely not enough for both of us. I told Alan as much. His expression lit up a bit, but then became solemn again. “Sorry kid,” he stood up. “You know, you really were a hero.” I heard a neck crack, then fell into blackness.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div>Mukorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907849221044310161noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523513560424708139.post-45927412253401804812012-01-23T16:14:00.003-08:002012-01-23T16:14:53.498-08:00New Year's<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"><u><b>New Year</b></u></div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Cutting Carbs,” I said. “Trying to stay fit,” I said. “I'll be fine,” I said. I was a freaking liar. New Years Eve had come early one year, and I was caught with my pants down. Of course, with my family being... my family, a resolution on New Years was as necessary as turkey on Thanksgiving, or creepy little rabbits on Easter. I quickly picked the most generic, and “easiest” resolution I could think of. “I'll drop twenty pounds,” I had told my family. It would be simple, just eat one less pizza bagel a day, and I'm set. God. I was an idiot.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Not two days after making my half-halfhearted resolution, I went to the fridge for a one-in-the-morning snack, as I tend to do, and found my fridge as eerily empty as my dating pool. Now, I knew I had stocked that fridge the previous day, and my cats can't have possibly eaten all my food. Who could have done this? Then, it hit me like a wrecking ball.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> A few hours later, I was furiously dialing the phone numbers of every family member who had been at that New Years party, steam shooting out of my ears. I just knew one of them must have taken it upon themselves to “help” me toward my “goal.” I cursed that horrible day, New Year's Eve. The dawn of a new start, a chance to change. Yeah, right. Whoever did this was going to get a piece of my mind. I called everyone, Dad, Uncle Billy, Aunt Joel, Cousin Carrie, Grandma Anne, Other Grandma Sue, Other-Other Grandma Lucille, previously Grandpa Lucky, but none would admit to it, of course. Though most of them agreed the culprit was in the right. My loving family.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Finally, I sighed, and did something I was putting off. I called my mother. Some important facts about Mother Dearest, she was a neat freak, not one speck of dust was allowed in her home. Not a sinle dust-bunny. Not one piece of dirt. She would drop a nuclear bomb on her carpet if it meant a clean house. She also <i>really</i> loved the holidays. That relative who always wears cheesy, battery-powered light-up Christmas sweaters, brings everyone fruit cake and insists on wearing an antler headband? My mother. And she hated me, as well. Of course, she said she loved me, like any good mother, but I knew the truth, and it made much more sense.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> It was around four in the morning at this point, so of course, I needed an excuse for calling Mother Dearest. I claimed personal problems, I just needed to talk to her. Which was true, for the most part. We chewed the fat for a while, I was trying to make her comfortable so she wouldn't pull that “Oh, dear, you're just paranoid,” line of bull she always uses. Finally, after discussing the merits of various stain removers, I made the leap.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> I was casual at first, not wanting to scare her off. “So, I'm out of food.” I said.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Oh?” she said. “Well, I told you to go to the super market last time I was there. I even gave you a coupon for pork ribs.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> I bit my tongue. The old bat was so cocky. So sure of herself. “I went shopping yesterday,” I said, trying to keep her on the ropes, “and now everything but the milk and a head of lettuce is gone.” I continued, feeling braver “I think a relative took it, you know, because of my resolution. Likely just a misguided attempt to help me along, but still.” I knew I had her.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Oh, I'm sure it's not that bad. Probably just one of those dreadful cats of yours.” Old freaking bat. “Tell me if you figure it out dear,” she said after a pause. No. I couldn't let her escape. Not now. She was the only one I hadn't called. It was her. It had to be.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “I know it's you, mom,” I told her.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “It couldn't be me, dear. I've been baking all day,” I had had enough.</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Give me my food, or I'm calling the cops, mom. This is blatant theft.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;"> “Don't take that tone with me.” her voice had become decidedly more severe. “It's not my fault you're fat.”</div><div align="JUSTIFY" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0in;">At that, I hurled my phone against the wall. I didn't have a warranty, but I didn't care. I wouldn't just stand there and take that crap. In the end, I never did get my food back. But I swore then, that I would never make another New Year's Resolution as long as I lived.</div>Mukorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907849221044310161noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2523513560424708139.post-74824414467566029802012-01-23T16:14:00.001-08:002012-01-23T16:14:22.662-08:00Whelp.This blog is just sort of a place for me to keep my various (likely crappy) writings.<br />
<br />
I may not update it much, and I certainly won't keep to a schedule. So nothing really to see here.Mukorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08907849221044310161noreply@blogger.com0