New Years Revolution

fuck you I'm doing this

1. Read more frequently. (I.E. Everyday)

• On the Road
• The Last Picture Show
• Among the Thugs
• The Things They Carried
• Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
• Eliminate All Brutes
• Trainspotters
• Great Expectations
• Grantland
• The Words Of Gandhi
• Invisible Man

2. Write everyday.

• Write Two more episodes of "Uncle Dad"
• Finish "Happiness"
• Complete a journal.

3. Improve your GPA

4. Get a 31 or higher on the ACT

5. Stay in shape.

6. Watch less than an hour of TV a day, and fewer than 2 hours of internet for entertainment a day.

7. Speak less frequently.Choose your words wisely.

8.Fuck bitches.

9.Get money.

10. See more classic movies.

Infinity

 Infinity is a tricky subject. Of course, it can be explained in a few sentences, but that's not really doing the concept justice. Proof of infinity does not exist. It cannot be proven, and it will not be proven. Each one of us is just an extension of the theory, but none of us will ever know if there is something that doesn't end.
 Of course, we can say that math is infinite. But there is no proof of that. How many among us can tell us what comes after quintillion? If the Universe is not ever expanding, as theorized by many scientists, then math cannot be ever expanding. Numbers could possibly have a limit.
 But here's where it gets tricky. This debate, the one that is being brought up right now, could go on forever. Because one cannot prove that infinity doesn't exist, unless we reach an end, and that is unlikely. 
 Just thoughts that were had today. Hopefully they made sense.

Bothersome

 Please don't look at me. Please don't listen to me. Please don't care about me. There's nothing I can do for you, so don't ask anything of me. I am not your messiah, I am not a deity. The pressure to perform is too great for me to do anything but disappoint people. 
 The wind that rustles your hair knocks me down and drags me for miles. The sun that tans your skin burns holes that melt my bones. I am weak, I am bruised and I am ignorant. Why do you keep asking me to do things for you? You're triple the person that I am, why do you look to me for help?
 You go to work, you go drive in your car and you sleep in my bed. Each day, you ignore my change cup, then go home and pray to me. You're quite curious, because you can't seem to figure out what's bothering you

Problems

  What lies ahead of you is not to be feared. It is to be conquered, dominated and straddled. It is love and it is hate, it is struggle and it is ease. What lies ahead of you will not be easy, but what lies ahead of you will make you stronger. When you get past it, you will be a completely different person.
 There are kids on the other side of the world that haven't had a meal in their entire lives as big as what you ate for breakfast while walking out the door today. You are very lucky. You have every asset on your side. No problem you face will be insurmountable. Fires, storms and deaths are all a part of the process.
 That being said, do not waste your life acquiring problems. Just because they are all fixable does not mean you should spend your life fixing other's for them. Ask yourself:"Where do I want to go? Who do I want to be?" Know what you want to do before you do it.
 The world is full of many things, good and bad. If you let them all consume you, each day will become extremely difficult. Absorb these things that make up our world, and let them teach you. Keep in mind, however, that there is no worse dedication than blind faith.
 These broken paragraphs you have just read come from a dim-witted high school student. He doesn't plan to do much with his life, other than be happy.

Hatred

 I'm walking down the alley to my house as it rains. My favorite song to listen to at this point in my day, in this weather especially, is "Blue in Green" by Miles Davis. I'll take my time walking in the filth covered path, observing all of the trash people put around their garage. 
 One yard has a broken down pontiac in its back yard. Another has several deflated kitty pools , amongst other things, in a garage that has been open everyday for as long as I can remember. This is a shit hole.This is glorified poverty.This is Jefferson park.
 Puddles that form in-between cracks and potholes are an open forum for gasoline, dead rats, and dog shit. It sounds, and is, disgusting. However, there is a beauty to it. As raindrops fall into the puddle, the street lights flicker against them, making them look like the flashbulbs in the stands of a world series game. 
 This is the alleyway of a lower-middle class, largely immigrated, neighborhood.It is not overly violent, I do not fear going home. I do not feel that this place is something to be proud of, however. We could make it better, but nobody seems to care enough to do so.
 So I must ask, why? Why do I come back here everyday? There is no benefit to this place. I am not doing this to attain something better. I am literally just waiting. I am waiting to leave for college, and eventually the country.I hate it here. Even the beauty of it, I hate. I hate that it has any positive qualities at all.

6 word stories/

Two men entered, only one left.

Non-human prevents a forest fire.

His life sentence was cut short.

Diminishing dollar store becomes dime store.

Muscle for hire. Must hate cats.

Fire. Lots and lots of fire.

Who the fuck cares? Kill yourself.

The value of Jesus.

 Money. Revenue. Profit. ATC, AVC, and AFC. Monopolies and oligopolies. Perfectly competitive markets.Dominant strategies.

 Economics is a fascinating subject, although I can hardly understand it. It is not news to me that I am stupid. It's a miracle I've gotten to this point in my academic career. But my mid-C level grade in the AP class is not what I am describing here. My daily perplexed look during 4th period does not come from the concepts themselves, but from the fact that it works in America.
 The U.S economy controls our lives. Through the years, it has made us greedy and selfish.It's a race to the top. Why this would happen in a system like ours makes perfect sense. It's the name of the game. What doesn't make sense is how it even was allowed to form in this nation.
  The original pilgrims came here to avoid persecution. They were all Christian. Today, we are a predominately Christian nation. The church of Christ teaches that should only use what we need, and spend the rest of our time helping others. This directly contradicts the economic principals of our country to such a degree, it would be a miracle if anybody in its existence made it to heaven.
 I see flags and bumper stickers that say "God bless America." on the cars and homes from my Christian neighbors. How would a Christian God feel about his name being licensed and distributed for profit? 
I am not an atheist. I am not a Christian. I am not a Muslim. I am nothing. I'm hardly an American at this point. This is not to knock Christianity. I think the virtues that Jesus teaches are very noble. I simply want to know how any Christian justifies living in a country like this?

Haiku Tuesday. Theme: Brain

Haiku one

Odd zone, I don't know.

This place, my thoughts go to hide.

The back of my mind.

haiku two


This cruel machine,
which tortures in solitude,
escapes when needed.

Haiku Three

Regret and failure.

My brain interprets both well.

Is that an instinct?

haiku four


I know zero things.
Yet the space for brain's knowledge
is unlimited. 

Sunday

 Sunday morning. No breakfast, no TV, no radio. You go to worship today. You go to church today.
 You take an hour to pray to a God that isn't there, and give money to a church that doesn't love you. You shake hands with the neighbors that scare you and wish peace upon their families. You come home smelling of stale air and wafer crackers.It's worth feeling dirty if it gets a cloud in heaven reserved in your name. There goes another sunday. There goes the best day of the week that your God gave to you. Gone forever. Time to go to work for him.
 You sit there at your desk, waiting for happiness to come and grab you by the wrists and ankles. Nothing can convince you that that your savior is a fraud. Nothing can convince you that your heroes are just men in suits.Look at what you've done in your time of patience, and compare it to what your urges would have made you do. It's a wasted experience, your life of tranquility. You sit there at your desk, thinking you're doing the world a favor. Push those papers, read that memo, drink that coffee. As long as you believe that it matters, nothing can convince you to stop.
 Sitting in traffic, you think about your children. They're your mark on this blue marble. They're why you're satisfied with selling insurance. Running a red light doesn't make you feel better, but it keeps that pulse going to get you to the door.
 You kiss your wife, but don't stop to talk.All you want to do is take a shit. You sit down on the toilet, and look around for something to read. You'll settle for a box of matches. You start lighting them and throwing them into the tub. Each one you let burn for a little longer. Each match burns closer to your finger, until the second to last match, which inflames the tips of your nails. It hurts. It hurts good. 
Look at the head of your last match. Some boy in Indonesia made this perfected stick of power with his little fingers. He has more talent than you'll ever know. Yet here it sits in your hands, doing nothing but burning and ending. Is that fair? Is it fair that his life's work will have no significance other than entertaining a salesman's bowel movement? No. This match will be different. This match will justify that child's existence.
 The shower curtains make a crackle as they burn. Smoke starts to engulf the bathroom, and you feel woozy. That last sound you hear is your skull hitting the sink. That sound echoes until you wake up in a hospital.
 Your home is gone, your kids are dead, and your wife is in critical condition. Where is the church that you gave all of that hard earned money? Where are your neighbors, who you blessed every Sunday? Where is your God?
Probably in Indonesia.

6 word stories.

My whole life had been wasted.

The distance between them became unbridgeable. 

I forgot my bomb at home. 

Doomsday was caused by two kids.

I went to the store yesterday.

I quit my job. What now?

I was persuaded to give up.

The meaningless, old woman finally died.

I'm done writing stories for today.

Boom. (Short story)

Head's up. I'm postponing the "will,of the city." part ii, since I haven't had a chance to finish it. you can probably expect it sometime next week.


I've always liked explosions. I'll never forget my first fireworks parade. Right before I turned 3, and my parents took me to the park to see them. Any fear they had that the noise would scare me was gone within five minutes of it starting.I went wild.I made my first sentence that day.

"Let's make more boom."

 My parents thought it was cute at first. I would make noise with pots and pans, like lots of young kids. I did it so much, however, that they began to believe it was more than just a phase. I was ignoring my other toys. My favorite thing to do was make loud noises. Whenever planes flew close to our house, I would run outside to hear it break the sound barrier. I loved noise. Even then, my parents believed I would grow to convert this love into musical talent. 
 They actually began to depend on this belief to keep their sanity. When I was in Pre-K, I knocked over all of the book shelves, yelling "BOOM!BOOM!BOOM!"
 My parents said the teacher didn't accept my creative genius.
When I was 11, I threw a firecracker into my neighbor's yard and blew out a window. They said my first album would pay for it.
 When I was in high school, I connected the fire alarm to the intercom, and set it off. My mom said my suspension was worth it if I went on tour. 
 In retrospect, I suppose this was all denial on their part. They couldn't control me. I was a loose cannon, especially when I listened to my loose cannon soundtrack. It was especially hard for them because of how I acted around loud noises. I would get into this zone, and I had this uncontrollable strength. As long as there was noise, I was unstoppable.
 But now I work in construction. My unique condition makes me very efficient. Although my ultimate plan with this job has more to do with the end product than the satisfaction construction gives me.
 As one of the chief builders, I supervise a lot of decisions. If at one point or another I were to make a mistake, the building's stability would be compromised. And if that were to happen, the building would collapse. That would make a pretty loud noise, wouldn't it?

Haiku Tuesday. Theme: Royalty

HAIKU 1

To each king, a queen.
United as a great force,
blood will flow through the streets.

Haiku 2

All of the King's horses

attacked their own kingdom

They lost, which sucked.

haiku 3

The Devine right of kings.

The process is very perplexing.

 Leaders aren't born.

Haiku 4

The great royal wedding:
it's romantic, exciting,
and so not boring.

Fuck you these are golden.

Will, of the city.

This is the story of how Chicago became a ghost town. 

All most people know is that the lake dried up unexpectedly, and that caused the town and its suburbs to lose 98% of its population. But most people don't know how or why this happened. To know this, one must know of one man: Will Crets.
 Will Crets was a nobody. He worked downtown as an accountant for the city, had his apartment in the west loop, and kept to himself. He had no true friends to speak of, and the rest of his family was in Arkansas. He was a stranger to all, so nobody expected him to destroy the third largest city in the United States.
  Everyday, Will's accounting division was given boxes full of invoices. Usually, these were from companies that sold appliances used for upkeep in the city. Things like gasoline and light bulbs, supplied by different companies. It was all very boring to most accountants. They would just file the invoices by company name without looking at the things being purchased by the city.
 Will was different. From his first day with the division, Will would flip through all of them, reading as much of the billings as he could. This is a process that would take hours for most, but as a speed reader, Will would get through them in a matter of minutes.
 When he first started, he read all of the invoices. That is until the last day of the quarter his first year. On that day, Will picked up an invoice from a company called "Grant Chemical, LLC."
 It appeared to be a standard invoice, until Will looked at the itinerary. The only thing listed was a milliliter of something called "XX-4c." Even this would appear normal, until Will noticed that the price listed for the mysterious liquid was $36,000.
 What Will was supposed to do was take the invoice to his manager, who would file a claim with the city. But Will did not do this.Will made a copy of the invoice for himself, and then filed it like he would a normal invoice.The next day, all of the invoices for that quarter were thrown away. Including the one from Grant Chemical,LLC.
 The next quarter, the same invoice came in on the same day, for the same liquid, for the same price. And it continued to come in each quarter. It was about the 3rd time that the same invoice came in that Will decided to take a trip to Grant Chemical. He wrote down the address and left early.
 Will went to the address, only to find a beat up apartment building in a sketchy part of Pilsen. At first, he thought he had written down the wrong address, then he looked at the list of occupants of the building.There was nobody else on the list besides on  for apartment number five, which read:

        GRANT CHEMICAL LLC

Curious, Will went up to the apartment and knocked on the door. Nobody answered for what felt like hours.Over the past months,  Will had grown morbidly curious with this company. He was willing to do anything to find out more, and the mysterious location only heightened his fascination. Will then did something he never thought he would've done, and broke open the door. 

PART II WEDNESDAY

Variety

I know it's sunday, but I didn't post yesterday. And nobody reads this, so fuck you.

Doing this blog everyday has been something I've really enjoyed. It's been difficult to interpret the thoughts in my head onto paper the way I want to, but that's something I feel I'll get better at, and it's probably the most important thing to improve on. 
 Other than that, I don't think creativity is an issue. At this point in my life, there aren't any things I can talk about that would change the world. All I really know is that video games are fun, and homework sucks. 
By the way, homework fucking sucks.
 That being said, my stories won't have morales or deeper meaning, I'm just writing the shit that comes to my head. That could change, but I don't think it will.
 If you're reading this right now, thank you. I like seeing the 15 page views. But seriously, the point of this blog is to improve my writing ability, so if you have any suggestions, I would really appreciate it. 
Some updates:
I'm eliminating "On this day" and "Mail bag" from the daily posts.
So it's now 
Sunday-short story
Monday-Haiku
Tuesday-Variety
Wednesday-short story
Thursday-6 word stories
Friday-Variety
Saturday-short story

I'm liking this thing. 

The business of killing business. Part 2

  

  So there I was, looking homeless outside of a starbucks. Bill had just walked in, which meant in 2 minutes and 43 seconds, he would walk out with a lidless coffee cup. The trip from the door to his car was my window. It was a narrow space, but I was confident.I look into the shop. Bill has his coffee in one hand, and his phone in the other. He looks as if he was losing the conversation he was having. I swear, I don't know how guys like this get to be top sales people.
 I stand up as he gets closer to the door. He comes out and starts to walk to his car. I start my begging routine.

"He buddy listen, I'm down on my luck and I need some change. Help a guy out?" I ask while sticking my hand in his face.

The second he looks at it, I take my other hand and drop the pill in his coffee in a discrete motion. Job completed. 
 But as he shakes his head no and pushes me aside, I feel an intense pain in my stomach. I keel over, unable to move. As I start to black out, I hear Bill say "I gotta go, this hobo is having a stroke."
 When my eyes opened, I was in a hospital. A Doctor was looking at my chart. 

 "Hello, sir." The Doctor says in a monotone voice. "We found no I.D on your body. Do you have a name?"

"I don't know." I reply instinctively.

"Well then we'll refer to you as John Doe for the time being. John, you're lucky to be alive. A Starbucks employee brought you in just in the nick of time.Are you're aware that you'r allergic to peanuts, Mr. Doe?"

"I sure as hell am now." I replied in a shocked tone. And I really was shocked, this was news to me. 
 "Well now you know. We found a sandwich wrapper in your pocket. It said cashews were used in the mustard." The Doctor replied.

I thought back to the 7/11 I walked into this morning. It was the only sandwich type left. 

"You're going to be fine." The doctor continued as he approached me."I just have to administer one shot. Stick out your arm."

In a haze, I did as I was told. He administered the clear liquid into my veins.
"I bet you get stuff like this all the time with this job, eh?" I asked, trying to make small talk.

 The Doctor disposed of the needle and looked at me."Not exactly, Paul. This is a unique business that we're in.Everyday brings something new."

I start to feel dizzy. I suddenly realized that it was a trap, and I got up to escape. But it was too late. I was dead as soon as I ate the sandwich.That was the problem with being in the business of killing business; you'll never know when you're the target. 

Pearl Harbor and Germany.

Where I get my stories
(thanks historynet.com)

1934- American Ambassador states that Japan is a major security threat in the Pacific

Oh man, this was a bummer to read.I mean, I feel for anybody who isn't allowed to say "I told you so." And of course, he can't for two reason. The first being patriotism and respect for the dead and all that jazz. The second being that since it took 7 years for an attack to occur, he probably backed off a bit. In fact, he probably backed off a lot the day before Pearl Harbor, since it was the 7 year anniversary of his speech. He was probably getting some flack from his buddies, so he was like "Alright, yeah. That was pretty crazy of me to think Japan was going to attack. I was stupid." Ugh, poor guy.




1938- Germany and France sign a "Treaty of Friendship."

AKA: The gayest lie in history. So Germany is going to call it's straight up lie to France "The Treaty of Friendship"? That's like calling the Healthcare act the "free hugs" plan. If this isn't proof that Hitler was at least a little gay, then I don't know what is. (Hint: not this http://i.imgur.com/7vukZ.jpg)

History is fun kids. Don't do drugs and/or kill your parents. 

Population growth

So I started this book today.I don't remember what it's called. I think "Urban Sprawl", but I left it at school. I'll tell you tomorrow. It's about the psychology of urban development, and all the things that happen inside of the mind of city dwellers. Here's the kicker: it was written in the 60's, and it has all of these predictions for the future of cities.

 Most of them are spot on. A lot of them are population estimations, and they're incredibly accurate when one considers the drop off that took place during the AIDS epidemic. The one that I remember is that the man estimate that the U.S population would be 345 million today. It's at 330 million currently. 

 Reading all of those, and seeing how accurate they were, I got pretty freaked out when he said it's possible for entire countries to be cities by the year 2100. Currently, 250 million Americans live around or in urban cities. If our population continues to increase, so will our dependency on cities.. City life is overall more energy efficient that that in rural areas. People will naturally be inclined to move to cities, especially as traditional farming is eliminated.

 Imagine- a world where you cannot travel anywhere and see open land. It would be horrendous. I mean, I'm a city guy. I always have been, and I always will be. But the idea that I can go somewhere and see nothing but nature kind of keeps me sane.

 For these reasons, I propose a plan. We kill 3 billion people at random. 2.7 billion from Eurasia, and 300 million in all of the Americas. We can do it like a lottery. It'll be fun. 

Kidding, but this book is definitely giving me a new appreciation for the country life.

 Other than that, I can't complain. There was something else I was going to talk about, but whatever. Hey, have a good one.

Haiku Tuesday. Theme: Suburban life.

What's up. I'm gonna do these until I have to leave. Enjoy. Comment about the ones you like and hate or the ones you're indifferent towards. 
Haiku 1.
You've got three point five kids,
A Romney bumper sticker, 
and a shitty desk job.

Haiku 2.
 Television broke.
I went out for a quick walk,
 and suddenly I was free.

haiku 3.
 Take the six lane highway,
 to get number five combo
 and quadruple bypass. 

Haiku 4.
Big fence, locked gate..
You feel safe in your village,
safe in your prison.

That's it. They'll get better the more I do them.

The business of killing business.

My name is Paul Flinch,and I'm in the business of killing business. 

 What does that mean? It means I kill people involved with big-time companies. Mostly lower level employees. A few deaths here and there can really slow up the process, and the press won't cover the death of some scientist or branch manager. Nobody cares if Joe Bland in development dies of a heart attack.

 This idea of killing the lemmings  was founded by John Rockefeller, back when he ran Standard oil. Except back then, he used gangsters to do his dirty work instead of trained hit-men. The more people that were killed, the more other companies began to catch on. Now, it's like a game.A company can't put bounties on more than 15 people per year, and nobody who makes over six figures gets whacked.

 Another rule, which is for the safety of my industry, is that the murders have to look like an accident.Or at the least be untraceable. If your coffee tastes funny, you might have a massive heart attack in 2 weeks. Did your cousin get hit by a bus? I might've been the bus driver. If the victim's life insurance company puts "act of god" on the claim, guys like me get a bonus. I've been in this business since I was 23, and I'll be ready to retire in about 6 months.
 My job today is to kill the top salesman on the east cost for AstraZeneca. Next month they release "Risexa" a pill that stops wet dreams. Pfizer, the company that holds my contract, wants him dead by then. Bill Pundloop is his name. Hotshot, all flash. 

 So here I am, 7-11 sandwich in one had, change cup in the other. Today I play the part of a homeless man outside of the Starbucks. I'm waiting for Bill's Ferrari to stop by as I've done for the past five days. Everyday it's the same, he pulls up, pays me no mind, walks in. 2 minutes and 43 seconds later, he walks out. Black coffee, no lid.That's where I get him, no lid. The plan is, I get up, bump into him, and knock my red pill into his drink. That pill dissolves, hardens his stomach, and gives him pancreatitis within 5 minutes. If that doesn't kill him, the car crash will. 
 Part II friday.