Relativity

i can't consenrate.
:(

Chapter one, final

An hour later the two caretakers appeared at the church soaked and shivering. Paul had never experienced such a dichotomy of blistering sweatiness and chill. his fingers were numb and his testicles boiled in heat ridden underwear. where the rain hadn't seeped into his clothes sweat stained the rest. He threw the short shovel to the church floor, splattering mud as he cleared his boots. A call came across the mud spectled oak. it was muffled but distance and age. it was the over-joyes voice of Father Sabismo, "Paul!" it was from the church basement echoing loud up the stairs by the rectory, "a change of clothes on first row before you come join us!"

Paul gladly accepted. a short time later, he found himself down to the church cellers. He was sporting an old tweed sweater and an ancient pair of jeans. though the father was about a head taller then Paul and his waist doubled with beerful living, the father had dug through his ancient store to find jeans from less fruitful times. The jeans only sagged slightly, comfortibly. He turned the last corner of the winding stairs and saw three men around a short table. Granite stone held back the fall of the building above. the stones along the eathen side were stained with the ceaseless drip of water. not from the night's rain, but the ocean-bound conditions of Holy Isle. the basement was dry only literally. Great caskets adorned the room. Wines and whiskeys across the right wall, beers and ales at the far end. Spirited voices greeted him hardily. A strange man sat, red faced between Sabismo and Mr Reming. He wore the grin of a man not used to smiling. A pair of bottles passed the table, each stopping for a moment before the stranger. who dipped them to his cup with a merry grace Paul had not seen since New Year's eve. His thin blond hair and bright red complexion was stark contrast to father Sabismo's mahogony skin and thick, black mane. it shook with laughter as the father slapped the stranger's back. prehaps to dislodge the drink he was choking on. Paul doubted Sabismo's emphatic slapping was much help.
"Ah told ja no'tta mix wine an' whiskey!" Cried the father. then to Paul, " HO-HO! join us, sir!" He spat the greeting sah. Mr Reming cracked a smile and tilted his scare-crow head to the vacant chair. oh that smile, Paul shivered in his warm sweater, "no...no I, uh, gotta..."
"'fraid, no." interjected the smally dressed man. he slurred out, recovering from his fit of coughing, "the rein, iz to much, junger." He might've spoken in oxford english not but a few hours ago, but hints of the rhine swelled in his nasally slurs.
"What Mr. Nueman is tried to say, is that the weather simply wont allow." Explained Mr. Reming.
"Adelberto!" Nueman threw an arm across the table, "Charmed!"
"Paul." He took a seat, knowing he wasn't going anywhere and he was far too tired to protest. Paul was immedeately afered three briming pints of amber tokay. he downed two right away and sipped the third. A round a laughter set the company at ease. Paul had never drank with Mr. Reming before. But he soon discovered what a delight the scarecrow of a man could be. Adelberto took a nap on the table as the tokay flowed more freely. At glasss six, or was it seven, "AH! tis a fine brew!" Sabismo suddenly anounced. "To Munchausen!" he cried, lifting his glass.
"aye, to Munchausen." Mr Reming, Charles as he was more accostom, agreed. the too aged men tipped their steins.
when the toast finished, Paul was about to ask a question that would be forgot when Sabismo anounced that if not for the late baron, he'd never have come across this fadulous drink. "But tis a story for anodder time, prehaps! Paul!" Sabismo turned, almost savagely to the young drunk, "ya ever meet the baron? 'eard o' him at least, eh?"
Paul shook his head. Sabismo looked agast. his eyes doubled in size, popping out of his brown face like great white dinner plates. a cold look came over the merry drunk. He shook his head. his great black mane twisted sadly. Paul was about to offer some poorly thought condoleances for his ignorance when Charles spoke, "We knew him well, we did." he jabbed the slumbering German, Adelberto, with a long, bony finger. "so did this fop." He poured a thimble glass of the whiskey as the wine had ran dry, "aye! ain't that right, father? Regale us! tell the young'en 'bout the time youse had the Czar's herem an' how the baron tricked him in to paying you for it."
"no, no" the suddenly marose Sabismo chidded, "no the boy wouldn't appeariate such a tale of lust and wonder." silence. "but..." Sabismo's brightness rushed back, "you might appeareicate the tale of how you and the baron saved the barony's reputation by traveling to the future."
"w-w-wait," Paul was a self-accompleshed bluffer. he had, on more then one occation won this months rent from travern poker. he prided himself on being a great lier. and as they say, it takes one to know one. "what? you can't 'spect me ta belief that you went to da future!" he protested.
Charles turned to Sabismo, "aye, but he is too unnoble to grasp the possiblities of the possible."
"EE KNEW DAT FLUGGERT, VONMUNCHAUSEN!" Adelberto had arisen. Rested, he drew him self a tall glass of whiskey, drained it and refilled his glass. "that blowhard stole celestrial love zat shulda bein mein...


GASP!
end-o chapter one.
remember, these are the unrevisioned copies here, now.
the debut. if you will.
Next chapter, Adelberto Nueman's tale of the Lady Farfaraway
(sorry Fro, Martin Crabsith with appear in Charles Reming's story.)
update tomarrow tho not Munchausenly, that'll be next week...y

-marcus

today...

good evening world,
I haven't writen anything in the last couple of days (at least not posted, at anyrate) and i wanted to nod to that effect. at least a narcissic blahthering of my problems, i hoped would help. I'm a little beaten down - i feel bemused and upset. i'm not deriding my self or listening to licin park with the lights off or anything like that. no. it seems hard to be rejected after so much. I took a test, yes a test, like the GREs or SATs for a postion cooking at an establishment* (who shall remain nameless). i failed. I failed an employee standerized test. I know i passed the math and reading comprehension part. (yes, this particular restaurant chain has a math section and a reading comprehension section for their employees. which broke down thusly: section 1, part 1: retail math, like costumer orders a+b+c at 6% tax ect. Section 1, part 2: word problem (just one) just like retail math but with context. Section 1, part 3: definitions self explanitory. Section 1, part 4: fluctuate is to complicate as ect. section 1, part 5: readind comprehension, and this one is too true they had a fictional mission statement and then asked comprehension questions about it.) all of which was done in 4 point multiple choice. then, THEN i had two more sections to fillout; both of which were poorly disguised phych evaulations (i can't recall right now the specific personality profile system this restaurant, RESTAURANT, used). having studied for the GREs resently i know i lost no points to section one. My theroy is that the ACT reject owner of this chain is using Enneagrams to hire only people that can be abused, blamed and generally mistreated. i assume, i wish to make it abundently clear:

i don't know what personas are screened out

i don't think i would be so incised if i'd not heard this practice common place else were in the working world.
...
I dunno, maybe i'm too damn honest. when i think something, i just fucking do (or say it). but i know it's not the manager's fault, but how can i air my grievences so bitter with someone who passed that stupid fucking quasi-legal fuck-over system? he's just a rat. a labertory rat proven to be malible; spinning in that fucking wheel. I don't think i'm as unhirable as i am rebeleous. I like Rand (Ann) and all but FucK capitalism promote the worst in people - in society. shit like soft sceince to weed away those pawns who'd rather ask why when told to bend over then ask how long.

fuck it. it's their loss. If mediocrity is what they seek, then cursed to mediocrity they shall be.

tomarrow: updates!

*Romano's Macaroni Grill
**4502 University Avenue
West Des Moines, IA 50266-1025
(515) 267-8400
***I do not support vigilantism as a means of karmic balance.

read below this following sentence.

i believe i'm down to seven (7) posts behind.

a day in the timeline of Marcus

/I find myself wondering through the mist of life. like a child into the fray i rush to play.
/To often do i look at my fellow rough housers and perceive the problems in my life as problems in thiers. i wish i could say it wrong to believe this is truth worldwide. I've not traveled far from my mother...land. but now i watch my Brothers and Sisters and, yes (because of my age), the Childern of Sam prance with eager vigor. and conspire with vehement wickedness.
/Prehaps it dates me to say: no Child of Sam seem to save. today, we spend. spend. spend. gone are the expansive stashies that i recall from my Brothers of my youth. take it, use it now. what happens next? no worries, you'll get more.
/we jump about with the attention span of the play ground. running arms flailing with ---- (no) care from game to unfocused game. Scandle to travisty to ever escalating scandle. "walt whitman", as a very wise goat one said, "was not limited to a hundred and 140 characters!"
/...I recall with a jovial memory, the child (quite problibly of Sam). a sun-browned boy with skin a smooth as Skippy(tm) proclaim during a game of tag: "how 'bout if there's no base" (or maybe he said 'safe'). it's a thought that stuck with me. I never saw him again, that Son of Sam, child of my Brother. but the perplexity on his playmates faces said: 'what (as all immigrant childern ask) why would you want to play with not a safe place to run - to retreat to?

Revision: the Fantastic Adventures of Munchausen

    A chill breeze harkens twelve strikes of the midnight bell. They came slowly, cold and bitter. Each strike a mourning wail. "A graveyard by the sea" was his request. A few hundred clicks south of edenbrough sat the Church of Sabismo. The church, in grand colonial style, sat boldly on a short peninsula ringing its chimes to the endless sea. Quaint wooden stairs twisted down the rocky knoll to guide visitors safely to the church doors. The wreaths of white lilies, that looked so peaceful in the morning, now, in the desolate gloom of the eve, haunted the stairs like drooping ghosts. the sky was black as pitch. Not even the crystalline grace of the moon could shine with such sorrow in her heart. At the tenth strike of the hour, the clouds unleashed a pouring rain across the English countryside with a thunderous sob. Twice more the church bell rang out before the rain. It started slow drawing slowly in to a deluge. Father Sabismo, from the doorway of his old church, watched the undertakers' work. It was slow and angonizing to watch. A falsh of lightening lit the miseriable task. In the roll of thunder, the ancient priest blessed his age. Just a few years ago he might've had the spirit to comdend the son of a dear friend by his own sweat. But these days… A another roar of thunder lit the grave yard. The Baron, Elie ___ Von Munchausen. He imaged the writing on the grave, still open. Sabismo shook his great, heavy head and turned to the only attendant of Elie's, a sharply dressed man.

    Paul wiped his brow with the back of a grimy hand. Sweat or rain. He couldn't tell. Mr. Reming was yelling something that could not be heard over the din of the growing storm. Most likely the old fart was calling him a pussy and barking an order. Paul dropped another shove full of mud with a plop over the find oak coffin. Mr. Reming was dark and cracked from years under the working sun. Tall and jagged as scarecrow he leaned against the tomb stone looking as a death itself wit a smoldering cigar clamped in his yellow teeth. "Why can't you shove s'um dirty 'round?" Paul asked.

    "When I was yer age, I never demanded work from folks my age." Inder his broad brimmed hat the cigar glowed. The old fuck smiled. Broad, yellowed grin showed off his missing tooth. Paul hated Mr. Reming's smile. It was the smile of a man counting bodies. In thruth, Mr. Reming only counted them as one would count the years of life. He was 2,029, by his count though most would recin' him to be --. Too, bad. He loved to smile. An hour of labor silent through the wind and howl of rain.

    

the word of the day: expurgate

not to be confused with extricate or extra-gate, Expurgate means to shorten or abridge by omittion of parts considered indelicate. or (my favorite synonym: Bowdlerise)

Daily

It was brought to my attention t'other day that prehaps i wasn't posting on my blog 'oft enough. THANK YOU, Ruby! for the insperational encouragement (hows the choir going?)

Anyhoo, I guess i'm well under my mark for promised posts. thats for sure. By my count i'm only 8 behind schedule after this post.

i suppose i should practice my fictional writings. But their sooooo bleedin' hard. that i thought i'd post my feelings, questions and concerns (san the "s")

Feeling:
afraid and unsure.
my fortune cookie said:

"you find beuaty in ordenary things. do not lose this ablity in bed."

makes me ever so much more ponderant.
also i'm very distracti-

Question:
Have you ever done something that you thought:

"this is a bad idea"

and asked what does it have to do with where i am now in life?
Could it really be called bad?

Concern:
I fear I have an affinity to erasure. everything i do is seemingly plagued by incompleteness and hasty editing. however, i feel that it is also a strength. I can remain conceptually attached to writings and expression during and post revision despite drastic changes both with the style and word (or other hard-to-name devises). hmm. I guess i'll simply need to erase my eraser.

tomarrow: MUNCHAUSEN (a revisial)

-marcus

A reintroduction

Hello world
i've tekken a much, much, much needed hiatus and ride myself of self deriding thoughts. futhermore, i am ready, now like never before, to show the world my bad self.
So between future, posts (growing to daily(cross figers)) and renewed (started) job searching we'll see how well i can maintain my networking... (i's roll) of caurse, my ever-complacient computorial friend has quit networking. basicly, the sharing and networking utility refuses to load. replaced drivers be damned. the crazy thing is the Repair fuction from the hard-drive and the repair function from the system disks also refuse to function. Further any (and all tried) security prgms freeze when they encounter the malware.
so, while every thing else works, fuck the wireless (rather, it sez: 'fuck you'). i'm planing to go hardwire. so i await an enthernet cable, until then, thanks to Ruby for her magnificent lending of her computer.

Thanks to all, and exquisite new years!
-marcus