Letters, letters... wait, we're still doing this rite?

Heh, failed attempts at glory... I seem to remember starting one myself now that I think about it. Should've disabled PMs on that site... you and Megan would've taken a little longer to figure it out. =P But, yeah, you have to take the successes with the failures. Never give up and all that janks. One of the reasons I'm excited about the Notemaker: there's no chance in hell you're letting that story fall by the wayside.

It's funny, I challenged you to a little war in the "epic blog back and forth" and here I am unable to deliver on time. I do have something based on a song title... it's just not finished yet. I'll get her up sometime in the near future (thinking Thursday). Physics, though fun, makes one's private life nonexistant Sunday through Thursday. Oh, speaking of school, how did finals go?

Apologies for the short letter, but I think I ran out of stuff to talk about.
- John

Letters?!

Matt,

I remember how I meet people. I met my first good friend on a school bus in Kindergarten. It was funny, we each thought the other was a grade up, and while it might not mean much now, it probably would've precluded any real friendship then. I met another friend in the little league baseball park at a game both our little brothers were in. We were both ignoring said game and playing pokemon. I met you here. I'm honestly not sure when we started communicating outside of the board... I believe it had something to do with a private separate board you were setting up. That's the thing... you always have had some sort of big project you've been working on. I find the quality enviable, honestly. I've had tons of ideas, but always put them on hold for some reason or another. This blog, however (which I owe the idea of to you), is one of the big things that did stick. Sweet!

Ours is an interesting, but more and more common friendship. I remember studying the concept of the 'inner circle' (I forget the actual term) in sociology. One of the criteria was laid out to me as consistent physical presense, and I laughed then and I laugh now at that idea. It should be obvious why.

I suppose I haven't answered any of your questions, generic though they may be =). Classes are, well, classes. You know how those go. Although there is the problem of having a curve in a class of second and third year physics majors. You've already weeded out the people who need it, so why bother failing 10ish percent of us consistently? "Sprink" break has been relaxing, but busy, which is a good way to be in my opinion. I like making bread, and while it always turns out looking great, it tastes incredibly bland. I'm thinking about adding more sugar or salt or oil or maybe letting it ferment longer... dunno. Point behind saying this is because it's what I've spent a decent amount of time on this past week. Oh, and I took some photographs today... I need to buy me a camera.

It's funny, I figured a blog war would be more... warlike? Therefore, (should you choose to accept) I challenge you to the first round of some literary (sans literal) fencing. Tell me something, taking a song title and the title alone as inspiration.

I await your reply,
- John

Entomology

Greek is scurrying across the blackboard.
Some is familiar; a colony of pis are devouring a function.
There's a theta nesting in a cosine and
a pair of deltas are mating in the corner.

There are new species, though, foreign and loathsome.
A large one stakes out his territory inside a differential
daring anyone to disturb it, lest it sting or bite.

One student raises her hand, pointing at the thing.
"What is that?"
The professor grins,
takes his chalk and begins to dissect.

"It's not so different" he says, pulling it apart. "We call it a Ate-a.
Look here; here's an operand you know connected to a planck's constant.
They're both just over frequency and the speed of light
The parts are the same, just put together in a new way."

We're not assured, but we write it down in our field guides.
Next to the rho and its cousin omicron,
the del, which mimics the delta in shape only,
the common psi which Schrödinger taught a trick that changed the world,
the xi, its spawn and how to avoid them.

It's funny; so many people assume we took physics because
we have some sort of profound wonder or respect for these bugs
Really, though,
it's just that satisfying squish you get when you crush them in your hands.

Green

............................I'm not sure which version I like better...

Green.............................................................................Green... like love

Sapling rooted on the rocks..........................................Sapling rooted on the rocks
Why do you stretch towards the sun?..........................Why do you stretch towards the sun?
The rain will wash you away.........................................The rain will wash you away.

Find yourself some soil, sapling......................................Find yourself some soil, sapling
Before it is too late.........................................................Before it is too late
Find yourself the fallen trees to feed on.........................Find yourself the fallen trees to feed on.

Eat their envy, sapling....................................................Eat their envy, sapling.
They who thought they had the light.............................They who thought they had the light
Feed your passion with their failure...............................Feed your passion with their failure

Move now sapling, before it is too late!..........................If you don't move
If today the sun would kiss you......................................You must wrap your roots
you would wither and rot in her arms.............................into the rocks themselves

Why won't you leave, sapling?.......................................Do you think you can do that little sapling?

Love

A good friend just told me, "[Love is] when the thought of losing that person becomes unthinkable"

I think it wise to remember this.

Lonlieness

is when you have the time to hear yourself think

Thoughts

It's 2am, I have a final in five hours and I can't sleep. I'm not worried about the final, really, I just can't sleep. I had to get out of bed to get this pen and paper because I think it's better to write than just lie here. I know you're sitting there reading white on blue, but join me here for a minute. Later I will re-read these words, maybe change one here or there and then put it on my blog... but that's all the future.

It's dim in the room, but not exactly dark. The light over the sink mirror is on. My roomate has his lamp on too. I think he's studying physics. We hung surround sound recently; the boxes stick off the walls at funny angles. The covers are a bit warm tonight. My legs are sticky when I move them around.

I don't lie awake and think as much as I should... distract myself with mindless games or mindless text on the internet solely to kill time. Or I actually work on school stuffs until I'm exhausted and fall asleep. Work until you're exhausted so you can work the next day until you're exhausted again all towards some goal you don't recognize because you don't lie awake and think at night. Do I need a college degree to feel validated? I don't have much else to do really... I think the degree probably misses the point. Keep learning. I enjoy that enough. I wonder what I'll do with the remainder. The part of my life that doesn't divide evenly.

I'm writing this in red pen on a 2"x4" memo pad. The pad is a suggestion from an English teacher for ideas. The pen because I was late for class without a writing instrument. It cost me $5 at the general store. Red ink is correction: it is that of a teacher. I could teach, but I wouldn't be satisfied with one subject. I think I would enjoy teaching high school later in life. But until then? I don't know. Cooking and writing could be fun. Neither needs a degree.

I'm not lonely. This surprises me because so very many people are. I can name the people who will possibly read this on one hand. Matt, Will, Megan, Melody and an interesting person who I know only as Kitten. It was weird discovering I had a follower of this blog. I suppose I shouldn't rule out Shuri. Six fingered hand. Important hand. I'm not lonely. Society tells me I should be, my brain tells me I should be. Sweet twenty and never been kissed. My heart must be waiting or otherwise starved. I doubt the later. Why am I so content?

Kicking the covers aside and letting the wind wisk away the sweat from my legs feels refreshing. I wonder if I'll dream tonight; I'm amazed at the power of intent alone. I've remembered dreams for the past week simply by telling myself to.

I'm going to try to sleep again; almost half an hour has passed. Someday, tell me what you think of while you life awake at night.

A day in the life

Admittedly, the first time Samuel T. Fisher woke up to find himself sitting fully dressed on the foot of his own bed, it was a bit awkward. Sam was not a sleepwalker; the matter of fact was that there was an entirely different Samuel Fisher gazing at our drowsy friend.

“I'm taking over for the day.” this new Sam opened.

“Really? That's it? No 'Hi! How you doing? How's the missus? Oh, by the way I'm you.'? I was hoping I'd be a little more cordial to myself, ya know?”

“Yup, looks like you're a jerk.” The new Sam grinned, causing the other to breathe an internal sigh of relief. If he hadn't played along matters would have been grave. As it was, things had to be pretty serious to even attempt time travel. He trusted his own judgment, though, whatever it happened to be based on.

When Sam emerged from his morning shower he was greeted this time with, “Aren't you going to offer me some breakfast?”

It was this Sam's turn to grin. “So it actually does work that way.” He had been preparing to offer his visitor breakfast at that very moment. This new Sam knew exactly what was going to happen and when. “I guess that means we shouldn't have to worry about surprises.”

“Looks like it. Honestly, though, I just ate so I'm going to head off to work early.”

---

Sam smiled. He had a day off. Sure, he had to work an extra day later on, but he rather liked the idea of an 8-day week with a break in the middle. He couldn't leave the apartment for fear of being seen, but he could catch up on his reading, his grading, maybe even some cleaning. The apartment did need it, he decided. So after a lazy morning he broke out the vacuum. Halfway through vacuuming his living room, his heart stopped when he realized he could probably be heard upstairs. There was too much at risk to even chance that and he cursed under his breath while quickly shutting off the machine.

He knew he should have thought things through more fully before using the time device. He knew any scientist worth his mettle would have told him to destroy the plans and never look back from day one. But Sam really couldn't help it; once the idea was in his head he couldn't stop it. The time device had to be built to prove that it could work. Now that he had used it, he had to do absolutely everything possible to prevent any kind of paradox. It was likely that since time travel was even possible any paradoxes would be prevented by the universe. However, Sam thought it unwise to make any assumptions about the nature of the universe that might result in an end to existence if he was wrong. Besides, even if the universe was paradox correcting, it might just be that the quickest way to resolve any paradox created by Sam would be to kill him off. He rather liked living.

At lunch Sam graded. He smiled as he thought of what his students would say if he told them he could travel through time. He laughed to himself knowing half of them wouldn't even be surprised. He enjoyed playing the part of the mad scientist in class to make things interesting. Enough of them believed the facade that they probably wouldn't think twice if Sam told them he'd broken conventional theory. After finishing his meal and his work, Sam went back to bed. He'd need the sleep for tomorrow, or rather, today.

Around 5:30 the Sam who had gone to work that day came home and woke the sleeping Sam. Conversation is a bit awkward when you know that one party already knows everything that is going to be said, but silence is worse.

“How was work”

“Oh, you know, the usual. How was housekeeping? Did you finish the vacuuming?”

They laughed uncomfortably. No matter if they made fun of it, that had been a big mistake. Sam had to be more careful in the future.

“You know, according to some philosophers, we don't technically exist anymore.”

“Yeah, well, I've never had much respect for those particular theories. They seem to assume that one unique entity can not occupy more than one space.”

“It's good to finally hear that come out of somebody else's mouth. I've been saying that for years.”

After dinner, the Sam who had gone to work undressed and went straight to bed. It had been a few too many hours since he slept. The other put on a special shirt and jacket. He'd installed a video camera inside one of the buttons, just in case. He wouldn't need to use it, the other had told him exactly what to do. It was just good form, he decided, before fastening the last button.

By the time Sam was ready to go, his visitor was fast asleep. Or maybe he was the visitor now. It didn't really matter, he supposed. He took a deep breath and stepped into the bathroom closet. A flash of light and there was only one Sam again.

In the early hours of the following morning, Sam got a phone call. The school was going to be closed for a day or two while they fixed a gas leak.

“It's interesting.” the voice on the other side of the line said. “We have no clue when it started but it appears to be coming from your classroom. You wouldn't have done anything yesterday which could have ruptured a line?”

“Not a thing.” he replied. “I had class outside yesterday.”

“Sounds like you were lucky, then. If the leak started during the day, it could have taken hours to even realize it was happening. You know how many odd smells go though the science hallway. Well, enjoy your day off for what it's worth. Got some extra time to grade it looks like.”

“Thanks.” and he hung up.

Dreams

Mark Hopkins did not dream. His parents never had to answer a midnight scream, never had him crawl between their sheets for comfort. Until they had a second child, it never occurred to them that this was not normal. When he went off to school, Mark unconsciously envied the fantastic stories his friends would occasionally tell of their dreams in the early morning classes. He even tried to imagine up dreams of his own to tell them once or twice to feel ordinary. He gave it up when he realized that it simply wasn't the same as actually experiencing the things his friends obviously had.

In most other respects, he was not markedly unusual. He excelled in most subjects in school, but had no real interest in any of them. He did well enough to earn entrance into a state university, a public ivy as it was. His first year in college was University Studies, as required by the university. It wouldn't have mattered if it wasn't, though. Mark had not a clue as to what he to pursue with the remainder of his natural born life and was happy to put the decision off another year.

In the fourth week of college life, he was finally beginning to feel adjusted. Today he happened to be between Freshman Biology and Music Appreciation with another student with the same two-class line up. It wasn't unusual for this to happen with the large freshman classes, but Mark was amazed how much more open and casual people at college seemed to be. This was the first place he could recall where two strangers could strike up a friendly conversation and it was considered perfectly normal.

It was here, between these classes with Sophie, where he first noticed the flier.

Mortimer

To call it a mansion would have, perhaps, been too much. It was certainly a large house with marks of dignity, but of a tired sort. The stretching wooden walls had paled. The immaculate ceilings, while still impressive, held no great charm anymore. It is the kind of house that had given all it had to generations of occupants. In this fashion, the only current resident resembled the house. He too glowed of a lost glory. He lived what some would call a quiet life within its walls; primarily occupying himself with reading and writing. What he read seemed to be a bit of everything. What he wrote was signed in a name that was not his own. Occasionally, he would take leave of his domicile but when he did it would be for a matter of weeks. Very rarely would he have a caller, but when he did they only stayed a matter of hours. The guest rooms had been bare for years.

This particular morning, however, there was an uninvited visitor inside the house. The current occupant was preparing his breakfast at the time. The intruder was slow, almost hesitant in his movements towards the kitchen. He didn't make a sound as he gripped cold metal in his hands in anticipation. The resident, on the other hand, was happily chattering away to himself.

“That fire's certainly burning cheerfully now, isn't it? Now where'd I put that fryer? I could have sworn that I hung it... Oh of course! How muddle-headed of me. Now let's see... two, no four eggs should do it. I should still have enough in the cellar. I shall have to see about procuring some more of those soon, though. Now, I wonder where I could...”

The voice tapered off as the man exited the kitchen in search of his eggs. The intruder began to quicken. Rounding two corners, he found himself in the kitchen. The man had not closed the cellar door. He stealthily entered the dark basement and nestled himself into a corner at the top of the stairs. He drew his firearm and took the safety off. Even if the old man heard the click, he'd just think it was the crack of the fire. All he had to do now was wait.
Suddenly, the door closed and latched behind him.

“Really, boy? Who keeps eggs in a cellar?” came a voice from the other side.

Silence.

“I apologize," said the owner when he realized he wasn't going to get a reply. "I suppose I am really being quite rude. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Mortimer Wilkins, owner of this house. I would ask your name, but I doubt that you would give me a truthful response, given your current situation. However, if you'd like to come out of there and join me in a civilized meal, I'd be happy to oblige. It has been quite a long time since I've had good company, and eggs are really only good when they're fresh.”

Still no response, save some rustling about.

“Oh, I assure you that you're quite trapped down there, I'm afraid. Place is designed to keep cool in the summer, you see. Built right into the earth so there's no direct contact with sunlight or outside air. Right comfortable in the summer... 'fraid it's a bit chilly in the spring, though. Could catch a nasty cold in there on a day like this. Are you sure you won't join me for breakfast?”

There was a silence; then, “Sir, I believe you are confused... or perhaps mad. That you would consider sharing a meal with-”

“Nonsense!” he cut him off. “I see no good reason why two gentlemen such as ourselves couldn't do just that.”

Bewildered by this turn of events, and presented with the reality of his situation, the intruder gave in. “Very well. I would join you for breakfast in return for being released from this prison you've made for me.”

“Splendid! Although I must make sure that my safety is assured upon opening this door. If you would be so kind as to toss your firearm to the bottom of the stairs I will gladly let you out. I won't have you shooting me today.”

“Of course” he replied, quickly undoing his belt and tossing to the bottom of the stairs; the buckle making a satisfying thunk when it hit bottom. “I am unarmed, feel safe to open the door.” When the door opened he immediately fired twice into the opening. When he paused to make out details through the smoke he was met with a sharp blow to the forehead and a quick removal of his gun from his person.

“I told you I wouldn't have you shooting me today. Did you not believe me?”

Silence again. The morning light coming through the kitchen windows revealed the would be assassin for what he was. Young, that was to be certain. Probably twenty five or twenty six. Scruffy too, although by his clothes he tried to appear refined. Unfortunately, they fit all wrong and he was without even a belt. As it was, the best way to describe his appearance was 'out of place'. His body language now mirrored this. He didn't know whether to hang his head or stand in defiance. As it was, he was displaying an uncomfortable mix of the two. It did not suit him.

Mortimer suddenly smiled. “Anyways, our breakfast is getting cold. I hope you won't think me a horrible host but I made your eggs over easy. I know some people prefer them cooked otherwise, but I can't think of a better way to have a breakfast. Please, sit.” he gestured to the empty place at the table as he took his own seat.

The stranger looked at the table, then made a glance at the door.

“I hope you wouldn't think of running out on a warm meal.” Mortimer said, putting his hand on the gun he had taken. “That would be quite ungentlemanly of you.”

The stranger seated himself at the table.

“Now that's more like it!” Mortimer smiled again. “So tell me, what brings you to my humble abode? Oh, and please eat. You look awfully scrawny."