Wordpress

I will soon (read: several months) be moving this blog (and my old one) to a new site because, tbh imo blogger sucks. I am going to start using wordpress because a friend of mine (read: Ben) has assured me that it is possible to indent, a technique that seems utterly beyond the capabilities of the blogger folk.

I am very excited about this change, especially as it will allow me to combine my new posts here with the old posts from "stream of consciousness," but until that time I will still be constantly updating this blog. Obviously as D-Day nears I will remind the dear reader of this change and provide the new address, etc.

Iolon

Beginning in 7th grade and inspired by the works of J.R.R. Tolkien I began writing a history of my own mythical land. Accompanying that, of course, came my own alphabet and language and later a trilogy of movies (which I must stress are only very loosely related to the heart of my mythology). I have written over the years a whole host of... well, most cannot be called short stories. Most are in fact historical summaries of events as one would find in a history textbook. The others were written long enough ago that they could use another pass.

All of this is to say that in the coming weeks and months I am going to pull these papers out of my filing cabinet (yes, I have a filing cabinet) and re-write them. You will see the result of those rewrites here.

The name of the land, by the way, is Solit. If you are confused about the title of this post, Iolon is the mythical kingdom around which most of the action of the stories takes place. Think of it sort of like Rome, except with archers instead of legionnaires. Because archers are cool.

edit (9:27 PM) - I want to clear up one thing because the font is not very clear. The name is pronounced eye-oh-lawn. That first letter is an 'i'.

The Ascension of Man Part Five

And so we approach the end. AoM part Six contains the ending to this long and pointless tale. However, as three or four endings are to be found in part six, you yourself will have to choose the real one.

That evening Arden choked down half-cooked rabbit and shivered next to a dying fire. He regretted surrendering his jacket to the forest now and he regretted not bringing food. He wanted to ask himself whether he regretted coming here altogether. They had need him at work this week, and he could expect some long and sleepless nights in the weeks and months to come. Would this week off, if it were a week of hunger and cold, really prepare him for half a year of that? But he didn't ask this of himself. Because things would be better tomorrow. Today the forest had tested him. A smile crossed his lips when he realized he had passed the test. He found a large pile of leaves and raked them over his body and fell asleep.

The next day he started his hunt early. Ironically, the full nights sleep left him feeling more victorious than yesterday after his conquest. Now he was ready for a new challenge: boar. To kill a boar in the forest, that would be a real experience. He carved himself another, shorter spear and, holding one in each hand, set out again. He hopped to make his way gradually to the stream, just to hear its comforting murmur, but he wasn't positive of the direction. He looked at the sun for a moment and headed along what he thought was an eastern route.

This day the forest creatures fled before the mighty hunter. His feet grew weary before he finally saw a squirrel behind a tree route. He was not nimble enough to catch, though, and knew that he would have to wait on slower prey. Arden sprinted ahead every once in a while. In those moments, weapon in hand, he felt a bond with his ancient ancestors who made this way of life their own. Helios raced across the sky now, as he had in those days. But on this day his chariot blazed brighter, in order to illuminate the great conquerer below.

Arden approached a clearing...

Mirado Black Warrior

It is comforting to know that I am not the only one impressed or obsessed with these wonderful devices.

http://www.pencilrevolution.com/2006/05/review-of-papermate-mirado-black-warrior/

http://greggsendorsements.blogspot.com/2005/09/mirado-black-warrior.html

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PtKb0Pe6sLA

http://www.misterart.com/store/review.cfm?store=001&group_id=7070

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jU-r3eYVJ8&feature=related

Now I will return to writing my college essay about...

The Ascension of Man Part Four

Yay gratuitous violence!
Even better, badly written gratuitous violence!
Part Six, thank Zeus, will be the last part... that's not a promise

Arden spent the next several days walking. He did not walk quickly, but there was nevertheless a certain determination and inevitability in his step. With each step he took in his directionless quest he felt he was one step closer to breaking down the businessman within him, which had proved itself so frighteningly powerful that one afternoon. But he had had no more nightmares, and in fact remembered dreams had left him altogether. All he thought and saw and slept was the forest.

But man cannot live simply on thought and sight and sleep and Arden realized one morning that he had not eaten. He had not brought food with him. The naturalisticly inclined part of him had believed that he would forage and hunt for food and his sensible self had determined that he could live a week without food if it in fact came to that. But the latter was ill or dead or missing at the very least and Arden, as confident in this new self he had discovered as he was hungry, decided to see about food.

He pulled a knife out of his pocket, the only accoutrement he had allowed himself, and set about sharpening the tip of the stick that he'd been using as a walking staff. He discovered rather quickly that the process was slightly more difficult than Hollywood had led him to believe, but eventually he had produced a "spear." In fact, he rather thought that this staff of his was a good one. So the hunt begins.

There were no shortage of small forest animals in the Park and when Arden had merely been walking around, stomach full and spirits high, he was struck by the frequency of his sightings. But now that his mind had turned to business, as it were, there wasn't a rabbit or squirrel in sight. Now that he had a goal in mind, a firm, unalterable purpose, his patience worn thin. He cursed the breakneck speed of modern life that made him this way and tried to calm himself while staying alert.

This proved to be a significant challenge mentally and it exhausted him to a point where he almost didn't see the rabbit that scurried over to him. It was large and white and absolutely adorable and had grown to trust the wealthy businessmen and retirees that ate store-bought food and slept in big, expensive tents. The bunny was practically on top of Arden when he stabbed it.

Arden had struck with all his might, but he felt a great deal of resistance from the tough, lean muscles of the rabbit. Still, he'd pierced it deep enough to get it stuck on there and tear through whatever arteries and veins are vital to rabbits, so it was just a matter of how quickly it would die. The rabbit began its death shakes, and Arden almost lost control of the staff and the its back muscles spasmed repeatedly. He turned away his eyes. The torture was too much for him to watch, but he felt the warm life-blood of his victim splatter on him wave after wave until... stillness.

The easy part was over. Arden now turned to the slow and nauseating task of skinning the poor animal. First he took out his knife. Then he vomited. He turned towards the rabbit and begin cutting off the head. He continued cutting even as he had to turn back around and continue vomiting. The dried blood on his hands was cold and he suddenly realized how miserable he was. But what could he do except keep cutting?

The Ascension of Man Part Three

With the third installment of my 'short' story The Ascension of Man we begin to understand that I have given up all hope of thematic unity. Are we doomed (you as reader, I as writer) to continue on tangent after tangent without reaching any climax or conclusion? None can tell...

Arden sat against a tree. He fell asleep. Dark thoughts pierced the the boundaries of the forest, unchecked by the rangers on patrol. They struck at Arden and carried him down into nightmare.

He saw the forest at dusk. As often happens in dreams he believed he was seeing the forest in astonishing detail. Everything he observed was exactly as it had been before, but changed. The forest no longer felt open, he perceived the branches of the trees not as high, arching rooves that protected him and filtered in the light, but as intertwined claws that seemed to reach lower and lower and trap him against the leaves on the ground. These leaves were wet and sticky now, and the crunch-crunch of his feet made a noise like tearing skin. Indeed, every noise seemed menacing and foreign and yet through the darkness and the mists that had engulfed him he could see almost nothing. He was struck by fear in this dusk-wood, and he ran.

He felt the impact of the ground recoil up his weak, old legs with each leap and his heart pounded against the imprisoning cage of his chest. He ran but was stil cold and the howls of wolves, sudden and unsuspected, tore into his ears like cicles of ice. He fell, because the roots of the terrible trees willed it, and his face landed inches from a giant web. A spider turned to greet him and seem to charge, incited by the warmth of his flesh.

A sickening green glow surrounded Arden and pulled him back. He woke up flat on his stomach with his mouth shoved into a pile of moss. He rolled over and coughed up algae and blood and only slowly opened his eyes.

There was a cut across his check running to his lips and bleeding profusingly, but it was clean and not very deep. He tore a sleeve from his t-shirt and wrapped it around his head. He looked back at the tree that had summoned him to his torment and walked up to it to touch it.

Here, he thought, was not an evil wizard wishing to destroy him. The more Arden thought about his dream the more he convinced himself that the tree and forest were not the cause of it. In fact his own ignorance and fear had, in a last attempt to tie him to the modern world, to the false prophets of progress and society, tried to scare the forest out of him. But he would not be fooled by so mean* a trick. Even though it was, in actuality, getting on towards night, he saw for himself that the forest was the same as day. No mists entrapped him, no branches loomed down, and the leaves under his feet exploded with joy at each step.

No, this place would not kill him. That was the purpose of his job, and his government, and Starbucks. Perhaps he would no go back to that world that slowly drained his soul and killed his spirit. The forest invited him onward, and so for a while he walked.



*I use the word 'mean' here in its archaic sense of 'base'**


**I use the word 'base' here in its archaic sense.

The principal difficulty that bad novelists have is that at some point they begin to think that everyone they meet are as one-dimensional as their characters

(if I was Ben I'd have a cool link to some fancy article that exemplifies what I was talking about. But of course, if I was Ben I'd have said something that wasn't absolute bullshit to begin with...)

Update: wow Way to prove me 100% correct, Ben.

Tomorrow, Ben will give me $5

In Memorium

its been a year, and the year's been long
without those wond'rous, hallowed halls,
so here again I've writ the song
that gives a voice to those desperate calls

for justice, who's advent none can tell
and whence she'll come, no more.
But though we'd travel through all dammed hell,
we'll find what we're looking for.

On the anniversary of the Eastern fire (or the belated anniversary, i know i'm off by a couple of weeks, but I'm not superman) our hearts go out to the victims of that tragic, malicious arson. Below is a copy of a ballad I wrote in chemistry one day shortly after the event as a sort of poetic memorial. Originally it was going to be a song, but Gray (Grey? how do you spell your name?) has yet to show me the music he was supposed to write...

Without further introduction:

That Eastern Glow

Now listen well and listen good
To what I say I saw
A bright red flame across the sky
Then did the schoolhouse fall

And tears flowed free across the land
And did the poor souls weep
But I reckon one hard-hearted man
Some secrets did he keep

And what he’ll tell I right don’t know
But this at least I’ll say
He knows what caused That Eastern Glow
Upon that fateful day

‘Twas early as the students judged
The sky was dark and gray
A room was filled with chemicals
Had always been that way

Thus as the students walked about
Determined not to learn
They would’ve called a man a fool
If he had said she’ll burn

But as the students tried to sleep
As teachers droned before them
Into the air the lab did leap
And some say it soared o’er them.

Then mighty high the flames did fly
They spread like propaganda
The black-gray smoke near touched the sky
And the heat, it could’ve burned ya

And tears flowed free across the land
And did the poor souls weep
But I reckon one hard-hearted man
Some secrets did he keep

He was the man, who min’tes before
Had sat alone and weary
But as he walked out of that door
A smile shone so eerie

Two beakers sat and bubbled strange
But he paid them no mind
He walked along and out of range
And infamy did find

And what he'll tell I right don't know
But this at least I'll say:
He knows who caused That Eastern Glow
Upon that fateful day

The Ascension of Man Part Two

Here's part two of a story that is becoming increasingly bloated and pointless :) Hopefully i'll find someway to put some interesting things in the story. I've got a decent ending but the middle is killing me.

Arden walked around the forest for the rest of the day in every direction until he was quiet sure that he was thoroughly lost. The Stream was distant now, and its rippling waters could not be heard over the crunch of his feet on the leaf-laden ground. He would camp here tonight. He would experience sleep without stress or deadline for the first time in [number of months] and he was confident that after this uninterrupted sleep he would have no recollection at all of the meandering path he'd taken today.

On the morrow Arden jumped a little, because it was so bright (despite the canopy above him). But when his hands crushed red and orange leaves and when his back complained of the hard ground and the gnarled roots of trees that had been his bed, he relaxed. His memory of yesterday flooded back to him and he smiled because as he looked around nothing looked familiar, except that it all looked the same. He'd been successful in losing himself, in cutting himself off from any landmark or communication. Now he had six days to find himself again, but to find his true self, the self that did not wear a suit and tie every morning and did not answer to a horde of pathetic, sophisticated board members. Here in the forest, somewhere between the Stream and the Cave, an Arden dressed in woolen robes with a nest of robins for a crown dwelt happily and thoughtlessly for ever and for ever.

Arden laughed in spite of himself, that was a bit too silly, but as he gathered his things into his travel bag he winced a little at the thought that he was wearing mostly polyester and his shoes (the very best running shoes that money could buy) were mostly made of plastic in all likelihood. So, he set out again with less of a smile than yesterday and with a slower step, until he hit upon the solution. He removed his shoes and then his socks, reveling in that sudden feeling of freedom as the result of two-thousand years of stocking-technology fell from his toes. He then removed his jacket and felt the synthetic weight lift off of him.

In khaki pants and a t-shirt he darted off, to where he knew not and little cared. He simply wanted the wind to rush through his hair for the moment and to feel fast and agile as he hopped across the forest floor, dodging the roots and branches of the oak and pine. But Arden was not a young man and he grew tired quickly. He hadn't run like this since... since college perhaps? But maybe running was the sort of thing he'd pick back up quickly and by the end of the week he would be able to run the length of the forest. In any case he was out of breath and sweating now, and he realized that the sun had reached its zenith.

Old stuff

So, first, if anyone knows how to put spaces in blogger posts, that would be much appreciated. As you can see below, i've become desperate (tab doesn't work, hitting the space bar more than once does not work, que la mierda?). I haven't got a chance to write much, so, because i'm lazy, i'm going to dig up some stuff i wrote a while ago. Here's the first chapter of an interesting sci-fi piece called "The Last Battlefield."


_____Dropped


_____“Is he alive?”
_____“I think so.”
_____“It looks like he’s a new drop.”
_____“Can’t be, there are never drops this late.”
_____The man lying on the ground opened his eyes slowly, trying to figure out where the whispers were coming from. It was dark, very dark, but he could make out a few shadows standing over him. In the distance he heard strange noises that seemed oddly familiar. He tried to sit up, but he felt very stiff. One of the shadows lent him a hand.
_____“Thanks,” the man said.
_____“Do you know who you are?” one of the shadows asked.
_____The “shadow” was a tall man, probably about thirty years old. He was wearing a black suit that reminded the man of a swat uniform. He had some type of assault rifle strapped on his back and was carrying an odd looking hand gun in his left hand.
_____The man was about to say his name when he realized that he didn’t in fact know who he was. He shook his head dumbly.
_____“Ok, well… we’d better get you ready quick.”
_____“Hey,” came another voice, “Lets move.”
_____Two of the men ran off.
_____“Here take this, by the way, my name’s Mike,” said Mike as he handed the man an extra rifle.
_____“What’s going on?”
_____“Haha, all in good time. Hurry up.”
_____Mike had started to run and the man tried to follow him. After about five steps, though, he fell flat on his face. He got up and started to spit dirt out of his mouth.
_____“Just be glad it’s clean dirt,” Mike laughed. “Hurry up now, if you stand around too much longer you’ll get killed.”
_____And finally it dawned on the man what that noise was in the distance. Gunfire, constant, noisome gunfire. And that was why these men had rifles. Somehow he had been thrown into the middle of a battle. All of a sudden, as he was staring in the direction of the noises, he saw a bright red flash and heard a large explosion. He stood and trembled. Sweat dripped down his forehead.
_____“Don’t worry,” Mike reassured him, “that was one of ours. 1st has that hill covered so they can’t get their big guns up there. I guess they can still try though.”
_____Mike grabbed the man and dragged him into a nearby foxhole.
_____“Now, there’s something you’ve got to understand,” said Mike seriously. “You follow orders and you don’t hesitate. You’re lucky, you know that? We’re not going to be attacked over here. The main battle is over by that hill.”
_____“Who am I?” the man asked, still puzzled.
_____“That doesn’t matter, the point is, you’re here now, so you’d better get used to it.”
_____“I don’t think I’m a soldier.”
_____“What else is there to be?”
_____“I…I’m not sure. But this doesn’t feel right.”
_____“Drop sickness, you’ll get over it.”
_____As the man crouched down in the ditch, his mind raced. Thousands of thoughts came to him, but he couldn’t remember what they were. He remembered words like “society” and “civilization”, he vaguely thought of the words “job” and “career.” Yet these strange words were fading away from his mind, and he felt inside of himself that whatever these mysterious concepts were, they had no place here. But there was one thought that was still strong within him. He felt that he had been somewhere else before. That he had once been alive in a place where “literature” and “clocks” had existed. Then the word “television” popped into his head. He had no idea what it was, but for some reason the loss of it made him cry.
_____“I’ll be right back,” said Mike.
_____The man shivered alone in the dark. He was glad he wouldn’t have to fight tonight. He felt very emotionally unstable. He stood up to stretch, and at that moment, the war got a lot closer.
_____A bullet landed hard in the tree next to him, and a volley flew across his head as he ducked. Two huge explosions rocked the forest around him and a tree crashed down a few yards behind him. A mortar shell landed into what he realized was the fox hole next to his. Earth flew everywhere and he was knocked flat on his back. As he was getting up he noticed a severed arm across his chest.
_____A man jumped across his foxhole without noticing him, but before the man could move, a bullet knocked the other man into the ditch.
_____Finally the man struggled up with his rifle. He saw dozens of figures running around the edge of the forest towards him. He got the distinct impression that since these men were coming towards the way he was facing and were coming from the hill, they were the enemy. He opened fire.
_____The rifle shook violently in his hand as he tried to aim in the general direction of the enemy advance. The rifle seemed to be warming up fast, but the man noticed he was wearing gloves. Counter-fire came at him, but the man was low to the ground and it was dark. Now he could discern figures approaching and other figures falling.
_____“Hey, get out of there!” Mike yelled from somewhere behind him. A second later Mike was in the foxhole with him. “You’re the only foxhole left here, you’ve got to move back.”
_____Mike grabbed the man and pulled him out of the foxhole. The man stopped firing and let himself be led to the rear. Five other men had set up a position behind a fallen tree. Mike and the man jumped in with them.
_____“You got guts kid,” Mike said.
_____“Who are you calling a kid, Mike?” another man said, “This guy’s probably a decade older than you!”
_____“Well, maybe, but he’s a new drop.”
_____“A new drop held his hole? That’s impressive.”
_____The man was still and quiet. He couldn’t clearly remember what had happened. He didn’t remember consciously deciding to shoot back, it had just sort of been a reaction. What he did remember was that he hadn’t been scared at all since the first mortar shell had landed, but he was scared now.
_____“You said they weren’t going to attack here,” the man said.
_____“Well, I didn’t think they were. You just hang tight, kid.” Mike replied. Mike turned to one of the men and began to talk. The man didn’t pay any attention. He slumped low behind the tree and thought. Every once in a while one of the men he was with would fire a few rounds. That, combined with all of the constant explosions and the crackling of fires, reminded the man that he was still very much in a battle. Yet, within all this chaos, a great tiredness came upon him and he felt himself slowing drifting off to sleep.

********************************************************************************

_____“Rise and shine, kid,” Mike smiled, shaking the man into consciousness.
_____The man opened his eyes and closed them again. The sun was very bright. The man heard lots of noises of men walking back and forth and he heard shouting, but no gunfire. Last night’s battle was over. There was peace. And suddenly the man couldn’t help but smile.
_____Mike jabbed the butt of his rifle into the man’s stomach. The man opened his eyes wide open and began gasping for breath. Mike grabbed both the man’s hands and pulled him up.
_____“We’ve got an old saying here,” said Mike, “Last one to rise is the first one to fall.”
_____The man let himself be led through the woods, still gasping for breath. He noticed, to his surprise, the lack of fallen trees or scorched earth. He turned and looked at the spot from where he had risen, but he didn’t see that huge dead tree that Mike and those other men had used as cover.
_____“Where are we going?” asked the man.
_____“Back to HQ, to introduce you to our commander. It’s much farther back into the woods, out of range of artillery,” Mike explained.
_____“Like those mortars from last night?” the man offered.
_____“No,” Mike laughed, “actual artillery. Shells that can take out a whole unit. Trust me, if our line had have been under their artillery last night we wouldn’t of won that battle.”
_____“We won that?”
_____“You’re still alive, aren’t you?”
_____“I get the impression that I’m not expected to live long.”
_____“About two weeks on average.”
_____“How long have you been here?”
_____“Oh, it must have been five, six months now. But you see, not many people last exactly two weeks, that’s just the average. Most people don’t make it past their second battle, and quite a few die their first night, so that brings down the average.”
_____“I still don’t understand what’s going on, why are we fighting and how long has this been going on?”
_____“Well, I’m not the right person to ask. But I suppose you’ll find out soon enough. You’re special. You’re a late drop. Guys like you get to talk to the commander when you first arrive.”
_____Mike was staring at the man now, still leading him into the forest, but now staring at the man closely. It unnerved the man.
_____“But late drops usually help us somehow,” Mike continued. “The last late drop modified our pistols.”
_____The man saw Mike’s pistol, which he carried in his left hand. He remembered that he had seen it last night when he first woke up. It had seemed strange and unfamiliar to him. Of course, everything here was strange, but he had no memory of this weapon.
_____Mike kept talking, explaining things, but the man’s attention began to wonder.
_____“…and new drops usually have drop sickness longer….”
_____“What is drop sickness?”
_____“These feelings you have that something here isn’t quite right, or random words that don’t mean anything, or how you feel that you’ve been somewhere else before the drop.”
_____“But I have been somewhere else before, I know it!”
_____“How do you know?”
_____“I…”
_____“Because you feel it. The feeling will start to fade. Ah ha! We’ve arrived.”

Oda Al Biko

- ¿Dónde va El Biko?
- ¿Por qué, mi amigo,
Preguntas este? Sino,
El Biko es El Biko.

De las mares furiosas
Al silencio profundo,
No existen las fuerzas
Para parar en el mundo

La fuerza que existe
En el alma y la mente
De Biko, mi amigo Biko:
Gran Rey sino chico.

Con su traje barato
Y el pelo negro y loco
Si diciera, “¡te mato!”
¡No quedarías tampoco!

Pero del Biko el alma
Es no más que lo bueno,
Y la voz una paloma
Que me llega al sueño.

De un palmo de la vida

Escúchame nieto
Calla, sé calmo
Diré el cuento
De la vida de un palmo

Cuando era niño
Vino la guerra
Cuando era niño
Fui a la sierras

Ahora eres niño
Vivando en paz
Ahora eres niño
Tiritando no más

Me gustó el silencio
En el pasado
Me gustó el silencio
Como un soldado

Te gusta el ruido
Pero no lo tenies en su alma
Te gusta el ruido
Y te odia mi calma

Es verdad no ves tú lo que vi
No te gusta lo que me gustó a mí
Joven y anciano eres y soy
Vienes ahora y ahora mismo voy

Speedmatters.org

they have a wonderful little test to see how your internet connection stacks up to your state, the country, and the rest of the world. I beat out North Carolina and the United States, but then I looked at the bottom of the chart. Japan is unbeatable. In fact, Japan gets speeds more than ten times the fastest connection speeds in the united states (lowercase letters indicate levels of failure) and generally consumers pay ONE TWELFTH of the cost. I believe the same is true in some other countries (like Korea). Generally speaking, though, what these people tell you is that the state of broadband in the United States is miserable and it goes without saying (though just in case you're an idiot, they say it) that this does not bode well for our country in the future (how do you compete economically with people that have cheaper, harder, better, faster, stronger internet?).

What i really like about this interest group is that it's one of the few groups out there that no one could possibly have an objection to. Faster internet for Americans. Only Time Warner and Verizon are going to have problems with this idea.

What i don't like is that this issue will probably not get any attention because it isn't controversial at all and doesn't excite a large base (but maybe the environmentalists should get on board?).

So, i'm doing my part to spread the word by posting about them in a blog no one reads. Go me!

The Ascension of Man Part One

Arden was delighted to be in the Park again. Away from all of the business and bustle of his professional life, here was a place where he could relax, where he could experience the same nature that his ancestors had experienced when they landed on the pristine shores of the New World.

The Park was several hundred acres of virgin forests far out in the middle of nowhere and connected to the nearest highway by a ten mile dirt road. It was also an exclusive 'resort', catering to the nature-lovers that were thought to dwell deep within the soul of the millionaire. But unlike many enterprises of a similar nature, this was the real thing. There was not special catering, no watering down of nature to create something that was more to the liking of the comfortable and well-to-do. Several rangers patrolled the edges of the forest, mostly to keep out trespassers, but aside from these the only sign of permanent human occupation was the little shack that stood at the entrance of the Park where a ranger dutifully signed in the guests and drove their cars (Mercedes, BMW's, the occasional Rolls Royce) to the car park down the road built for that purpose (but far enough away so that it would not blot the view of the pristine woods).

Within her oaken gate the Park was wild. There were no trails hacked through the shrubbery and what paths there were were unmarked and constantly disappearing. The older customer knew that if he became utterly lost he could follow the stream which meandered through the heart of the Park, but a long walk awaited the the unfortunate soul who relied on this last resort, even if he came out of the forest on the right side. In the meanwhile, the creators of the Park had 'staffed' its twilight acres with a variety of animals and plants that one would find in a primeval forest, but with greater frequency. The intrepid and frequent visitor could expect to see wild boar, woodpeckers, foxes, poison oak and ivy, and the occasional fire ant colony. No one had yet seen the bears that were rumored to dwell in the heart of the Park.

Not yet, though Arden, who had pushed the tip of his walking stick into the soft soil of the park. This was Arden's special ceremony, the way he greeted the forest after a long hiatus. The last separation had been nearly four months and Arden breathed in the fresh forest air for a while to celebrate his return and savor a smell that he had forgotten and now remembered. His cell phone was tucked safely in the glove compartment of his car. He usually brought it, turned off, with him, in case of emergencies, but this time he was especially tired of the whole beeping world and wanted only the sounds of the birds (or other forest creatures) to wake him in the morning.

This time would be different. Sure, he hadn't really cheated in the past. He'd slept in a very small tent and cooked all his food over a fire built of brush and lit with flint. He'd drank from the stream (which the rangers assured him was cleaned with more modern methods at a point outside of the Park) and only used a compass or the moss on the trees to get around. But this time would be different. In the first place he would be here for a week instead of a weekend. It had taken a lot of work arranging it with the firm and a lot of re-scheduling and impossible promises, but he'd managed to get off from Saturday to the next Monday. And this week he would not be bringing his own hot dogs to roast or chocolate to snack on.

The New Economy

February 19th 2087 Letter to Miss Aceline Benoit from her brother Mr. Adal Oate of Albany, New York.

I write you again, dear sister, concerning our unfortunate brother Mallory. This past weekend I found him a guest in my home, and though I could not get out of him more than two words concerning his present financial condition (which I will not repeat here) I gathered from his demeanor and the state of his clothing that it must be very grave. Indeed, I fear that he may have fallen so far as to be on his last million dollars (obviously this is an exaggeration, or else I would be in tears, but I feel I need to shock you, for the situation is far from trivial).

His descent is, of course, tragic, but I need hardly say that the potential damage his present condition could do to our family's reputation is also troubling. What will be said in the more important social circles if he is no longer able even to afford his apartment in the City? My son will soon be applying to the more prestigious universities and at the very least I would like to delay our brother's ignominy until his acceptance is assured. I would urge you, dear sister, to write to him, or call him if you have to, as I believe you might have a power over him beyond me.

This whole wretched affair has put me in a thoroughly philosophical mood, as wretched affairs tend to do, and I cannot end this letter without sharing with you some of my musings. They are, I assure you, topical, for I really blame what has happened to our brother on the economic system in this country.

I need not remind you, I am sure, that it was five years ago that our brother for the first time had to pay taxes (so low had his income sunk, though sadly he was rich then in comparison to his present state). Surely this sudden offense is what ruined him. And I rightly state it as offensive; our family has not had to pay any taxes since the Federal Exemption Act of 2044. It is my firm belief that there is a supreme injustice in that law. It exempts all those from income and other taxes who have assets of at least 2,000,000% of the poverty level. But I feel strongly that some consideration should be given to family. When a family has been for a long time, as ours has, eligible for the exemption (and not just barely I might add) there ought to still be an exception for them if they happen to fall below it from time to time. As it currently stands, the law is entirely unforgiving. Our brother Mallory met some slight financial misfortune, but that was then compounded by the addition of a yearly tax on his income. How can he recover his wealth when the government is taking in 15% or 20% of his income yearly?

And yet, after some research on the part of one of my more intelligent and capable servants, I am pleased to report that this amendment is not inconceivable. There have, apparently, been recent movements in the legislature for just such a change to the law. There is obviously plenty of support among the Conservative Party, but many Republican lawmakers support the bill for family exceptions as well (perhaps some of them have the same problem as we? Or perhaps the Republicans are beginning to see the error of their ways... one can only hope). I believe that such an alteration would be the right and just culmination of a trend which I trace back to the turn of the millennium (I know, dear sister, how you hate my obsession with history, but I cannot resist one last little tangent!).

I believe it was in the first decade of this century that our modern class system began to develop. Several historians I have read trace the trend towards separate classes as far back as the 1980s (imagine, a century ago! Do you remember those quaint pictures we always laughed at in the museums? And their music! Ha, how dull and quiet it was then) and the growing income gap that began under Reagan. But I feel that since there was still a Democratic president in that century (you may remember reading about the Democratic party in school, they were the radical liberals that still had several House and Senate seats up until the 50s). We must start with 2000, this century. I believe by this time many wealthy families had found ways to evade taxes anyway (if it had not been for those trailblazers...) and this was encouraged by the downsizing of the IRS auditing section that dealt with that income group under the Bush Administration (one of the acts of that administration that allows me to forgive those centrists). The important first step was taken in 2011 when the estate tax was finally repealed (and yet lawmakers had to use the argument that it was double-taxation, rather than arguing the principle of taxing upper class citizens, in order to get the bill passed. Remember that at this time there was no test or tax for voting rights...), that was the first bit of tax relief for our class. The flat tax was then passed in 2025, and of course the Federal Exemption Act in 2044, and that brings us to today.

A wonderful progression, is it not? And is it not great to think that this may continue, so that our children may inherent a better life, and a better America?

Regards,
Adal Oate

A Day at School

Tired I am and Tired I'll be,
Tired until the moment I'm Free,
Free from a labor so tedious, Dull,
Dull as my mind from which I can't cull
More than a fraction of yesterday's store,
And yet on the morrow there will be still more,
More of the knowledge I can't quite digest
And more little failures, but I feel I Digress,
Digressions! Too little I've had as of late,
And this whole wretched system I'm beginning to Hate,
Hate it for wrecking my poor mortal mind,
Hate it more, for I'm beginning to find
That since I sink deeper the harder I try,
It's perfectly simple, I might as well die.