IT"S MY FAULT!

Yeah, totally. I haven't posted for what, almost two weeks? Am I evil, or what? CSAM is practically comatose!

But, really...I'm not having fun with schoolwork now, and I'm not sure how things are going besides that...I guess I'll merely say that I could definitely use prayer right now...

I hope to totally revive this weblog sometime when I've got better control of my life. Either that, or once school's over for a tad. Then again, that just means I'll get lazier and faillll.

Well. I hope to write soon!


!Noah!

8. UNNAMED

The author, at this point, considered taking the path of ease and leisure, and merely post chapter 8, The Author Uses up Space Again. However, the author found himself indisposed toward the change he would experience in transferring from the lands of hardship and difficulty to the lands of ease and leisure. For this reason, this chapter will actually have content of some sort, hopefully more of the sort that might be experienced in a revisit to chapters two through five, say. However, as the author is merely writing this off as he thinks of it, one can't be sure what will come out. In all likelihood, he will continue rambling aimlessly as he now is. For shame.

One of Jack's greatest reasons not to enter the girl's life in any way (fool that he was, not to enter in a less involved way) was that he feared that he would as avidly and as deeply fall in love with another girl the minute he set eyes on her. The author can divulge, at this point, he thinks, that this is precisely what will happen. However, the author is more the confident that he is less accurate than medicine in the tenth century. For this reason, one can almost reasonably assume that this book will end happily with Jack and the girl side-hugging conveniently in front of an exaggeratedly bright and beautiful sunset. Needless to say, life just isn't that way, sometimes.

The author also must mention, at this time, that this book, or, rather, story, is one work-in-progress that the author intends to take a long time. This story is unraveling as slowly and surely as anyone's life, and so one can't really expect it to end any time soon, either as a story, or as a composition. That said, the author might go ahead and do the best he can to continue to confuse you about events past and present.

As the author was saying, one of Jack's greatest reasons not to enter the girl's life, specifically in any way romantically oriented, was that he was reasonably sure she would soon be only one of many. His sureness that he'd found "true love," whatever that means, was little, to say the least. His emotion was great, doubtless, but he was wary of emotion, in general.


The author must, at this point, call this chapter totally incomplete, and digress for a while. If you EVER want to see more of Ketchup, I'd BETTER FIND OUT.

*eg*


!Noah!

Emma

(sorry, AGAIN, that I haven't posted for, what, six days? Anyway, this is my writing assignment for last week. I think I might step up the writing assignment postage in future...at least until summer break. Then I'll, like, write, write, write. And you'll have to make me. Also, a note: I think I might do a series of these things as sort of prelude/background/whatevers for Ketchup. This one got me a rather great score--er, grade...in Writing...)

Emma wasn't your average girl. This is mainly owing to the fact that no such thing exists, but also to the fact that she was above average, in several ways. First, she enjoyed history rather a lot. One couldn't easily find the reason for it, if they asked her, but it was because she enjoyed to see how things happened. Essentially, she enjoyed seeing how or why the good guys won when they did, and why the bad guys won or lost when they did.

The day I met her, she was dressed rather simply, a reasonably long skirt and a green T-shirt. Her hair, which would be about waist-length, were she to wear it that way, ever, was in a rather messy bun, the majority of which was sticking out a good few inches.

Emma's hair was a decidedly potent juxtaposition to her sense of organization and order in her life. One would be astounded how frequently she would find something within half a minute of needing it, tops. However, she was of the firm opinion to the exact opposite extreme. She recognized, of course, that her physical belongings were, on the large part, in a stiflingly reasoned order, but she never got over how ransacked her mind would look, should it ever be visualized. She would be relieved, several decades later, to be sure that it had never happened, to her knowledge, and, thereby, rested in as much peace as could be expected.

Before she did, though, she lived a rather complicated and confusing life, the intricacies of which I shall

not go into in more detailed form.

She did not enjoy math, and the more advanced forms of it, on the whole. Occasionally, Algebra would throw her a set of problems she actually enjoyed figuring out, but, usually, no such problems were to be found.

Emma greatly enjoyed using the English language in ways never before imagined, and probably never to be imagined after. She frequently responded to questions with nonsense words, made-up acronyms, or answers that made no sense in the context, like "Except on weekends," and, "not without cream."

As pertains to cream, in fact, Emma enjoyed coffee a lot, but seldom let up on the cream, and much less so on the sugar.

Emma was somewhere between fifteen and seventeen years of age, had trouble understanding the most elementary aspects of modern sports, and, in general, was told more than frequently that imagining her in shorts or jeans had become patently difficult. That always made her laugh.

(a couple of grammatical/spelling errors were fixed. Aside from that, this thing's fresh from the pen--er, keyboard.)

!Noah!

I Never Thought I'd Do This

No. I don't believe I just did that, either. I opened up the GIMP and started making shapes. And then shading stuff. Took me a disgustingly small amount of time. Well. No. Probably an hour or so.
It's a WIP. Called Sunset Sea, for now. I think I'm going to put a park bench somewhere. Enjoy!

(I'm evil and scaled this image down to less than half its original size. I'm greedy like that.)


!Noah!

My Life Is Changed

Really. It is. For years and years, and decades and decades, and centuries and centuries, I've been following this link: xckd.com. Today, I realized that the xckd that I thought I knew...was xkcd. To tell the truth, I'm mauled for life. There is no rhyme nor reason to this arrangement. Nothing. It makes no sense.

I will never live the same again. xckd still comes faster from my fingers than xkcd. It's so meant to be that way.

(I can't imagine why they'd both link to the same site, though...try it! xkcd.com)

!Noah!

Spazz.

Let me begin by being entirely boring. I'm SORRY for not posting for another miserably long period of time. Sooo sorry. Man, do I sound sorry, or what? Yeah, probably what.

Well. I'm kinda joyous. And a little scared. Naaah, I'm kinda scared if I'm kinda joyous. Yikes, I'm weird. Sort of. Anyway. I'm not sure I'll get to being spazzy, for fear of truncating this post for eternity...but yeah. Something pretty flippin' awesome has happened, and I'm just rather happy. So. Yeah.

And, no, if you already know what I'm talking about, don't tell anyone. It can just be our little secret. (cheesy humor aside, I'm serious.)

I look forward to...stuff. Anyway. I could use a lot of prayer right now, despite being ridiculously happy. There's other stuff going on which I really do need help with, whether or not it's obvious. There's stuff that is obvious, that needs to be prayed about too...oh! And you could pray that I'd get more into the habit of praying nightly. O, irony, wherefore art thou here?

C'mon! You know it's true! Not sure what I'm talking about, but you know!


!Noah!

Tintin

(a writing assignment. I've, again, not posted for more than ten days. I hope my apologies don't sound a little fake. I really wish I could post at least every other day. My fault I can't.)


For the casual reader of Tintin, Tintin's origins are vague. The series starts with him looking in his late teens, and ends, 23 adventures later, much the same. It's hard to decide how old he is at any one point in the series. It's just fairly clear that he's not old enough to be a professional policeman, and, yet, he accomplishes much of a policeman's duties with much more ease, and, in a few cases, much more comedy.

The first three books are, by far, the most funny. The author, Georges Prosper Remi, more frequently referred to simply as Hergé, incorporates humor, especially in the first, TIntin in the Land of the Soviets, that is not at all unlike that which was so frequently put into Merry Melodies and Looney Tunes cartoons. Tintin somehow manages to quickly reconstruct a hand-run railway trolly, with some miraculously in-shape parts from an also conveniently located junk yard, into a working car. 

The tone of Tintin's adventures seldom revisits this perhaps slightly joyous view of things, but Herge's humor, in following adventures, does not wane in the least. While the first and second's scripts might have been written by a ten-year-old, the following nearly two dozen are fantastic in their own way.

Snowy, Tintin's faithful wire fox terrier, often inserts his opinion into the well-organized cloud of speech bubbles, seldom affecting things that way. Later on, he shows some distaste the adventures Tintin so frequently finds himself in. Snowy's faithfulness is marred only by his fantastic delight in both alcohol and bones, in several instances leading him to put either himself or his master in danger.

The fun really starts on the ninth adventure, when Tintin first meets Captain Haddock, an old sea dog who's drunk likely twice as often as not. He is first found, in the series, as captain of a ship whose cargo largely consists of opium, and this, without his knowledge. As the story goes on, the captain's friendship to Tintin grows, while his love for alcohol either grows, or stays the same. In the end, he is permanently prevented from drinking ever again, something which caused the Captain to form a great dislike toward Professor Calculus, whose ears function more like that Broken Telephone people always try to use, for some reason.

Herge's Tintin is also famous for another reason. Herge is sometimes credited for having created a style of comic artistry, in which the entire frame is filled with detail, no matter how far in the distance the frame goes. On occasion, Herge spoils readers with fantastic full-page frames, capturing the action or beauty of a scene with more color and space. His later works, specifically Flight 714, become decidedly more serious, while still maintaining the occasional comic relief, mostly from the secondary characters.

The reasons to read Tintin are numerous and fantastic. Likely half of the vocabulary Captain Haddock uses throughout the series is composed of insults. Professor Calculus' constant misinterpretations of peoples' words is a guaranteed bellylaugh inducer, and, if I were to decide, children all over the world would be reading these books. If Herge hasn't created a classic in Tintin, I've read half as many.

!Noah!

7. The Author Uses Up Space

(regrettably, the author did not feel like going through the intricacies of stalking in any detail whatsoever. Also, sorry for not posting for MORE THAN A WEEK. *bangs wall on head about fifteen times*)

Links to all the other chapters...

1. A Jackrabbit Down
2. No Control Freak (contains first part of chapter 3...you could either start chapter 3 here, or merely move on to the next link)
3. Home
4. Tripped
5. The Clock Ticks (this chapter, for some stupid reason, has gone unposted for over half a year! Enjoy!)
6. A Break
7...oh. Right. Nevermind.


7. The Author Uses Up Space


It was nearly three weeks later, and, for Jack, nothing had changed, but the magnitude of his love, and, thereby, the magnitude of the clumsiness that had never occurred in his life before. He slept the same amount of time, roughly, but seldom felt rested. He had begun to lose weight at a rather insignificant rate, but Jack, however occupied he was with thinking about the girl and wondering what her day was going like (managing to restrain himself, most of the time, from finding out), he cared, and attempted to reverse this effect which seemed obviously related to his recent acquisition of what is hard to describe but with the word crush, these days. These efforts notwithstanding, Jack continued to maintain a weight which, though not greatly less than what he felt he should weigh, was enough, at this time, to occupy some of his time with greater efforts in exercising himself, as well as a reason to consume more water. Eventually, his efforts seemed to pay off, relieving him, somewhat, yet giving him no solace for his incredibly turbulent inner tempest.

Given all these circumstances, and given that the reader understands their gravity, one may begin to think he was less threatened by bullets and fists than by himself, by means of his usually well-contained emotions. Somehow, though, what wouldn't be badly described as a ticking time bomb kept on ticking, for a long, long time. It actually gave him some small pleasure, thinking that he had held out against one of mankind's greater vices for so long...or was it a vice? I fear making my judgment on the issue would not be prudent.

Jack woke up one day, having showered the previous night, with hair not dissimilar in shape, to a reasonably round cactus. Could he be blamed? Actually, yes. Why? If it's not obvious, I hereby sentence you to a life oblivious of a mere triviality, something I've yet to live through to completion.

Some would say Jack's life was ruined from the moment he woke up on. I think I could agree, but only to a degree, extent, or point. Jack made himself some toast and tried hard, for about ten seconds, to find something more substantial to eat. Proclaiming failure before the starting flag had touched the ground, he immediately removed himself to the living room, where Xink resided bodily, and also acted as if she were a faster machine. Jack flipped out of his mildly dazed state (one which he had been in for literally weeks) with an idea. Had Xink some way of reading his mind, her well-powered speakers would be reorienting his eardrums to a more fragmented state. As it was, she merely had the instant to notice Jack's change before he had the plug in his hand and out of the wall.

Jack didn't take an unhealthy amount of pride in his mechanical abilities, but he was strong, and metal was strong. Obviously, they had to meet up sometime and have a showdown. In Jack's case, he felt it ought to be more than occasionally. Thus, Xink, as she was before he unplugged her, was a mere nine months old, give or take a couple seconds. Given this, to Jack's sadness, he could not reasonably upgrade the whole system to new standards all around. However, Jack took pleasure in the mere ability to take something apart and put it back together, possibly even better than it was before. In this case, the latter part merely means he removed the minute amount of dust that had accumulated over the several months. Jack's mind, surprisingly, strayed from thoughts of the girl for the precious minutes that Xink occupied him. Sadly, the amount he could do was rather little. He almost regretted he didn't have the tools to take apart the individual components into their even smaller parts.

Xink was herself again within the hour, but Jack felt no greater for the experience. He quickly returned to the torture that was incumbent with loving but not knowing whether the love was returned. Jack feared, even more, though, that his love might be returned, and that the girl, let alone himself, might be worse off because of it. He was not sure that, however calm and careful he might appear on the outside, he would be able to control himself should his emotions play any role in what he did in the real world.

Worse, the school year was coming to an end. Instead of his usual desire to see the girl, he was now afraid of the more copious chances he would find to do exactly that. Even more did he fear the possibility that she already avidly returned his love, and that she would seek him out to tell him.

The author is somewhat sad, but also somewhat happy, at this time, to make the reader know that the girl is not the stupid girl mentioned in the title. Perhaps it's good, perhaps it's bad, but the author decided that less than a minute ago.

Jack's day ended like so many others had in the last few weeks, with him doing his nightly exercises and hitting the sack, whatever that means.


I hope this will prove to be the beginning of another bout of chapters...hopefully.


!Noah!