A quiz result and a hot, hot story that was written for me: enjoy!

Love Calculator by EbonyScythe
1st Person Name
2nd Person Name
1st Person Gender
2nd Person Gender
Compatibility Percent	56
Time Together	Forever
Quiz created with MemeGen!

My life is complete now. Huzzah!


And a short, unfinished work by the immortal genius of B.B.Shih

In short:

Now is the winter of our discontent. Lo’ look yonder at the dismal dawn breaking o’er the wintry fields. And yet there is hope for some. Not most. Only a few, really. But some, nonetheless. One of these lucky (but what is luck really? To be allowed to continue living in a deadened world that no longer cares?) few is our heroine (but what is a hero, really? Someone who manages to dig their nails in and hold on to what meager existence they have left?) Lauren Hafford.

Lauren Melynn Hafford. Cool, calm, collected, and let’s face it, a little bit insane. On this particularly bleak morning our heroine is digging for worms (read: breakfast) in the cold hard ground. She is not appropriately dressed. At all.

In the vicinity is her “home”. A dark spiraling mess of wires and brick, held together by iron and hate – and on the crumbling façade, what remains of a sign that has seen better days denoting what this infernal structure was once called. Residence Hall. It is not possible to describe the sheer terror that these words inspire for her. Would that she could escape from its tendrils of agony to somewhere else, but she knows that she couldn’t survive for a day away from the soulless shelter it provides. It is a blight upon the surface of the earth; a putrid protrusion of man-made hate that seeks to corrupt anything and everything near it. It is her home.

She is startled by a screech in the distance. This is surprising, not because of the particular sound, but because it has managed to overpower the constant drone the residence hall emits. She would love to run out to greet whatever thing has stumbled into the area, but she knows that this would mean death. The great overlords high up within the building have excellent surveillance, and it is a particularly bright (it’s all relative, really) day. She can imagine the consequences. The robotron-dogs, perpetually kept in a state of abhorrent hunger, frothing at their capacitor lined mouths, lurching forward at a demonic lilt, hunting her for food, and yet… seemingly also for pleasure.

Lauren feels a fire welling within her. She’s a bit unsure if this is the gnawing hunger inside – a womb-laden hellspawn seeking to wreak it’s unholy plans upon her gastrointestinal system – or possibly her latent sexuality telling her that the lightpole to her left is looking “mighty fine” today. Let’s hope it’s the first.

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A dream that I had and a couple of paragraphs on following your bliss:

I had a really peaceful dream last night. My dad and I were in I think Chile, where I want to study abroad. We were chillin’, backpacking or hiking or something, and just drinking in the absolute beauty and peace of the place. I was following my bliss, and my dreamself, my regularself, and dad all knew it. There were some cool tree formations that I checked out, and just stuff to explore and plenty of time to explore it in. It was really really nice – and I woke up early, peacefully, and not tired.

hmmm…. How can this not mean something? I went to sleep thinking about if I wanted to go to Chile or New Zealand, and I dreamed about Chile and woke up refreshed and stuff….. hello Cleo, so glad you could make it today!

It’s strange, because I always assume that everyone else is just like me deep down inside, and they just express themselves differently. But I assume that following your absolute bliss is something that everyone wants to do. I assume that when people do things, make big decisions, they do what they truly want to do. I know that everyone has hard decisions – like if I want to work at NIST this summer. I’m not sure, because I’ve basically been offered a job there, but I already know that not only is it what I want to do with my life, I’m not even sure I’ll enjoy it. The main pull is that there’s a chance that I do like it – don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it – and I don’t want to rule out that kind of work yet. But it would be nice to rule it out, to try something new. Because I do like EE stuff sometimes, I like learning new things above all, but… not much about the list that my interviewer and I made excited me. This is a hard decision. I want money, I want to take this job just to take it, but I know that it is not my bliss. And I assume that everyone always has their deep down desire for life in their mind when they make these decisions.

This assumption was led into doubt when I told two of my friends about Chile. Some of the people at olin think that it’s kind of cool that I just picked a place that I want to go, and then went from there. But my roommate keeps worrying about the fact that I don’t speak Spanish and so how can I pass my classes? And my other friend asked me if they had a good program there. I probably do not express myself and my desires in an understandable way, because I assume that they are already in my head, and know my motivations and desires and stuff.

But I never believed my father when he said that most of the world can never just up and follow their bliss, because of fear, because of childhood forming that told them that they need to establish themselves, need to start early climbing the social ladder, and everything like that. Fuck that, dude.

There is time enough for everything you could want to do, as long as you make the time for it.

If you’re not living in bliss, what’s the point of living?

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The Subtle Science and Exact Art* of Interviewing for Personal Information, as written by a Young and Inexperienced Philosopher.

People construct walls and barriers between themselves and other people to protect themselves from embarassment, ridicule, criticism, and rage. For many people, it is hard to open up to others, because they fear that the others will not accept them for what they truly believe in. I imagine it's hard to be a creationist in U.S. public schools, as it is hard to be a Mormon in the heart of Saudi Arabia, as it is definatly hard to be any non-christian in the entire united states any time after 9-11 until infinity. People fear differences, and the different people fear that fear.
That is why it is difficult to have a real conversation with someone who you know to be different from you. Especially in a planned-out, short-lived interview. You want them to open up as quickly as possible, and you need to convince them that you will in no way, shape, or form, even subtly, even in what you may believe to be in an acceptable range of reaction, even in the reaction of visibly not accepting their words as truth (not just 'oh, that's truth as you know it, but what do you know?', but truth as in, 'this office is your universe, and we are playing in your universe, and so you dictate your truth and we must accept it or nothing can be learned an no progress can be made if we don't'), and you must convince them of this right away, and then they will open up to you. Obviously, preconceptions and prejudice have no place in an interview, but it really must go much further than that.
You must make yourself an open book for the person you're interviewing to write in. And you must let them know that you are. When you're discussing a controversial topic, you need to get past the point where they're trying to convince you of something, because that will inevitably be someone else's words coming out of their mouth. You need to make them believe that you already believe them, and furthermore, that you don't even have beliefs that can be changed or convinced of their position. If they believe that their words of persuasion are falling on ears that have no need for them because there is no reason for them not to either believe it all or believe nothing, then they will stop trying to convince you of something. Does that make sense?
For instance, our first acupuncture contact came into our interview trying to convince us of acupuncture's validity. He kept quoting studies that had been done on some stuff, and explaining why it hadn't been done on other stuff. But that's not what we wanted to hear about him. So we had to first convince him that we didn't need convincing, because we either wholeheartedly agreed with everything he had to say, or because we had no souls and therefore made no judgements and had no opinions about his practice or beliefs. I'd say that while both are fun to act, the interviewee will respond to one better than another, and you just have to see what kind of person they are before picking a role. Also, it's hard when you're there with people, because when they don't think that this is a good way to interview people, and they see you take on these personas, they act weirdly and you feel weirdly for acting weirdly. You know.
This kind of technique - the willing suspension of your own person/soul/personality/beliefs/ideologies is, I think, a very applicable and very powerful thing to be able to do. If you can talk to someone about what they believe in, and just absolutely not put any bit of any part of your own beliefs into the conversation, at all, in any form; if you just ask them honest questions about themselves without an agenda or trying to trap them into an answer; if you can just listen to what they have to say, you can learn so much more than you ever could if they had been trying to defend themselves. Once people see that you are not out to trap them, or to convince them, you can actually watch them open up to you, and they will spill stuff that is much more truly 'them' than any words they've learned with which to convince you. Because the best arguments and persuasive speeches are rarely one's own, many times, they are bits and bats from long-forgotten monologues that made one say, "oh!" But if you can get past all this by convincing them that they have nothing to prove to you, that you just want to know about them and will not make any any any judgements upon them, then you will learn more about them than probably many other people know, in a very short time.
This is all from experience. So, I don't have enough data to know that this works with everyone. Some people's walls are very thick to break through, and some conversations are very hard to hold back personal thoughts. Usually you need to be alone, because you need to focus all of your attention on the person; see what they react to, see how they respond to your questioning, and tailor your persona to what they want to see in you. This is, obviously, impossible with more than one person, because you try to flip-flop between personas, and then it just looks ridiculous. And it's also hard with more than one interviewer, because they might have the audacity to bring their personal views into play, even if it is in the subtlest way, such as a slight gasp and then a scurry to write something down, which would quickly replace the wall that you've been trying so hard to break thorugh.
So, ha. The Art of Interviewing for Personal Information, as written by a young and inexperienced philosopher. Thank you, thank you. You may leave the flowers in my dressing room.

*'subtle science and exact art' taken from JK Rowling, because she's awesome.

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The multicolored balloons have lost all of their helium and are now waving limply in the breeze, shriveled and forgotten. Their colors, which once were bright and hopeful are now blackened, mere remnants of their former beauty. They are still tied to the bricks on the floor, as if they had enough life left in them to float away, though they are going nowhere. The carnival is long forgotten.

Empty cups strewn about the floor are the only proof of the men that were there recently. The Styrofoam gargoyles are menacingly lifeless, still wet inside. The inebriation has also been forgotten.

A rusty flagpole forlornly stands to the side of a splintered table. Weeds left to grow have covered its proud foundation. It bears no flag. The rope’s lock clangs jarringly, irrythmically, cringingly. The ringing is dull, damped, and makes me wonder what happened to the clear ringing of freedom, for it no longer inhabits this place.

Passers by do not stop and consider what this place is. They do not understand what it once was, and don’t care what it could be.

It is shattered asphalt, twisted iron, broken glass. It is forgotten stories and misdirected dreams. It is where all beginnings end. It is what we have done to ourselves.


Fall, 2003

All work copyright 2003 LMH.

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...and now it's time for some good, old-fashioned harry potter fanfiction. What website would be whole without it? This is a depressing, angst-ridden heart-to-heart between Voldemort and Wormtail on the night of Harry's birthday.


Finding Solace in Oblivion

***

The pub was almost completely empty by the time he finished his third pint. Sighing, he let the empty flagon drop to the polished hardwood table with a clunk. His head quickly followed suit.

"My Lord?" asked a whining, squeaking voice.

There was no response from the greasy-haired lump resting on the damp surface of the table.

"Master, I... I... well, um...uh...I'll get us another one, shall I?" The man got up without waiting for a response and wound his way through the tightly-packed but empty tables up to the bar. "Two more."

His companion was in the same position when he returned to their table in the corner, bearing two more pints of amnesia held in a silver hand.

It would be a welcome thing, too, the amnesia.

After...oh, god...please, no more...he gulped down another ale, willing the memories to end, to never surface. This was supposed to have been their night.

Their night of glory and triumph. The night of a new era, a new eon. The night that would begin the new hierarchy, wherein their power and magnificence would be recognized by all. All would bow to them, the immortal and unconquerable, the rightful heroes.

Shots were placed in front of them by the bartender - they both must have been in a right state, to be so noticeably desperate for alcohol that it was visible across the dimly lit pub.

The greasy-haired man had not lifted his head off of the table since the pudgy one had spoken.

The latter closed his eyes to the world, willing it to be different when he opened them. Willing it to have changed, or disappeared. Willing it to at least leave him alone.

A clock heralded the coming hour, the first ding wrenching him out of his downward-spiraling stupor.

Ding. A grating, jarring note.

Ding. A reminder of his past.

Ding. A reminder of his sins.

Ding. A reminder that he would never rise above the suffering that he felt that night.

Ding. More than anything, it was the sound of the battle that stayed with him, the explosions, the screams, and the weeping - it echoed still in his ears.

Ding. The noise and the incomprehensible...no...

Ding. Bodies were strewn everywhere in that hall - too many, too many - couldn't tell which were whose, chaos, light, blood, death.

Ding. He still saw the looks on their faces.

Ding. There was nothing they could do but watch as the inferno consumed them all.

Ding. And consume them it did.

Ding. The last toll weighed on him. Twelve o'clock - a new day had started. A cursed day.

His eyes traveled around the room, slowly, drinking it. He saw the other occupants of the pub, all with deadened eyes, searching in their flagons, searching for truth, searching in vain. They were hollow. He saw his own fate in his flagon, saw his hands shaking as they lifted it to his dry lips, saw the emptiness of his past and his future. And taking a last look at his master's collapsed form, in one singular moment, he finally saw the truth.

He pointed his wand at his own heart.

Happy birthday, Harry. "Avada Kedavra."

Reposting Old Stuff

Sidewalk Traffic


The rhythmic and orderly
pattern of sidewalk stones
and of my thought
was interrupted
suddenly
by two forlorn
trampled
wet
green bills
lying folded on the red stones.
I had been looking up
into the sky
hedged in by towering buildings
square giants looking down at me.
The misplaced green
caught my eye
and I had to look twice.
The insignificant pieces of paper
had the power to stop
my sentient bulk of flesh
as I contemplated its presence.
And that day, for the first time yet,
I passed it by,
left it for another.

I cannot say it had no
effect on me,
for its pull stopped me once more.
I was curious
as to its fate.

As I stood there,
the warmth from the red brick
seeping into my upper arms,
I saw a man, early thirties.
He held a child in his arms,
and it was his child,
and he loved it.
He walked towards me,
bouncing the child in his arms,
holding it close,
showing it the world,
with love,
with him.
And he was oblivious
to me, to us,
to the green intrusion
on the red brick sidewalk.
He did not even glance at it.

Behind him trailed his wife,
also with baby in arms,
looking less happy,
less loving,
not bouncing,
showing,
or hugging,
but exasperated,
annoyed,
and wanting the trip to be over.
She hurriedly walked,
trying to catch up to the man,
and intently and focusedly
missed the bills on the ground
as well.

After the married couple
had turned the corner,
lost from my sight,
a woman behind a stroller approached.

She had the look of one who,
while pushing the stroller,
leaned on it for support.
She was tired,
and the wheels of the stroller
rolled right over the bills,
completely unnoticed.

Behind her,
running back and forth,
back and forth,
was a young boy,
maybe twelve.
His eyes were trying
to look at everything at once,
frustrated that his mother
kept calling to him,
telling him
to hurry along now.

His eyes were the first to stop
on the abandoned green paper
lying crushed on the sidewalk.
He was the first to bend down
and pick them up.

He ran to his mother to show her;
she barely glanced at it.
Her son had always collected
bits of half-forgotten memories
of another life.

He pulled the money towards his chest,
claiming it for his own.

But in that moment,
I saw in his eyes
that he realized
that he did not know
who it came from,
where they were now,
or if they needed it.

It was not sadness
etched on his young face,
nor guilt,
but a sudden, dawning,
broadening comprehension
of the other lives in this world,
of those outside of himself.
And the thought of him wasting it
stripped away the innocence
on his face
in that one moment
in the turning of the world.

Spring, 2004
Copyright LMH