Saturday, October 21, 2006

My Opinion on Our Town

Originally, I would have said that the directing of Thornton Wilder’s Pulitzer prize-winning “Our Town” was a field barren of imagination and yet strewn with ordure—because of the naked background, a stylistic choice of the director.

Less originally, I would have stated that the distressingly bovine expressions on the actors’ faces melded in harmony with the bleakness of the set—because of the character’s gradual development.

I will utter none of these, because as one can see by the end of the first act, it is untrue. As a collective whole, the show was brought to an admirably neat close by the script. As the play wears on, rather than wearing thin, it becomes pleasingly thicker and more complex. One can see the progression of the actors into their characters as they move through their lives

“Our Town,” a story of the character growth of ordinary people and the minute, seemingly insignificant details of their lives as they interact, takes place in Grovers Corners, New Hampshire. Largely the focus is on the life of Emily Webb, who married George Gibbs, and dies, joining other townsfolk in the cemetery. In this “Town” there is daily life that spans many years, love and marriage, and then death.

A man’s melodious voice saunters onstage, and his body, the stage manager—the narrator—as played by Julian Bayles, follows soon after. Also notable was a nearly superb rendition of sweet mother Mrs. Gibbs by Melissa Wohlgemuth. Bayles’ understated but effective presentation was, along with Wohlgemuth’s, the virtuoso performance of the night, and theirs are the constant glimmering lights in the sometimes confused arena of the play acting—probably due to the fact that the time shifts quickly.

The lighting effects as designed by William Sammon cleverly highlight the white faces of the “dead,” as they stare out into the audience, an extremely effective technique to contrast the living and those who are not. Throughout, the sound effects of Stefan Toubia are successful, albeit somewhat distracting because the attention was directed toward the sounds rather than the person.

It is an interesting choice to choose a cross as a stage—besides its “in-the-round” advantages—because the play can easily be crucified upon it. However, quite a few will surely trot into the touching performance of “Our Town” with open hearts and leave with full ones.

Labels: opinion, writing

-------------------LIVE HIGH!LIVE WILD!--------------- ; {9:53 AM}
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The Quiet of Our Memories



BACKGROUND - Elan knows Camarie loves Kyros and decides it would be necessary to save Kyros’ life by dying himself. While fighting one of his innumerable battles against darkness and evil, Kyros gets into a battle with something he cannot defeat—his own fear of death, which he sees in the human face of the monster they confront. In a moment of cowardice lets Elan fight the monster and so the scene begins.



BRACELET – Camarie gave to Kyros, who threw it in her face at their last meeting. Camarie gave to Elan, who at his death returns it to Kyros, who then gives it back to Camarie. It’s a merry circle of hot potato.



Camarie – mid to late twenties. Began story with freshness and enthusiasm for life. Her joy fades as the story continues. Was desperately infatuated with Kyros, but didn’t realize she needed Elan.



Kyros – late twenties to early thirties. great man, no time to be a good one. Always fighting for the underdog. Once Camarie’s lover, but left her once he discovered how selfish and clingy she was.



Elan – quite, quite dead. Late teens to early twenties. During his life he was called God of Death because of the phenomenal destruction he caused. He’s always joking around to hide himself. Loved Camarie.



Directions – The actors will be standing some distance from each other. The actor who is not currently in the scene will step back into darkness or freeze, while the others stand in the light. Places continue to shift to different locations as the light changes position and color. Enough pause between each transition to give actors enough time.



* words from a Celtic dirge



Darkness.



ELAN: Do not stand at my grave and weep … I am not there … I do not sleep. *



Green light on Elan and Camarie Elan and Camarie approach a door, but Elan waits for Camarie to open it. Camarie stares at him in puzzlement, and Elan’s only reaction is to smile with a comic expression.



They walk a few steps. Camarie fades (steps back) into the darkness.



Red light. Kyros appears (steps forward). Kyros paces. Elan sits in an indolent pose, staring off into the distance.



KYROS: Would you die here and have Camarie search for your body in this place, beneath these stones? Do you believe the depths will surrender their dead? Pause. Aside. Elan seems to wake. He smiles a strange smile, a gentle forfeit of dreams. Pause. To Elan. No? Then flee! Kyros seizes Elan’s wrist and then pauses and holds it up, seeing the bracelet. Where did you get this?



Elan: Meets his gaze evenly. Assume what you will.



Kyros: Laughs bitterly. So Camarie has placed her affections elsewhere. Hardly surprising, I suppose, considering her necessitous nature.



Kyros and Elan stare at each other, and then they run, Elan in front, Kyros glancing back. They cross the stage, backstage, and end up center stage.



Orange light. Camarie steps forward.



KYROS: Camarie. We must speak. Aside. Elan, why must you haunt me and yet deny your true presence? You were not the only person I wronged! Of all the guilt I have felt, all the suffering I have undergone, I would not say you took precedence as the fount!



ELAN: To Kyros, who does not hear. Because you took the one I loved beyond honor and so destroyed me. Because only at the event of my death did you realize you had lost more than a challenge. Because you have the life I should have had and live in my stead.



Light cast shadows behind Kyros and Camarie. Kyros and Camarie stare at each other for a long moment. Elan steps back.



ELAN: Speaks from the darkness while Kyros and Camarie stare at each other. I am not the man you seek. Essay an interview with Kyros of Aureole. I have heard that he has advertised in the Eastern market for a position as Savior.



Kyros and Camarie move into their conversation. Elan steps forward



CAMARIE: Turns her face away rebelliously. I have nothing to say to you. Elan watches them with a fond but strange smile.



ELAN: Melts into the darkness and speaks. Where is the God to whom I may cry and he answer, 'Give unto me thy best, and I shall give thee better'?



KYROS: I have much to say to you. Brings his clasped hands to his mouth in an oddly childish, confused gesture, clearly searching for words. Camarie, you must stop this grotesque pretense. Elan is dead. He is gone, and will never return. And as much as we may wish it, we cannot stay time and remain in the shadow he has left. Steps back into darkness.



Blue light.



ELAN: I only give back what you offered me, freely—a life. Aside. God of Death, am I? I only wonder that I endured so long. Camarie, you have pulled me from darkness, and that I will never forget. Steps back into the darkness.



Yellow light.



CAMARIE: Bursts out laughing wildly. Why, he stands there! Whirls around, but Elan is gone. Instinctively touches the bracelet.



ELAN: Aside. A child's face lit crimson and still by the glow of the moon. To the heavens. For how long? When will I cease to reflect the glories of others and stand forth from the shadows? Pause. Until those I echo fall silent.



KYROS: Follows the movement. Camarie, that may have been a comfort, but what you do is far beyond that now. Once it belonged to Elan, but no longer. It does not bear his heart, or his soul. Those do not belong in this world.



ELAN: ‘Who am I? Who am I?’ I repeated, again and again. Then I arched my back, fingers twisting in my hair, and cried out as though in agony. The scream was that of a wild creature gone mad in its strangling bonds.



CAMARIE: You lie. You lie because of your wretched jealousy.



Kyros steps back. Blue light.



ELAN: I am lost no longer, nor tormented, for I know my path, and what I must do to end it.



Orange light.



KYROS: Eyes widen and face pales. Camarie? What do you say—



CAMARIE: You once loved me, did you not? I care not if you despise me now. But you did love Elan at the end. You recognized him as more than a rival, greater than a friend. And now you would destroy our precious intimacy!



ELAN: From darkness. My life—will it suffice? Is it enough for his?



KYROS: Camarie! You do not know what you say! Lips tremble and his teeth clench. Very well. Do you wish to tread this path? I will follow you. I loved him. I loved you both. But that is all over now. I have no reason to wish for your unhappiness, Camarie. Believe this, however; Elan is dead. So are we all, and all we could attempt to forestall such tidings came to naught. Dust and ash only are gods and mortals, as debris in the capricious winds.



CAMARIE: Is that not true of each and every course?



KYROS: The chain that riveted us has slackened, for one shackle has broken. Should we not rejoice, celebrate in this novel freedom?



CAMARIE: We weep for our imprisonment, for only there did we find scant happiness, bitter delight.

Camarie steps back. Elan steps forward.



KYROS: I will not end. I will live, remembering the lights extinguished, swallowed by the flames history has breathed around me. I am no icon, no god, not even the leader others think me to be. Guiding men who trust me into a certain slaughter can avail no one, excepting the immortals, who choke with mirth at the miseries below.



ELAN: On the contrary, I think their own troubles keep them well occupied. Soon, perchance even they will die laughing at their own absurdities. Elan steps back.



Camarie’s face crumples. Kyros opens his mouth as if to utter a reassuring word; instead, he turns and walks away into the darkness.



ELAN: From the darkness. Make not mistake, Goddess. I will be free. Free of you, and of all others who would control me. I am no pawn in your games.



Green light.



ELAN: Appears beside Camarie. All is well. He means the best he can, but he knows nothing. Let us go. Smiles, then breaks into a light run to the other side of the stage, with Camarie laughing behind him.



CAMARIE: You are a self-proclaimed coward, Elan; I need not worry for you.



ELAN: Yes, and I have made nothing of my life, despite the privilege of having lived it.



Elan and Camarie sit down, Camarie curled in Elan’s lap.



ELAN: I have loved you since the dawn of time, before the concept of man was ever conceived. So said the first god.



KYROS: From the darkness. I held myself still, for within me there was a deathly terror of experiencing the true sense of loss if I made a movement. I felt a slight weight in my hand-a bracelet of gold-and perceived Elan's bare wrist, watered blood pooling in his palm.



CAMARIE: We will leave, you and I, leave to the Western shores, where the sun shines bright as it dies and falls into its grave the sea. I will forget of this land and its celebrated heir, my glorious beloved. I will never recall the man I loved, love still … I cannot lie, so I must flee.



ELAN begins to hum a lament for the dead.



CAMARIE: Shivers. Do not sing of such things. I am afraid.



Kyros: From the darkness. There was a terrible foreknowledge in his eyes, and all at once I could find no words, though I did momentarily grope for a flippant answer



ELAN: What do you fear, Camarie? Death? He cannot reach us here, not when you are with me. Death lacks finality—therefore, why do you fear it as a sword held over your head? A hollow fear …



KYROS: A mourning voice reached my ears. Camarie's keening wail drifted in the morning mist, an awful, low moaning that cried out for the dead. Stilled dazed into a stupor, I could not acknowledge her.



CAMARIE: Sighs contentedly. Do you believe Fortune has the clemency to permit us to remain as we are? Clutches at him. Please … do not go as he did, with nary a backward glance.



ELAN: I will not leave. I love you, for always.



Darkness. Elan and Camarie run back to the other side of the stage.



CAMARIE: Laughs joyously. Elan, you must be quiet! We will wake everyone.



KYROS: From the darkness. Camarie beat her head against the rocks, blood trailing down her face.



ELAN: We should go within. Come. Then we may do as we please. Again Elan waits for Camarie to open the door. Elan and Camarie fall gently to the floor, entwined together.



Darkness.



Elan stares off into the darkness, a strange and melancholy expression on his face.



CAMARIE: Stumbles on her words. Elan—



KYROS: From the darkness. Do not leave me to myself. Iron lies on my tongue and closes my lips. The heavens let fall a sweet, light aspersion. I instinctively moved to cover him, but Elan did not feel the rain.



ELAN: Turns to her, smiling. Camarie? What troubles you?



KYROS: From the darkness. I had failed, failed to seize the last gentle exhale of breath, to keep that glimpse of a spirit fleeing the mortal realm.



CAMARIE: Looks lost and bewildered. Kyros said to me today—he said that you were dead, that what I was doing was a perversion of your memory. Silence. Camarie then feels a gentle hand lifting her face to Elan’s.



Kyros speaks from the darkness as Elan and Camarie stare at one another.



KYROS: When I awoke from my mortal dreams, Elan was dead.



ELAN: Presses a kiss to Camarie’s forehead and looks at her. I am here. I am not dead to you. So long as this holds true, I will never die. Smiles.



Darkness.



ELAN: Do not stand at my grave and cry … I am not there … I did not die …*

Labels: script, story, writing

-------------------LIVE HIGH!LIVE WILD!--------------- ; {9:52 AM}
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A Memorable Meeting



BACKGROUND: Set in England, late 1800s or early 1900s.



Charles: A blonde good-looking young man in his late twenties. Has some kind of title but, through his father’s stupidity, has become very poor. Has turned to writing to get an income, something Edmund frowns upon as “common” and “vulgar.” Intelligent but often oblivious.



Edmund: Darkly handsome young man in his late twenties. Duke of something important. Determines to set up his distant wealthy relative, Halle, with Charles.



Halle: Bright, pretty, vivacious young lady in her late teens to early twenties. A very wealthy merchant’s daughter who hopes to climb the social ladder.



Directions: Characters will often speak to the audience to explain what’s going on.



EDMUND: I like James, my physician, very well, but he is entirely too upright and honest, telling me the truth when I would prefer inflated lies. I like those very much. Therefore I determine to go to one who will offer that music to my waiting ears. Approaches Charles, who is sitting miserably at a table.



EDMUND: I just came from James’ inspection. He pronounced me a picture of deteriorating health.



CHARLES: I fear to ask what sort of human specimen would subject himself to the fiddling of an eccentric scientist, no offense intended. Could it be an ailment? Shortness of breath, perhaps, or body part?



EDMUND: Aside. Or perhaps not.



A MAN’s BOOMING VOICE: Charles winces. Sir, we feel a need to impart to you our standards. None. Regards, The Buggerworth Publishing Company. Edmund peers at the paper.



EDMUND: So, you are the Falkner who writes for Buggerworth? The author who penned the latest article on how men and women are compatible only for sexual intercourse and minor social interaction? That grossly offensive work so dreadful that it borders on high treason?



CHARLES: Yes, yes and yes. Perks up and admits cheerfully, preening. I visited my editor this morning, who told me in no uncertain terms that my latest manuscript was a horrific piece of work that deserved to be swallowed only for the pleasure of execration.



EDMUND: Ah. So you were the reason I ran about London waving like a madman with trousers down screaming of the herald of the coming Apocalypse.



CHARLES: Changes subject. Damnation, Edmund, why do you have flowers stuck to you?



EDMUND: A cheesed off mistress threw a parting gift from me in my face.



CHARLES: Ah. More importantly, I don't know how to begin. Mutters, throwing down pen in dejection.



EDMUND: Well, I always start writing with a perfectly clean piece of paper. Reaches over and flaps the doodled page in front of Charles. And an exceptionally dirty mind.



CHARLES: Your methods are not mine, and for that I thank God on my knees.



EDMUND: Don't do that. You'll wrinkle them.



CHARLES: What's the quickest way to the hospital? I will shortly require a trip to a mental ward.



EDMUND: Casually. Insult the queen's hair. Pause. Did you know, Queen Isabel has demanded in her full capacity as queen a portrait done by the finest painter in the country? That said painter's subjects usually are febrile, grass-masticating, road apple-defecating creatures does not deter her in the least. Her qualities resemble theirs closely enough for an easy transition.



CHARLES: Thank you, Edmund, for that fascinating piece of piece of useless trivia. You have not understood my question.



EDMUND: I understood it entirely, but apparently you could not comprehend the response.



CHARLES: Idea strikes him. Are we friends?



EDMUND: ‘Are we acquaintances?’ may be the better question. Allow me to consult the dictionary. Rummages through his coat.



CHARLES: Sits back, amazed. Frankly, I didn't know you harbored such dangerously intellectual influences in your very pockets.



EDMUND: Ah, but this belongs to the devil. Finds it and recites. Acquaintance, n.: A person whom we know well enough to borrow from, but not well enough to lend to. Tucks it back, and utters cautiously. If, incidentally, you plan to ask me for money, I must beg to be demoted from friend to acquaintance.



CHARLES: I am wholly capable of providing for myself, thank you. I intend to-



EDMUND: To what? Work? Vomits the word in a great show of disgust.



CHARLES: I was considering it, yes. Wryly. It seemed a pleasant alternative to starvation and beggary.



EDMUND: You're a gentleman, Charles! Not much of one-you have far too many morals to be rid of before you truly are-but nevertheless, dedicating yourself to honest labor would be most unbecoming. You do know that buggering morals always produces inconveniences.”



CHARLES: And what would you suggest as a substitute for my own criminal proposal?”



EDMUND: Shrugs. Your dilemma is easily solved, my friend. Wed a wealthy heiress, preferably desperate, ugly, and about to die.



CHARLES: That is the vilest plot I have ever heard. An appalled Charles decries. Stares at Edmund, pondering this new wickedness. And possibly the most brilliant. As Edmund begins to grin, he adds piously. But it is evil still, no matter the cleverness.



EDMUND: Oh, don't be scrupulous now. Only the rich can afford to be that because it doesn't pay. And you, my friend, are not rich. Far from it, as you have acknowledged.”



CHARLES: Says finally. Edmund, I do plan my final destination to be Heaven, though I may embark on several detours and false leads on the way.



EDMUND: So do us all. Claps Charles on the back, ushering him to the door. So do us all.



Curtain falls.



Narrator: In his scheming little mind Edmund thinks that Halle, his cousin, has a fortune but no title, and Charles, who has no cash but a name, should be set up. He and Edmund have created an unbreakable friendship based on dirty jokes and lecherous behavior.



Curtain rises.



EDMUND: My cousin Halle has unknowingly committed society’s greatest sin. Middle-class are only supposed to wear brown, but Halle wear sparkles. Her hair is an unacceptable shade of blonde.



EDMUND: The music begins and due to the frantic pace, couples must immediately match, or more likely, mismatch. I seize my cousin before anyone else can, carelessly knocking several more respectable gentlemen out of the way.



EDMUND: Loudly over the noise. “Sweetheart, may I ask what you are wearing?”



HALLE: smiles up at Edmund. Rowan made it from my tablecloth a few hours ago. Marvelous, isn’t it?



EDMUND: Whoever the devil Rowan is—I remember only that his obscurity is his most salient quality— you look wondrous, darling.



HALLE: You flatter me, Edmund. What do you want?



EDMUND: Must every flattering word out of my mouth have an ulterior motive? You wound me, Halle. You know I only have your best interests at heart.



HALLE: You might, if you had one. Now what did you want to talk to me about?



EDMUND: I … oh, all right. I heard you were in the market for a man of means.



HALLE: What woman isn’t?



EDMUND: A married one.



HALLE: You can hardly be so innocent, Edmund. I’ve met your last mistress.



EDMUND: You’ve surely already realized that this affair-and I use the word purposely-would be the ideal situation to find such a man. Edmund waits a moment, gauging her reaction. Halle waves for Edmund to continue. What do you think about … let’s say, that one? I toss a carefully negligent hand at a man who will be very attractive if he only stops self-consciously shrinking into the wall every time a woman passes by as though he will gift her with leprosy.



HALLE: Shrugs lightly, her gown sparkling at the movement. He is well enough, for an aged monkey less energetic than an animated feather duster.



EDMUND: Eh--what? No, no. The blond gentleman. Charles, oblivious, forthwith suffers intense, if brief, scrutiny. Edmund waits confidently for a favorable reaction.



HALLE: What is the matter with him?



EDMUND: Spluttering. He’s perfectly fine. There’s nothing wrong with him.



HALLE: Does he have a history of excessive nail-biting, lip-licking, purse-emaciating, or otherwise unbearable habits, in bed?



EDMUND: How would I know? Snaps, embarrassed. I, who can engage in a heated eye-to-breast lock until the nipple blinks, absentmindedly experience a naughty private interview granted to him by the most fashionably wicked exotic dancer, and swear to smoke only after making love and still manage to be a twenty-a-day man, blushes when speaking of the vaguely indecent with his cousin. (Blackadder)



Edmund makes his way over to Charles and indicates Halle. Everyone freezes as Charles stares at Halle. Charles makes his way over to Halle.



CHALRES: In a rush. Coincidentally, I dislike opera. The characters insist on exhibiting their vocal impuissance even in death.



HALLE: Smiles. Sir, I must agree. I used to enjoy Farinelli’s music to the utmost, often laughing so much I could hardly breathe. And then, someone beastly spoiled it all by informing me it was not a joke.”



CHARLES: And forsooth, how they frown when I decide to compete in making unbearable sounds! Aside. Perchance watching Will release bodily gases, screech in time to the heroine’s death cries and make a general arse out of himself while I myself had done nothing but laugh not been the most tactful of my maneuvers.



HALLE: Smiling in pretty confusion. “Have we met before?”



CHARLES: Aside. I hastily search my memory registry and discover myself penniless. Naturally, I am bankrupt there also. Speaking to Halle. Lord Falkner. Lord Charles Falkner. And I already know your name.



HALLE: Oh, do you?



CHARLES: Other--little--people mill around them, unconsciously pushing them closer together. Charles, as expected, does not resent the intrusion in the least. Lady Falkner.



HALLE: Laughs. Miss Halle Wheldon. Should I be honored to have your acquaintance, Lord Falkner?



CHARLES: Please, call me Charles. I am privileged to have yours, and if only a more intimate relationship blossoms, I shall count myself the luckiest man in the world.



HALLE: Declines his offer of informality. Is it not said that familiarity breeds contempt, Lord Falkner?



CHARLES: And--you must not forget--children.



HALLE: And are you planning to have children, Charles?



CHALRES: My name sounds like music as it falls from her lips and I suddenly find that I like it there. Distantly notices an alarmingly large woman with a frightening number of pearls and emeralds splattered upon her ample body then croons out a love song to the accompaniment of a piano laboring to support her weight as she languidly reclines on it.


CHARLES: Someday. I am searching for the mother meanwhile. Smiles ingratiatingly. “Let us get better acquainted. Aside. It’s all over, before it begins.



HALLE: What is your occupation, if any, Lord Falkner?”



CHARLES: Makes careless gesture with hand. I cannot sing, dance, act or do anything of use, really. Aside. Apparently minutely informed of our conversation, Edmund frantically signals to me, so I grin sickly and plow ahead with the painfully overused witticisms and jaded phrases.



HALLE: A gentleman, then?



CHARLES: I prefer to think of myself as a philosopher. I cogitate deeply on the mysteries of the unemployed life. But everything has been relegated to the fact that I am in love tonight with a beautiful young lady.



HALLE: You are perilously charming, Lord Falkner. Be careful, or I might fall in love with you.



CHARLES: I become reckless in the company of beautiful women. Do you believe in love at first sight?” Aside. Intrusive tunes, I think savagely as I wish a dire fate to all musicians warbling in the background. Speaking to Halle. I was wondering if I should walk over here again. Aside. My wellspring of sorry Edmund facsimile words has drained, leaving only a single drop. If I take this cup of bitterness, of shame, of abject humiliation, I will never forgive myself, nor can he ever call upon my self-respect to sustain me

again. Therefore, I eagerly lap it up.



CHARLES: I think it only just to tell you a terrible accident waits to occur.



HALLE: Eyes widen and lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. What will happen?



CHARLES: If you leave, I shall straightaway attempt to follow, trip on your skirts, fall on my face--my nose will never recover from the shock—



HALLE: Lord Falkner, I don’t believe this discourse is beneficial--



CHARLES: --Charles, please, and I will require a name and address for insurance reasons, of course. By-the-by, I seem to have forgotten the latter, so you may as well give me yours.



HALLE: Oh, very well, you bothersome troll!



CHARLES: Even as I watch she enacts a startling display of artistry and magic: Halle pulls out a handkerchief from her clothing, a feat unmatched as there seems to be no aspect of her shapely self unmapped by her gown. Scowling childishly, she scribbles on the cloth and then hands it to me.



HALLE: Stamps her foot. There! Much good may it do you! She storms off in a whirl of sparkling blue-and-pink sequins, casting a flirtatious smile behind her as she goes.



EDMUND: Across the room, I congratulate myself on a job well done.

Labels: script, story, writing

-------------------LIVE HIGH!LIVE WILD!--------------- ; {9:51 AM}
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Putting the MP3 Player to Educational Use

Disclaimer: If this outline is regarded as incitement to incensed riots concerning the stupidity of the suggestions, I am not responsible for its creation.

Note: All these suggestions depend on the capabilities of your MP3 player.

Go to the library! An excellent, and for many, only source of free information, you can learn so much—and all on your MP3 player. The Fullerton Public Library is tantalizingly close to Fullerton Union High School.

Download thousands of free textbooks from Gutenberg.com. It’s an amazing source of classics, histories, and more. Many are quite long, and, especially with the text limits on iPods, it would be wise to acquire a text splitter; for example, the obvious Splitfile. I am currently engrossed in reading Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackery. Before you scream MEGO—My Eyes Glaze Over—over the font size, at least on some other MP3 player besides the ubiquitous iPod the font size is only slightly small than the usual. In fact, it’s about the same as the pocket books Barnes and Nobles sell.

The following adheres to the fact that your MP3 player plays audio files. If not, you’ve been terribly cheated and should return the faulty product. Listen while you’re walking, doing safe chores, before going to sleep, etc.

Learn languages. Borrow CDs from the library. Transfer the files to your computer, then to the MP3 player. I always delete the files after I return the CDs and I’ve learned that portion. The general format of these language-learning CDs is that two people have a conversation, you desperately try to follow along, and repeat after them. I myself have an agenda. First I’m going to learn Japanese. Then Chinese. Then Korean. Then Greek. Then Hebrew. I haven’t gotten very far, but I’ll get there. Eventually. Cheer me on!

Speaking of learning languages, this could be a wonderful opportunity for those for whom English is a second language. MP3 players could a supplement, not a replacement, for speaking and listening.

Audio books! Again, the library is an invaluable tool. Borrow audio books—more and more are cropping up—and listen to audio heaven. I listened to the entire book of Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. It occurs to me that I’m one of the stupid people who get “left behind,” which is very depressing. I’m listening to Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy now. Lectures are next to enter the stage. Without even going to class—don’t actually skip school, this is meant to do in your free time—you can listen to university-level lectures that teach about Socrates, U.S. history, physics—waves to Mr. Pitochelli in a shameless attempt to raise my grade —, and more. Of course these are only options.

The portability of the MP3 player is astonishing. So, while in Theatre class, or Choir, or Dance, you can listen to whatever you need. Particular accents you require and could learn from listening, songs you have to learn, music you need to hear while dancing, etc.
Videos. I chew on my nails as I try to think of a good use for this. Well, when Discovery channel and others come out—if they haven’t already—watch them on a long car ride. When of course educational movies are available to purchase online, go for it! Share them with other people. But don’t try to read subtitles if you value your sight!

The picture viewing. View quick slideshows of your image projects. This may not be very practical now, because of the small screen, but soon it’ll be a true reality.
Radio! Quit listening to useless advertising on those pop or rock music stations. Listen to the latest news of opinions of informed people on those very issues, and maybe classical music—if you can stand it.

Believe it or not, the MP3 player can help you focus on your work because it blocks out unnecessary noise. This is obviously not desirable in class, but in other environments, like at home while doing homework, it might just work. I start twitching violently on occasions when there is too much silence, so I blare music and do what I’m supposed to do. And it works! Seriously. Otherwise, I can’t concentrate.

I’m basing all this on my own personal little gadget—the iriver u10, recently eclipsed by its catchy iriver Clix. It can do all these things. So go get it, among other things, on amazon.com!
This is just a brief listing of what you can do, to hopefully get you to consider the above title of this outline. Because of the incredible rapidity of converging devices—for example, quite soon I wouldn’t be surprised if cell phone MP3 players became insanely popular and overpower the iPod—you will be able to do even more.

An MP3 player can be a means of self-improvement rather than “dumbification.”

Labels: opinion, writing

-------------------LIVE HIGH!LIVE WILD!--------------- ; {9:49 AM}
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Labels: picture

-------------------LIVE HIGH!LIVE WILD!--------------- ; {9:48 AM}
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Labels: picture

-------------------LIVE HIGH!LIVE WILD!--------------- ; {9:47 AM}
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Gang up on Lycoris, who can't fight back against so many. Well, can't fight back, period.


Tahmores passionately pressed his lips to Lycoris' mouth. The young king struggled furiously, but he was no warrior. His lips trembled violently as they were kissed.

Tahmores slipped his enormous hand between Lycoris' thighs and closed his fingers around Lycoris' genitals in warning. Blazing pain flared out from his loins, and Lycoris screamed hoarsely.

Aradia ran to them, horror writ large on her beautiful face. "Tahmores, no! I never--" A hand came to her mouth as she stifled a sob. "He will die! Is that not enough?"

"Little whore, what you want or think makes no difference to me." Tahmores leaned down and kissed him again, threading his thick fingers through Lycoris' hair and tilting his head back.

She gaped at his words, then his voice.

"You can have no conception of how long I have waited for this, whore. I have watched Lycoris since he was a child." Lycoris managed to tear himself away for a moment, but Tahmores immediately hailed him back and struck him across the face.

"You disgusting peversion of a man--I trusted you--" She rushed forward, as though to slap him, but he backhanded her first into the lovely rosewood wardrobe Lycoris had given her as a wedding gift. She slid to the ground, blood dribbling down her neck.

"Never put faith in a traitor," Tahmores chuckled. He motioned for his companions to force Lycoris down on the ground. "Aradia--" Lycoris gasped.

He knelt himself, and contemplated Lycoris in his coerced submission. Then Tahmores pulled up the youth's hips, positioned himself, and ground forward in one savage stroke. Lycoris cried out, his fingers scrabbling for purchase at the thick, luxurious carpet. "Please...please..." he moaned, body jerking with the harsh movement.

Another guard came in front of him. Lycoris convulsed as Tahmores pounded into his body, choking blood as a thick shaft was shoved down his throat. Tahmores reached out, found a pink nub on Lycoris' chest, and pinched viciously.

"Wait," said the man, pulling tight on Lycoris' hair to examine his face. Blood leaked from his lips, bruised and swollen as they were from rough, abrading kisses and blows.

"What is it?" Tahmores demanded curtly, pausing reluctantly in his strokes and placing a firm hand on Lycoris' hip as he made small, aborted attempts toward freedom.

"How much time is ours?"

"All night, lads. Nearly every servant in the palace has gone to celebrate the New Year. A shame, eh, Lycoris, that you condone public festivities, unlike your father?"

"What do you hope to accomplish with this?" Lycoris panted, his breath coming in a pained whisper.

"A short period of pleasure, your majesty," Tahmores laughed. "Then we get rid of the body--and the evidence. The blame is placed on the sleeping whore over there."

"In all honesty, I had little ambition other than to bed you. But now..." he did not continue, caught in what he was doing.

"And of yourselves?" Lycoris gritted out.

Tahmores laughed again. "I suppose telling a dead man the truth will do no harm."

SOMETHING

Janus kills giant
Janus swears to pledge his life in the service of goddess if she will save Lycoris's life (feels responsible)
Fulfill destiny, rather have discarded

Just beyond the man was Lycoris, in a sprawl of pale bloodied limbs on the ground. Janus' eyes widened, then narrowed as tears threatened to spill, and his attacks increased in strength.

Thiery, it must have been for this moment that you taught me the ways of a warrior.

SOMETHING

Janus perceived his opportunity and took it, bringing his sword down on the man's head. Blood spurted and poured from Tahmore's body. The skull split and the essence of his being spilled forth. SOMETHING

I betrayed Lycoris. I am so sorry, Thiery. I have failed you.

SOMETHING He had almost cut the man's body in half, Janus noted absently. His arms and back ached with the strain. But now ... he hurried into the room.

SOMETHING

"Lycoris!" Janus pulled him into his arms. The young king's head lolled weakly against Janus' shoulder, and he did not respond. "Lycoris!" Janus called again, holding his friend's cold, cold hands. Poisoned blood trickled from his mouth.

SOMETHING

"Goddess, should you answer my plea, I swear to devote my life and its after to your service. Only save him. It would take so little for you to hold his spirit in this world." His face wet with tears, lips trembling as he prayed the litany again and again, Janus held Lycoris, rocking back and forth in anguish.

All was very still.

A red slash suddenly spread like an open wound against the night sky. The comet's tail bled heavily as it crossed over the mountain peaks in the distance.

Below, the sea sucked gently at the rocks that stood stoically in their midst, unyielding to temptation.

There was another presence in the room.

Michele's scarlet lips curved, and the gleaming white snake twined about her neck hissed. "Are you aware, Janus, that if you break this oath, there is no reparation but death in its vilest form?" Her divinely lovely face seemed to glow, her hair bedangled in silver thread and crystal dew.

"I know it, and I stand by my vow."

"Very well, Janus. I shall preserve Lycoris' life -- for however long that may be." She laughed, and as the moon came to full fruition, vanished within its light.

Not daring to breathe, Janus stared down at Lycoris' white face. The blood from his mouth had ceased to flow and, it seemed, so had his breath. Trying to gird himself for the final blow, Janus pressed his ear to to the still chest.

"Is he dead?" Aradia whispered, crawling to them, blood dripping from her lips and hair. Janus ignored her as he sought the answer himself.

The heart beat was there, slow, faltering, then gaining in strength. "Thank the Goddess!" Janus breathed.

Lycoris coughed and opened his eyes, in a daze. "Janus?" he murmured.

Janus pressed the gold bracelet into his palm, holding it there with his own hand. "I am here."

Lycoris smiled faintly at the remembered weight of the jewelry, and then his head drooped against Janus' arm.

Janus hastily examined Lycoris again but found him alive and growing stronger. He let out a relieved breath and cautiously loosened his death-grip on his friend.

"Lycoris?" Aradia whispered again.

Janus closed his eyes. "If murdering you did not mean I would have to leave this place, I would do so now."

Aradia flinched back, her face dark with fear. She began to weep, the shadows in the room casting fantastic shapes on her red silk-sheathed body. "I am so sorry," she moaned. "I did not know--"

"You will tell me everything," Janus told her coldly, "after I ensure that the king is taken care of." Firmly wrapping the sheet around his friend's body, Janus lifted Lycoris into his arms as he would a child. "There. Walk ahead of me. Let us go."

Witch (pregnant w/ Merle) in love w/ Lycoris, who despises her and has her banished

"I will have your child!" she cried, clutching her hands to her breast.

She sensed his emtions flutter briefly toward a greener, sweeter tang of surprise. He then recovered himself. As he spoke, his pale blue eyes were a tempestuous sea, and a ghastly paleness accented the tight line of his mouth..

"If you do not leave, immediately, I will have your head." He turned away, closing his eyes as he fought to stifle the cold and heat that filled his body. Spots of light danced before his vision. His movements were slow and cautious as he surreptitiously gripped the edge of his desk.

Vanished anticipation washed over her. She did not feel afraid, but was on the verge of fear. Aradia swallowed convulsively, then spoke, her sincerity prominent in the quiet of the room. Her voice was clear and carried far. "Lycoris--I love you."

He was momentarily silenced by her passion, and stared at her in some perplexity, as though he knew not what she meant by the words. "That is neither to your gain or mine. I suggest you rid yourself of such weaknesses as affection. The advice I give to you will be the only kindess you shall receive from me."

Her feelings had always been like the waves far away, too fluid and unpredicable, Aradia mused brokenly. Now, it stood as a rock among those very waves, and its strength was neither needed nor desired.

Time fractured. It would never be whole again for her, Aradia realized, if she could not be by Lycoris' side. The cold veined marble around and beneath her gave her no comfort. In the distance, the sun's face bloomed in a red smile as the heaviness of slumber faded from his countenance. The clouds moved from such glory, fretful expressions on their pillowy faces.

Chittering bird calls lifted the hand of sleep. Dreams were gone. It was time to wake.

Her scarlet lips parted. and her voice seemed far away, as if from a mountain's crest or a well's bottom. "Very well," she said bitterly, to hide her grief and remorse. "After you, my lord."

"I will not turn my back on you, even if it is to leave," he said coldly. "Go."

She left the door ajar, her dress a whirl of color; yet it seemed a dark vapor followed her from the room.

Behind her, Lycoris let out a soft breath of release and shut his eyes in some contemplation before resuming his work.

The servants fluttered about, thrown into a panic by even the expected sight of the young king.

Lycoris assessed Bianca coolly, fleetingly, and spoke to Janus. “Take her to her rooms, and then find your place in the stables. Servants will care for her thereafter.”


“What should I expect from my new master and husband?” she inquired angrily, but softened her tone as she was, as always, disarmed by his golden beauty.

“Nothing.”

"Does he think to shut me away in a cupboard?"

Janus grinned half-heartedly. "In a wardrobe, perhaps. An ornate one, should you wish it so."

"I do not want to be confined! If I am to be queen, I should fully complete my role."

He sighed. "You are about to poke a hornet's nest, I warn you."

"Why? I desire only my rightful place as his wife. Should I not assist him in his duties?"

"The difficulty with that very generous offer is that he despises all mention of aid."

She scowled. "Is he always to be like this? Can I not approach my spouse? Was he always so?"

Janus' face darkened as though clouds had drawn themselves as a thick veil over the sun's face. "No."

Bianca, uneasy, did not ask more.

When Janus goes, Lycoris' and Bianca's relationship have a chance to develop

"The thought of you never crossed my mind.” He smiled gently to reassure her. “I was fortunate, for any expectations I may have dared to harbor would only have been easily met and surpassed.”

Bianca murmured against her king's mouth, her lips just brushing his. "Lycoris?"

Lycoris drew in a quick breath as he realized he could not answer without pressing his lips more firmly against hers. He tilted his head back in alarm. "What do you think to do?" he whispered.

Bianca sighed as she followed him. "I wish to seduce you," she informed him, quite seriously. "And I do so want for you to take the reins, for I tire of riding."

His fairness was too gentle to be vivid, and eclipsed as it was by the other's beauty, she had not seen it.

She would remedy the mistake now.

Lycoris could not find the words to respond and squirmed away uncomfortably.

She too pulled back, hurt filling her. "Do you not find me desirable?"

"Bianca, you are so very lovely, I could not express your beauty. But I do not--I cannot do as you wish."

"Why do you persist in denying yourself?" She rose in frustration, then sat beside him on the bed. "If you want me, take me. I am yours."

He closed his eyes as though to shut her out. "Bianca," he said with finality, "the truths of which I speak, the reasons for my refusal...shall not be communicated to you."

"Why?" she demanded.

"Not this day, nor tomorrow, not ever. The memory shames me, and I would do better not to remember it."

"Tell me! What could possibly be so horrific that you would turn from me, that you would be afraid I would turn from you? Lycoris--I love you."

He shuddered, though gold sunlight gilded the soft brown hair falling into his eyes. "Please, do not say such things. Love is a terrible, terrible affliction I would not wish upon anyone, even--" he paused.

"Who?"

"No one."

"Janus? Why do you hate him so?"

"He is beneath abhorrence," Lycoris said, his voice empty of emotion.

"He is a good--no--a great man."

He smiled faintly. "If you see him as such, I will not contradict you."

"Lycoris. Confide in me, please, if not as your wife, then as your friend. I want only to aid you in your distress."

He shook his head. "Let us leave this matter."

Bianca gazed at him longingly. "I wish to be with you."

"You are with me, always. As I shall be with you." He smiled at her, offering his hand as he stood. She hesitated, then took it, her fingers closing around his.

“Did you rest well?”

He nodded slowly. “As I slept, I dreamed…and I dreamed that I would not die.”

She bit back a hysterical sob as struggled to sit. "Then your dreams are reality, Lycoris. I could not ask an augur of a surer future. We will live happy, you and I, for many, many years to come."

He lay back, breathing harshly from the strain of rising. "You speak of a life with another," he said. The name of the man was unspoken.

Tears sprang to her eyes. "No," she said steadily. "None other has claim upon my heart but you. I will share my happiness with no one else."

He smiled slightly. "Bianca, let us not delude ourselves. I wish to speak to you, soberly and truthfully. You must live, and if anything is within my power, exist joyously. I have decided upon my heir. If you so desired, you could retire to a quiet life with your beloved or embark on a journey, such as you could never do with me. You will be happier so."

"Never!"

"What they could not bring themselves to say was that I will die."

"Lycoris, cease," she commanded. "I will not hear of this."

"Why the sad faces, grey garments? Mourning does not suit you, Claudia," he said lightly. "It goes terribly with your hair."

She sniffed, shaking her blond head. "Do you not know, Janus? The king is dead."

The king is dead. For a moment time was a pliant thing, and he thought she was referring to the hated Bandele.

The king is dead. No. No! Lycoris should have come back to him, apologizing for his errors, perhaps crawling a little, not--

My friend, though you may not call me so any longer,

I entrust Bianca to you. She is ...Here the ink marks shook a little...very beautiful and most enchanting, as you know.

I would have you both find your happiness, and if it is to be in each other, I may bestow only blessings on the union.

Fare you well, my brother in heart, and if it should chance that I shall not see you again--

Labels: story, writing

-------------------LIVE HIGH!LIVE WILD!--------------- ; {9:45 AM}
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Labels: picture

-------------------LIVE HIGH!LIVE WILD!--------------- ; {9:42 AM}
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