moral of September 9, 2006

2006-09-09T21:12:23Z

While in Canada, dont allow too many people to know you are an American.

[moral of september 8th, 2006]

2006-09-09T00:35:59Z

When going number two in any washroom, (particularly public) make sure there is ample toilet paper before sitting down.

[ss]

2005-12-04T05:53:10Z

The Arch

By F. Thurston

His name was Jonathan Michael Miller, and he was twenty-eight years old, but looked much younger. On his chin there are all but a few haphazardly placed facial hairs, and on his head there is a mat of short and unkempt dark locks. Too skinny for a man his age with a voice just a couple octaves too high, Jon could barely pass as being eighteen, let alone twenty-eight. His young appearance had created quite a few minor issues in his life, and purchasing a handgun from Artie’s Ammo was no exception. Although he had been to the shop on several occasions browsing and comparing, it was this day that he was to pick up his brand new Smith & Wesson 4040. He chose the gun because it was small and powerful, or at least that is what the brochure said, and it also looked really professional and intimidating. The gun had a black handle, with a silver colored metal on top; it was just like the one the cop had used in his favorite movie. The excitement was killing him.

Artie himself stood behind a scratched glass counter with a smug grin on his face. Even though he knew in his head that he was going to sell the pistol to this kid, he often gave a hard time to skinny punks looking to buy a firearm. You can push a lot of buttons when you’re on the side of the case with all that deadly merchandise. He looked the kid right in the eye and questioned to himself whether the ID he saw a few days previous was actually genuine. Artie thought that there was no way in hell that this guy was twenty-eight years old, but that wasn’t going to stop him from collecting the $900.00 that the gun cost. The shop had run into hard times and this was the biggest sale in a while, so he gladly let his questions and concerns remain unsaid as he slid the gun in its case across the counter. A box of bullets had conveniently come free of charge with the gun, its soft cardboard brandishing a large white “.40S&W” on its side. Artie winced and considered taking the gun back when Jon took the gun case and put it in a plastic grocery bag, then dropped the box of bullets on the floor, scattering them everywhere.

****

Jonathan Michael Miller arrived at his home located at 34 Partridge St at around six o’clock. The house was quite small, a one bedroom split level, and it looked just like every house on the street besides the fact that its light brown color. The backyard was small, maybe about 40 feet long and 20 feet wide. During the cheap housing wave just a few years earlier, many of the developments in this part of town had backyards surrounded by concrete walls about eight feet high. It was ugly as hell, but provided great privacy. The small city he lived in was so flat that you could see down one street for what seemed like miles.

The sky was about twenty minutes from its peak beauty as Jon was closing the door to his car. The sun was turning the sky a combination of orange, red, and light purple all across the cityscape. The neighbor’s children were in silhouette as they rode into the sunset on ten-speeds. Jon paused for a second as he watched the children ride and laugh with one another, and he felt uneasy at the irony that he had a gun in his hand at that exact moment, but his excitement brushed it off his conscious.

He entered his house and hastily cleared off his small kitchen counter. He took out the gun from the case and bag, and pointed it around the room aiming at certain objects. He cocked the gun back like he had seen on television and the loud clicking noise was suddenly so much more real. He felt the surge of power created by this deadly object in his grip, it made his heart pump faster. Even though the pistol was not loaded, he pulled the trigger anyway, but the safety prevented anything from happening. He slapped himself in the head lightly for acting like a dunce, and took the safety off.

..Click...

The sound of the hammer, metal to metal, made him jump slightly. Adrenaline making his breathing quicken as his heart picked up even more speed. He slid the clip out of the gun and dropped it on the counter with a loud thud. He took out eight bullets and loaded the clip, shoved it into the gun and then headed towards his recycling bin. It was nearly overflowing with brown beer bottles and soda cans. He grabbed about a dozen of the bottles and headed into his backyard, the concrete jungle was heavily contrasted between the shadows and the glow setting sun. It was about ten minutes until the skyline would be at its peak beauty, and Jon thought to himself what a perfect time it was to try out his new toy.

*****

Jonathan Michael Miller stood about five feet from a wall behind him, and across the yard there stood four beer bottles on an old sawhorse. Jon tentatively raised his gun and aimed at the bottles across the lawn from him, his hands shaking and forming sweat in the palms. He remembered this time to both cock the gun and take the safety off. Suddenly a thundering boom emitted from the gun, a small chip fell off the concrete wall behind the bottles, dust forming as he realized he missed by nearly a foot. He was slightly disappointed, as the sound was so unlike the guns he had seen in movies, it was downright deafening. He pulled the trigger five more times as quickly as possible, and all of the bullets missed beside the last. The last bullet hit the sawhorse, causing all the bottles to fall to the ground. Frustrated with his lack of aim and the fact that he had wasted six bullets but failed to waste even one bottle, he was determined to succeed on his final two bullets. His palms and forehead were now saturated with his perspiration; his eyes were squinting from the setting sun in the skyline. He took aim at a bottle that fell in front of the sawhorse. He closed one eye and gripped the gun with his right hand. The bottle was right in his sights and he started to squeeze the trigger. He flexed his finger and the now familiar deafening crack emitted from the pistol. The bottle smashed with a loud crash, but his grip on the gun faltered with the kick. It fell from his hands and a slight grunt came from his throat, he watched in slow motion as gravity pulled the gun towards Earth, handle side down. The gun was rotating slightly, making the end of the barrel point further up. When it finally did make contact, the thud of the gun was inaudible as the crack of another shot thundered in a misfire. The kick tossed the gun lightly across the ground, and landed on its side in the dust of Jonathan Michael Millers backyard. He looked up in the air where the bullet shot through the sky, almost thinking he might be able to spot its path in the sunset.

Jon almost forgot about what just happened, as he finally took in how beautiful the skyline really was tonight

*****

Filip James Thurston had just returned home from work to his apartment on 356 Partridge St. It had been a long day, not because of anything particularly stressful, but because it was the one-year mark for when he had first met the love of his life. He was supposed to meet her on the street corner outside his home in about twenty minutes, but was excited to read her a letter he had poured more than just his heart into. The letter was taped to a flower, and brandishing the letters “XOXO” on the outside in black marker.

Filip never had a very easy time fitting in, either by appearance or personality. His height, 6’4’, usually towered over people, a favorite joke of his being “the air is thin up here.” His short messy hair never looked the same two days in a row, and blue eyes pierced through the eyes of the timid and the untouchable. He lived alone, and for the time being preferred it that way. There were several times he thought he had felt love before in his life, but all those times previous have been disregarded as flings at this point. He knew what he had found.

He rushed through his living room through the front door and put his bag down on the couch, obviously feeling pressured as he stayed a little late at work. She was everything on his mind, not just today, but many days before this as well. A smile of anticipation could not be stripped from his face; it was like a drug that was unshakable, the withdrawals proving to only get worse with time. The excitement was building with every passing second, and he stopped in his haste when he noticed a picture of her taped to his wall, taken by his own camera, by his own hand. He stopped to stare at it for a few seconds, remembering words she had shared and the small sounds she makes when he knows he pushed a button. Captivated by the picture on the wall, he dropped the letter and flower that he was holding so delicately in his hands. He winced slightly as he noticed a corner had bent on the envelope, considering that he should re-pack the letter in a new one. Bending down to pick it up, the man squinted at the skyline piercing through the window; it certainly was going to be a beautiful evening. He took one last look in the mirror to make sure his hair was alright, fixed a small patch that was sticking up and walked out satisfied even though the hair stuck up again almost immediately.

*****

Filip James Thurston ran down the stairs of his apartment, almost falling over several times on the way down, he always thought his feet were too small for his height. Just to waste a few seconds, he checked the mailbox outside the door even though he knew it was empty. The sun was shining through the openings between the buildings around him, contrasting dark shadows with where the sunset was shining. He walked with loud thuds underneath his feet with every step, the nervousness and excitement making his feet look clumsy. Perspiration had formed around his grip on the letter, and the plastic wrapping the flower has become slightly slippery.

Filip checked the time on his wrist, noticing the bored holes from a night in a field that has yet to happen. He was early, as always, and as he saw the street corner approaching he noticed she had not arrived yet. He looked around to see if she was anywhere approaching, but he did not see her, and a slight worry came over him that maybe she would never show up. He always worried too much about things.

He sat on the green plastic bench designated for this street corner which doubled as a bus-stop, but no one was waiting. In fact the streets seemed very deserted of people, figuring most people had gone home for the day. He looked around distracted by nothing in particular, but still squinting at the sun in his eyes. Sweat was forming on his forehead, and he had to keep trading the letter from hand to hand in order for it to not get ruined, it was the only thing that mattered right now. He looked across the street, maybe about twenty feet away. The child was in silhouette from the sun, but Filip could see the darkened round shape of a rubber ball bouncing from the sidewalk. A soft tap sounded every time it hit the ground and bounced back into the little boy’s grip. The ball was heading down for another bounce, but he aimed it too close to his feet, striking his right toe and bouncing off course into the street. Filip stood up fast, remembering horror stories of kids chasing lost balls into the road and getting hit. He told the kid to wait right there as the ball rolled across the street towards him, and he did as he was told, obviously unsure of what to do. Filip grabbed the ball from off the street, and from a kneeling position squinted up at the kid and tossed it in his general direction. Once the kid caught the ball and knew he had it back safely, he looked at Filip and smiled ear to ear, the kind of exaggerated toothy smile kids give adults that they just meet. Filip marveled at the resemblance of the boy to his child self, wishing he could be a child again.

”Flip?”

The voice, from directly behind him, had called out his name. It was her, Filip could recognize that voice from anywhere, all the words she said had enthralled him, intoxicated him, the withdrawals improved instantly. He stood up and turned, her dark hair smoothly fell on either side of her face, her cheeks slightly red from the mild chill in the air. She was too smiling, and he wondered how he had ever come to meet someone so lovely. The sun was beaming on her face; she glowed even when there was no light. She squinted slightly, but Filip knew she could see him, her smile told him so. Nervousness was all but lost; he stayed still, unsure of what to do. They started walking towards one another at the same time, coming together in a long-needed embrace. She took her head away from his chest and looked up at him, as he did the same and looked down into her eyes. Three simple words were all that came to mind, were all that uttered from his mouth.

”I love you.”

He could feel her toes flexing slightly as she smiled and raised an inch off the sidewalk. He bent his knees slightly to lower his head more, and he registered the feel of the last bit of breath taken before their lips pressed together.

A flash of white light hit them both as they connected; an unbearable pinch had overcome a spot on his back and chest. His entire torso hurt, as he fell to the ground with her in his arms. His forehead was still slightly sweaty, as well his hand and the force of his fall made the letter fall to the ground. As gravity pulled it towards the ground, she watched it fall from the ground, realizing the pain in her heart too. The letter finally fell with an inaudible thud, as all that could be heard was the sound of a child screaming from 20 feet away.

The scream caused a storeowner to come running out, where he found, laying on a street corner two people unconscious in a pool of blood. Two hearts had been connected by a continuous hole, .40 inches wide. The bullet which had caused the holes stopped in her heart, with a piece of his still attached.

The storeowner almost forgot about what just happened, as he noticed the skyline was more beautiful then he had ever seen it.

[email]

2005-10-15T17:27:04Z

Subject: Inquiry of Dissatisfied M&M buyer

To Whom it May Concern,

Today, October 15th, 2005, I purchased a 124 gram bag of Almond M&Ms from Complex 2 cafeteria at York University. I enjoy your candy product immensely and purchase the same bag frequently for $2.49, which i cinsider top dollar. I specifically choose the Almond style M&Ms to replace much needed protein lost by becoming a vegetarian. Today the bag seemed fine, even as I ate many of them, but then a moment of intense dissatisfaction shrouded my M&M eating expierience in anger and confusion. After about 10-15 of the candies in the bag, I went for another, chewed, but there was no almond to be found. I wasnt sure at first, so I took extra careful care to make sure the almond was in fact missing, and I am 100% sure it is. Now you see, because I get no protein from meat, this almond can be loosely considered a life and death situation for myself. Luckily this time, my roommate had a couple peanuts that I could eat, but those were no where near as satisfying, as I am quite fond of my almonds. The fact does remain that I paid for an almond I did not recieve, and I will politely refuse to buy M&M candies or any Mars products until I either:

a) recieve an almond free of charge
b) am satisfyied by other means

You may send the almond to:

Filip Thurston
Calumet Residence 3-3E
York University
4700 Keele St
Toronto, ON M3J 1P3
CANADA

Thank you very much for your time.

Sincerly,
Filip Thurston

[sign on]

2004-01-21T22:46:32Z

FRIENDS ONLY.

Death to all traitors, death to all liars.

Radicality in its finest existance, violent revolution.

With a pistol at hand and one in the holster, I stand at the front lines ready to charge, ready to change.

Currently Residing In: Toronto, ON

the still-life american

moral of September 9, 2006

[moral of september 8th, 2006]

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