8-14-01 | song for the day

no rain all i can say is that my life is pretty plain i like watching the puddles gather rain and all i can do is just pour some tea for two and speak my point of view but it's not sane, it's not sane i just want some one to say to me i'll always be there when you wake you know i'd like to keep my cheeks dry today so stay with me and i'll have it made and i don't understand why i sleep all day and I start to complain that there's no rain and all i can do is read a book to stay awake and it rips my life away, but it's a great escape escape......escape......escape...... all i can say is that my life is pretty plain you don't like my point of view you think I'm insane its not sane......it's not sane. blind melon

miasma (mye-az'-muh or mee-az'-muh) - a vaporous exhalation formerly believed to cause disease; a heavy vaporous emanation or atmosphere; an influence or atmosphere that tends to deplete or corrupt; an atmosphere that obscures : fog

quote: purity is not innocence; it is more.  purity is the outcome of sustained spiritual sympathy with god.  ~oswald chambers, my utmost for his highest

8-06-01 | freewrite: living in america

"if i really thought there was a way out of here, then don't you think that i would let you know?" he said to me, staring from under hooded eyebrows over a sweaty, dirty face.  sure, i thought, i trust you about as much as i would trust a proctologist with an electric drill.  but i said, "yeah.  i know.  i'm sorry, sir."  we had been in the hole for a week or so now, having fallen during a night raid on an enemy camp.  one would think that such an experienced officer as the one before me would have more sense than to get us stuck in a place like this,  or at least that he might try to extend the rations rather than eat all of the canned biscuits in the first six days.  the shaft of the hole was slanted enough to block out most of the sunlight, but not quite enough to allow a foothold in the wall.  i started, "sir, i think there might be someone outs--" "shhh, i think i hear something," came the ingenious interruption from my captain.  oh captain, my captain, i thought as he shifted his position to reach the bottom of the shaft.  i turned to continue digging our escape route.  we had been digging a longer, less steep tunnel in the opposite direction, and it seemed that we had not much farther to go.  my captain yelled up the shaft for help before i had the chance to stop him.  by the time i had turned back toward him, i heard the sound of voices in a foreign language.  the enemy language.  after a spell of silent deliberation i pulled out my vial of cyanide.  as my captain realized his mistake and tried to push past me, i filled the syringe and muttered a short prayer before putting the needle into flesh.  his flesh.  "what are you doing??" he rasped.  "sorry, sir, but you are getting me out of this mess," i replied.  i heard what seemed to be rocks come rolling down the shaft of the hole.  i pulled the lifeless body of my commanding officer over me and wedged it in the opening as well as i could, and just as i had suspected, i heard the release of poisonous gas from the grenades on the other side of his body.  i packed some of the dirt upon which i sat into the crevices around my captain and thanked him for his service.  i then turned back to my excavation and resumed my work. the reticent

erudition (ehr-uh-dish'-en) - extensive knowledge acquired chiefly from books; profound, recondite, or bookish learning

quote: dig up all the information you can, then go with your instincts.  i use my intellect to inform my instinct, and then i use my instinct to test all this data.  does it smell right, feel right, fit right?  ~colin powell, secretary of state