This is where i put my words? am i really at that much of a loss for words?

it has been roughly 3312 hours since i last posted. a lot of things have happened since that fateful day in June.

it seems that i really haven't had any reason to post on here, and i still really don't have a good reason to... but i shall anyways.

here's a story that i wrote... i think i'll just put it on here:

Method Acting
Click.
Click.
Click.
The black medium ball point pen he had been instructed to bring with him echoed off the hard walls of the room.
A pen is a weapon in the hands of the resourceful. They allowed them in schools, the so called safe institutions that would shape the pitiful future of our self proclaimed great nation. They had attempted to root out all the obvious means to ends. Their hubris had led them to overseeing the simplest form of a weapon. The phalanx had ruled the world for centuries. My grandfather told me that Sun Tzu had ruled the world with it. Why did they tell me to bring this pen? I hope it’s not for some obstacle course, because I wore the wrong underwear for something like that.
He sat down at the conference room table. Arms folded in front of him. He opened his mouth slightly, the kamikaze words disembarking from the ark of his mouth.
This was the moment he had pictured in his mind for most of his short adult life.
Eminem had said “you only get one shot, do not miss your opportunity… This opportunity comes once in a lifetime.” The words reverberating through the wrinkled mass between his ears.
He looked at the watch on his right hand. He had worn it on his right hand his whole life. Whenever he met someone they always asked him about it. He was right handed and apparently when you are right handed you are breaking the status quo when you wear your watch on your right hand.
Screw the status quo. I’ve gotten this far wearing my watch on my right hand, farther than those others, those that wear their watch on their left wrist.
The CEO entered the conference room he was the chairman of the corporation the man was applying for, Ceuta Enterprises, an Intellectual Think Tank. They had called him about a job opening that he was “well qualified for.”
“Welcome sir, sorry for the delay, we have been rather busy this morning.” the well dressed man informed the applicant.
The CEO extended his hand, the other man accepted and they shook.
Why the hand shake? Does he think he needs to impress me? Does he think that he needs to make me feel welcome simply because I’m not like him? Why doesn’t he just bow to me? Shit, why not just offer me a bowl of rice and some chop sticks? What significance does the handshake have? Why can’t we use the high five? It worked well for the parties in college I recall… at least I think I remember it working.
Click. Click. Click.
The CEO clicked his pen, throwing the applicant from his trance.
“I would like you to take your pen out and grab a blank paper from the center of the table.” The CEO started. “Now I would like you to write a response to an image that I will show you in a moment.”
Rorschach? I hope not, I never could figure out those ink blots, I could never stop telling people what I saw in them.
The CEO held up a piece of laminated paper. “You have five minutes for your analysis.”
The man started writing, he wasn’t sure what to write about the image. He just began writing. ‘A Short Song to Pass the Time’ he called it.
We ride into battle.
The arrowhead is scarlet.
I will sleep under the stars tonight.
He continued writing.

“How would you quantify the events leading up to the collapse of the Former United Soviets States of Russia?” Was the only thing written on the wall of chalkboards in my History of Communism class. It was a 1000 level class, which I found odd because there weren’t any 900 level courses offered that semester.
It was the last final in the last class that I took to complete my graduate degree at USC. All that studying lead up to that one moment and I completely blanked. I choked worse than Hendrix did.
The only thing I could think of was the lyrics to a song that I had heard the night before, it wasn’t really a song, it was prose spoken by Jim Morrison. He was always my favorite. I loved him, he was probably the smartest musician ever. He lived an entire life in the span of 27 years, he died of heart failure. So I filled the 12 leafed notebook with a philosophical analysis of the state of the human mind.
I put my pen to the paper and wrote as much as I could on the image in front of me, some abstract object that would look like a blob to an old person, but a million things in the eyes of an imaginative child. I attempted to capture the thoughts of an intellectual child, which I considered myself.

Tick.
Tock.
“Put down your pen, your five minutes is through.” The CEO startled him. He put down his pen and handed him the paper.
He took the paper, stood up and left the room.

The man returned momentarily.
“I have conferred with my colleagues and we have decided that the position is yours if you would like it.”
“Oh yeah?” That was the only thing he could think to say.
I certainly hope this isn’t some ploy to raise their corporate stock, hiring someone who’s not white for an intellectual position, a higher up position too, that must be double points. They were probably filling some quota established by LBJ in his civil rights phase. “Hey hey LBJ how many kids did you kill today?” Bastard.
“Yes.”
“Well I will have to get back to you on that one, I’ll call you sometime tomorrow.” The kick is up…
“Very well, if we don’t hear anything back from you at 6pm we will take that as a declination.” Scott Norwood was closer than I was on that one.
He stood up and left the room. Walked down the hallway. Past the attractive secretary in the crimson skirt. And her glass desk. And then to the door.
“Excuse me,” her voice surrounding him with a comfort he had not felt since his mother rocked him to sleep on that stormy September night when he was a boy. “Excuse me, sir, could you come here?”
Well most certainly, what heterosexual male wouldn’t? Though that’s just me. My uncle used to make fun of me, jokingly, but still make fun of me for my insatiable appetite for white women. I’d tell him they put out more, their figures were fuller, they screamed louder. But deep down inside, real deep, I was just sick of the whole Asian pride mumbo jumbo, though I embrace it in the face of adversity… it’s just that there’s no adversity inside my head, or in my chosen relationships.
“Yes.” Theo replied.
“There’s an outside café around the corner and I take lunch in 6 minutes. I was wondering if you would like to share a drink with me.”
“Well it is a rather cold day out, how about inside? Next to the stained glass window on the west side of the building.”
She crossed her legs and bit her bottom lip. Women had done this before in movies, but I never thought that it really worked.
He looked down, his head rising with a smirk. How is it that women know exactly what to do in order to accomplish their goals? Most women I pick up have two things in common, their generous figure and that soft, smooth, creamy skin. I mean as long as they have a nice figure, hell even a decent figure, or a little cleavage they can get a man to do anything for them. Oh excuse me sir could you get that book off the top shelf for me? Could you help me with this hundred pound bag of concrete? How did she get it out when she got home? Did she wait for another man to jog by looking for some lemonade? I don’t know, all I know is that they have what I want and I’m pretty sure the feeling is mutual.
“Definitely,” she answered.
“Okay, see you in 5 minutes.” I said as I walked out of the building.

It was a cold afternoon, probably around 40 degrees Fahrenheit or so. The man walked to the café and sat next to the stained glass window.
The heater wasn‘t working properly where he was sitting. All he could think about was one thing, Cecilia. He had fantasized about women he’d met, but this woman had something different. This girl had legs that went on for miles. Eyes as deep as the Mariana Trench. Breasts that could feed a small army and a behind that I could rest my tea cup on, sipping it slowly, so as to get every single drop of that savory nectar. Oh she was something, something that he’d like to have once he figured out that whole job business. He stood up, thought about it and then reconsidered changing tables. The waitress walked up to the table.
“Can I get you something?”
“How about a pot of coffee, please.”
“Regular or decaf?”
Regular or decaf… well I don’t think I’m a regular kind of guy, but I am somewhat sleepy. Oh the dilemma that is life. I was never good at making decisions, well at least when it came to food. so I just blurted out the first thing that came within my sight when confronted with these situations. It made for some comedic situations, but people need to laugh a little bit more, at least every once in a while.
“The one with the strawberries,” That was his response.
The confused look on her face said it all. He hadn’t realized what he’d said.
“The pancakes with the strawberries, you do have strawberries don’t you?” Good cover, ole boy, good cover. Dumb ass.
“Okay, what about your coffee? Regular or decaf?”
“Actually how about a cappuccino?”
“Be back in a minute with your order.”
“Thanks.”
My dealings with the fairer sex had only involved restless slumbers and agreeing with them a lot, but I could tell that this one was going to be a little different.

She entered the café. Her intentions were clear in her mind. He had finally convinced her to do this, why let all that convincing go to waste? She stopped in the middle of the walk way and turned slightly. She took a step back, swinging her left foot towards the door. Once her heel hit the floor she stopped and turned again. The doubt in her mind drowning out the exotic music in her ears. She finally walked over to Theo sitting in the booth by the stained glass window. He looked up when he heard the escaping air of the cushion across from him.
“Long time no see.” Her comment caught him off guard.
“Ah, I didn‘t catch your name when we met earlier, your desk simply said C. Reynolds, might you enlighten me?” His tone one of innocence.
“My name is Cecilia.” The name reminding him of something that he couldn’t put his finger on. “And your name is Theodore, Theo for short.”
There was a brief pause. He couldn’t think of where he’d heard the name before.
“Boy it’s sure cold outside, how can you wear a skirt on a day like this?”
“Hose. They are truly amazing. Have you ordered yet?” She tried to keep her dialogue short and to the point. This is a job, not a pleasure cruise.
“Yeah, but she’ll be back in a minute.”
The waitress returned with his cappuccino, as if she were listening in on their conversation.
“And what can I get you to drink ma’am?”
“Bloody Mary, please and some extra celery on the side.”
The waitress left. He sipped his drink.
“I think I just burned my tongue.”
“So what did you think of the test?” She asked, this is a job, not a pleasure cruise.
“It was interesting, very open ended. I was expecting some sort of formulated test that would test my readiness for college or something like that.”
“They called you in for the opening, your file spoke for itself. You’ll either sink or swim, no one around here stays in the middle, but if you swim now you might float later. But with your past history you should be able to swim for a while.” The tone of her speech undercutting her word usage, there is something under the surface, he thought.
“Yeah they said that I have until 6pm to get back to them, I don’t know, I’m sure that it’s a good job, but I feel like I‘m just being played for a fool.” That last line catching her off guard.
“Nah, they‘re straight shooters around here, anyways they only look for the most qualified people to do the jobs around here, so they picked your for a reason” The loud thoughts in her mind making it sound like a whisper in her ears.
“Nope, but I only have like a couple hours before I have to get back to them. What do you think I should do?” Instantly he regretted asking that last question.
She looked uneasy with that last remark. “Well if you want the job then you should take it. I would, but that’s just me. We’re all different.”
“I think I’m going to go for a walk after this, around the lake. It’s right around the block right?”
“Yeah, south of here.” His pancakes and her drink arrived.
He put syrup on his pancakes, watching them soak up the sugary liquid. He ate half of his double stack.
“If you’ll excuse me.” He got up to use the restroom.
Once he was out of sight she reached into her purse and poured the liquid into his cappuccino, noting the time on her watch. He returned momentarily, sat down and continued eating his pancakes. The waitress walked by, asking if they needed something. Cecilia shook her head no, but Theo asked for a glass of water, saying that he was done with his cappuccino. He handed her the cup and she walked off.
Damn it. She thought to herself, trying hard not to show it.
“Is something wrong?” He asked.
Had he noticed something? Had I tipped my hand? Thoughts swamped her mind, a sense of dread came over her. Suddenly she blurted out “I think I need to get back to the office.”
“Really?” He looked at his watch. “But you have 17 minutes left on your lunch break.”
Her face turned pale. But the time his lips closed she was already down the hall, pushing the door open to the bathroom. She locked the door behind her and put the trash can next to it. She stood facing the farthest wall from the door. She pulled out her cell phone. She pressed 6, after one full ring a man answered. “You can’t cross a Sicilian.” Was the only thing she said, then she hung up. She took a deep breath, washed her hands and left the restroom.
“Are you alright!?” Theo said, meeting her in the middle of the restaurant.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just realized that my make up didn’t match.” Good cover Cis, good cover.
He didn’t quite know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything.
They sat back down at the booth, he finished his pancakes and paid the bill, guzzling the water before they left.
He bundled himself back up and they walked outside.
“Well thank you for the lunch, but I really must be getting back to work.” She pointed north, towards the lake. “You go that way and take a left a block down, that should take you where you want to go.”
“But your work is that way.” He said, pointing the other direction. “Won’t you let me walk you back to work?”
“No, you should clear your mind and think about the job, you only have 107 minutes until you need to be back.”
He looked defeated.
“Watch out for the crazies.” She said to him as she turned.
“Oh yeah, hold on a second. Speaking of crazies, I met your uncle on the bus in today. He told me to say ‘hi’ to you.”
“Watch out for crazies.” She said as she continued walking away.
As she walked away she turned and saw him walking around the corner. She took out her cell phone and dialed 6, waiting for an answer.

He stood there for a minute, watching her swift movements, before turning around. He began walking towards where he thought the lake was. Was that some sort of charity on her part? Oh there’s a new guy in the office and he’s different, maybe I should take him out for lunch and make him pay? My stupid family filling my head with all this deceit and deception, the world would be so beautiful without their pessimism. He passed the large buildings and the unusually vacant city streets. As he walked away one thought clouded his mind.

Do Not Touch Water Chemically Treated read the sign he passed upon entering the run-walk surrounding the lake. He walked past the sign. He’d never been to this lake, but he’d heard about it a lot from the running magazine he subscribed to even though he’d stopped running years ago he still liked to read the magazines; ‘Good articles,’ he’d always said.
He stopped for a moment to admire a rather large tree. The sign on it read “THIS TREE WAS PLANTED BY THE FIRST NORSE SETTLERS IN THE AREA. UPON THE PLANTING OF THE TREE IT WAS REMARKED “WELL LETS SEE WHAT WILL STAND LONGER, THOSE REDS OR THIS BEAUTIFUL SWEDISH EVERGREEN.” AND TO THIS DAY THE TREE STILL STANDS, UNSCATHED BY THE PASSAGE OF TIME. IT WAS DECLARED A HISTORICAL MARKER WITHIN THE STATE AND RENOVATIONS ARE IN THE WORKS FOR 2015.” After reading the plaque he laughed. What an imagination that man has, I bet he voted for Nixon. “2015?” He said quietly to himself. Well I guess they like to get started early on planning around here.
He had been walking around the lake for about five minutes when he noticed someone else behind him. Watch out for crazies eh? He continued walking.
The man seemed to be walking faster, gaining ground very rapidly. Theo turned to his right and sat on a bench, facing the pristine lake and a potential crazy. When he saw who was following him, he realized that it was just a jogger.
That must be the crazy she walk talking about, he must be crazy to be jogging when it’s so blasted cold out.
He stood up and continued walking, thinking about when he had met Cecilia’s uncle that morning.

He had met him earlier that day on the bus into town. The man looked like a worker from the dock, much like Brando’s character in On the Waterfront.
“So what brings you into town this afternoon?” he asked.
“I have a job interview at Ceuta Enterprises this afternoon, it’s an Intellectual Think Tank downtown.”
“Of course, I know that place. My niece works there. Worked there for six years. She’s still sittin at that front desk, those Chinks been takin her jobs. They‘ve been passin her up. I ain’t got no idea why she’s still sittin there. Damn Affirmative Action bullshit, should send all those fuckers back to that island where they belong.” Theo had been bundled up, so the man didn’t see what he was.
“The Island? Do you mean like in the movie?” Theo replied
“The what? No, I mean back to Japan, that’s where they all came from anyways. I think they should kill all their children, either that or send their daughters over here so we can rape the shit outta them.” Theo’s stomach began to turn, he threw up a little in his mouth, but swallowed it. Unfortunately the man continued. “What’s better than one dead Chink?” A short pause. “A whole pile of em.” The man erupted in a thunderous laugh. Theo’s stomach began to churn, he hid his face further in the oversized collar of his jacket. He’d never heard such hatred before.
Theo sat there quietly for the rest of the bus ride, hoping that the man would stop talking to him. But the man didn’t. He just kept on talking about his hatred for the Asians, continually lumping them into one group, neglecting the fact that they are more diverse than any other group of individuals.
Fucking ignorant bastard.
The bus finally reached the entrance to Ceuta Enterprises. Theo stood up. “Have a good day sir,” he said as he took his hat off. “Take ‘er easy.” He said as he walked out of the bus. After Theo got off the bus though, he instantly threw up, unable to sustain his poker face any longer.
As the bus drove off he could see the dock worker staring out the window, shouting something. Probably some unoriginal racial slurs I heard long ago, Theo thought as he walked into the building.

He continued walking. So if I get this job, I’ll be able to retire when I’m 34 and be able to work where ever I want to. Seems like a pretty good deal, though I’m not sure that I like having to show up 6 days a week. Theo was so engulfed in thought that he didn’t notice the other man who had been following him. He continued walking, oblivious to the world around him.
He imagined how John Lennon had been killed. He had been killed by a man who had asked him for an autograph hours earlier. A man who talked to people in the walls. He left behind clues about his life, but no one could piece together the puzzle. John Lennon, killed before his rebirth as a musician. Reborn, just like everyone else.
He continued walking, the man behind him slowly gaining, Theo continued thinking about his new life and future. I think I might retire in the countryside, somewhere that is still untouched. Maybe British Colombia, I love Vancouver! Theo pulled out his pen and wrote Vancouver BC on his hand and smiled.
The long slender bars of cloud float like fishes in the sea of crimson light. He thought as he looked towards the heavens. Oh Emerson, you had such a way with words. His heart began to quicken, as if he’d discovered a cure for cancer. He stopped in place, just staring at the clouds and the near setting sun for a moment.
Then the moment was gone. He took a step, but it would be his last. He heard a loud noise behind him and turned, but it was too late. He’d been hit.
He felt a warm sensation.
‘Damn it’s cold.’
The man’s flannel jacket caught his eye.
“You got the wrong guy.” He blurted out, bet he quickly realized who it was.
“Fucking Chink! Gook! Rice Nigger!”
What was happening. “You can fucking burn in hell Whitey!” That bastard found me alright.
“You Asians come here and take my niece’s jobs! That job is hers not yours!”
“No, no, you don’t understand. I have my life to live. You don’t understand.” His tone had turned from one of anger to one of desperation. But his words fell on deaf ears.
“Cecilia was right, you were stupid enough to go to the lake, even after she warned you.” The man dropped to his knees, In some sort of pagan ritual. “Aman tel' Seldarine! Lova termara en' templa!” Theo had no idea what was going on, was he speaking Elvish? He’d read Tolkien, but hadn’t remembered enough of the tongue to be certain.
Theo laid there, knife in his side. The arrow is crimson, he thought.
He turned onto his side, knife sticking out a few inches from his stomach. I wasn’t even going to take this job.
“We must run. We must run. We must plunge, to the bottom of everything, then we’ll see it and rejoice. Death isn’t the end of life, it’s just the beginning. The sun sets and then it rises again.” The man said while dancing around the applicant’s motionless body. “I must tell them of my victory!” He said as he ran off. He continued in different language. Und die, die gesehenes Tanzen waren, wurden gedacht, um geisteskrank zu sein von denen, die nicht die Musik hören konnten!
Oh, you’re still insane. Even if I can’t hear the music. Theo laid there, the warmth engulfing his body. He raised the hand he’d written, Vancouver BC, on. What a waste. What a waste.
He closed his eyes.