I'll walk alone
Because to tell you the truth
I am lonely
I don't mind being lonely
When my heart tells me to
They'll ask me why
And I'll say
That I'd rather
There are dreams I must gather
Dreams we fashion the night
So I'll walk alone
Because to tell you the truth
I am lonely
I don't mind being lonely........
Friday, January 14, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
The Speed of Sound Issue No.4
U.S. Pentagon
District of Columbia, U.S.A.
1100 Hours
D.E.F.C.O.N. 5
"Where are they? That's what I want to know! Where in God's name are they?"
"Sir, Waters' team SR-71a stalled en route and fell through the Troposphere. They- crashed in the Red River."
"What? Why don't they tell me anything anymore? Seriously! How could I know they crashed?"
"Sir, we got a reading from their E.D.B.!"
"Find their bird's serial number!"
"We can't find it; his E.D.B. crashed sometime around last night."
"But you said you got a reading-"
"A reading is different than the actual beacon. It's emitted from a satellite 12 hours after it's sent out. It doesn't mean he sent it now. For all we know, they could be past the Mekong into Hue or Khe Sanh by now."
ANNOUNCER: "Power level critical. DEFCON increased to: 6."
"Six? Is that even possible? I thought we only go to 5?"
"DEFCON 6 is a last resort level which implies that America has been intruded. Somewhere in the U.S. there are Communist militants. They could even be inside the Pentagon."
"You mean our security isn't even that good?"
"Yea, that's what I'm trying to say."
"Uh, Sir? There's an Unidentified Object En Route to the Pentagon."
"I wanna' know what kind, how far, and what present they sent us."
"It's an ICBM, serial number 3361."
"How far?"
"About 3000 meters."
"Okay, everyone! Into the shelter! Go, go, go!"
"Move, move, move!"
Channel 12 News
1900 hours
Pentagon Parking Lot J36
"Thanks, Tom. I'm David Walsh reporting for Channel 12 news. We don't have all the facts, but apparently, the Pentagon has been invaded by an unknown assilant. Right now, I'm standing 5 miles outside the Pentagon Blast Zone, where a Nuclear Bomb has been set off. The Pentagon has been reported to be completely demolished. Evac Teams are scoured about the perimeter of the building searching for survivors in the underground vault.Oh, here comes DCPD Chief of Staff, Bill Mandle. Mr. Mandle, can you verify if the president was inside the building at the time of the explosion?"
"We're not sure. We have S&R Teams about the area, looking for HVTs."
"Can you assure America will be safe from further attacks? Do you know the assilant? Mr. Mandle!"
"No further comments. And shut that camera off!"
District of Columbia, U.S.A.
1100 Hours
D.E.F.C.O.N. 5
"Where are they? That's what I want to know! Where in God's name are they?"
"Sir, Waters' team SR-71a stalled en route and fell through the Troposphere. They- crashed in the Red River."
"What? Why don't they tell me anything anymore? Seriously! How could I know they crashed?"
"Sir, we got a reading from their E.D.B.!"
"Find their bird's serial number!"
"We can't find it; his E.D.B. crashed sometime around last night."
"But you said you got a reading-"
"A reading is different than the actual beacon. It's emitted from a satellite 12 hours after it's sent out. It doesn't mean he sent it now. For all we know, they could be past the Mekong into Hue or Khe Sanh by now."
ANNOUNCER: "Power level critical. DEFCON increased to: 6."
"Six? Is that even possible? I thought we only go to 5?"
"DEFCON 6 is a last resort level which implies that America has been intruded. Somewhere in the U.S. there are Communist militants. They could even be inside the Pentagon."
"You mean our security isn't even that good?"
"Yea, that's what I'm trying to say."
"Uh, Sir? There's an Unidentified Object En Route to the Pentagon."
"I wanna' know what kind, how far, and what present they sent us."
"It's an ICBM, serial number 3361."
"How far?"
"About 3000 meters."
"Okay, everyone! Into the shelter! Go, go, go!"
"Move, move, move!"
Channel 12 News
1900 hours
Pentagon Parking Lot J36
"Thanks, Tom. I'm David Walsh reporting for Channel 12 news. We don't have all the facts, but apparently, the Pentagon has been invaded by an unknown assilant. Right now, I'm standing 5 miles outside the Pentagon Blast Zone, where a Nuclear Bomb has been set off. The Pentagon has been reported to be completely demolished. Evac Teams are scoured about the perimeter of the building searching for survivors in the underground vault.Oh, here comes DCPD Chief of Staff, Bill Mandle. Mr. Mandle, can you verify if the president was inside the building at the time of the explosion?"
"We're not sure. We have S&R Teams about the area, looking for HVTs."
"Can you assure America will be safe from further attacks? Do you know the assilant? Mr. Mandle!"
"No further comments. And shut that camera off!"
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
The Speed of Sound Issue No.3
メコン川 ストリーム
0700 Hours
Waters and team presumed KIA
Our sampan slowly drifted down the river. Mosely and I didn't really say anything to one another; there was really nothing to say. We were planning to go downstream 'till dawn to keep in the dark; we couldn't risk getting caught by a riverside patrol. Mosely and I took 3 hour shifts, while the other rested. Eventually, morning came, along with no breakfast. We grabbed some branches off a nearby tree, and whittled them with our K-bars to create somewhat authentic fishing spears. Unfortunately, the river was too fogged-up with mud and dust for us to see through. It really made me miss the transparency in streams back in Beale.
"Hey, Alan; closed trail. 3:00."
I turn my head sharply to the right. Up on a rigid cliff, lay a highway, occupied with multiple jeeps and military trucks. On the side in large Courier print, are the words: người có thẩm quyền chỉ.
"Authorized Personnel Only, it says. NVA"
As we whispered, large groups of Viet-Cong walked along side the river. We lay down and pray. Two soldiers stop for a smoke right on the edge of the riverbank. Of course, I had no idea what they were talking about. They were saying something about the "Ho Hoan Kiem"; a lake right by Hanoi Penitentiary. The only other word we could make out was "Sampan". The boat drifted down the river as the two Viet-Cong killed the cigarette butts. After the small encampment dilemma, I fell into a deep sleep as Mosely skippered the boat. I can't remember when I woke up, but it was night. The Sampan was lazily floating by a small village of huts. Gunfire and female screams were heard for minutes on end. I sat there in fear, wondering what could possibly be happening.
"They're killing the villagers."
Delirious, I began to re-shut my eyes, hoping to wake up in the daylight. Right before my right eyelid closed, a faint, whistling sound began to crescendo, as a large, cylindrical metal object tore the boat's port side clean off, forcing us into the water. Since we've been spotted, bullets created a stream of bubbles as they pierced the Vietnamese water. Swim, I thought, swim. I signaled Mosely a gesture to follow me, but he denied and began paddling in the opposite direction. Frustrated, I followed him as steaming lead surrounded me. Soon, the water became to muggy to see just about anything. I lost sight of Mosely. Bringing my head up for air, I waded to the side, under the brush.
"Mosely." I whispered. "Mosely!"
No reply. I continued downstream, where I could think anyone would want to go. Silhouettes of Sampans disappeared into the foggy night, with Vietnamese and Laotian fights breaking out over lost Americans. I spent the next couple hours looking for Mosely, or at least until the sun came up. Eventually, I wore tired of the Mosquitoes and the obscene humidity. I waded in a nearby 死の沼, as the locals called it. It smelt of poverty and death, explaining the 死 part. To this day, I could never figure out why it was in Japanese and not Vietnamese. Japanese settlers? I walked into some shallow ground right about the time I hit a soft log. Probably some dead wood. I kicked it out of the way. But then some more dead wood. I picked it up to guess how old this 沼 was anyway. But it had some odd twigs. But they weren't twigs. They were fingers. Immediately, I threw it into the water. From there I realized I was truly in a 死の沼. The Vietnamese. They did this. They killed the villagers along the メコン川. War crimes; inhumane. But why?
"Help! Oh, God, someone help me!"
Mosely was screaming. Pain. Agony. 死. I rushed through the 沼 to the nearest source of light. But as Mosely's screams grew closer and closer: boom. Gunshot. I stopped, and crouched behind the nearest tree. I watched as some NVA moved Mosely's body across a courtyard, and laid him next to a house. After harassing some villagers, they left. A group of children crowded around him as I pushed through the group. Mosely was sitting there, hole in his temple, spurting blood. He was unconscious, so I picked him up and started walking towards a stray Sampan. I set him down on it. However, something was different about this one; it was heavier. I found a tarp and covered Mosely. But as I moved the tarp, I noticed the previous owner of it was an arms dealer; assault rifles, sub-machine guns, sidearms, even a few grenades were riddled in the corner. It was Heaven. I pushed off as the crescendo of guns and screams came into hearing range. From there, we stumbled upon the attack of Hue City.
0700 Hours
Waters and team presumed KIA
Our sampan slowly drifted down the river. Mosely and I didn't really say anything to one another; there was really nothing to say. We were planning to go downstream 'till dawn to keep in the dark; we couldn't risk getting caught by a riverside patrol. Mosely and I took 3 hour shifts, while the other rested. Eventually, morning came, along with no breakfast. We grabbed some branches off a nearby tree, and whittled them with our K-bars to create somewhat authentic fishing spears. Unfortunately, the river was too fogged-up with mud and dust for us to see through. It really made me miss the transparency in streams back in Beale.
"Hey, Alan; closed trail. 3:00."
I turn my head sharply to the right. Up on a rigid cliff, lay a highway, occupied with multiple jeeps and military trucks. On the side in large Courier print, are the words: người có thẩm quyền chỉ.
"Authorized Personnel Only, it says. NVA"
As we whispered, large groups of Viet-Cong walked along side the river. We lay down and pray. Two soldiers stop for a smoke right on the edge of the riverbank. Of course, I had no idea what they were talking about. They were saying something about the "Ho Hoan Kiem"; a lake right by Hanoi Penitentiary. The only other word we could make out was "Sampan". The boat drifted down the river as the two Viet-Cong killed the cigarette butts. After the small encampment dilemma, I fell into a deep sleep as Mosely skippered the boat. I can't remember when I woke up, but it was night. The Sampan was lazily floating by a small village of huts. Gunfire and female screams were heard for minutes on end. I sat there in fear, wondering what could possibly be happening.
"They're killing the villagers."
Delirious, I began to re-shut my eyes, hoping to wake up in the daylight. Right before my right eyelid closed, a faint, whistling sound began to crescendo, as a large, cylindrical metal object tore the boat's port side clean off, forcing us into the water. Since we've been spotted, bullets created a stream of bubbles as they pierced the Vietnamese water. Swim, I thought, swim. I signaled Mosely a gesture to follow me, but he denied and began paddling in the opposite direction. Frustrated, I followed him as steaming lead surrounded me. Soon, the water became to muggy to see just about anything. I lost sight of Mosely. Bringing my head up for air, I waded to the side, under the brush.
"Mosely." I whispered. "Mosely!"
No reply. I continued downstream, where I could think anyone would want to go. Silhouettes of Sampans disappeared into the foggy night, with Vietnamese and Laotian fights breaking out over lost Americans. I spent the next couple hours looking for Mosely, or at least until the sun came up. Eventually, I wore tired of the Mosquitoes and the obscene humidity. I waded in a nearby 死の沼, as the locals called it. It smelt of poverty and death, explaining the 死 part. To this day, I could never figure out why it was in Japanese and not Vietnamese. Japanese settlers? I walked into some shallow ground right about the time I hit a soft log. Probably some dead wood. I kicked it out of the way. But then some more dead wood. I picked it up to guess how old this 沼 was anyway. But it had some odd twigs. But they weren't twigs. They were fingers. Immediately, I threw it into the water. From there I realized I was truly in a 死の沼. The Vietnamese. They did this. They killed the villagers along the メコン川. War crimes; inhumane. But why?
"Help! Oh, God, someone help me!"
Mosely was screaming. Pain. Agony. 死. I rushed through the 沼 to the nearest source of light. But as Mosely's screams grew closer and closer: boom. Gunshot. I stopped, and crouched behind the nearest tree. I watched as some NVA moved Mosely's body across a courtyard, and laid him next to a house. After harassing some villagers, they left. A group of children crowded around him as I pushed through the group. Mosely was sitting there, hole in his temple, spurting blood. He was unconscious, so I picked him up and started walking towards a stray Sampan. I set him down on it. However, something was different about this one; it was heavier. I found a tarp and covered Mosely. But as I moved the tarp, I noticed the previous owner of it was an arms dealer; assault rifles, sub-machine guns, sidearms, even a few grenades were riddled in the corner. It was Heaven. I pushed off as the crescendo of guns and screams came into hearing range. From there, we stumbled upon the attack of Hue City.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Mischief. Mayhem. Soap.
I'm sure many of us are familiar with the American actor, Brad Pitt. While he's appeared in some rather different films, he made his outstanding appearance in the David Fincher film, Fight Club. Starring Edward Norton and Pitt, Norton plays a man in his early 20s, who's name is never mentioned. After his IKEA and assorted furniture condo is set ablaze after an incident involving nitroglycerine, he contacts a soap dealer, Tyler Durden, whom he met on a flight the day before. Oddly, Norton's character and Tyler have the same briefcases. After rough-housing in a bar parking lot, Tyler and the Narrator form "Fight Club", a place where young men can relieve a day's stress by beating each-other to a pulp. From there, the Narrator realizes a set of spontaneous crimes around the city. Soon, Project Mayhem is commenced, creating a downfall towards oblivion. Watch the movie, read the book. But remember: The first rule of Fight Club is, you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is, you DO NOT talk about Fight Club! Personally the best movie ever.
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