"A Day that will live in infamy"
Today marks the one year anniversary of a very momentous occasion in my life. It was the night that God really spoke to me very clearly. It was the night I reached perhaps the lowest point and hit rock bottom. But thats all in the past. I feel great. My grandma came out from Fort Collins Colorado and my brother and I picked her up from the airport earlier. At the airport baggage claim this young lady was waiting for this special guy and when he showed up, she ran and jumped into his arms like in the movies. Usually, I don't pay attention when people have reunions like that, but it made me think about Carrie and how much I miss her. Sometimes I don't know what is going to happen, but then I trust in the Lord and remember that ultimately, everything is up to him and nothing I say or do can change that. I also remember what Carrie said and I hope and pray it is as true now as it was then. I saw the movie titled "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and it made me so glad that I met a wonderful person that is intelligent, wise, and relatively stable, instead of someone who is Codependent, Impulsive, Manipulative, Irresponsible, and unstable. Below is the third chapter of "THE WORST MANUSCRIPT EVER WRITTEN"
Knowing full well that Jason would come looking for him, Fangrid took a room at a hotel in a nondescript part of town where anonymity was never questioned and people came and went without hindering questions being asked. He fell into a fitful sleep, tortured again by nightmares. This time, however, they were visions of a prophetic dread future of desolate and decaying cities covered by a horrible pestilence. Bodies of the inhabitants numbering in thousands lay everywhere, rotting with an abomidable plague. Horrible fiends of a grotesque and ghastly nature shambled about, eating the dead. Their eyes were black and their faces held no expression. A horrible apocalypse had taken place, laying waste to civilization. The buildings, monuments, and machines; all symbols of humanity's aspirations, now lay in ruins. The once lighted windows were dark, the foundations crumbling, and rotting masses emitting a stench that choked the atmosphere. Oh, the all encompassing stench of death. Where once there had been wonderful scents of flowers and incense, now there was only death and decay. The rivers ran black with a filth and ooze. Waterfronts that once were the center of commerce, were now decaying and sagging docks. Horrible abominations glistening with a black and slimy iccur crawled and slithered out of the dark and stormy seas to take up residence on land. A new age had dawned and humanity had fallen, only to be replaced by horrible perversions of creation. The realization of these horrors became too much for Fangrid and he awoke to find it was all a nightmare. Fortunately. Rays of golden sunlight filtered into the room and for a moment it was easy to forget he had written something unimaginably terrible. So terrible it invaded his dreams with its poisonous and tainted influence. And yet, despite all this, he could not bring himself to destroy it. It had become as much a part of him as his appendages and doing away with it would be comparable to cutting off an arm or a leg. His creative power and potential had brought forth into the world an abomination that he both loved and cursed as if it were a child. Fangrid came to realize that humans altar the world around them by creating and destroying in ways that have far reaching consequences and even worse; they often take no responsibility for these creations and altarations. Like a child unwittingly brought into being on whim or by accident and then left to fend for itself, or a painting designed to shock and dismay an audience; great transgressions against the natural order were being perpetrated on a regular basis. Malign forces were at work, and somehow they had influenced Fangrid Appleton to create the worst manuscript ever written. A manifesto of evil.
"What have I done?" He asked, dropping his head into his hands.
He felt that he was on a precipice, on the verge of a great battle. But the lines were skewed, the sides unclear. Who was good? Who was bad? The differerence between black and white was no longer distinguishable. Now there was only gray and the combatants were ruled mostly by ulterior motives. If Jason were evil, why would he want the manuscript, the conduit of malignant decay to be destroyed? If he were good, why would he be willing to commit atrocities in order to destroy it? Was he acting on categorical imperatives? Would the ends justify the means? Fangrid would have to find out. He would have to do some checking up on Jason Epstein.
Knowing full well that Jason would come looking for him, Fangrid took a room at a hotel in a nondescript part of town where anonymity was never questioned and people came and went without hindering questions being asked. He fell into a fitful sleep, tortured again by nightmares. This time, however, they were visions of a prophetic dread future of desolate and decaying cities covered by a horrible pestilence. Bodies of the inhabitants numbering in thousands lay everywhere, rotting with an abomidable plague. Horrible fiends of a grotesque and ghastly nature shambled about, eating the dead. Their eyes were black and their faces held no expression. A horrible apocalypse had taken place, laying waste to civilization. The buildings, monuments, and machines; all symbols of humanity's aspirations, now lay in ruins. The once lighted windows were dark, the foundations crumbling, and rotting masses emitting a stench that choked the atmosphere. Oh, the all encompassing stench of death. Where once there had been wonderful scents of flowers and incense, now there was only death and decay. The rivers ran black with a filth and ooze. Waterfronts that once were the center of commerce, were now decaying and sagging docks. Horrible abominations glistening with a black and slimy iccur crawled and slithered out of the dark and stormy seas to take up residence on land. A new age had dawned and humanity had fallen, only to be replaced by horrible perversions of creation. The realization of these horrors became too much for Fangrid and he awoke to find it was all a nightmare. Fortunately. Rays of golden sunlight filtered into the room and for a moment it was easy to forget he had written something unimaginably terrible. So terrible it invaded his dreams with its poisonous and tainted influence. And yet, despite all this, he could not bring himself to destroy it. It had become as much a part of him as his appendages and doing away with it would be comparable to cutting off an arm or a leg. His creative power and potential had brought forth into the world an abomination that he both loved and cursed as if it were a child. Fangrid came to realize that humans altar the world around them by creating and destroying in ways that have far reaching consequences and even worse; they often take no responsibility for these creations and altarations. Like a child unwittingly brought into being on whim or by accident and then left to fend for itself, or a painting designed to shock and dismay an audience; great transgressions against the natural order were being perpetrated on a regular basis. Malign forces were at work, and somehow they had influenced Fangrid Appleton to create the worst manuscript ever written. A manifesto of evil.
"What have I done?" He asked, dropping his head into his hands.
He felt that he was on a precipice, on the verge of a great battle. But the lines were skewed, the sides unclear. Who was good? Who was bad? The differerence between black and white was no longer distinguishable. Now there was only gray and the combatants were ruled mostly by ulterior motives. If Jason were evil, why would he want the manuscript, the conduit of malignant decay to be destroyed? If he were good, why would he be willing to commit atrocities in order to destroy it? Was he acting on categorical imperatives? Would the ends justify the means? Fangrid would have to find out. He would have to do some checking up on Jason Epstein.