The End.

Well, that's it, my first and probably lamest and most thinly disguized attempt at allegory. It's all in the spirit of self-education though, if a bit dull to those few who might actually read it. I would also like to state that any allusions are general and are NOT intended to be personally interpreted. Seriously.
Anyway, normality sets in with the return of the week. More essay writing. Quite enjoyable though I must say. Today's was a free-response one where you had to write about a character or group of characters whose interests conflicted with those of society or individuals. I chose Vanity Fair, that masterful and paramount work of splendidly blunt satire, and its character, Rebecca, who is probably the definition of selfishness, thus, it was pretty easy to recount and analize the effects of her insensitive actions of those around her. Great fun.

Final Installment! :| (oh, the exitement)

As he traveled, he noticed that the ground was rising, and finally (as he was a trifle slow-witted), he realized that he was on a mountain, and a very large one at that. He was quite tired after ascending the mountain, so he sat down on a small plateau to rest. When a few hours had elapsed, he started to hear faint rumblings coming from a large cave on the east face of the mountain. The rumblings gradually increased in volume until he could hear that they were piteous wails of lamentation. He then decided to see if he could at all communicate with the sad mountain, and into a small hole that was situated near him, he shouted: “Why do you weep so, mountain?”
There was a pause, and the mountain answered: “I am very distressed, as the sun is about to pass over me, and it will surely be punctured by my sharp peak, and then there will be no more light!”
Michael could not understand this and yelled back: “How is this possible?”
At this the mountain appeared to grow very angry. Smoke fumed from his upper crevices and he bellowed: “Do you think that nothing can transpire without being comprehended by your slow mind? You are a fool!”
But the sun had been steadily approaching the mountain during his discourse with Michael and, as it passed over the mountain’s jagged tip, there was a tremendous explosion and Michael could see no more.
Not knowing what else to do, Michael walked (or rather fell) off the mountain and started to grope his way across the dark landscape. After many hours of stumbling, tripping, and falling, Michael felt a large, wet substance drop on top of his head. He quickly felt it and discovered it was a piece of melting snow. He walked on, and as he felt his way, he noticed that he could feel the trunks of palm trees. Suddenly, he heard the voice of his uncle, Torisutoramu.
“Michael!” he said. “Where have you been all this time, and why are your eyes closed?”At once, Michael opened his eyes; amazed that he had not known they were merely closed, and ran up to his room. Immediately he looked under his bed, and saw that his alarm clock had been there the entire time.

Installment #4

He traveled by many strange people, and through many strange lands, until he came upon very curious sort of country, much more so than any before. When he first looked at it, he saw it was gray and desolate, with few things growing on the surface. There were many sorts of odd creatures doing very odd things, such as queer little green and brown men throwing rocks at each other, appearing to delight when they caused any of their companions pain. Also, there were a considerable number of little individuals, who would constantly latch onto others of their variety and start jabbering nonstop, while occasionally punctuating their speech with wild howls of mirth. But these two types were inconsequential when compared to the last and most numerous group of beings. These bizarre things stood around in large gatherings and attempted to poke themselves with sharp, pointed articles, breathe in smoke from burning objects, and imbibe copious amounts of strange liquid. The inevitable consequence to whoever was performing these actions was that their head would suddenly fall off. This greatly disturbed Michael, and he knew that he should leave this foolish place as soon as he could. So he ran as fast as he could until he encountered a change in the color of the terrain, gray to green, and he knew he was out of the worst of it, but he looked back over his shoulder for a last sight of the place, and saw some things he had not at first noticed. They were small and usually hidden, but they made the dark land seem less sinister. After this last glance he ran on.

Installment #3

So saying, he tossed Michael out, and Michael dived down into a strange looking brown sack that the books had fallen into. As he got out of the bag, he saw a little man standing beside him. Supposing him to be Mann, the manservant, he asked him what they were to do about the old man who was still in the library, but just as he was saying this, there was a tremendous crunching sound behind him and he turned around to see that the building was merely a heap of ruins and rubble.
Michael was quite distressed at this, thinking the old man had perished, but Mann walked over to the sack of books and drew out an extremely old-looking volume, faded with exposure to the sun, with no letters or identification of any kind. He opened the book and placed it on the ground. Very soon the old librarian began to materialize from the pages of the book and stepped out of it, thoroughly astounding Michael. He smiled at Michael and said: “I, you see, am merely an idea, animated by the imaginations of those few in the world who still seek wisdom, and if their knowledge, and the knowledge contained in these books disappears, so do I. And that is why Mann and I must now go to the monastery.”
And with that, the old man opened a small paperback entitled: The Three Musketeers, and reaching into its pages as if they were water, drew out a life-sized horse, the strangest looking animal Michael had ever seen. He placed the horse on the ground, mounted it, and instructed Mann to take hold of its tail. Then, without further prompting from the old man, the strange horse galloped off at an unbelievable speed. Michael was puzzled because they seemed to be heading in the direction of a cliff, and then suddenly disappeared. But he didn’t trouble his already confused mind any more with thoughts of this, and went on his way.

Multi-cultural/independant

'twas a regular sort of Friday night, youth group... was ok, found a map of the major events in ww2 in Europe and Asia and "borrowed" it (score!), finished the story, I know all you nonexistent fans are eagerly awaiting the next installment, and I've also thought of something new to write... (oh yeah, Mr. Brilliant), but I mustn't divulge the contents yet, suspense and all that.
Anway, in bed by about 2, and then off to orchestra rehearsals in the morning with anime-porn-reading-Taiwanese dudes. I felt so multi-cultural. Then I took the bus home ALL BY MYSELF! pathetic eh? yeah, it's like one of those irritating pull-up commercials, but one has to start somewhere.

Installment #2

Without question, Michael started throwing the books out just as the old man was doing. While they were preserving literature, the old man, who was very wise indeed, decided to inform Michael of his identity and said, “Know, young one, that we are in the Library of All Ages, and I, needless to say, am the Librarian of the same. This library has started to burn down because of the increasing ignorance in the world. It is a woeful spectacle; and that is why we must toss these volumes down to Mann, my manservant, so that he and I can take the salvaged books to a monastery, and start collecting the library once more.”
Michael was perplexed at these words, but, as he hurled a leather-bound edition of The Iliad from the building, he realized it was quite true that the world was so ignorant. Then, when they had cleared all the bookshelves, the old man took hold of Michael and tried to throw him out of the window, but Michael protested, “Why are you doing this, wise one? Have I not helped you save these books?”
The old man calmly answered, “Do not fear, my son. All will be explained shortly”.

Once, long ago, in a strange land called Tezozomoc, there lived a young man named Michael Tchaghatzbanian. He lived with his family in a wonderful house surrounded by snow-covered palm trees. But Michael was foolish and did not recognize what a lovely existence he led, and day-by-day he became more and more discontented. Finally, when he woke up and was unable to find his alarm clock, he furiously stormed out of his house to search for it, not particularly caring which direction he went in.
After he had walked for a few minutes, he looked behind him and could not see his house through the palm trees. So he decided to press on, since he did not particularly want to return and face interrogations from his mother as to why he had left. He ambled on for an hour or so, until he saw an enormous, burning building. He could hear distant cries of help from within it, so he ran in to try and rescue whoever was vocalizing so very loudly. He ran in the main door, up a large flight of stairs, and into a room in which an old man was heaving books out of a window, and simultaneously yelling for assistance. The old man looked up at him and said, “Come here and help me save these books! Quickly!”

Very good, sir.

Ah, Jeeves, that immortal cornucopia of wisdom and wonderful witticisms (though not so much alliteration). Why can't real people be like him? myself included... *shighs*

Oh well, we can all take a stab at it, and hope we aren't inadvertantly stabbing ourselves in doing so.

The following is a serialized version of a small narrative composition by this tedious author entitled: The Mysterious Dissappearence of Michael Tchagatzbanian's Alarm Clock, and his Subsequent Search for it.

Oh, those Jinn

"I am here master! What is your will? Would you have me level a city, plow a furrow in the earth and make a river, or call up an army of slaves to serve your every whim!?"

this mock-quote of a Jinnee (as they spell it), encapsulates many of the themes that are prevalent in the Tales from the Thousand and One Nights, namely: power, unearthly feats of magic, and extreme wealth. It's a terrific read. I finished it last night. Stayed up around one or so. I can definitly say it didn't take me a thousand and one nights to read though. it flows very nicely in fact. All in all, I highly recommend it to all you amature scholars interested in the crazy particulars of the orient and beyond.

Now that I'm finished this book, I can start on a new one (or at least read some small compositions). And that's precisely what I did :). I sampled some things from my recently aquired (and enormous) anthology of Chinese literature. The first was a satiric poem about a man who can't choose between being a holy, wise man, and a rich and influential sort. Rather amusing, as he goes back and forth from the city to the secluded forest. After this I read a short story from the T'ang dynasty (somewhere around A.D. 800 I think). It was eyebrow-raisingly similar to some of the Arab tales earlier mentioned, only more sob-storyish.

In other news, a wierd old British lady came to our house tonight. She knocked on our door and asked to came in saying, "I'm so cold". She clearly was not in possession of her entire marble collection. Anyway, it turns out that she'd escaped from the rest home down the street from us, and therefore hadn't been out long, which is good :S.

Long live sir Dynadan!

oh my gosh, you have know idea how hard I worked for this award! I... I'd like to thank my mom... and my family... for all their love, and all the people in my l-... l-... *breaks into uncontrollable sobbing*

Anyway, today wasn't bad, got up a bit too early, 9:30 that is, and fuí a la iglesia. Theeeen I went home and wrote a blasted AP essay, which I had to rewrite caus it was too short :@ but I've been readin' some cool books to balance the unjustifiable frustration, aka (if you don't mind blatent racism) Tales from the thousand and one nights/Le Morte d'Athur (Sir Dynadan's the coolest, King Mark go to hell!)

oh yeah, new ELO album, "A New World Record" I'd better pay Bri back for that lol, it was jolly decent of him.

It Begins

Oh my, this is probably going too far... a blog? me? well, what's a dumbass like myself to do? something creative, but HELL I do that all the time! anyway, welcome, no one. I hope, at least, this will give pleasure to me, for I do not think anyone else will bother to look at it (story of my frikken life!).