Someone, Anyone, Somewhere, Anywhere

Someone, Anyone, Somewhere, Anywhere

Levi

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Oh, Awkward Me

[Aug. 14th, 2008|01:25 pm]

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[	Current Mood	\|	amused	]

There is a girl that I work with who looks like Natalie Portman.

I love Natalie Portman! That and she's pretty cool.

I have a habit of only being able to flirt confidently with people that I only like a little bit, and if I like them any more than that I'm a total trainwreck of awkwardness.

Like today.

She's behind me while I'm talking to a trainee. I'm showing him the ropes on the computer. Teaching him the basics of the menu system. We get done I back up and run into her. She says "Oops, sorry" and as she's saying this I too am speaking, quite out of turn, babbling in fact, like a mental patient.

"Sorry, I didn't see you there. Heh, what, I didn't see you there? Like, I guess cuz I don't have eyes...on the back of...ehmrmmhhrm." The volume of my once boisterous tone quickly dissipated into a nervous mumble as I drifted slowly but deliberately out of sight.

Is there a name for this hilariously ironic duality? I think I recall some classic film wherein the male lead, a confident, smooth-talking debonaire, finds himself hopelessly unable to woo the girl of his dreams, and heartwarming romantic slapstick ensues. Who was that guy? I want to say it was Clark Gable, but I could be way off, though if it was, then this condition shall hence be named "Clark Gable Syndrome" at least until a better name finds me.

I'm not always like this, really. Give me a girl who doesn't look like Natalie Portman--even an equally beautiful lass who just doesn't share the legendary resemblance--and I can lay down solid gold zingers, witty antecdotes, and innuendo issued with the subtlety of a tomcat on the midnight prowl.

There is a girl I work with who doesn't look like Natalie Portman. I think she digs me. I think she's alright.

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Magic Metronome	[Jul. 19th, 2008\|06:27 pm]
Magic Metronome Life is playing an awkward chorus It's hard to find rhythm through all the chaos She plays notes that would only delight if I had heard them a few measures back. There must be a magic metronome I could use to find the downbeat and conduct this tired symphony into its bitter finale. If I gave in to my heavy heart I'd say No one wants to play anymore But happily I know that's not really true it's just that the players want to play different tunes. Allargando dolce morendo Play us out, maestro.
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In the Sands Forgotten by Time, a novella

[Jul. 14th, 2008|09:58 pm]

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Current Location

yes I did write this

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Did I truly see it, with my own eyes? If the image remains still when I close the lids, then it must have been there before me, I must have beheld for true that which haunts me as I lay my head down to sleep: what wakes me in a cold panic two, three, or four times in a night, what robs my dreams of all merriment, what poisons my humours. If I tell you, you will think me mad. If I show you...only then would you understand. Now I will try my best, as best as my memory can recall, what I found there, what I did behold, with my own eyes, in that treacherous wasteland where I dared venture, in spite of all utterances to the contrary.

It was an unusual sight. What astonished me the most about it wasn't the sudden, almost deliberate way in which it revealed itself as I approached, nor the inexplicable nature of its visage: the two gaping maws that opened to form what I perceived as eyes, the abnormal visceral quality that I beheld of the texture of the stone that made up such a monument; it was not the gross qualities of the image which brought to life within me that wonder, that mystery, that terror that had long since gone dormant in the mind of a traveled, studied erudite such as myself. It was the details. As I found myself there, trembling in amazement, my heart racing feverishly with tense excitement, my sturdy knees quavering, my eyes abroad gazing unworthy of this spectacle, my mind--oh, my mind--rendered within an instant from its comfortable state of calm anxiety, calculated casualness, educated curiosity, innocent inquisitiveness, to a maddening state of intense, unbridled awe. My thoughts rushed to make sense of what I now so freshly beheld.

I was warned of what I would see, of what little was known of where my journey would take me, and worse still of what largely had remained unknown, some say by fear, some by ignorance, but many by a combination of the two intertwined. For it is often spoken by the wise, that the only thing more horrifying than known dread is the dread of the unknown. But wise men slumber and shuffle aimlessly until their dying days, when the last of their years send them to speak much wisdom and do little, until the day comes that they do nothing and have little wisdom to speak of. And the bleak cautions of the Arab scholars, whose writings date back to nearly a millennium before my time, which boldly proclaimed this region to be "forbidden to the sane, forbidding itself sanity, that any of sound mind shall not enter, lest they lose it" only served to increase my curiosity tenfold, for what manner of wondrous and fantastic oddities, long-forgotten relics of splendor, could be so fabulous as to so deliberately and adamantly condemned? I had to know, I had to see with my own eyes the secrets that lie in the desert sands that time forgot and man abandoned and legend obscured. I had become numb to wonder, indifferent to the amazing; in my lifetime I have seen what others would only dream of seeing in many lifetimes, scenes of uncanny coincidence, spectacular joy, incredible, feats of the macabre, the fantastic, the unreal, the indescribable, and in my age I had become restless; the unbelievable had become mundane; the fantastic, trivial.

I needed this journey like a scoundrel needs opium, and whenupon I found the texts alluding to the ancient forgotten city, a fire of hope and of lust for adventure burned ablaze once again after years of interminable dankness dripping upon the black soot of an old quelled kindling. Had two or three drops followed since, the fire may well have been dead forever, but the prophetic texts written by the ancient Arabs, forbidding entry into the sinister desert wastes in remote Afrika--thrown upon the fire--and the words of my peers, and everyone who had even the slightest inkling about this region, these untrodden sands: the dire words of warning that I would surely die, or (strangely) worse, only served to breathe life into this flame which led me here to face a vast monolith of the impossible. It would be a tremendous understatement to describe it with any comparison to earthly things you might know of; to say therefore that I was face-to-face with the eighth wonder of the world would surely be the greatest understatement in history.

Hereupon I gazed an incredible behemoth structure that exuded such magnificence as to render the magnitude of the Easter Island monuments microscopic by comparison. And it gazed back, defying as it did all understanding and convention. My mind was at a loss for what seemed to be hours as I stood, hopelessly enamored by the impossibly terrific qualities of this incredible sight. Time creeped to a halt as my eyes became great amorphous globes, tentative and independent of myself, wrapping themselves around every edge and curve of this cyclopean monument, trying vainly to ascertain an image that would make sense enough for my mind to accept as real. Concurrently, my mind had become a black hole sucking up all conscious thought and reason as every assumption, deduction, prediction and speculation I made as to the nature of this thing was more and more unreasonable, inconceivable, absurd. I felt myself separate from myself, and not a moment later it all came back together. My eyes came back into their sockets and my waking mind usurped the scrambling chaos which had momentarily taken conquest.

The monolithic countenance that towered before me and defied all reason and conventions of reality seemed to be composed of, in spite of the surrounding environment, not sandstone, nor lime, nor any earthy substance which any known aboriginal race may have commanded, but rather it seemed to be composed of a singular mass of onyx or some like material. The astonishing factor wasn't merely that a great onyx monument stood before me; as I said, it was the details that were most astonishing of all. When my thoughts were gathered and my eyes able once again to distinguish within the great magnitude of unthinkable brilliance the details that made it so, I was once again awe-struck when I discerned, to a feeling of both horror and giddy excitement, that this monument, if it shall be called that, showed no signs of being man-made. That is, there were no cuts, no abrasion to indicate erosion, and, indeed, it seemed as though it had originated here, and was not moved from its inconceivable creation, though I am not sure exactly what brought me to this conclusion. And just as I had made this observation I made an even more, distinctly horrifying one: this monument, which towered above the horizon into the sky, bore a face that resembled a human, but at the same time departed from the familiar features of the human face enough to be shocking to the sensibilities. I made an attempt to explain this characteristic by the understanding that many ancient people worshiped idols resembling half-human creatures, so too this must be some grand idol of a long-forgotten deity, perhaps, judging by its staggering scale, the very epicenter of spiritual worship to this forgotten race, a Mecca before the winds had ever carried the prophecies of Mohammed. But even as I attempted to reason thusly, my fear swelled as thoughts once again settled on the very incoherence of its existence, and moreover that it did not resemble any creature known to academia, this infernal monument to confusion, this abysmal monolith that stood in defiance of Nature.

Fear mixed with anger as I recalled the dire words written by the scholars of old, the vaguely prophetic condemnations within the texts with no real reason as to what dangers, no facts pertaining to what mysteries and anomalies await to assault the senses, to alienate the reckless wanderer who should be so unfortunate as to gaze into those eternal eyes that lie within the face of abomination! Here did stand before me, as if by immaculate conception, the face of the unreasonable, in the form of a thing not quite human, an alien figure, a daemoniac idol of cyclopean dimensions, and Behold! I know not whether I lost my coherence until this point or if my memory is so clouded by the amazement, but nevertheless I found myself standing directly before the face of the creature! The form stood so steep and soared so high that it seemed to curve over me. Mere yards away I could see an immaculately hewn archway forming a vaguely human-esque mouth in the fiend's yawning maul.

Gazing upon the horrendous monument I could see, to even more horrific revelation, the details that brought about this inconceivable dread that consumed my soul. I've said before that this colossus in the wastes resembled something slightly inhuman. And I say now, inexplicably both reiterating and refuting my claim; here, standing this close, I could see qualities that were human, and even moreso I observed signs that this face was of something alien. There was something intangible in the subtleties of this fiendish, sardonic visage, towering over me, eyes agape at the world, mouth curling up in an unusual shape as if to bark madly upon the impertinent realities in the insignificant lives of an expendable humanity. I saw scorn in that face, as if the monument was built, placed, summoned, or otherwise brought here in hateful defiance of man. As I looked back I returned the scorn, hating those texts whose vague words I dejectedly now understood. Terror carried with it a boiling hatred I felt towards the monolith, that infernal icon of chaos!

It stood over me, gazing mockingly as I beheld in fear and shame the smooth, phosphorescent black stone form that towered miles in stature, a fantastic monument to indescribable wonder. And as I stood and watched, I not only saw its horrendous form but too felt its malignant presence. Abomination! I knew not how long I stood there in awe of its terrible wonder, but it must have been a very long time, as presently I observed the sun rising a second time over! Absurd, detestable! That such a thing could exist, and I could swear that I saw its eyes look down at me and its mouth seemed to quiver as if to growl! Torment! To think that I came here to see a great and glorious thing, to behold that which man has feared to comprehend for eons, only that it should stand and mock me.

Treachery! Thereupon did I know nothing, but that in the barking madness of twilight in the sands forgotten by time, there stood, and still stands, the grim face of oblivion! And it is so horrendously magnificent that once I fixed my gaze upon it I could not leave it behind, and I can recall no such memory as to my return from thence watching this foul, tormentuous monolith, its image still burned in my retinas, its malignant anomaly still haunting my every thought, still shaking my very soul. There must have stood since antediluvian times the towering abomination toward man, there it must have fallen the Star of Lucifer! There it must rise vengefully from the sands, a disembodied head of Leviathan! There in the howling winds a grotesquely sardonic monument stands in defiance, in mockery, in scorn, in contempt of all humanity. And I would give anything to return...

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Personality

You are more logical than emotional, more concerned about self than concerned about others, more atheist than religious, more dependent than loner, more lazy than workaholic, more traditional than rebel, more artistic mind than engineering mind, more cynical than idealist, more leader than follower, and more introverted than extroverted.

As for specific personality traits, you are romantic (86%), intellectual (67%), greedy (59%), horny (58%).

Stereotypes
Old Geezer	83%
Punk Rock	67%
Emo Kid	56%

Life Experience
Sex	33%
Substances	38%
Travel	11%

Politics
Your political views would best be described as Liberal, whom you agree with around 68% of the time.

Socioeconomic
Your attitude toward life best associates you with Lower Middle Class. You make more than 0% of those who have taken this test, and 65% less than the U.S. average.

If your life was a movie, it would be rated PG-13.
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