View Full Version : Many more works done by *ME*
05-31-2001, 04:59 AM
Walking out my front door, I remember ripping my sweaty hand off the doorknob. As I made my way to my car, the scorching sun penetrated through my skin. The blast of a Midsummer Eve wind caused me to choke as I inhaled. The hot wind caused a burning sensation in my throat, as if I was swallowing needles. The distant cries of my family to hurry up echoed in my ears as I made my way into the car. Within minutes, we were gone on our road trip to Las Vegas.
As I entered the freeway, the faint memories of my actions the night before engulfed my mind. I began to remember bit by bit what exactly I had done. Feeling the excitement once again, I became extensively eager to reach my final destination. The tiresome thought of my three hours of sleep didnít fall well on my mind.
As I lowered my window while merging onto the 15 north, the hot wind blasted at my forehead forcing my innocent hair to whip my unsuspecting forehead. Constantly scratching the agonizing torture caused by the wind, I quickly raised the window. As I placed both hands on the jilting steering wheel, I carelessly changed lanes. The chaotic noise that penetrated through my ears into my head made me spring up out of my seat. The drowsy feelings I had felt before were suddenly relinquished thanks to the car behind me.
As the adrenaline stopped pumping through my veins, the drowsiness overcame my body once again. The soothing snore from my passengers soothed my aching body. It yelled for sleep as I pushed it to keep on driving. Suddenly, the thought of me lying on a beach chair by the side of a pool dosing off under the soothing sun warped me into cloud 9. I felt as if I was in paradise, carefree, with nothing on my mind.
At this point, I could barely keep my eyes open, let alone drive a car. Eagerly anticipating the next exit, the fantasy I had earlier kept my body going. As the exit approached, a warm feeling embraced me. The exit was like a breath of air to a drowning man. I quickly maneuvered my way through the cars and exited the freeway.
Pulling over, I jumped out of the car and woke my sister up. I told her that I couldnít take it anymore and that she had to drive the remainder of the trip. I nonchalantly sat in her place and closed my eyes, drifting off into the paradise waiting in my mind.
As we approached the hotel, I realized how stubborn I really was. Instead of denying the opportunity of driving to Las Vegas because of my fatigue, I stubbornly accepted it not allowing anyone else to drive. On our way back, I stopped as soon as I felt tired and let my sister drive again. This time, I wasnít so tired.
05-31-2001, 05:00 AM
As the platform starts to rise, I wonder if Iíll go through with it once Iím at the top. It was a scorching day when we arrived three days ago, August 17, 1996. The radiant sun was eating away at the peopleís skin, the children were playing in the dust like sand, and the lovers were swimming in the crystal clear blue water provided by Cancun, Mexico. It started off as a standard exit reality enter fantasy vacation for me.
The first day set the mood for the entire vacation. We spent all day at the beach, and at night we went to a cheap, run down restaurant by our hotel. The waiters and tourists were dancing around without a care in the world. A combination of loathsome food and delightful flatulent fumes emitting from the kitchen made you want to throw up all over the place. After a while, the restaurant felt like a small night club because the owner started blasting music and illuminating the sky with a light show trying to attract more people. The dark death of the night had suddenly morphed into a vibrant, life infested rave.
As we were leaving the restaurant, an extravagant tower snatched my sight. Looking up into the heavens, shivers raced down my spine as I saw a dangling platform hang roughly 150 feet above the ground. I felt like the entire world had isolated me and the tower. What seemed like hours later, a large man leaped out and was violently thrown left and right while hanging off an interminable chunk of rope. A warmth shot out and coated my body. There was a feeling of eagerness overflowing inside of me waiting to climb up to the heavens and come diving down with the elegance of a bird onto the earth. Suddenly, in the middle of the thought, I heard a faint voice calling my name. I shook my head, came out of the trance, and caught up with my family. If I was going to jump, it wasnít going to be that day.
The next day, all I would think about was the bungee tower. There was this pounding in my head craving the adrenaline rush I would get from the jump. Along with that pounding came a shriek of fear. An omnipotent force crippled me with its all mighty power. I felt the dizziness I got before when I climbed onto the third rung of a ladder at my house. I wouldnít and couldnít let this Acrophobia stop me from accomplishing my goal.
As I look back, I think back to all the summers I have gone through and realize that I have always done something spectacular every year. This made me want to jump ten times more because I wanted something to remember. As I was walking on the beach, my thoughts were raped by a sign, ďParasailing Today.Ē I decided to go parasailing to find some courage for bungee jumping. I ran back to my parents told them what I was going to do and got some money. I signed up at the booth and was taken to a boat. Looking around the vast, lifeless ship, I noticed the captain, a behemoth of a man. Everything just grew around me. I felt like a senile man no bigger than a dwarf not knowing what was going on around him being dragged into the heart of the monstrous sea. A fear overcame my body as I stood on the platform of the ship strapped and ready to go waiting to be catapulted miles up in the air. As the captain drove full speed ahead to get the parachute open, I was jerked off the platform leaving all my thoughts of fear behind. The air was thin not allowing me to breathe well, but the magnificent view made up for it. I felt at peace with myself while up in the magnificent sky giving the fear in my psyche a lethal blow. After I got down, I wanted to go jump off the tower because of the adrenaline pumping through my veins, but a hurricane started.
The weather this morning was psychedelic. One second it would rain, and the next there would be sunshine. If weather was a person and the seasons were itís emotions, weather would be a person undergoing a nervous breakdown. While walking to the bazaar that my parents decided to go to, to buy more junk, we were soaked by rain and then dried by the sun in about an hourís time frame.
When we finally reached the bazaar, the noise pollution inside would give even the dead a migraine. If it wasnít the noise the got you, it would be the herds of people walking around making it impossible for you to comfortably walk around. After countless hours and miles of desert-like strolls through the bazaar, we decided to leave.
As our taxi approached the restaurant suggested by the hotel manager, I knew that I wasnít going to like it. The restaurant was like a hut located in a slum like neighborhood. The thick air gushing out of the kitchen made it seem cheaper than a Chinese restaurant in Chinatown, something I thought impossible. The food was worse than the one we had the first night. Everything was undercooked and had no flavor whatsoever. Taste buds were useless in this place. To top it all off, there was an annoying Mariachi band playing the Macarena right by my ears. What really amazed me was the fact that when someone goes to a restaurant, there is usually something good about it. This restaurant was like a bad joke, nothing about it was acceptable. I starved yet another night and was uneasy the rest of the night. Because the restaurant was such a disappointment, my parents gave me their word that after they finished eating, we would go to the bungee tower.
It was just a couple of minutes ago when we finally reached the tower. When I was walking up to the sign in booth, I tried to convince myself that I wouldnít be scared. After succeeding, my courage was sucked out as a giant at the booth threw about ten waivers at me making me sign my life away. It felt like an eternity holding that pen and signing each sheet. Page by page my life came flashing before of my eyes. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine along with butterflies fly in my stomach with every turn of my wrist. I signed the papers not bothering to read them because I knew that if I did, I wouldnít jump.
The giant at the table asked me how I wanted to get strapped. I wanted to know what it would feel like to commit suicide, as if I wasnít already, so I decided to get strapped at my feet. An assistant was following me like a shadow recording every heart beat and breath I gave. I figured that it was going to be one of two things. Either it was the final moments of my life, or they wanted to steal some more money if I survived. After getting strapped, I stood on the unstable platform. With every breath I felt the thing rock back and forth adding to the tension already over saturating my body. As another assistant climbed in, I felt my once colorful face turned a pale white color as all the blood was sucked away. His movements made the platform rock like an earthquake. Suddenly, without warning, it started rising. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about it.
As the platform comes to a stop, Iím frozen in place with fear. The man is asking me if Iím going to go through with it because most people donít. After preparing all this time for the jump, Iím not going to back down because if I do, I know that Iíll regret it for a long time. Slowly walking to the end of the platform, trying not to shake it, thoughts of the rope breaking on the jump and my body splattering on the floor are filling my head.
This is it. Now at the edge with my back turned to the vast emptiness, the man is telling me that I have until the count of five to jump. A cold breeze of warm air is whipping my neck. I can feel the goose bumps cause the hair on my head to stand straight up because itís so short. My heart is pounding away at my chest making my ears hurt. Iím hearing a faint voice count backwards. Five, four, three, two, and before it reaches one, with all the confusion running through my mind, I jump...
05-31-2001, 05:01 AM
Walking up the sixteen steps towards that magical place, I finally reach the door. As it swings open, the once winterís day morphs into a hot summerís eve. With a busted air conditioning duct, provided by my good fortune, the thick air clogs my lungs. I start to remember the years gone by and all the different smells my room and I have been through. For an entire summer, I had the distinct smell of kerosene all over. No matter how much perfume and air freshener I sprayed, I could never get that smell out. This was the first time I tried to make a bomb, and the bottle spilled on my carpets. I still feel the dizziness and sick, stomach churning feeling I experienced every night. Two years ago, I tried to make some fertilizer in my room. There was a bucket of rotting fruits and vegetables in thick, rich manure for a couple of months. It felt like I was living in the middle of foot infested with fungal infections. Now I live with the sweet aroma of last nightís left overs mixed with last weekís dirty socks.
Trying to reach for the window, kicking my way through the jungle of papers, books, and computer parts, the energy effused by the bikini women pinned up on my walls following my every move, never taking their eyes off of me, makes me think the thought ďHome Sweet Home.Ē Opening the window, I glance at my pillow behind my bed and my sheets on the floor. The bed, urging to be made, yelling for some attention like an obnoxious kid who wants everyone to keep their eyes on him, has been ignored for probably over a year.
Scanning through the mountains made of cups, plates, and empty soda bottles, I can see my computer. The unwanted aroma of these mountains taps my nose asking it to force my brain to get my lazy butt working and clean up. Throwing important papers and previous tests off my desk adding to these mountains, I clear way for my mouse and keyboard. Hearing it giggle as I tap on its keys, the smooth feel to his keys, the lightweight and comfortable keyboard and I reminisce about the experiences we have been through. Digging away at these mountains to clear way for me to walk, I cause an avalanche of trash to spread all over the room.
As I glance to my right, I see a monstrous piece of furniture exhausted with videos, computer games, a small collection of laser discs, and parts left over from the destruction of something. Gazing at the Vodka and Malibu bottles in the glass compartments seemingly being protected by their glass in shining armor, I see them gaze back urging to be opened. The anarchistic neighbor begs to be released from its confinement so that its materials can be used to cause some explosions. Gazing at my vast collection of explosive materials, I feel the urge of destruction overcome my body. My blood starts to pump faster; the warmth fills every inch of my skin. I start to recall the feeling of the vibrations from an explosion against my chest. Forcing my head away, I get up and walk to my closet to try to suppress this urge.
As I open the closet, nausea knocks at my door and invites itself in. The gush of mothball stench diffuses out of the empty closet and into my room. Searching through questionably acquired LA city merchandise, I find what I came for. As I walk back to the door, I stop and fantasize about my favorite blond smoking a cigarette lying on a silk bed on a poster by my closet. I examine every curve on her body, the silky, smooth texture of her skin. Scanning up and down her nude body, thinking about things not appropriate for this paper, I evict the trance set by this magnificent piece of art. Making out a smile from her hypnotic face, I walk away from the Madonna poster while I try to make my way through the tar pits of trash and clothes. Looking back at my room, not my parentís nor my sisterís, but MY room, with itís unique aromas and special arrangement, I realize that this is my sanctuary, the place where I feel the safest and happiest as far away from my family as I can get.
05-31-2001, 05:02 AM
As I was gazing at its spine tingling eyes, its omnipotent stare causes my knees to give out in fear. The blood hungry fangs dripping with trinklets of saliva and the needlelike sharpness of its mouth jump starts the adrenaline rush in my body. The ďfight or flightĒ feeling causes a blood rush to my brain clearing up everything around me. I can suddenly hear the scraping noise of its breath against the thick, muscular throat and feel the moist air gushing out of its nose against my face. My ears are now funnels mysteriously causing a pseudo gravitational pull on all sounds around the behemoth and me.
The pounding walk of the ants on the floor and the crashing noise of birds landing on twigs along with the heat from the breath of this monster against my face causes a bombardment of ideas and fears into my brain. Carefully observing its every move, the minute movement of its facial expression causes muscle fibers to explode out of the thick, healthy black fur. My worst fear is becoming a reality right before my eyes. My eyes are hurting, the wide-open eyelids havenít even dared to close because a split second might decide if they ever move again.
Going in for the attack, its hard, rough horns crash against my arm as if a bulldozer was slowly decapitating me while a breath still remained in my body. The numbing feeling of the loss of blood causes me to go dizzy. Plutoís pet, the four legged half bull half wolf genetic chaos, is scraping its hooves against the floor. The crystal clear sound of the pebbles slowly scratching away at its thick hooves causes the once advantageous fear to fog up my mind, like a London street. Finally charging at me, the evil, burning glaze in its eyes, the distinct strength and muscles of the wolf like legs, and the horrific screech made as it takes off, like the sounds made by the burning alive of an entire civilization, help me overcome my fear of it.
Realizing that death is inevitable, I jump off the ground and charge back at it. Mimicking its every move and sounds, I lower my head and push my body to the limit. A white light is immediately followed by darkness. Its horns engraved in my skull causes a pain I have never felt before. As I slowly open my eyes for the last time, a quenching grin arises on the once satanic face. Its monstrous tongue dripping my own blood back onto my face, feeling its smooth, silky texture rub on my nude head, morphs my fear into anger. I close my fist, and with all the remaining strength in my body launch at the devilish grin. Hearing the cries from the blow, I feel a satisfaction overcome my body knowing that I had my moment of revenge. Closing my eyes for the very last time I see nothing at all, only black. Forcing a smirk on my face, the last thing I picture is the once fearsome face change into the face of a puppy dog. Gasping for air, I canít move. I hear and see it eat away at my flesh, yet I feel no pain. How strange this is. As I try to move, I realize what has happened. This is what death is then, life without feelings.
05-31-2001, 05:03 AM
Here she comes again, that annoying little brat. Since the first day I saw her we have never gotten along with each other. As I eat my sandwich, I can feel the rough sandpapery texture of the black part of her paw scratching away at my legs to give her some attention. As I look at her face, her unique underbite makes me laugh. Her ears spring up and she hears my voice and she wags her tail giving someone the false impression that she wants to play with you. She quickly looks at my sandwich and nods her head towards the floor trying to convince me to give her my food. If I do give her food, she hops up and down on her scrawny hind legs and simultaneously moves her front legs in a digging motion trying to act cute so I can give her more food. If I just ignore her, she charges at my legs head on while making this faint, whimpering noise as if she hasnít eaten in weeks and doesnít stop until she has my complete attention. Once the food is gone, she leaves to go play with my sisters.
If I try to pet Sparky, she starts to wag her candycane tail, but adds a smile to her devilish face forming two large bushes of fur on each side of her mouth exposing most of her vicious, crooked teeth. As my hand moves closer to her body, the smile widens until I am close enough for the attack. As my hand moves higher in the air, she cowers back and the rage that had filled her wide open, evil eyes just seconds ago morph into fear knowing the effect I will give to her reaction. She doesnít like it when I touch her, but doesnít mind if my sisters pet her.
The issue of territoriality is tested every day between us. Whenever she gets close to my door, she lowers her head and stares at me looking for a reaction. If I snap my fingers, she knows she is allowed to come in and races under my chair. Once she is in her favorite position, not a muscle twitches as a fungal stench from her ear infection fills the air. Experience has taught her never to come into my room without my permission. I hardly ever do let her in because her rotten egg fungal omelet stench mixes with the food stench in my room making it seem like I was sitting in a sick manís barf.
Power is a big issue between us. I always end up winning in our power face off because my deep voice overpowers her rubber ducky bark. Once every couple of weeks we stare each other down face to face close enough for me to feel the warmth of her breath, as if I was sitting in front of a blazing fireplace. Staring at her needlelike, dirty white fur, her eyes shrivel up to the size of half a moon exposing more of her blood craving teeth. Her ears levitate as if gravity had no force on them to hear every noise that comes out of my body. Her body, a hot dog with an unusual string like attachment, curls up to add height for her soon to come jump. As my mouth opens, my sonic boom type barks at her cause her smile to go away. She runs and hides behind my sister for protection from the wild beast in front of her.
I donít really like Sparky, even though she has one of my favorite qualities in dogs, stupidity. She is truly like a third sister to me, as if two wasnít enough.
05-31-2001, 05:04 AM
A man peers through a barred window. At the corner of the window a small fraction of a park is seen. Thinking of a life that never was, memories that never existed, lifestyles that never could be, a feeling of utopia surrounds his body. What once was considered fiction becomes reality.
Rage overcomes the man. A feeling of suppression fills his mind. Arms once used to feel the heat of the sunlight or the cold of the winter snow had disappeared. Madness and desperation fills his mind. Running around terrorizing all, bumping into walls, the sight of the window causes him to collapse.
Then, from madness and rage, sorrow and sadness fills tears in his eyes. Crawling desperately on the floor to the window, the thought of that minuscule view of the park, the small fraction of itís viewable area worthless to anyone else acts as an escape, a scapegoat of his position. A surge of happiness overcomes his body as he uncontrollably laughs while reminiscing about a past that never existed.
Physically there, yet mentally gone, the man in ďCloud 9" is overcome with confusion. Feelings for people heís never known, memories heís never had. An hour to us feels like a lifetime to him. Physically held captive yet mentally free, the man is able to escape to his utopia through the magical window.
Time and time again he goes through the same cycle. The window being the cause of it all. Going from peace to rage to sorrow, time becomes endless. Nothing begins to matter. Obscurity about his surroundings drives the madman crazy. The desperation to leave that room increases along with the claustrophobic feeling starting to pump through his body.
Meaningless thoughts flow through his mind. Trying to focus on something, he only sees peace while thinking of that utopia. Bewildered by what is going, on all he is thinking about is reaching his escape. With no hands to use all he can think of is jumping through the window. Walking to the end of one side of the room felt like walking the distance of a marathon.
Once at the end, with all his strength, he runs towards the window and with a mighty leap goes head first into it.
Ricocheting off the steel bars, he falls to the floor. He feels the warmth of the sun shining on his face. He tastes and smells the atmosphere of the park. He starts to tire. Everything around him starts spinning. He closes his eyes with a big grin on his face. He finally made it. His thought before his sleep are clear and to the point. The confusion was finally gone, he was as close to his former self than he ever was. He had reached his utopia.
05-31-2001, 05:06 AM
A woman walks towards her balcony with a glass of whiskey in her hands. Drinking away to kill the feelings, so she wouldnít have to think about it anymore, she remembers the day they first met. She remembers his soothing voice making her melt at his fingertips. Wishing to go back to those times, she realizes that what is has happened could never change.
She remembers how kind he was to her and how he would do just about anything for her anytime of the day. She could never forget how he made her feel. All these memories made her feel guilty in some way for his death. He treated her like a goddess, yet she treated him like dirt. She never realized what she had until it was gone.
Looking for comfort on their bed, she starts to cry. She takes out a bottle from the cabinet, something he purchased a couple of days after the funeral. She starts to think why this all happened to her. She wonders why she had to be so mean to him that day, why she had to yell at him over that pointless argument.
She remembers that day a couple 2 weeks ago so clearly. He called her to announce his promotion and that they would be moving away. She recalls yelling her lungs out because she didnít want to move. She had her entire life back in New York and didn=t want to leave to California. Hearing his voice trying to comfort her, she yelled even louder and cussed at him. Then, for the first time, she heard him yell at her. Waiting for him to arrive that night, she remembered the feelings racing through her body when the police showed up at her door giving her the news that her husband had died in a car accident.
Remembering the past made her want to down the bottle. Poison was not that hard to get for her with all her connections. The woman stood on the balcony where he asked her to marry him and opened the bottle. Stripping down to her bar nakedness, she looks at the magnificent view. Drinking the contents of the bottle, she feels him get closer to her. Stepping on the edge of the balcony, she feels regret for what she did for her. Taking a deep breath, one-foot steps off the edge. Feeling her heart pump harder with every second, she jumps off the edge of the balcony. While falling to her death, the feeling of guilt that she had for the past 2 weeks was finally gone.
05-31-2001, 05:08 AM
I REALLY handed this in as a paper for english!
Explosives are an entertaining part of some of our lives. There are many types of explosives we can choose from. We can have extremely devastating ones like the Oklahoma City bombing, or we can have just plain, old fun ones like a smoke bomb. What a smoke bomb does is it releases smoke when it comes into contact with a flame. The smoke is extremely dense and can bloke ones visions for several seconds.
The first step into cultivating a smoke bomb is to acquire the necessary materials. You need a disposable pan of some sort, powdered sugar, potassium nitrate, and a measuring cup. You can obtain potassium nitrate at your local pharmacy.
The second step in preparing a smoke bomb is mixing your ingredients. You need to have the sugar and potassium nitrate mixed in a 2:6 ratio, respectively. Use the measuring cup to be as precise as possible because too much of one substance can cause they smoke bomb to deviate from itís medium of activity level.
The third step in the process is to heat the mixture with a slight hint of water in the pan. Constantly stir the mixture until it reaches a brownish color. It is perfectly normal to have bubbles form and have smoke effuse from them. This should not alarm you.
The final step is the best. Remove the heated mixture and add a wick to the bomb. You may decide to either break it into smaller pieces or have one large smoke bomb. You can shape it into any shape you desire as long as it doesnít cool down. Once you are finished, light the wick and walk away. You will soon have a cloud of smoke fill the neighborhood.
05-31-2001, 12:39 PM
man...i didn't know how lame you really are...we need to stop hanging out :)
05-31-2001, 12:41 PM
What did you get on that english paper !!!
05-31-2001, 03:37 PM
Originally posted by IntegraTypeR
What did you get on that english paper !!!
some where just for fun... all the ones I handed in got either A's or A-'s
05-31-2001, 04:24 PM
.. that's all I have to say... :disa:
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