Peredhil

Peredhil wishes happy birthdays in all of Xaious' times.

It is, like, totally odd. The red-lensed glasses make the green leaves orange and the whitish-pink bark brown. And the stop sign just fades into a black outline against the rising sun. you were right. No drugs, just dawn and glasses. I love the rising day, the sky before the sun crests, the way the world just, like, totally takes this BREATH and there's a note like the two notes just before the Moody Blue's "Dawn is a Feeling" song, ya know? Like, the whole world is just cosmically in tune and there isn't a soul to share it except you and nature pure and just totally awesome. No! I didn't mean I want you to go. Loser! Like, grow up and don't be so sensitive all the time. No, I still want the glasses for now. You can have them when the sun is up.

A couple lived near the ocean and used to walk the beach a lot. One summer they noticed a girl who was at the beach pretty much every day. She wasn't unusual, nor was the travel bag she carried, except for one thing; she would approach people who were sitting on the beach, glance around furtively, then speak to them. Generally the people would respond negatively and she would wander off, but occasionally someone would nod and there would be a quick exchange of money and something she carried in her bag. The couple assumed she was selling drugs, and debated calling the cops, but since they didn't know for sure they just continued to watch her. After a couple of weeks the wife said, "Honey, have you ever noticed that she only goes up to people with boom boxes and other electronic devices?" He hadn't, and said so. Then she said, "Tomorrow I want you to get a towel and our big radio and go lie out on the beach. Then we can find out what she's really doing." Well, the plan went off without a hitch and the wife was almost hopping up and down with anticipation when she saw the girl talk to her husband and then leave. The man walked up the beach and met his wife at the road. Well, Is she selling drugs?" she asked excitedly. "No, she's not," he said, enjoying this probably more than he should have. "Well, What is it, then? What does she do?" his wife fairly shrieked. The man grinned and said, "She's a battery salesperson." "Batteries?" cried the wife. "Yes," he replied. She sells C cells by the sea shore.

agression = aggression. I like the urgency of this piece; it sweeps the eye right along. Velvet revolution? I've watched too many movies I think, I flashed onto an inappropriate mind picture of Austin Powers (but that's prolly just my odd sense of humor). Good to see you posting again!

Pressure mounts behind my cheeks, Pushing toward reluctant eyes. Feels like it's crying time again; I've grown tired of all the lies. Spasms siege my stomach walls: With bile erupting into throat. Reality's often hard to swallow - Shrug it on, a well-worn coat. No tears allowed to rain down face, No doubling cramps: pain shows when curled. My smile: an impenetrable shield, Turn and laugh, then face the world... It's Show Time again.

Welcome back! One thing I want to point out, other than the melancholy subject matter - You used correct spelling and punctuation all the way through!!! It made it MUCH easier to follow. Huggles Reminds me of reading of reading the book of Ecclesiastes. It's not the duration of the flower's growth which matters, it's the beauty of the bloom and the scent of the perfume. -P

So I'm walking briskly down the hall, wanting to get OUT of the hospital, as I've completed the interview. I dislike hospitals even as I cherish and appreciate those who heal and who are healed. They just seem to reek of old pains which stain the walls like a subtle scent that one can't track. So I'm walking past the rooms, avoiding people in white and soldiers in camouflage, as they stride purposefully with clipboards and IV bags and other implements of healing. My boots are making an annoying squeaking noise every time my right foot hits the ground, and I find my thoughts silently chanting cadences to the rhythm produced. As I pass open doors, I glance in curiously, always wondering if I'll see someone I know, yet hoping not. So I'm peering into this one room and I stutter-step in surprise. There are bright crayon drawings all over the walls and a young man lying propped up against starched white pillows in the bed. But what catches my eye is the short blond with the ponytail lying sideways across the bed where his legs should be. The sleeve of his left arm is neatly folded up and secured with a "hair scrunchy", one of those wide stretchy fabric things that girls and women use. The scrunchy is pink with red and white hearts and matches the band tying the girl's ponytail into place. He smiles over her intent form - her attention is totally absorbed in meticulously creating another crayon masterpiece. He rumbles a bass, "Heya, Sarge, how're you?" "Fine," I reply. "Nice scrunchy!" "Yeah," he laughs. "When my battle buddies see it, they'll razz me to no end. I've got two more on the pajama legs that you can't see. Specialist, who's one of my nurses, has been taking her down to the Shoppette and letting her buy sets of four - three for me and one for her." He beams happily down at his child. "How'd it happen, soldier?" I've found that most of them appreciate honest curiosity. They know their life has changed, and pretending all is peachy is annoying. "IED, ya know, an Improvised Explosive Device? This one had bolts and nails in it. I was on a dismounted patrol and I happened to be the one in front of the alley. "Bummer." "Naw, I'm blest. My wife is still over there, Stop-loss in effect so we don't know when she'll come back, and this way I'm home with Amber. Plus I'm alive, that's a huge bonus when you have an angel like mine." "How's she taking it?" He reaches down with his right hand, careful of the IV, and nudges Amber. She looks up in annoyance. "What Daddy?" "Sarge wants to know what you think of Daddy's Owies." She turns and stiffens when she sees me. "Three chevwons and two Wockers are a Sawgent Fiwst Class Daddy! Not a Sawge," she corrects severely. Turning a high wattage smile on me, she pipes, "Good Afternoon, Sawgent Fiwst Class." "Good afternoon, Miss Amber." Her eyes are the green of an old Heinekein beer bottle. She has bits of green crayon on front teeth from helpful chewing in the creative effort. "What are you drawing?" "I'm dwawing for Mommy. We mail Mommy evewy day. Its a twuck, cause she dwives one." She holds it up for my scrutiny and looks at me proudly. I nod my approval and point out some details I like - and am pleasantly surprised when she knows the nomenclature and model of Mommy's truck. "So what do you think of your Daddy's Owies, Hon'?" "Well, they'weh bad, but it's okay. God left him his hugging ahm, and he w'ites with it too. And Mommy and I have all ouw hands so we can help him. And I fit just wight on his bed now to keep the bad dweams away fwom him." She pauses and then nods, as if she's decided she has met all requirements in her report. "It was good meeting you, Sawgent Fiwst Class, but I've got to finish this befouh mail call." She turns back to her drawing and my eyes meet her Dad's over her back. "Pretty smart girl you have there," I say, my voice a bit thick. "Yeah," he replies looking down at her. He looks up and continues, "Sometimes I think I'm the luckiest man in the world." So we exchange nods again. He thanks me for stopping to talk and I'm on my way. The quiet "just-so" positive attitude I keep encountering in this place is inspiring. I just wish the circumstances which bring it out weren't so harsh. So, I guess I'm done with this story.

Hmm. I got it right off too, Appy. Maybe it's not intelligence, just looking at the world through rose-colored glasses...

Wonderful!

Happy Birthday. In my birth family, the rule was, "If you are able to vote, and don't, you can't participate in any political disussions until you've voted." I remember my sister missing voting in an election, and for four years my brothers made the most outrageous political commentary, just to watch her fume silently...

1. Noun - Coffee Pot 2. Verb (past tense) Migrated 3. Plural noun Shoes 4. Verb (past tense) Flew 5. Noun A Plumed Hat 6. Adverb Rippingly 7. Verb (past tense) Pulsed 8. Noun Silver Hair 9. Verb (past tense) Loosened 10. Unit of time Pico second 11. Verb is 12. Verb isn't 13. Noun megabyte

Sends the Reply Raven to carry eighteen hugs to Falcon. Happy Birthday!!!

sighs happily Wyvie, I don't know how you remain so creatively fresh - but I surely do appreciate it.

Hugs. You've got my emails. I can't seem to get to chat programs from where I'm accessing the internet much any more. Please stay in touch. AP-E, Peredhil

If I had a vote, I'd keep you as Loremaster. Technically, while I'm pointing out minor details... The only say in the Loremaster position is the Loremaster and the Elders... And the Elders pretty much advise. This is one thing that helps prevent the position from becoming a popularity contest, and allows the Leadership the opportunity to learn from mistakes and become better leaders - which is a nice learning feature of the Pen. This isn't to say that everyone isn't free to make all SORTS of "feedback". Just be polite and constructive. Someone has to have the final decision making ability. That the Loremaster is human and fallable is inevitable. That the Loremaster is capable of admitting that fallability and adjusting to a new future instead of clinging to pyrrhic pride, isn't inevitable and is a pleasure to see. "Two-Cents from the Muppet's Curmudgeon Old Guys Gallery" Peredhil

You had me until the third stanza - I'm not very good at hatred or anger. Welcome! In your user profile, you might want to specify the level and type of feedback you realistically want to receive. I think the descriptions of different levels are a "sticky" thread in the Banquet Hall. -Peredhil

Resting in the Paths of Time in his dreaming awake thoughts, in the way of Elves, Peredhil keeps a light touch on the party below as he meditates on the Whip of Rydia and all the spiralling implications such a gift can have. Feeling Knight, Kaityln and Ayshela, and others arrive, he realizes he should go mingle for a moment. Time attempts to gell and he slips sideways to avoid it, noting Xaious, the Dreamer, and a few others avoiding it as well. Adjust that. Xaious, as usual, is the one playing tricks. And there is fear and pain. Kaitlyn. One of the Children. Insinuating a touch of healing into the frothing sugary bubble of time, Peredhil released the warmth and reassurance through Kaitlyn and then withdrew as Xaious and Kaitlyn continued. On reflection, Xaious fit well at a Wyvern Party...

Given that Example by Argument is based on building a discussion for the base similarities between two things, while analogy consists of building a discussion from the similarity of the RELATIONSHIP of two dis-similar things (and posting on this topic is to answer the clarion call of analogy) ,this might be an apt place to point out that the feeling of being overwhelmed is analogous to the disoriented "which way is up" feeling of a person trapped in the to and fro over- and under-tow of a wave pounding at the beach. Occasionally one breaks for a breath of air, only to be sucked down into the turmoil once again. The abrasive scrape of sand gives a momentary point of reference as to what is "down" but the inner ear may deny that reference, insisting that the sand encountered is "up" in relationship to the body, and not down. The fear engendered by loosing all points of reference, of being betrayed by the senses and unsure of the reality of any input, of having no "rock" on which to cling to survive the current reality, this fear is similiar in relationship to being caught in a pounding wave at the ocean's shore - it is an analogy. The reality is that other than the relationship drawn in a person's mind, there is no realistic base similarity between the impersonal tidal/wind action of water and the complexities of a person in sensory overload. This is what prevents this from being an Example by Argument. Lost is another reference issue - since one always knows where one is, it is only the reference in *relation* to other points, whether they be physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual, it is the relationships and proportions which are defined as "lost". Thus if one defines the self as center, one is no longer lost. It is the world which must be explored and charted from the given "self" which is the challenge, not the perceptional problem of self not having a place in the world. Welcome back Salinye. You've been in my prayer. Hugs Peredhil

Elrohir gave a friendly wave to Knight and went out to look over the parking situation. Elladan, still smiling from the frogs, joined him. "Knight needs to move his starcraft," Observed Elrohir. "Poor chap. Do you feel all the power latent in the engine? Remember that Traveller universe?" Elrohir started edging back in toward the party. Elladan reached back without looking, grasped the hand limp in mounting horror, and dragging him back forward. "It will be fun!" The forces in the power cores of the mighty ship began undergoing quantum changes - without the Heisenberg uncertainty. For a brief moment of time, everything aligned and a pulse of power was released - to be intercepted and diverted, pushing and reflecting off the molten core and surrounding magnetic bubble of the planet. Not a true perpendicular force, but just ever so slightly angled so that... The great ship reared up as the earth shrugged, and settled with a jolt four feet away. Elladan sitting collapsed against the wall with Elrohir unconscious on his lap, had a brilliant smile as he pictured the surprise of the crew. His smile grew even broader as he watched the dragon's flight curve into sight from over the Pen Keep. The line dissolved into screaming panicked runners, denoting the actors and actresses hired for the line job, and the actual visitors who stood and assessed the situation calmly. He noted the beautifully skilled and controlled glide path as the dragon angled in and the lack of secondary drip when it flamed the troll guard. This was one experienced dragon. This should be FUN! Melba would want it's underwear. And with what he'd discovered about Melba's past before she arrived at the Pen, all sorts of hell was about to break loose. Hopefully. With a contented sigh, he cradled his twin and sat back to watch.

Welcome back!

I like the "confusion" in the contrast between frozen and burns in the first stanza. While your poem effectively uses repetition (I'm cold) to build to a climax (I am dead) if you can think of combining more contrasts you might heighten the affect on the reader. Maybe something like:? I'm cold Motions of life. But I am dead.

A Cherokee Indian chief had three wives, each of whom was pregnant. The first squaw gave birth to a boy, and the chief was so elated he built her a teepee made of buffalo hide. A few days later, the second squaw gave birth, and also had a boy. The chief was extremely happy; he built her a teepee made of antelope hide. The third squaw gave birth a few days later, but the chief kept the birth details a secret. He built the woman a teepee out of hippopotamus hide, and challenged the people in the tribe to guess the most recent birth details, the correct guesser receiving a fine prize. Several of his people tried, but were unsuccessful in their guesses. Finally, a young brave came forth and declared that the third wife had delivered twin boys. "Correct"!, cried the chief. "How did you know"? "It's simple", replied the warrior. "The sons of the squaws of the two hides is equal to the squaw of the hippopotamus." ~~~ During the great Australian tea famine, a small town called Mercy developed a tea made from koala bears. It became a great hit and was famous all across the continent. One day a man was down from Sydney and decided to try a cup of this famous beverage. When it came he was disgusted to find bits of fur and flesh floating in it. He asked the waiter if they couldn't somehow filter it. The waiter replied,"The koala tea of Mercy is not strained".

Prolly feels that way, doesn't it? 20/8/02 ntraveler2 But the following are all still Initiates. 14/7/02 Thomas the Lost 7/7/02 Xelnaga The First 13/1/02 DoPeY 8/12/01 Andrea Hawk Some are pretty inactive - but I see the DoPeStEr on IRC and he's posted around here, and the others as well. As you read through the threads in the areas now open to your eyes, you'll note the constant debates and discussions on What ranks? How often? What standards? etc. I urge you to thoughtfully discuss the issues (and not the people!), and when you achieve voting status to exercise your vote whenever you can. Welcome to Page. -Peredhil

The Reader's Digest version for the ADHD generation... Impartially, it should sell well - there are Pen members who find multi-paragraph posts too daunting to read before replying, I'd imagine Homer is just another Simpson to the general populace. Is not really surprised or shocked.

Welcome back! I kept getting mind-picture flashes of all those toys with whom I spent endless hours playing in the days before constant television and computers. Wonder what happened to them all...