M0o0o0o0o

Happy Chinese New Year folks.

So let's raise our imaginary glasses to a year of the Ox that will hopefully be more prosperous, healthy, wealthy and better.

If not, we'll kill the Ox, and have ourselves a good barbecue. Steak always makes things better.

Gong Xi Fa Cai!

Jere

Home.

So I was looking through my cobwebbed collection of old files that were put into storage on my portable harddisk. Now in this harddisk of mine is a collection of files, pictures and writing that will probably never be seen by anybody but me.

However, as I was looking through those things, I found something I wrote a long time ago. It was a little something I had written from a dream I had. I had originally written this in the form of an MSN chat (probably retelling it to somebody online), and just copied and pasted it into a notepad file.

So for the heck of it, I will retell the tale here (minus all the MSN-ny bits). So without further ado, I present to you:

A Random Story I had in a Dream

"So you make a left at the park, and make sure you don't forget. Then you go through the fence and cross the garden. Straight ahead is home"

He was pushing his sister in a cart. He was 15, she was 8.

He spoke fast. Like he had to make sure she remembered it. Like it might be his last time telling her the way.

She thought she knew. But she wasn't too afraid. Big brother would be there. No worries.

"I know the way already. You don't have to keep telling me"

"Oh yeah, then where do we go after this?"

"Left at the crossroads"

He smiled.

And so it went on. Everyday they'd get off the station, and he'd push his sister in the cart. Making sure she knew the roads. Because on the inside, he was scared she didn't.

Then it happened.

They had come.

He was running. Sister in cart. Running. He was crying. Scared.

She was screaming. Scared.

"Left at the park, don't forget. through the fence and cross the garden. Home is straight ahead."

He kept repeating it. His mantra. Like he thought he'd get home faster.

"Left at the park! Don't forget!"

She was quiet. They say fear takes everything away. Usually your voice.

" WHERE DO WE GO AFTER THIS. TELL ME. YOU HAVE TO KNOW!"

But she was afraid.

"TELL ME NOW!"

And she cried.

They were catching up, the black formless figures that always wanted them. Always looked after them.

Always looked after them so they could catch up.

And they caught up. It was over.

"Run. The park. left. Through the fence. Across the garden. Straight ahead - HOME!"

She ran. Left at the park. Through the fence. The garden. To home.

But it was over. They had caught up.

THE END!

So there you have have it. Unedited, and uncut from how I had saved it. Probably doesn't make too much sense, considering it was formed in a dream, but it's a story nonetheless.

And you should know, I have a thing for stories.

Jere

The Ballad of Crabster

2 (or maybe it was 3?) days ago, I bought a crab. T'was a cute lil' fella. Small. Black. Cost me 20 bucks.

It looked like all crabs do. With claws and feet, and beady little eyes. But this was different. This was MY crab. And as such, I named him Crabster (since the preferred Crabbie was already my pet name for somebody else).

Now, Crabster would have been a crab amongst crabs. He would have travelled to uncharted places, done great crab deeds, been loved by the crab masses and would have obviously loved a great deal of the crab women himself.

However, the cruel hand of fate decided to rob me of my friend. After a night jog, as I was on my way to grab some food, I receive a phone call that changed the course of my night. It basically went like this:

I think the crab is dead. It's in the water. It's not moving.

Hearing this news, I rushed to Crabster's side (but not before I had food and a quick run to Desa Park City to pick up something).

So there he was. In his small little tank. Right next to stone I stole from the apartment's waterfall that was meant to be his perch. He lay there motionless. I called his name. He did not respond.

A cry of anguish escaped my lips:

OMGWTFBBQ!! We have to clean this shit up.

And so I did (with much required help from the aforementioned Crabbie). And lemme tell you guys one thing, dead crabs stink. It is a stench so rancid it causes me to involuntarily gag just thinking about it. Well, truth be told it wasn't really the stench of the dead crab, but the crab juice that was left in the tank. The combination of dead crab ooze, crab crap (oh look, did I just pun?), leftover fish pellets and chlorine water makes for a formidable combination.

Long story short, the crab got cleared (dropped into a plastic bag, thrown in a dumpster) and I will never love another crab the same way again.

Goodbye Crabster. You will be missed. The 2 (or was it 3) days you spent with us, will be remembered.

In memory of Crabster
Friend. Pet. Potential Dinner

Jere

Once in a while...

... you wake up and realize you have nothing to say. Perfectly content to let the world burn, you just leave things as they are.

Once in a while, you wonder if you should have said or done something different. But you don't.

And once in a while, doing nothing is the only thing you can do.

Jere