if i could write a book, i'd dedicate it
to the quiet guys who sit in the corner of the library
flipping pages quickly, as if the pages served only to fan their face and
make a breeze, to
(more) push their hair back.
or to the girl obviously working on a school project
who thumbs slowly through a thick tome,
binding broken many times over.
my book would belong to
the people who absorb knowledge and revel in it, who would rather
read and write or watch and learn
instead of talking -
the people who work tenaciously, retain their experiences and soak in their knowledge
instead of spewing jabberwocky, no retention and no filter
between their thoughts and actions.
if i wrote a book, it would be
an ode, perhaps, to the knowledge-seekers:
but they wouldn't really need my blessing
after all, they've lived a thousand lives
in more times and places than i can imagine.(less)
He stared at the computer screen. "You... said you were doing research."
"Yeah, but I never specified that it was strictly scholastic research. At least not the kind you had in mind. This? This definitely counts as research."
He turns to her, face tinged with muted horror.(more) "How."
Honestly, he didn't have it in him to make it a proper question.
Swiveling her chair around, she leans back into the padded armrest. "Well," she drawls, completely unconcerned with the situation. "I'm obtaining information on the differences in cultural interpretations of homosexuality in conventional media through a variety of sources."
"Gay porn. You're looking at gay porn. On my laptop."
"Yep. But it's actually relevant to my interests." At his bland expression, she laughs. "I was actually talking about from a sociological perspective, y'know. Have you noticed that in specific pockets of Eastern culture, there is a specific genre for homosexual media? So you'd think it'd be a more accepted thing, right? But in some ways, it's more of a stigma there then it is here, even with our ridiculous policing and censorship regarding how available media containing references to homosexuality is. It's a lot harder to find books that feature a couple deviating from the heterosexual default in America than it is in Japan. Though, I guess we're getting better with that. There's also the interesting contrast of Eastern and Western stereotypes of the dynamic of homosexual relationships, which is probably influenced by the history of-"
"Okay, no, I don't care, just-" he turns the laptop so the screen isn't facing him quite so much. "Get it off my laptop."
"Yeah, sure." She pauses after closing the browser. "Can I have it for like, ten more minutes?"
The Google search history was damning. Poisons and how they were made. Knots that couldn't be undone by the wearer. Ways of hiding bodies. Hacked CCTVs that showed the road approaching an empty warehouse, the walls outside. The halls inside. Anatomy diagrams. Images to set the inspectors' stomachs churning.(more) It was, she claimed, for research. Writing a crime novel. She'd been working on it for two years now-- see, that was how far back the data gathering had started.
Clearly it had nothing to do with the seven dead men they'd found there. She could hardly have done such a thing, and especially not alone.
And even if she had... it was only for research.(less)
the quiet flicking of pages
reading through the information
"i hope he didn't see me."
oh well he did.
(more) keep reading.
oh crap he's sitting next to me.
feeling his warmth.
The screen glowed with the tagged microbes. It was almost pretty, watching the lights spread and multiply across the unfortunate patient. Or perhaps the fortunate patient; only today's test could answer that question.
(more) The white-coated woman tapped away at the keyboard, causing steel rings to rise up from the table to secure the patient's arms, legs, and torso. If the previous experiments had taught her anything, it was that the human body had a hell of a time fighting off the virus. It targeted the nervous system, causing the infected patients excruciating pain and loss of voluntary actions. Currently, the vaccine was of little help in fighting the pain or erratic motion, but the doctors hoped that each round of tests would bring them closer to a cure.
After a few more keystrokes, a sizable needle emerged from one of the wrist cuffs and buried itself in the patient's arm. Another fleet of colored dots joined the virus on the screen. The woman in the lab coat tapped away at the keyboard, clouding the glass that separated her from the operating room. She never could stand the flailing and screaming.
Instead, she kept her attention on the monitors. The virus lights were putting up a good fight, and the vaccine's appeared to be blinking out, admittedly at a much slower rate than the ones from the last round of tests. After several more minutes, the vaccine had vanished completely, and the virus had begun blotting out every other cell in the poor patient's body.
At long last, she restored the glass to its normal state looked at the body, and called for a cleanup crew. She felt disappointment rather than sadness. She let a brief sigh escape her, and called for the next subject.(less)
Jackson and May, not-so-much the happy couple.
Well, reflected May, Jack didn't know that yet.
May had started getting suspicious about two months ago. Jack grew more distant, was quick to get angry at her. He was more tired in the mornings after a late night at "work".(more)" The signs were every wife's worst nightmare...so May decided to find out once and for all.
Now, May sat in front of the computer screen. It had only taken a minute to check Jack's web browser history and find his second email account, the one that May didn't know he had. Most of Jack's emails were to Jaida Blue. A Google search revealed Jaida Blue to be the young intern at Jack's company. What hurt was that Jaida's picture was prettier, younger, and apparently a better cooker than May.
May held back her tears. For now.
She sent an email to Jaida, using the sickening pet names her husband had for her.
Hey baby ;)
the house is all mine tonight...May has book club. The bed is all ours until eleven. See you at seven, sexy.
"I'm home!" Jack called. May logged out quickly and ran to meet him. She only had two hours to wait.
At seven, the doorbell rang. May made sure to be in the kitchen, out of sight.
"Hey, babe," she heard Jaida purr.
"Jai-Jaida," Jack stuttered. "What--why--?"
"I got your email, darling," Jaida giggled. "Ready for a fun night?"
"No--Jaida, you have to go--May is--!"
May stepped out into the hallway.
"I already know," she said coldly.
She would save her tears for later, when no one would see her cry.(less)
With your father's research etched into your back like a piece of scrap paper, with your superior's gloves bearing the same insignia, you must carry on. You have a scar running along your shoulder blade, a knife's edge scraped against your bones leaving only ashes.
It was not very hard to locate the wayward alchemist - even on such a bright, beautiful, sunny spring day he was sequestered away in the musty library. Roy Mustang sighed, unsurprised, as he yanked the blinds in the research room open.
(more) Edward did not even lift his head. He was hunched over a book at least a century old, squinting at the tiny handwritten scribble almost lost on the ancient yellowed page. If his eyes were not moving animatedly, Roy might have given the teenager up for dead.
He sighed, amused, as he looked over the room. Clearly Alphonse had been through, as the clutter and dust was not as bad as it could have been. Roy was completely convinced that Edward could read through the Apocalypse and somehow come out unscathed.
The door opened, and Roy looked up and smiled despite himself. The hulking suit if armor that contained the soul of Edward's little brother was carrying a tray with two sandwiches on it. Good afternoon, Alphonse," Roy said. Alphonse jerked a little in surprise, his helmet scraping across the helm.
"Colonel Mustang, I didn't expect you to come fetch brother personally," he said. "I haven't had a chance to ready him. "
"It's no difficulty," Roy said smoothly. "It is far too fair a spring afternoon to stay locked away in a tiny little office, after all."
"S'not like he was doing any work anyway," Edward muttered, surprising them both. Edward lifted his head, brushing his bangs out if his eyes with the motion. "I bet Lieutenant Hawyeye's been looking for him most of the day."
Roy smiled placatingly. "Do you really think so little of me, Fullmetal?"
"Call me little again and we'll just see what I think of you," Edward muttered, and closed his book. (less)
He stared at the screen, it was ready to suck him again. It was ready to devour his ideas like candy as he navigated the great web. He was ready to devour right back.
There are no coincidences. Ideas are power. Research is action.
Don Quixote by Miguel De Cervan(more)tes begins the search; what is a Don? A knight. Why Quixote? Comes from Quijano. -ote es un fin chiste para palabras. Quijano = questing.
Un Don Quijano. Una idea interesante. Go deeper into your research. There are Don Quijanos in every culture, in all times - some called them Knights Errant, some called them Youxia, Ronin, Warrior. A wandering force.
How do we wander? There are these things called initial conditions that set our primary heading. For those interested, look up Chaos Theory on Wikipedia.
These initial conditions affect everything in their "sound space". They are like notes in a song. Each note has a reverberation that is variable depending on its context.
For instance, when I was 13, I went to the store to buy a CD (I'm like mad-old, right? WTF is a CD?!?!) Anyhow, I got Conspiracy of One by the Offspring - which I now play through my stereo. Now, this line comes on: "Don't turn away, don't turn away, come out swinging", and then "Red over white, it's one last fatal scene, brought on by someone unseen, moving on their own..."
Conspiracy of One. Why the fuck did that dude at the Walmart recommend THAT CD? That CD that played on for so many angsty youthful stomping sessions in my room - push-ups, writing, aching, being a teenager - would I be a different man - 10 years later - if I hadn't gotten THAT CD?
And now it comes to you a reverberating IC...(less)
What is life but one great experiment? We are both the test subjects and the scientists. We dictate the ways by which the human capacity for knowledge and the unseen potential which lies within us all can be tested and brought out. Those who witness our experiment alter their(more) own testing and scemes to replicate our findings. The scientific method has a beating heart. Generational development, evolution and the conglomeration of all human knowledge gained prior to us gives us the basic framework of what we should strive to pursue in our experimentation.
So I ask, "What is it that you will research?"(less)
You'll really like him, she said. He's a great guy, she said. "Recently divorced and looking for fun," were the exact words.
A person who she has never met. He could be a serial killer! A drug dealer! A republican!
She sits down at her computer, a mug of hot te(more)a to her left, and she realizes what she can do to assuage her fears. Knowledge is power, and knowledge is derived from observation and research.
"Okay, Ben Smith," She says to herself, opening her web browser and typing in facebook.com, "Let's find out who you are."
"Not enough, definitely not enough," he said. His tone suggested calmness but I know this man. Never losing composure, always stating things as if they were facts. He knows how crushing his words were and did not need to say more because he knows this was enough to let(more) the despair crawl in. He knows because I felt it.