Quotes of the Day

“Sitting in my basement room with my needle and a spoon.” — Mick Jagger, 1971

“But you knifed me in my dirty filthy basement
With that jaded, faded, junky nurse.
Oh what pleasant company.” — Mick Jagger, 1969

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Night Moves

John Caradine

They are always with me. At times they appear out of the ethereal mist and other times they speak directly to my mind. I wish they would leave me to myself, but that they will not do. No, first I must do their bidding.

They come in the night and stay until the black sky fades to gray. When the stars leave the sky and the clouds to the east turn pink, I am allowed my rest. But I ask you, what respite can a murderer have? At their behest I have killed again this night. And I will continue to kill until they go back from whence they came.

After all I’ve been through, I still remember the first time they came to me. It was a little over a year ago and since then I have killed twenty-nine people. Please do not think me insane. I assure you these beings are real and are not immanent. At first, I, too, thought myself demented when they stood before me telling me they came to save the human race, and to accomplish their mission certain people must die. They explained that the demise of the race was not impending, but if action was not taken, and taken soon, it would be too late to set things on a course to ensure the continuance of mankind.

You are probably wondering, if you do not think me crazed, why they cannot do their own dirty work. That is a very good question and one I have asked them. They, of course, are not of our time and space. They appear—when they appear—as diaphanous specters; they cannot manipulate physical matter. Thus, I have become their instrument here on earth. Where or when they are from I do not know. And why, out of all the billions on this planet I was chosen, I know not. But it has been a long night and I must sleep. I will continue this at a later date, and continue it I shall, for I want there to be a record of my actions and the reasons for them.

I am back. It has been two days since my last entry in this journal, and tonight they had me kill again. That makes thirty people—thirty innocent people . . . men, women and children—I have dispatched from this world. Yes, I am sorry to say that they have had me kill children. However, I was told that after tonight there would be no more need of my services. The human race was safe for the foreseeable future.

I refer to my tormentors as they or them because I do not know what they call themselves. Their form is vaguely human . . . two arms, two legs, and a head of sorts atop a torso, but their gossamer appearance precludes calling them human.

Tonight’s victim was a man in Moscow. I was directed to him and given his name. I then set about their business. I was told that his son, yet unborn, would one day invent something that would cause the death of billions. Being told the basis for this particular death was a departure from the norm. I had never been given rhyme nor reason for any of the others. The man’s name and the names of the other twenty-nine, with where and when they died, are in the addendum attached to this missive.  I remember every one of my quarry.

I guess I should have mentioned this earlier, but my victims were scattered around the world. I do not know how they did it, but one minute I was in my room behind a locked door and the next minute I was standing in a foreign locale with the name of that night’s victim swirling through my brain. Then into my mind came the place I could find him or her in the city, town, or hamlet.

Now, the thirty-first person will die. They, at last, have left me to myself. I am now free to end this the only way it can be ended—with my death. I’ve been saving and hiding my medication for quite a while now; there is enough to kill three of me. May God have mercy on my soul.

I affix my hand to this document this 30th day of June in the year of our Lord 2016.

Signed,

Francis Fitzgerald

• • • • •

When Dr. Allen had finished reading the above, he turned to Dr. Harris and said, “Interesting, but why have you brought it to me? We both know that the man was a certified, delusional schizophrenic. How long have we had him here at our institution?”

Dr. Harris hesitantly answered, “He’s been here at Oakwood twelve years, sir.”

“Well, there you have it. It’s too bad he took his own life; it doesn’t help our reputation any, but these things happen.”

“Yes, sir. However, there is something I think you ought to know.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve taken the liberty of investigating a few of the names on Fitzgerald’s list. It’s taken me three weeks, but I’ve verified eleven of the deaths and their time and place. They all correspond with what Fitzgerald has written.”

Dr. Allen straightened in his seat, glanced at the papers in his hand, and looking Dr. Harris in the eye, forcibly said, “Preposterous! If there is any correlation, he read of the deaths in the newspaper or heard of them on the television.”

“Excuse me, sir, but Fitzgerald had no access to newspapers. He was denied them because they would agitate him to no end. And the only television he had access to was in the day room where the set is perpetually tuned to a movie channel.”

“That still does not give credence to this fairytale,” said Dr. Allen, waving the Fitzgerald papers in Dr. Harris’ direction.

“No, sir, it does not. However, there is one thing I think I should make you aware of. My sister is married to a Russian physicist, speaks fluent Russian, and lives in Moscow. I called her about the last name on Fitzgerald’s list. She made a few calls for me and it turns out that Fitzgerald was dead before the body of the man he mentions was discovered. And just one more thing, sir. The man’s wallet was found in Fitzgerald’s room. I have it if you’d like to see it.”

Turning a color red that is not in the regular spectrum, Dr. Allen shouted, “NO! I DO NOT WANT TO SEE THE DAMN WALLET!” And then handing the Fitzgerald papers to Dr. Harris, he said with ice in his voice, “Burn these, burn them now. And if you value your position here at Oakwood, you will never speak of this matter again, to anyone. Do I make myself clear?”

Dr. Harris accepted the papers with a meek, “Yes sir,” and walked out of the room. When he was in the hall and by himself, he let out with a, “I’ll be goddamned . . . the old bastard is afraid.”

But Dr. Harris did not burn the papers. He placed them with the wallet in his desk drawer and then locked it. He had some thinking to do. As he started on his rounds, a quote of Shakespeare’s kept repeating itself in his head. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

 

Night Moves

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They are always with me. At times, they appear out of the ethereal mist and at other times they speak directly to my mind. I wish they would leave me to myself, but that they will not do. No, first I must do their bidding.

   They come at night and stay until the black sky fades to gray. When the stars leave the sky and the clouds to the east turn pink, I am allowed to rest. But I ask you, what respite can a murderer have? At their behest, I have killed again this night. And I will continue to kill until they go back from whence they came.

   I remember the first time they came to me. It was a little over a year ago and since then I have killed twenty-nine people. Please do not think me insane. I assure you these beings are real and are not immanent. At first, I too thought myself demented when they stood before me telling me they came to save the human race, and to accomplish their mission certain people must die. They explained that the demise of the race was not imminent, but if action was not taken, and taken soon, it would be too late to set things on a course to ensure the continuance of mankind. 

   You are probably wondering, if you do not think me crazed, why they cannot do their own dirty work. And it is a good question, one I have asked. They, of course, are not of our time and space. They appear, when they appear, as diaphanous specters, they cannot manipulate physical matter. Thus I have become their instrument here on earth. Where or when they are from I do not know. And why, out of all the billions on this planet I was chosen, I know not. But it has been a long night and I must sleep. I will continue this at a later date, and continue it I shall, for I want there to be a record of my actions and the reasons for them.

   I am back. It has been two days since my last entry, and tonight they had me kill again. That makes thirty people, thirty innocent people—men, women and children, I have dispatched from this world. Yes, I am sorry to say that they have had me kill children. However, I was told that after tonight there would be no more need of my services, the human race was safe for the foreseeable future.

   I refer to my tormentors as they or them because I do not know what they call themselves. Their form is vaguely human, two arms, two legs, and a head of sorts atop a torso, but their gossamer appearance precludes calling them human.

   Tonight’s victim was a man in Moscow. I was directed to him and given his name. I then set about their business. I was told that his son, yet unborn, would one day invent something that would cause the death of billions. Being told the basis for this particular death was a departure from the norm; I had never been given rhyme nor reason for any of the others. The man’s name and the names of the other twenty-nine, with where and when they died, are in the addendum attached to this missive.  I remember every one of my quarry.

   I guess I should have mentioned this earlier, but my victims were scattered around the world. I do not know how they did it, but one minute I was in my room behind a locked door and the next minute I was standing in a foreign locale with the name of that night’s victim swirling through my brain. Then into my mind came the place I could find him or her in the city, town or hamlet.

   Now, the thirty-first person will die. They, at last, have left me to myself. I am now free to end this the only way it can be ended, with my death. I’ve been saving and hiding my medication for quite a while now, there is enough to kill me three times over. May God have mercy on my soul.

   I affix my hand to this document this 30th day of June in the year of our Lord 2011.

                                                                                                 Signed,

                                                                                                Francis Fitzgerald

 

When Dr. Allen had finished reading the above, he turned to Dr. Harris and said, “Interesting, but why have you brought it to me? We both know that the man was a certified, delusional schizophrenic. How long have we had him here at our institution?”

Dr. Harris hesitantly answered, “He’s been here at Oakwood twelve years sir.”

“Well there you have it. It’s too bad he took his own life, it doesn’t help our reputation any, but these things happen.”

“Yes sir. However, there is something I think you ought to know.”

“Yes?”

“I’ve taken the liberty of investigating a few of the names on Fitzgerald’s list. It’s taken me three weeks, but I’ve verified eleven of the deaths and their time and place. They all correspond with what Fitzgerald has written.”

Dr. Allen straightened in his seat, glanced at the papers in his hand, and then looking Dr. Harris in the eye, very forcibly said, “Preposterous! If there is any correlation, he read of the deaths in the newspaper or heard of them on the television.”

“Excuse me sir, but Fitzgerald had no access to newspapers. He was denied them because they would agitate him to no end. And the only television he had access to was in the day room where the set is perpetually tuned to a movie channel.”

“That still does not give credence to this fairytale,” said Dr. Allen waving the Fitzgerald papers at Dr. Harris.

“No sir, it does not. However, there is one thing I think I should make you aware of. My sister is married to a Russian physicist, speaks fluent Russian and lives in Moscow. I called her about the last name on Fitzgerald’s list. She made a few calls for me and it turns out that Fitzgerald was dead before the body of the man he mentions was discovered. And just one more thing sir, the man’s wallet was found in Fitzgerald’s room. I have it if you’d like to see it.”

Turning a color red that is not in the spectrum, Dr. Allen shouted, “NO! I DO NOT WANT TO SEE THE DAMN WALLET!” And then handing the Fitzgerald papers to Dr. Harris, he said with ice in his voice, “Burn these, burn them now. And if you value your position here at Oakwood you will never speak of this matter again, to anyone. Do I make myself clear?”

Dr. Harris accepted the papers, and with a meek, “Yes sir,” walked out of the room. When he was in the hall, and by himself, he let out with a, “I’ll be goddamned, the old bastard is afraid.”

But Dr. Harris did not burn the papers. He placed them, with the wallet in his desk drawer and then locked it. He had some thinking to do. And as he started on his rounds, a quote of Shakespeare’s kept repeating itself in his head. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, then are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

Othello

 

 

 


Written by a friend

 

Truth or Consequences

 

I HAVE CHOSEN TO WRITE MY TERM PAPER ON THE Play “Othello”, written by William Shakespeare.

 

I want to discuss honesty and the problem of drink that run through this play and have a direct effect on the outcome of this tragedy.

 

Fact:  Othello seems unable to see the fact that Cassio has a drinking problem.

 

Fact:  Cassio at first does not want to admit to his need for drink.  Cassio protests over and over again that he is not drunk in Act II. Scene 3, by saying “I am not drunk now.  I can stand well enough, and I speak well enough.”  The gentlemen he is with reply “Excellent well!” to which Cassio replies “Why, very well then, you must not think then that I am drunk.

 

Then later in this same scene you find Iago and Montano discussing Cassio, and Othello’s belief in Cassio, seeming that Othello is oblivious to Cassio’s problem with drink, Iago is worried about the fact that he fears the trust Othello places in Cassio, seemingly oblivious to his infirmity (drink).

 

One can see how Iago is encouraging Cassio to have one more drink, that it is a night to revel, that the gallants desire it.  At first Cassio says no to the idea, but Iago talks him into it; after he goes out the door Cassio, in an aside, “If I can fasten but one cup upon him, with that which he hath drunk tonight already, he will be as full of quarrel and offense…”  further indicating his intentions to get Cassio into major difficulty.

 

Because of the fact that Cassio fought Montano, Othello then states that though he loves Cassio, he will never be officer of his again.

 

Iago and Cassio now have dialogue about the fight he had had with Montano, while he was drunk.  Cassio is bemoaning the loss of his reputation.  Iago makes the statement that Reputation is an idle and most false imposition, oft got without merit and lost without deserving.  That Cassio had lost no reputation at all unless he reputes himself a loser.   Cassio becomes concerned that he has lost his reputation after the fight with Montano, that he has lost the immortal part of himself and what remains is bestial, in other words, he gave away his reputation, when being drunk, he chose to fight, something he would not have done had he been sober.

 

Iago asks of Cassio the day after the fight, “Why, but you are now well enough.  How came you thus recovered?  Iago then further encourages Cassio to drink, saying that good wine is a good familiar creature if it be well used, exclaim no more against it; knowing full well that Cassio has a definite problem with alcohol. 

 

In Act III, one finds Cassio requesting one of the Clowns to see if the gentlewoman that attends the General’s wife (Desdemona) is stirring, and if she is to notify unto her that he (Cassio) desires speech with her. 

 

Cassio replies “It hath pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the devil wrath.  One imperfection shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself.  It would appear that Cassio is aware of his problem, but not enough to do something about it, like quit drinking.

 

As the play continues, one finds Iago saying that he “loves Cassio well and would do much to cure him of this evil (the drink).

 

What is also of interest is the fact that Cassio encouraged and championed Othello’s wooing of Desdemona.  Cassio when not drinking was obviously different from the Cassio who in his cups, would say anything?

 

Iago is talking with Othello, and admits to having overheard Cassio, while dreaming, curse the fate that gave Desdemona to Othello, and how they need to hide their love.  Iago speaks further about the “handkerchief” that he saw Cassio wipe his beard with, the one that which had been Othello’s first gift to his fair Desdemona.  Giving Othello more ammunition to use against her, that being the act of infidelity.  Ultimately giving him the proof he needed to suffocate his wife Desdemona for her dishonesty to him.

 

Then Othello meets with Desdemona and Emilia, and in an aside to the audience admits that he now knows that Desdemona is not being honest with him, that he must as yet dissemble to her.

When Othello asks to see the handkerchief that he had given to Desdemona, she refuses to get it when he asks her to; they argue and Othello exits, leaving her and Emilia alone.  Emilia asks is not Othello jealous, to which she replies that she has never before seen Othello behave the way he just did.  Cassio asks about her progress with getting him back in Othello’s good graces, to which she replies that that what she can do she will and will do more for him than for herself. 

 

Dishonesty continues and Iago informs Othello that Cassio talked about lying with her, that is to say lie on her, not as in dishonest lie but rather to be on top of …

 

Iago is a major part of the lies that permeates this play.  He is manipulating both Othello and Cassio.  This action shows up in many scenes of the play, one in particular shows him saying “My medicine works thus credulous fools are caught, and many worthy and chaste dames even thus, All guiltless, meet reproach.”  Iago keeps feeding Othello’s jealous concern about Desdemona’s fidelity by bringing up the missing handkerchief.  It does appear that Cassio is also dishonest about his feelings for Desdemona when he laughs at the thought of marrying Desdemona, and speaking about her throwing herself at him.

 

 Iago plays both sides of the fence with Othello and Cassio, causing Othello to lose trust in Cassio by the tales that he tells.  Then he counsels Othello to patience, to listen as he, Iago,  has Cassio tell the tale of when he and Desdemona were together.  Cassio tells Iago that he believes that she loves him, but laughs when Iago asks him if they will marry, showing his lack of concern for the “Fair Desdemona”, just another lie.

 

I first read the play “Othello” a few short weeks ago, having been assigned to do a Term paper for school on a play and I chose “Othello”.  Since that time I have become aware as to how much alcoholic thinking and the truth seemed to have a bad time of it in this play.  Thus I chose to address the concept of how truth and drinking did not mix well, using examples from the play to illustrate this.  I hope that you enjoy what I have written and leave this page with a different perspective of the play than that with which you arrived.

 

Alicia

 

Saturday’s Quotes

Shakespeare

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, then are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

“This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.”

“Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.”

— William Shakespeare

Danny’s Dilemma

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To run or not to run, that is the question. Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them? To paraphrase Billy Shakespeare.

Howdy folks. it’s me Danny, we spoke the other day. If you remember I was talking about my friend Andrew and how at times he made me sleep out on the deck of our boat. So today I’m here to talk about outrageous fortune. No, not the sleeping outside. Don’t tell Andrew, but I like it. Feeling the ocean breeze on my fur, smelling the salt water; it’s good for a dog, and let’s face it I am a dog.

The outrageous fortune of which I speak is the insidious leash the sonavabitch makes me wear. I mean really, just because I’ve run away a few times he thinks I can’t be trusted. I’m a big boy, hell I’m ten years old for Christ sake! I can go out catting (excuse the expression) around at night and still make my way home all by myself.

So here’s my bitch. He doesn’t use a regular leash like any sane person would use. No, he’s gotta use a line from the boat, a twenty foot long line, or rope to you landlubbers out there. I mean it’s demeaning.

The other night we went to a local biker bar. Andrew doesn’t like going there because he’s a sissy and he thinks the bikers will beat him up. Me, I love the place because the biker girls always crowd around me and pet me and tell me how cute I am. I know that, but it’s always nice to hear, especially when it comes from women with multiple tattoos claiming they belong to Big Bear or Grunge or whomever. It makes me feel special.

So there we are, Andrew is sitting by himself, naturally, and I’m the star of the show with the females of the pack, naturally. Now, because Andrew does not trust me he has me tied to a post (it’s an outdoor bar). It was then that it happened. One of the girls, whose name was Suzanne, the prettiest girl in the bar that night, felt sorry for me and unclasped the leash. Well partners, I took off like a bat outta hell, but I didn’t go far. I just wanted to teach Andrew a lesson.

I ran around to the back of the bar and hid under a small tool shed, and there I stayed. I watched that fool Andrew walk around for hours calling my name. He passed within feet of me about a hundred times. And the best part was when it started to rain. I was high and dry and ‘ol Andrew was soaked to the skin. After about four hours, I felt sorry for the guy, and seeing as how it had stopped raining, I let my presence be known by one single bark.

To cut the story short, I miscalculated. I thought if I made him look for me and then showed up on my own, he would forego the damn leash. But it didn’t work out that way. Now I find myself tied up 24/7, unless I’m taking Andrew for a walk.

So, in conclusion to quote another great writer, Robert Burns, “The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men, often go astray.”

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