Two Hundred Thousand People

Finally another pot after a long, long while. No, not again, it’s another Goddamn Uncategorized post. It’s supposed to be a Life category post–I know that some of the very few who read my blog are looking for some Lighthouse posts, yeah I’m working on it, but alas, not today.

Let’s get to the point.

It was raining cats and dogs, but everyone didn’t care. The two hundred thousand people at my feet didn’t, they kept screaming, roaring, calling out; their voices challenged the might of the pouring rain. Some of them even threw their Ts aside, and continued jamming and moshing under the rain with naked upper body. There was certainly rush of adrenaline in everyone’s veins–no, it’s like the adrenaline was in the air. The soul of everyone fused together in such a hella-rocking festival.

The song ended but everyone didn’t even noticed. The threads of my soul I’d woven to everyone’s mind had knotted together with their own threads of soul, creating a masterpiece of mankind’s civilization, a union of feeling and expression forged by everyone’s common interest of music. Music is the language of mankind, I know. And that’s what drove everyone to subconsciously demanded an encore, which I gladly gave–the show would go on until the threads of soul loomed together into a solid feeling of equality, or I died trying to loom them together with the six strings of my medium.

I yelled. Everyone shrieked in hysteria–a self-conscious hysteria. A part of breaking the broken system and established a new one. A process of maturity in the history of a civilization, the shaping and forging of an era. Where majority was no longer the truth, but the truth was majority. When everyone finally overcome their selfish concepts of diversity and self-superiority, and realized that we all have something in common. When music finally unveiled the stink of the misused concept of globalism, and unite everyone under common need and interest–the need and interest of knowing each other and unite. When the fights carried out by every young soul living in the world with broken system finally broke through. When everyone is living a young soul.

That’s when I snapped one string. But I didn’t care and kept on playing. The crowd didn’t care as well. We were one already, a solid loom of souls knotted together under common need and interest. It didn’t make any difference, with or without that one string. I played even wilder and wilder, and I snapped another string. And another. And as the night went on, I played the guitar with all six strings snapped.

What the hell, I thought. The guitar was just a medium–a vital component of the life of the show, of course, but now the medium had changed. The air, the atmosphere, the zest and enthusiasm and adrenaline in the air–they’re all the media. The mind of every people had become the medium itself. So I threw the guitar away, and it didn’t make any difference. The language I tried to spoke had been understood without even speaking.

And the rain stopped. Then, slowly, it dawned. The show was over as well. But it’d still go on, in the heart of everyone. Dawn of the new day did not erase their enthusiasm–instead, I could see the dawn of a new era in everyone’s mind. A new era had come. An era of openness. An era of transparency. An era of unity. An era of glory.

I looked at my guitar. All of the strings were broken. It wouldn’t be able to produce a sound, until I repaired it properly. Perhaps it’d take a long time until it is fixed. And the sound it produced would never be the same.

But all it had to deliver had been delivered.

Untitled Ravings of Elmo Lawrence

I wrote this coz I knew that I’ve gotta say something rather than keep it buried in my heart, sickening me and consuming me from the inside. I wrote this coz I hella wanna say this out loud: THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG WITH THE SYSTEM. NO, THIS WON’T WORK, AND IN THE END EVERYTHING WILL FALL APART AS EXPECTED, BUT STILL THEY DIDN’T REALIZE IT AND KEPT RUNNING IT.

There’s something wrong with the system, I just knew it. I knew that it ain’t gonna work, that it’s just a blow of the air in the mind of some to say that this would even work. No, and with such high expectations, it wouldn’t and it’d turn you down and leave you broken.

But, you know what? I’ve been dragged into a point that I really don’t care. Even though I’m a part of the system, I don’t feel like one being affected if the system fail. To show everyone my point, I’ll be doing my best to support the system, even if I know that supporting the broken system will just accelerate its failure.

The faster it is to come, the faster it is for them to realize that the system is broken, and that they’re completely wrong. That’s my way to make them understand–sometimes some people deserve some punishment.

But if they’re right and my belief that the system is broken proved to be wrong, then there’s nothing to lose. The system works after all, and I’m among those who make the system work. I can still take credits from it.

I can be a very bad person–the fact of it scares even me.

Politics

If we seek the truth out there in the world, we won’t find it. The truth might be hidden somewhere, but not in the hands of those we believed to have, not at all. Talk about hypocrisy and charlatanry. Seeking the truth is necessary, of course, but we don’t really have the time right now. What the world need is a huge momentary movement that’ll change the system once and for good, here means the system that puts the hypocrites and charlatans on pedestal while burying the truth six feet under in mud. Once it’s done, then we together can find our own truth. And if it’s me who started the movement, then I’ll be giving time and opportunity to everyone to seek the common truth and share among themselves. So that’s not so wrong after all.

What I’m trying to say is, if we seek truth in the world, we won’t find it. To deal with it now, we have to make the truth on our own. Just make it so, and make it happen. The effects then will come in a chain reaction, into that huge momentary movement I’ve told previously. But what kind of movement?

I’m about to say “uniting everyone’s perception”, and by saying this, I mean “the formation of One World Government”.

Hell, what I’m talking about? This is really not my cup of tea. Since the concept of ’sheer chaos’ could not yet be employed, then any system is acceptable. Yeah, like I said before, just make it so.

I really have to consider my moves before I continue writing things like this. Perhaps another session in the bathroom. Now that I’m talking about it, I realized I haven’t taken a bath this morning. Gotta go, I have to do anything I can to prepare for the hell of tomorrow. See ya anytime in the future.

Godspeed.

Is It So Wrong To Be Defensive?

I don’t usually take offenses, and if I do, I’d rather stomach it and hide my true feeling about it. But every person has his threshold, and if the threshold is passed, he’ll freak out like none have ever expected before. It’s so unhealthy for a person to let his temper pass his bottom threshold, both physically and mentally, and to dump his feeling while being offended marks the person as being ‘harassable’; that’s it, someone who is okay for everyone to harass.

One day they’ll cross his bottom threshold and he’ll freak out, damaging the relationship between him and the harassers so badly it might come to a point beyond repair.

That ain’t good.

The best way to keep good relationship with everyone without exposing you to things tempting your temper is being defensive when necessary. There’s a dilemma about this too: being defensive makes people judge you as paranoid, while being peaceful makes you vulnerable to harassment. But people may judge what they like, coz I live in a rule of ‘if they’re free to judge me as they wish, then I’m free to judge them as I wish, otherwise let the world free from false prejudices and pretenses’.

Yeah, people keep mumbling about my defensive stance, how it makes me the public enemy out of many. Perhaps that’s my ideology of ‘to unite, some must share a common enemy’; ‘to be better, one must have something to fight against’; ‘to be recognized, one must fight against the majority’; and ‘every young soul is a rebel, and there’s a young soul in everyone’. But I don’t give a fuck, coz if I had, I would’ve been at my wit’s end a thousand times before I committed suicide. I’ve fought my way to my current position by being defensive, and I’ve made my points to those who tried to cross me.

Being defensive is a basic human instinct, and I believe that what’s given to us is something that makes us meant to be. I am born to be defensive, coz I believe that, in the future, there’s plenty enough in me worthy to defend.

So here I am, Elmo Lawrence, the Defensive Public Enemy fighting against the mainstream of majority to express his burning young soul along his way to the top of everything. Yes, I’m on my way now, so see you later soon before too long.

Gotta go. I missed a class while writing this.

Godspeed.

What Could Possibly Inspire Elmo Lawrence?

A midnight bath with music screaming loud and some jive under the shower while singing along. That had inspired me.

Perhaps you knew Elmo Lawrence as a man of melancholy. Perhaps you knew me from my gloomy Facebook statuses and previous posts. Well, I’ve got to tell you that it’s over now, because some midnight bath session with music screaming loud and some jive under the shower while singing along had inspired and changed me.

I used to say, in my previous posts, that the test of a man’s true character is what he does when no one’s watching. I also used to say that my day starts when I take a bath. Well, both of them are things that can help me make myself. But there were tons of posts telling about shit like a girl I wished I could see again or me being an elusive procrastinator–a very lately post even telling how I, as a public enemy of everyone, trying to stand up against the current and fight my way through conspiracies and sly subtleties. I could explain that as how easily I changed, and how I had to have something to fight against just to find myself.

There were times where I believed that the world’s playing rough on me, that I am the most miserable person in the world, and that my role in life is just to suffer and suffer and suffer. But the midnight bath session saved me from that. Life’s beautiful, and there are a lot of people out there who suffer much, much more than me–why so much misery? That session, perhaps a divine intervention of some sort, had changed my point of view and attitude toward life. There’s nothing to be worried about–as I dropped the worry, I could use the space in my mind to think about other things, those that would improve me like how to decorate my room to give it a mind-clearing environment, or how hard I have to work out to keep my body fit while not exhausting my energy so much that I had to sleep in classes.

I see the world differently now–such a huge point of view. Gee, if taking baths at midnight is always a divine intervention of some sort, I think I’ll take a bath again tonight. With the music screaming loud, of course, I don’t care whether it would disturb the roommates or not. There were few moments in my life where I felt my soul calling out to be expressed. Yes, this post contains threads of my soul, and this is how I express myself. Oh, look at the time–gotta take a bath now or today’s session will be missed.

You may laugh. Loudly, if you please. Laughing makes the sense in a man. Laugh regularly and be hearty and hale for the rest of your life. Enjoy every second of your life, coz it won’t come twice.

And me, I’ve gotta take a bath. Now. See ya later.

Godspeed.

Elmo Lawrence’s Self-Exclaimed Whereabout

It was half past three in the morning but still I wrote this post. Can’t help it, the urge to write is greater than it is to sleep.

I was working on my next Lighthouse post the Halifax Bloody Snow Catastrophe III and everything was okay until I realized that the story’s going to be very complicated. Crap, I couldn’t just continue working on it, there’s a lot of research that I have to undergo in order to cover the highly complicated storyline. You know what I’m talking about–without impression, it is unlikely to put the soul in story–and that’s why I wrote things, to let everyone see the part of my soul in the world’s query of existence.

I felt quite unwell while writing this–perhaps I could fell ill. If anyone’s trying to find out my whereabouts between October 11 and 12, perhaps I’m laying helpless on my bed, too sick even to find something to eat, so my condition is severely worsened as the time passed by, despite the recovery. If this happens, it’ll take 3 or 4 days for me to completely recover.

Well, I hope I won’t get ill. Gotta sleep now–gee, it feels so good to finally write another post.

Public Enemy

This is as political as it can be–I can’t help it.

I, Elmo Lawrence, am a blade in the crowd. I work in secret to rally the people into doing my bidding with or without them noticing. I aspire people to conspire against public hegemony, which in my case, is something I believe to be wrong (assuming my opinion is right).

My intentions are for the sake of everyone in the end. I can foresee things better than some of us which visions have been dampened by their position–and is working underway to keep the system from falling apart by the majority’s shallow thoughts. We are a system controlled by the majority, living in the world where majority is the truth. When our so-called ‘truth’ is a screw-up, then does it wrong if some of us work underway to keep the system from falling apart? That’s what I do.

But, even the idea of me going against the majority makes me a public enemy. I can feel it. Even though they seemed to hide the fact that they don’t like me and pretend to make me think that everything’s okay, I can see it. Some of them are even proud enough to frankly show their hate to me. But you know what? I don’t care. I love being the public enemy. It means that I have my own principles that cannot be consumed by the majority.

People said that I’m weird. You know what? I think, for them being weird is being something different that goes against majority. I love being different, it shows the world that I am someone with a solid character.

I’m not weird, I’m just being rebellious. There’s a rebel in every young soul–and there’s a young soul in everyone.

That’s just them–the so-called ’superiors’–who are weird, by not having something found in everyone else in the world.

This is my confession, the confession of an infamous public enemy so stubborn that he had to conspire against anything. But I’m not being redneck–they are the ones being redneck. I’m talking about them majorities.

We live in a world of ‘us’ and ‘them’. So, which side are you with? Are you with us, or are you with them?

The Halifax Bloody Snow Catastrophe II

Everything was just meant to be. All of the results had impact and power upon one another. Everyone were born to be somebody–even though it means that most were born to be passer-by.

I am Nicolette Wynter, and I believe that I was born to make something happen.

It was pitch-black, the way ahead, and it just seemed to be that way forever.

Why can’t I see anything? I thought I’ve seen…

Nicolette started to recall what had just happened. She remembered seeing pieces of broken glass shattering on the road drenched in the pouring rain. Glances of tree silhouettes were visible in the background, along with the dark, cloudy sky. It must be somewhere in the midnight. And in front of her… what was that, the steering wheel? A car’s dashboard?

And an arm still holding onto it. An arm full of pieces of broken glass. An arm soaked in blood and rainwater.

The car’s interior… it was totally devastated. And there were blood everywhere.

It was the scene of a terrible car accident. But who was there? Sure it wouldn’t be her.

‘Nickie!’

Who’s the one screaming? Who’s the one crying at her side, holding the same arm on the steering wheel? What is it, a hospital room? A morgue? Why were there so many people around? Was it a funeral? For whom it was held? Was it for her?

Geez, I think I had the strangest dream–two strangest dreams in one night.

All the thoughts seemed to be swirling inside her head again, before drifting away one by one. Trying to keep the memories in her head was just like trying to hold some water in her fist–the harder you try, the faster they were to go.

It was getting tiresome–if by trying harder to remember I am more likely to forget, then why don’t I just let it go?

And she relaxed. At first she thought all of the memories would drift away as they had been, but into her deepest subconsciousness, they were coming back, one by one, like a slideshow of events at the time she really didn’t expect it.

It was total darkness, at first. But then, she recalled one by one–the memories together were making a chronology.

It is already late… I’m driving in my car at 70 mph, trying the best I can to arrive at home as soon as possible. Can’t help to go faster, it was pouring cats and dogs and the view distance is merely several feet at most, even with the fog lights on.

Flashes of lightning, high tension lines and silhouettes of trees in the background. The road is drenched with rainwater, and at some points the tires slipped. It was dangerous, and I’m not used to drive that fast. But still, what’s holding me on to come home that late?

There was a sharp U-turn ahead, I’ve got to slow down… the road is way too slippery to turn at a higher speed. But hang on… what is there on the road ahead?

Suddenly it was clear: there was a girl standing in the darkness, on the road ahead. She didn’t bother standing under the pouring rain… why, she was merely staring strangely at me. God, I’m going to run into her!

I swerve the car to avoid hitting her, and gets off the road… I can see the glances of the girl, still looking at me. It’s odd, she’s smiling… I think she is saying something…

And then, it’s darkness.

So, it was a car accident? I had an accident? And the views I saw before… was all about me?

Strange, who was that girl? Nicolette didn’t think she’d ever seen her in my life before. But was that odd to remember that, the last thing that she thought before she lost her consciousness was…

Is the girl okay? Oh, she’s still standing there, smiling… she’s okay. I’m glad that she’s not hurt because of me…

‘Nickie!’

‘Mom?’

‘Oh my God, she responds! Don’t you hear that? She finally gives a response!’

Nicolette slowly opened her eyes. She found herself lying on a bed in a hospital room, with a bunch of bouquet on the end table at her side. Her mother was sitting at the other side, reaching out to hug her. Nicolette could feel the warmth of her mother’s tears when they met her cheek.

‘You had a terrible accident, Nickie,’ sobbed her mother, still holding her tight, ‘but you survived! It had been seven hours before someone found you, and you barely made it here alive, but you did survive! And even though the doctors kept saying things like “we’re trying the best we can” or “let’s hope for the best, Mrs. Wynter” with an expression of “there’s no way we could do this, this girl won’t going to survive” still you survived! You know, everyone would’ve died in such a terrible accident, but you didn’t, and the warmth I felt when I held your hand as you were brought here ensured that you’ll live it up ’til the end… I should’ve known, Nickie, I should’ve known…’

Nickie smiled weakly, looking around. There was Clara, her older sister, smiling at her. Her eyes were still wet, Nickie knew that she had been crying almost all night long.

‘That’s okay, little sis,’ Clara said, ‘there’s supposed to be a surgery scheduled today for you, but the doctors decided that it was no longer necessary. You had overcome the urgency of the surgery by yourself–that’s amazing. You healed so quickly that the doctors agreed that you can go tomorrow morning.’

‘That was miraculous,’ said Nicolette’s mother. ‘The whole thing was just like a dream… it happened so fast, but it got over even faster. Thanks God, I thought you would’ve died in the accident.’

Nicolette herself was amazed with the fact that she healed up that quickly. As her mother released her and stepped back to give her room, she examined her body all over, and was surprised. Looked like all of the wounds were healed, and… how odd, there’s not even a single scar left. It’s just like she never had an accident.

‘See?’ asked Clara. ‘Even the doctors said it was a miracle that you recovered so quickly.’

Suddenly a doctor and a nurse entered the room. ‘Mrs Wynter?’ asked the doctor. ‘If you don’t mind, I have something to say to you.’

‘Doc,’ said Mrs Wynter blissfully, ‘my daughter–finally, she’s awake!’

Nickie smiled weakly to the doctor, which he returned briefly.

‘It’s so surprisingly early,’ said the doctor. ‘Of course, we’ll examine her further. But before, I have something really important to say to you, first.’

He reached out and whispered something to Nicolette’s mother. Nicolette didn’t like it, whatever it was that he told her, her expression had become stern.

‘Alright, I’ll be coming with you,’ said Mrs Wynter. ‘Clara, please take care of Nickie while I’m away. Don’t worry, I’m only out for a moment.’

The three of them left the room. Both Nicolette and Clara looked at them as they left; it’s clearly seen that Clara felt the same way as Nicolette did.

‘I don’t like whatever it was that he said to Mom,’ said Clara. ‘I never seen Mom that stern before.’

She sighed, and looked outside the window. It was pouring again, just like the night of the accident. Suddenly the entire atmosphere of the accident caught Nicolette back to the past.

‘I’ve been wondering,’ said Clara ever so slowly, very careful of her selection of words, ‘what was it that caused the accident? You always very careful in driving and doing other things. What was it that failed your sense? Coz they said that there’s no sign of some other cars around at the time the accident occurred.’

There was a girl standing in the darkness, on the road ahead. She didn’t bother standing under the pouring rain… why, she was merely staring strangely at me.

The image of the girl standing on the road right ahead of her flashed back into her mind. It was so real that she could hear the howling wind and feel the coldness of the air.

I can see the glances of the girl, still looking at me. It’s odd, she’s smiling… I think she is saying something…

Suddenly Nicolette realized that she had seen the girl somewhere in her life before. It was exactly the same with the girl she saw as her reflection in that glade in Nova Scotia–she just remembered that she once had that dream. The girl was Camille Bertrand, and she was saying something…

I was told about you too, Nicolette, that you’ll help me secure the knowledge in my head. Live and be alive, my friend, and please do survive–you’ll never have the faintest idea of what danger you’re pacing on. If only we have the chance to meet…

It was what Camille thought when their thoughts overrode in that dream… but that’s not what she said when the accident happened.

‘Fear not, Nicolette, for the time has come where the past is history and the present is a lie. What matters now is just what lies ahead.’

It was what she’s saying, now Nicolette remembered.

‘Everything’s gonna be okay. You have the truth… it’s not lost forever, it’s safe in your head. Still, it isn’t safe until it is kept in everyone’s head… so please, Nicolette, once the time comes, let everyone know. Don’t give up the fight that we had started…’

Odd to know that the accident happened in mere seconds–the girl had a lot of things to say. But of course, that was a situation which surpassed even place and time…

And she was smiling now at this point, a sad smile of someone who had to leave, when she finally said:

‘It’s nice to finally see you in person, Nicolette. I can see that you’ll be a great woman someday… let the day come. Live, until the time comes!’

And all that Nicolette could see was darkness.

‘Nickie?’ Her sister looked at her, worried.

‘It’s OK, Nickie, you don’t have to answer… I’m sorry if that brings the trauma back to you.’

But, to Clara’s surprise, Nicolette smiled. Even though she still didn’t know the truth that Camille talked about, she knew that it was very important and, from now on, something really big would happen. Something great that would change the world once and for all, and it had something to do with the truth in her head, that nobody knows. This made her heart swell.

‘Thanks, Clara!’ She smiled, and giggled at the confused Clara.

But knowing that the truth in her head was something everyone would die fighting for, she knew that bad things would happen too, in the future. Very bad things, so bad she could never imagine. Like what happened to Camille.

Hang on, thought Nickie. What really happened to Camille?

The Halifax Bloody Snow Catastrophe I

It was so dark. Nicolette could hear herself panting; it’s like she’s been running around quite a lot. She’s so scared she’s hiding under something that she thought would cover her, and so unstable that she had to hold on to it.

But wait, she looked at the hands reaching out. She knew she was the one commanding those hands to move, but the strangest thing was, they’re not her hands.

Shivering, she looked down to herself. It was not her body. So whose body was this? And why she was in this body?

It was dark, and she’s getting more and more terrified. A strange feeling emerged beyond her utmost fear, though, a feeling of sudden calm and serenity. A feeling of someone who was about to die, and was prepared of it.

But the fear was still there; not the fear of death, however, it’s the fear of something very critical that would be gone if she died–the fear that something worth dying to defend would be lost when she died.

The only knowledge of its whereabouts left in the world was in her head. If she died, the knowledge would be lost forever. The world would caught the worst of it when they were most unprepared. And this would be catastrophic.

The horizon, gradually ever so slowly, turned to bloody scarlet. The new day dawned. The surroundings had become slightly visible, the outlines of tall redwood trees formed in the sky around Nicolette. She was sitting near a glade at the clearing in the woods. Far away, she could see the shadows of buildings of a city–clearly a devastated city.

She took a look at her hand–the hand. It was wet in blood. It had been a catastrophe already, she thought. She couldn’t let an even greater catastrophe to hit the entire world.

Something that she couldn’t understand was, who were those after her? What did they gain from spreading these catastrophes around the world? What were they after? She knew that they’re after her, the only witness left after the whole city had been cleared up–but what were all of this for?

And the reason beyond all of this? She recalled something about a bay or something, a bay which had been lost in Siberia… nobody would bother to think about it, it was located in the most remote area of Siberia–nobody would normally bother to think about a bay in remote Siberian Russia, even though somebody accidentally found it here in Canada.

Lost and found, she thought, trying to be comical even in the edge of her life. Finders keepers, wasn’t her? And those guys who were after her were the losers who didn’t want to weep about it.

Bet there’s something in that bay… something valuable. A rich deposit of platinum, perhaps? She didn’t believe that in this post-atomic era people would fight over some natural energy resources anymore.

Lines of gold was threading in the horizon, beyond the purple-violet sky decorated with glowing golden clouds. It was so strikingly beautiful, but it also served as a reminder–her time has almost come.

But she wouldn’t care, would she? Here in the woods of Nova Scotia, with such a beautiful scenery painted on the sky, and the natural beauty of the woods itself, a girl rested in peace. She could hear heaven calling out–her mother, her father, her little sister, the kind old man next door, his grandson, the paperman–she knew that they’re all going to heaven. She was prepared to die, for somehow, something in her heart told her that God would take care of this unfinished business…

The knowledge will be passed, she thought. Perhaps there’s some other survivors out there that’ll live long enough to tell the world about what lies ahead.

As for me, she thought, I am Camille Bertrand, once lived in Halifax, Nova Scotia, a place that no one will find in the map years after this. I was told about you too, Nicolette, that you’ll help me secure the knowledge in my head. Live and be alive, my friend, and please do survive–you’ll never have the faintest idea of what danger you’re pacing on. If only we have the chance to meet…

The sun could now be seen rising, and Nicolette saw, for the first and the last time, her reflection in the glade–the smiling face of Camille Bertrand, a girl barely of her age, so young and hopeful full of energy, but with a wisdom of someone prepared to die this young; a pair of bright blue eyes staring back at her, as if saying, our fight will not end here…

…and that her body was all covered in blood.

Then everything was pitch-black once again.