*we put the "mmm" in communism


This is the personal blog of Tim. Here, Tim writes on anything he has enough inspiration to finish a post on. That usually ends up being matters of science, pop culture, technology, religion, and philosophy.

This blog is around nine years old, which is over a third of Tim's current age. Back in 2003, it was called "Of Tim: Tim's life - or lack thereof", and it was as bad as you might expect the blog of a freshman in high school to be. Tim hopes that his writing is a little better, these days.

Tim welcomes any input that you, the dear reader, might have. Comments are very much appreciated, especially if you have a dissenting opinion. If you'd like to learn more about Tim, you might want to see his facebook or google+.

Also: Tim is a very avid consumer of various sorts of music. You may be interested in his playlists!

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unfinished and untitled, pt. 1
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My mind scoured page after page of words, hunting for that most excellent descriptor to do justice to the elation of my senses. Delectable? No, this was not steak. Irresistible? I suppose, but there are men that would use this word to describe goats, and I would hate for them to carry such associations to this banquet of sensation. Glorious, stunning, phenomenal, awe-inspiring; so many were considered, and all were found sorely wanting. A mutter of defeat escaped my lips, and I resigned to enjoy this discovery without the company of the word I desired.

Before me was a lush meadow, just wide enough to allow the sun to break through unabated by the otherwise thick canopy of the forest. Ancient, wooden tyrants sought to encroach at every side, reaching out with spindly arms to steal the precious daylight. With gentle occasion, the wind would coax a tepid whisper from the trees, accompanied by the groans of degenerate boughs. Across the western half, the late afternoon sun weaved a tapestry of lazy shadows pierced by shifting needles of radiance. Elsewhere, the trees allowed only moss and stone, but here, grass grew tall and boldly, mixed with wildflowers of yellow and purple. This was not just a patch of sod; it was an oasis of light in a desert of shade and gloom. The grass had found its one and only chance for prosperity amidst a sea of primordial timber, a little field of rebellious fingers pointing towards the sky. Here I was, the sole witness to its unparalleled beauty, partaking in the kind of tranquility that only nature could bestow. If this forest were a storm, I had found the eye.

I ventured cautiously out from under the canopy of the trees. With each step forward, more of my body was exposed to the downpour of warmth from the sun. A shiver wound its way all down my spine, raising the hair on my arms and legs, ending in quivers of delight at the tips of my fingers and toes. I made my stand in the center, where the sky was revealed sufficiently to my desire. Up above, a few voluptuous clouds marched boldly to their destination. The sky's blue was strangely satisfying; if ever I had felt that the sky should possess but one color, it was certainly this.

My gaze shifted down as the motion of the treetops demanded my attention. I wondered what sort of trees these were that held such a lively relationship with the wind. I scanned the boughs for wildlife, but nothing stirred. This first pleased me; I had no desire for the intrusions of noisy and bothersome creatures at this moment. I felt rationality tapping me on the shoulder, however, and I began to question my surroundings. Surely a place such as this would be host to the songs of birds and the drone of insects? My eyes searched with increasing alarm for some evidence of life, but I found no satisfaction.

I attempted to put it to the back of my mind; I had tarried too long, as evidenced by a tinge of red in the sky. I took a few steps away from the meadow before I realized: where are my sandals? I had taken them off to enjoy the warmth of the meadow – or had I? I could not recall taking them off, nor could I even recall what they had looked like. Was I the sort of man that did not wear shoes? What sort of man is that, anyways? A gap existed in my knowledge where something - anything should have been. I began to sweat and shake. I lifted a hand to run my fingers through my hair, but they were greeted by a barren scalp. My hair, my hair! Where was it? Had I cut it? Why would I cut it? I loved my hair, or I thought I had loved it. My confusion and anxiety were quickly transforming into despair, and I felt my throat clench and my eyes became hot in the anticipation of tears. My legs began to quiver under the weight of these things, and I fell to my knees amidst the grass and wildflowers. I felt ashamed, betrayed by my total lack of knowledge.

Then, as if to provide all of the answers at once, I heard the distant tolling of a great bell. With each strike, the mystery faded, and the immense beauty around me fell down like a massive curtain.

I'm posting this mostly as an incentive for me to continue writing the story. Each chapter begins with a dream (such as this) which the narrator awakes from.
posted by MC Froehlich at

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