This seems utterly bizzare to me.
In other news I'm going to Israel for Easter and I've started the first chapter of my disertation on Genesis 22. It's intense!
Peace,
Chris
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Short Story Sunday:The Short but good life of Brinksly Bree
The Short but good life of Brinksly Bree
They say that in a blind world the one eyed man is king. What did the men of the past know? Nothing I say. Take for example Brinksly Bree. He was a halfling, the son of a zealot family opposed to Framing. Even after he was taken away from his family he couldn’t be integrated into the Framework. He had reacted badly to the first electronic eye transplant, so they never removed the other.
“Morning Brinksly,” said his Framewife one day. She was perfect, as Framewives are, every feature calculated to elicit joy in her husband.
“Morning hon,” he replied, half of him kissed her, half of him saw no one in the bed next to him, only his small/large flat/house.
“Don’t think like that,” she said, reacting to his brain wave pattern, “simle,” she said, her own pouty lips widened into an even greater smile, her electronically white teeth shown and sparkled in his right eye. She brushed the side of his face with her hand, he could feel it but not see it/and see it.
“I’ve made you your favorite, waffles with maple syrup and strawberries,” she said, serving him his breakfast in bed. His Framesuit pumped recovered food mush into his mouth. It tasted wonderful, the strawberries were ripe and juicy.
He got up and went out the door, his Framewife kissed him on the way out.
He passed by other people. They were all Fullings, their blind-twitching-red eyes locked onto him. They were all pasty and withered creatures, unexercised and malnourished./ They were all beautiful, with sparkling eyes and powerful, graceful, bodies. They looked little lower than angels.
The sky was dark, the sun blotted out with smog, everything was concrete./The sky was blue, as blue as the bluest ocean. Birds, pretty and colorful, floated along on the breeze, landing on the giant green trees.
This was the life of a halfling. This was the short but good life of Brinksly Bree
They say that in a blind world the one eyed man is king. What did the men of the past know? Nothing I say. Take for example Brinksly Bree. He was a halfling, the son of a zealot family opposed to Framing. Even after he was taken away from his family he couldn’t be integrated into the Framework. He had reacted badly to the first electronic eye transplant, so they never removed the other.
“Morning Brinksly,” said his Framewife one day. She was perfect, as Framewives are, every feature calculated to elicit joy in her husband.
“Morning hon,” he replied, half of him kissed her, half of him saw no one in the bed next to him, only his small/large flat/house.
“Don’t think like that,” she said, reacting to his brain wave pattern, “simle,” she said, her own pouty lips widened into an even greater smile, her electronically white teeth shown and sparkled in his right eye. She brushed the side of his face with her hand, he could feel it but not see it/and see it.
“I’ve made you your favorite, waffles with maple syrup and strawberries,” she said, serving him his breakfast in bed. His Framesuit pumped recovered food mush into his mouth. It tasted wonderful, the strawberries were ripe and juicy.
He got up and went out the door, his Framewife kissed him on the way out.
He passed by other people. They were all Fullings, their blind-twitching-red eyes locked onto him. They were all pasty and withered creatures, unexercised and malnourished./ They were all beautiful, with sparkling eyes and powerful, graceful, bodies. They looked little lower than angels.
The sky was dark, the sun blotted out with smog, everything was concrete./The sky was blue, as blue as the bluest ocean. Birds, pretty and colorful, floated along on the breeze, landing on the giant green trees.
This was the life of a halfling. This was the short but good life of Brinksly Bree
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