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Subject:A short story
Time:05:08 pm
Once there were two friends - named Taylor and Laura, respectively - whose favorite conversational subject was their status as the two smartest people on the planet. They both enjoyed reading, and they both took occasional stabs at writing, and one day they came up with the idea of creating a livejournal community in which they would write daily entries of 100 to 200 words. This, they decided, would get them in the habit of writing regularly, and make them better writers.

One day Laura re-visited the community, and discovered that in over a year she and Taylor had posted a sum total of 13 entries.

"That's retarded!" she exclaimed.

So she wrote an entry in the third person to suggest to Taylor that they re-visit their original goal of daily posting.

"The community doesn't fulfill our goal without the daily posting requirement," she said in the third person.
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Time:03:41 pm
A girl lies belly-down in a bathtub, her feet kicked up behind her, allowing the water to cover her face from the nostrils down. She stares at the drops of water on the porcelain in front of her. Then, when her eyes begin to bulge, she brings herself up on her arms and turns over.

She tries to do the same thing on her back, staring at her knees, but the bathtub is too short and too shallow, and she has to push her chin into her chest in order to get the water to cover her nostrils. The awkwardness of this position causes her to inadvertently breathe bath water into her nose, and she sits up coughing.

As she shampoos her hair, she strains to properly hear the record she put on in the living room. The sound never carries very well into the bathroom, no matter how much she turns the volume up, but she identifies the portion of the song she's listening to - the singer is singing plaintively about some afternoon he spent with some woman. The girl in the bathtub leans back to rinse her hair and begins to think plaintively of some evening she spent with some man, and as she sits back up she feels that maybe things make sense, after all - until she picks the conditioner up by its cap, which is not attached very well, and the conditioner falls into the bath water.
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Subject:Yes it's named after the epitaph on the tombstone of Max fisher's mother in Rushmore
Time:08:27 pm
Taylor Bradley
History of South Africa
Dr. Shutt

The Path of Glory

“There (said some one), they are killing the Boers now. I turned my eyes and behold! an immense multitude on the hill. About 9 or 10 Zoolus to each Boer were dragging their helpless unarmed victim to the fatal spot, where those eyes which awaked this morning to see the cheerful light of day for the last time, are now closed in death.” – from Reverend Francis Owen’s diary about the killing of Piet Retiefs contingent.

“A better life is waiting for us out there. We’re going to cross the mountains and the land will open itself up for us. No one lives there, the only things there arevast fertile plains where our crops will grow twice as big and rivers that are half fish and half water,” those were the exaggerated words father used when he told me that we were going to leave our farm. It was the first time I’d seen him smile in months and months, since Mr. Darlee died. His smile was the only thing that relieved my sadness about leaving home.

My earliest memories are of my father irritably conversing with Mr. Darlee about the British. They’d stand in either divot in the dirt road, starring into the distance, backs turned to the Cape. Inevitably, it seemed they would cycle their complaints, almost as with the moon.

“Damned slaves get rowdier with every ‘reform’ made by the British.” Mr. Dalree would say.
“Ain’t that the truth,” my father would always agree. It seemed to me that they were right. If the British would just leave us be, then everything would be alright.

“I’d just as soon kill my slaves as set them free. Life is too tough as it is with them around; let alone if I had to release them,” Mr. Dalree was always saying.

“Don’t let them hear you say that or you’ll end up like van der Merwe, dead at the hands of his slaves, ” reminded my father.

When the news reached us that the slaves were to be set free, father took me aside and said that I was not allowed to tell Augustus, our slave, lest he give me a good thrashing. Until the British came and set them free we’d keep him. That next morning Augustus was gone. I’ve never seen father so howlin’ mad. Augustus was going to get whipped like never before once he was found.

“The British ain’t here yet,” father raged. We searched the entire farm. There was no sign of him anywhere.

His disappearance seemed very strange, though, because we thought that he was far too cowardly to run off. It wasn’t any less dangerous now, for no self respecting white man had given up his slaves yet and would have been in no mood to deal with a slave that was bidding for freedom. We could not figure out what could have gotten into him. Why he would want to leave was a mystery. Father was always kind to Augustus. We gave him every Sunday afternoon off and father never once beat him very hard. Certainly not as hard as what could reasonably be expected.

Father rode to Mr. Darlee’s to inquire if he’d any idea where Augustus may’ve gone. When he arrived at the house the door was open which was very unusual for this time of year. That’s when he found a hysterical Mrs. Darlee curled beside her bed. She pointed outside the window. The slave quarter’s open door could be seen.

Inside of it were Mr. Darlee and three dead slaves. They had all been shot, but father couldn’t find Mr. Darlees’s gun. Mr. Darlee owned four slaves. The missing slave was Julius, Augustus’ brother. My father spent the day making the arrangements for Mr. Darlee’s funeral as word quickly spread about the incident. The whole area was clamoring about how the slave Julius killed his master and three other slaves before fleeing. Mr. Darlee was known as a harsh master, but nobody believed it deserved this savage act

Two mornings later a child saw the slaves eating stolen vegetables near a stream. She ran home immediately because she didn’t recognize these strange black men. Within an hour ten men were searching the area for them. Soon they were seen going into the slave quarters on a nearby farm. The men yelled that unless they threw out the gun first they would shoot them if they tried coming out. Augustus yelled back that they had threw the gun away, that Julius had grabbed it out of fear but didn’t know how to use it.

The men, of course, wouldn’t fall for such a feeble lie and continued to demand the gun. When Augustuts replied with his same lie the men set fire to the shack. Julius and Augustus died as the shack collapsed on them. What cowards! If I was Augustus I would have at least fought back. They didn’t even shoot once! Even if the odds were horribly against me I would still want an honorable death fighting.

That night the farms owner, Mr. Jarvis, gave his slaves a good whipping. It was obvious that the brothers fled into their quarters because they knew the slaves would hide them. Such a flagrant crime like hiding fugitives can’t be let go unpunished. He then made them bury the bodies and dispose of the remnants of the house. So the slaves wouldn’t forget this anytime soon, he made them sleep outside for four days until their day off, when they were permitted to start rebuilding their quarters.

That was the same day Mr. Darlee was buried. Father couldn’t have said more than twenty words to me that entire day. In fact, he hardly spoke to me at all that week except to tell me what work needed to be done. That night he got very drunk. He just sat in his chair and said hardly anything. Once I thought he said, “ I don’t know what to do.” I must have heard him wrong because father always knows what to do.

“This was made by the British,” said father looking at his half empty bottle of liquor. He took it and smashed it against the table.

“Our life, it’s our . . . they shouldn’t meddle . . . don’t belong,’ he was standing at this point.
“Regulate our lives . . . don’t . . . regulate our land,” he collapsed on his bed.

From then on he didn’t speak much until one evening many months later. He left for the day and then came home happy again. He was even whistling that evening. That’s when he told me we were going to move far away where we can live in peace. It’s beyond the reach of the British and the caffres there are few and will work for us.

I’m excited about getting caffres to do my work again. And I know we will my father talks to tell me that everyone will have their own caffres to do work. When Augustus died father said, I’d need to learn how to do more on the farm. He said that I’d need to do a man’s work now, every day. Then every day more and more work was given to me. This’ll all change though. Once father returns we’ll get our new farm and we’ll get five new slaves for our huge farm and the British won’t ever be able to get to us to take them. They won’t be able to hurt us.

We left many weeks ago. It was hard to keep count how long we were traveling as all the days run together. Get up with the sun walk and sleep. Day after day that seemed to be all we did. The journey wasn’t that bad though because my dad found the best man to lead us. His name is Piet Retief. He’s so smart; I understand why he’s so rich.

On the journey, once the sun went down we’d start a fire to make dinner. Sometimes afterwards the men would gather around to talk. I tried to listen to every word they said. I’d sneak out of our wagon and try to get as close as I could to listen. Mrs. Darlee was always watching for me. She came on the journey with father and I. After her husband’s death she went to live with her brother. The moment she heard that people were leaving for the interior she contacted father. She had no desire to stay there anymore. Unfortunately, Father was more than happy to have an extra pair of eyes to watch over me. I’d usually hide behind a nearby wagon wheel. His voice was so powerful and he had the words to match. Listening to him was the first time I fully understood how much better off we were going to be in a new land.

“The coloured classes are too uncivilized to live peacefully with us,” he would say. “They raid us and take our cattle. So many good Christians have lost everything to these caffres. And do the British help their fellow Christians? Of course not! They’re too wrapped up in their own affairs to lift a finger to do what’s right. They take our slaves and expect us to survive! Well, Good Sir, not all of us are fortunate enough to have the might of the Queen of England to prop up our lifestyle.

“I’m willing to work for my living but I can’t do it with the heathen masses pushing me one way and the English pulling me the other. But all that is over as we quit the colony to find a quiet life. And we shall find that. Grab your gun and we are off into the interior! Our new farms will be our new kingdoms. Every man will be the king of his piece of earth and no distant monarch, no nearby chief, will be able to say differently .”

During his speeches the men would nod quietly. Retief always spoke the most and the others would defer when he was speaking. But they all would talk, usually trading tips on farming or recounting stories of driving off caffre raids. You should hear their stories! Oh, how brave they all are. I don’t think any cattle have ever been stolen form these men. The stories they tell all have the cowardly caffres running away or dead by the end.

My favorite stories are about the commandos. Several years before we left, the caffres went crazy and raided several farms within a week. You can never tell what their muddled brains are thinking. Sometimes they can live in peace and sometimes they cannot and need to be set straight. So of course the men formed a commando. Otherwise, if they didn’t we’d never have the natives respect. Force is the only thing that natives understand. And the men supplied it that glorious day! The men gathered very early near the river on the far side of Mr. Liet’s farm. They rode together to the group of huts of the caffres that raided our farms.

“Bring out the perpetrators and we will leave in peace,” one man called out to them. “Turn them over now or face the consequences.”

As he was making his demands the other men would be circling around on their horses and firing their guns. I know this scared them completely, but they were too false-hearted to hand over their criminals. So the men rode on to their herd of cattle. Here the caffres ambushed them. That was their mistake though! The men quickly returned fire and drove the cowards away. I don’t think anyone can contend with the bravery of the commandos. It shows what great things can be accomplished when men are serving justice.

They boasted that the commando took 1000 cattle. The caffres only took 100 of ours, but the taking extra is only natural. It’s also plain justice. If you steal my cattle I’m going to take them back. Plain and simple, we just took back what belonged to us in the first place. The caffres need to be taught respect. Only by our strong hand will the ever learn how to behave. Of course, they can’t be civilized but I believe that are at least smart enough to be shown how to act with decency. Most people say that none of the coloured classes can be civilized in any manner, but I saw sparks of intelligence in Augustus. Sometimes he’d find real clever way to fix a broken tool. It is true that I thought he was loyal though. Even though I think they might have some intelligence I’ve learned that they aren’t loyal. Augustus proved that. They will cut and run on you the first chance they get.

I know that where we are moving to is going to be peaceful, because father told me so, but part of me hopes that caffres would start trouble. I want to go out and fight like a man. I want action and danger like the original free burghers. I like the idea of fighting for one’s existence and all the glory it brings along with it.

We had no adventure on the journey either. Once, Mr. Retief called for us to circle the wagons, but nothing ever came from it. I know I would’ve been the fastest gun loader and the fastest to run between the outer and inner circles. Maybe I could have even shot a few rounds off myself. That’s something I’d be brave enough to do. I shot rodents at the farm all the time.

When we reached Port Natal, one of the first things father did was take me to see the ocean. As we overlooked the ocean, he said his father took him to the sea when he was my age and he had been waiting a long time to see it again. He told me he felt reborn as if he was that child overlooking the ocean with his whole life ahead of him again. There was just one thing left to do.

That last thing before our journey is complete is for Mr. Retief to get land for all of us. He’s been sending letters to the chief of the Zulus and is now going to sign a treaty with him. Mr. Retief took father on a special mission to north before seeing the Zulu king. I’m sure he took father because he’s the best shot in a hundred miles.

Father didn’t want to leave me but he said it was necessary. Of course, I’m staying with Mrs. Darlee. These few weeks without him have dragged on into ages. Mrs. Darlee is always having me do work, work, work, work. The wait will be worth it though. Father said right now they had to raid an evil tribe to the north but when they came back a whole section of land the size of a country would be given to Mr. Retief. It’ll be a new country where there are no British and only a few groups of Africans. The size of the land is going to need to be the size of a country, since all these new groups of farmers have been arriving. It seems like every day a new set of people is showing up. I have to imagine that our old territory is about emptied of everyone who lived there and that they are all here now.

We’re so close to being home (I’ve already started thinking of our new farm as home). Once father returns to the Port our glorious new life will begin.
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Subject:month month
Time:01:33 pm
“Have Healthy Teeth for LIFE.” I flipped open the brochure. “Proper brushing will
ensure that you’ll go trouble free . . .’ I shut it. My uncle’s dentist office was an old, well-kept place. A new coat of paint was applied every fifth summer to prevent discoloration. As a child of six, eleven, and sixteen I helped my uncle do the painting. He always saved a small amount of paint from what was leftover so that in five years he could take it into the paint shop to get it replicated. “The sense of continuity helps make people feel at ease,” my uncle would say, every five years, as to why he wanted the exact same color.

We’d start outside on the face with the front entrance, then circle the building clockwise. When we were finished, we’d move to the inside. We’d begin in the lobby, move to his office, and finish where the magic happened, the room with the chair. The daily treatment for the chairs, magazine rack, and check -n counter was a thorough dusting, and every Tuesday the floor was vacuumed. I looked at the magazine rack: National Geographic, Reader’s Digest, Vanity Fair, and the Wall Street Jounal. The same publications that had graced the magazine rack since before I was born.
“Come on in, Charles, Dr. Franklin will be in to see you soon, but first I’m going to take some x-rays.” The Certified Dental Technician said. I followed her, sat in the chair, and started watching Oprah. “Today, what would you do when a convicted sex offender moves next door? Hear the story of one woman’s . . “Okay bite down on this,” the CDT interrupted.

Exploiting the fact that I was unable to talk because of the sharp piece of plastic now in my mouth, the CDT launched in the ‘protect your teeth’ spiel my uncle made all his dental technicians go through. “Now, I know how busy life can be, but nothing could be more important than your dental health,” In my head I was going through the speech, always about two words ahead of her. “This is the set you have for life. After every meal you should brush and floss. Every time, you should brush for a minimum of two minutes. Always. This is something you’ll have to keep up for the rest of your life. You’ll want to start with the outside of the back molars, right or left side, it’s your choice. Then continue to front and on to the opposite side. Then start on the inside.. . . I was scared, it felt like my whole life was turned upside down . . .” I was paying attention to Oprah again. I was annoyed with the CDT. The same speech again and again. The same words, the same implication that any deviation would, in fact cause your teeth to fall out. And what if they do fall out? Having no teeth seems to be a small price to pay for emancipation from the repetition of dental hygiene.

My uncle came in, “I looked at your x-rays, and Charles you have a cavity. You haven’t been brushing after every meal have you?”

“No.” I answered as he stuck three fingers and a piece of metal into my mouth.

“Well, I don’t need to go over the importance of the importance of brushing with you of all people. Well, nothing could be more important than your dental hygiene, but you know all this. Here, I want you to take this. It’s the new model in the Crest 5000 line of brushes. It’s a neat little thing. Ok, I want you to set up an appointment up front for next week and I’ll fill in the cavity then.”
I thank him and chatted briefly on how the Cougars were going to do next season.

“Don’t forget to set up an appointment,” He reminded. I thanked him again, went to the lobby and didn’t stop until I left the building.
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Subject:i didn't even bother to count the words in this
Time:10:45 am
It was summer, and the air conditioning unit was broken. I had propped a portable fan against the wall next to my face, and was lying in bed in my underwear, soaking in my sweat. I was listening to a conversation between a man and a woman in the apartment below mine, through the vent.

"Look at him!" the woman said delightedly. "He's vicious! He's a monster!"

"Don't watch him," the man said distastefully.

"Why not?" said the woman.

"It's just...awful. It's cruel." he said.

"He's a cat," said the woman.

"I know he is," said the man. "I just always think, you know, what if I was a cockroach?"

"What if you were?" she said dismissively. "You're not a cockroach."

"But what if I was?" he said.

"You're not." she said.

I sat up. The sheet stuck to my back and peeled off. I went to the kitchen and got a beer from the fridge, and I heard the apartment door open. I walked into the living room.

My roommate was setting down bags.

"Hey," I said.

"What's up?" she said, without looking up. "Fuck, it's hot as fuck in here."

"Yeah," I said. "You want a beer?"

"Nah, I'm cool," she said, and I walked back to my bedroom.

The people downstairs were talking loudly now.

"It's just stupid!" said the woman as I settled back into my spot. "Because what are you even talking about, 'what if I was a cockroach?' What if you were an airplane? What if you were a fucking stream in the woods? It doesn't matter, because you're not!"

"You need to fucking calm down," said the man.

"It's just, the world is hard enough to figure out as it is, without imagining all sorts of potential ways it could be," she said.

He said, "I don't even know what you're talking about."

I took a long sip of my beer, set it down on the table next to my bed, and closed my eyes.
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Subject:to the grandchild I'll never had
Time:11:35 pm
I guess I should apologize to you for not being born. It seems there are worse fates though. There is a lot of happiness and beauty in this life. But for every grassy field you lay in with your lover, or book you write, or fight you start will be at the expense of another, just as my life is. Many others, who sit on rotting planks and can't read, could fight you with cause. I don't know why their life has to be like that, beyond that they did not have me for a grandfather. You would follow in my footsteps and use too much water and too much food. Your book would be printed on too many trees. Everything you touch can be traced to some sort of suffering, to a life that would gladly exchange places with you. Your never birth is my cheap reparation to humanity and to the earth. In gratitude for not having allowing me to lead a life of outward beauty I will not create someone who would repeat my ugliness.

All the beauty you could create may be lost, but the ugliness will be too.
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Time:11:09 pm
2hundred's Word Usage
1. i (34) 26. was (6) 51. now (3) 76. coming (2)
2. and (31) 27. up (5) 52. there (3) 77. face (2)
3. to (28) 28. see (5) 53. laundry (3) 78. an (2)
4. the (27) 29. us (5) 54. about (3) 79. guilty (2)
5. a (20) 30. into (5) 55. were (3) 80. all (2)
6. you (19) 31. at (5) 56. proud (3) 81. few (2)
7. of (18) 32. do (5) 57. dirt (3) 82. city (2)
8. it (14) 33. it's (5) 58. like (3) 83. slower (2)
9. in (13) 34. her (5) 59. be (3) 84. had (2)
10. we (13) 35. down (4) 60. around (3) 85. impossible (2)
11. are (12) 36. from (4) 61. what (3) 86. behind (2)
12. his (11) 37. on (4) 62. less (3) 87. here (2)
13. he (10) 38. back (4) 63. if (3) 88. walk (2)
14. my (10) 39. he's (4) 64. take (3) 89. over (2)
15. i'm (8) 40. want (4) 65. feel (3) 90. last (2)
16. say (8) 41. have (4) 66. usually (3) 91. chance (2)
17. as (8) 42. only (4) 67. would (3) 92. baskets (2)
18. but (7) 43. things (4) 68. floor (3) 93. top (2)
19. me (7) 44. could (4) 69. or (3) 94. smile (2)
20. not (7) 45. that (4) 70. turn (3) 95. even (2)
21. him (7) 46. for (4) 71. then (3) 96. still (2)
22. is (7) 47. drip (4) 72. can (3) 97. month (2)
23. says (6) 48. father (3) 73. our (3) 98. which (2)
24. cabin (6) 49. don't (3) 74. maybe (2) 99. henry (2)
25. this (6) 50. your (3) 75. lived (2) 100. chickens (2)
Word Count by Hutta.
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Subject:to my never-born grandchild:
Time:05:42 pm
it's not as desperate as you think. all things considered, never existing is not the worst thing that could happen to you.

i will end before you have a chance to be conceived, in a bang! or a whoosh! or a groan, and you will never see a tree. don't worry about it, though. for every tree you would see if i had pro-created, you would see a hundred thousand less beautiful things.

maybe i'm apologizing for not giving you the opportunity to be born. or maybe i'm saying, "give me credit, it's not like i haven't thought about this."
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Subject:a dream of death as it should be
Time:11:56 am
i'm in the middle of a large, open field at dusk. a small cabin is behind me, and i'm taking laundry down from lines. there are chickens behind the cabin to the right. i turn around to take the laundry into the cabin, and i see a man walking up the road towards me. he's not tall, but he's built sturdy, and his sleeves are rolled up. i take the laundry in the cabin.

i walk back outside, and he's nearly at the front porch. i go out to help him with what he's carrying - baskets of apples. we smile and walk silently to the door.

inside the cabin, we set the baskets down. i take a step toward him and kiss him; his neck smells like dried sweat and dirt. i pull him down onto the floor and we begin removing one another's clothes. the floor turns to dirt.

around us, everything is beginning to turn to dirt. individual blades of grass are crumbling into the earth. the chickens are moving slower and slower, not making any noise. the walls of the cabin are looking less and less like wood. i look up at him and his face is turning to clay. i use my hands to shape his face, to keep his nose and his cheeks and his chin as they are. he uses his hands to maintain the curves of my spine, of my shoulders, of my breasts. i form his mouth into a soft smile.

then he collapses on top of me, and his body dissolves into mine, and our bodies dissolve into the floor, and the house crumbles on top of us.
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Subject:metaphor? bad writing? both?!
Time:09:40 pm
"It started in Palenque, in a month it was in Oaxaca, another month and it was in Mexico City. Only two weeks later it showed up in Monterrey. It's now in Juarez City and Tijauna," he sighed. "We can only stop it from hitting us, and I don't even know for how long. It won't be contained forever."

He was thirsty but didn't drink from his glass. All the faces were staring at him blankly.
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