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Kentho Birne

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Freedom Isn't Free [01 Apr 2004|12:49pm]
[ mood | shocked ]

For those who haven't been following the news, a brutal attack took place yesterday in Fallujah, a city in the Sunni Triangle of Iraq. Unlike previous attacks, this one targeted civilians...four Americans, to be precise. Read about the attack here *WARNING: Disturbing pictures on site* or here for the "Printer-friendly" version that has no pictures. Yes, I know the NY Times website makes you register; the form takes one minute, you get one e-mail, then you're in...no spam :D Please read the article, as this post deals with the attack. (Side note: if you're too lazy to register, IM me or e-mail me and I'll send you the article's text) :-Þ

*WARNING #2: The contents of this post contain some of my political thoughts for clarity. This is an editorial I just wrote, giving my personal response to the attack*

I ask that you look past the few lines of political thought I had to put into this post, and instead see the message I was trying to convey, both by the title of this post, and the three words you'll see at the end. I encourage comments and welcome them as always, but please don't turn this into a flame war, since I dislike confrontations with my friends. With that in mind, if you're still reading, thank you :) I hope you enjoy.

Freedom Isn't Free

I read Wednesday about the attack on the civilian convoy in Iraq. Although details were sparse and sketchy–at the time, even who the victims worked for was unknown–I realized this would open a new avenue in the Iraq debate. After reading today’s article in The New York Times, I finally grasped the gravity of the situation.

Four Americans dead, their cars sprayed by gunfire, smashed by bricks, and set aflame. Like Somalia, corpses dragged through the streets, dismembered, mutilated, and hung from a bridge. Iraqis, likely including the attack’s perpetrators, celebrating in the streets, calling Fallujah the “Graveyard of the Americans.”

Throughout the ordeal, no response came. Not one police unit, firefighting brigade, ambulance, or soldier arrived to break up the grotesque demonstration. This isn’t Somalia–we have a large military presence and trained police forces throughout the nation–but at the moment it appears nearly identical.

I am too young to remember that ordeal. In a month, I will turn eighteen, registering to vote and for selective service. Despite the letters arriving from colleges, telling me where I can and cannot go, I am still a high school student, but I find my views sometimes strikingly different from my peers.

I supported the removal of Saddam from the outset; I still believe it was the right thing to do. I remember, when the WMD debate just began to reach the mainstream, an editorial Thomas Friedman wrote. In it, he referred to a picture appearing on the front page of the Times: a skull from a mass grave, with a group of Iraqis in the background who had relatives buried in it. In his words, “As far as I’m concerned, we do not need to find any weapons of mass destruction to justify this war. That skull, and the thousands more that will be unearthed, are enough for me.” I could not possibly agree more wholeheartedly. I also believe we need to help the Iraqis create a functioning state, but to do that, we must have security.

The attack itself angers me; its aftermath disgusts me, and yet it does not change my opinion. We still need to help the Iraqis transform their nation. When President Bush said there would be losses, I recognized that, as every other American should have. I also realized that, unfortunately, some of these losses would be non-military. Not in my wildest dreams, however, could I picture American civilians, at work helping to restore Iraq’s infrastructure, attacked without a response. I realize Fallujah is in the Sunni Triangle. I further realize that its political loyalties could make it the most dangerous city in the country now. I do not, however, believe the city is so lawless as to prevent Coalition soldiers or Iraqi policemen from breaking up the mob and securing the area around the demolished vehicles. Because no response was made, because those who oppose our presence in Iraq were allowed to brutally murder four civilians, then cavort through the streets with their corpses, we show the Iraqis weakness. Regardless of our actual strength, they perceive weakness.

Action needs to be taken. In the one day since the bombing, I have heard every suggestion from bombing the city into rubble to fleeing the nation altogether. I see neither as an option, but Fallujah, and the rest of Iraq, need to recognize the rule of law. Such demonstrations and acts as the one that took place April 31 cannot go unpunished. This is first-degree murder, punishable by life imprisonment for one count in courts worldwide, by the death penalty where still allowed. If citizens of Fallujah want to protest our presence in Iraq, they have every right to do so–as long as they do so peaceably.

This attack will give new ammunition to many wishing our forces removed from Iraq. I write this imploring them to reconsider. After all I have heard about Iraq, the killings and reconstruction, even the blatant murder of innocents, why do I still support this? Life is supposed to be precious; indeed, what could possibly be more sacred? Why, you may ask, does a teenager support the continued struggle to bring Democracy to the Middle East? My answer is simple, and only three words long:

Freedom. Isn’t. Free.

Live your lives to the fullest; this nation provides you that outstanding opportunity. I believe others should have it as well.

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The Beginning [24 Mar 2004|03:57pm]
[ mood | content ]
[ music | Phil Collins - Go the Distance ]

Was on a roll today...just sat down and words flowed onto the screen, requiring barely any thought at all. As the title suggests, this is the beginning. Of what? I'm not sure yet. A short story, perhaps, or a novella if it gets that long. Let me know what you think, as I plan to continue it when I have more time. =)

A lone egg stirred, silhouetted against the dark predawn sky. Surrounded by bits of shell and embryo, it was the last of it's group. Unlike the others, whose lives were shattered before they began, he remained. The egg tipped over, rolling through the grotesque remnants of his brothers and sisters, past the remnants of their antagonists, the corpses of their defenders. It halted in a slight depression on the plateau, righting itself again. Seemingly locked in place by the crevasse, it rocked back and forth, the life inside attempting to escape its protective prison and open itself to a brave new world. As the first lights of dawn brightened the horizon, the youngling's eggpick broke through the shell. It gently pushed its head fully through the opening. Its roll had caused it to first look not upon the bloodied, shattered ground of the battle, but upon a single ray of sunlight, the first to reach the land that day.

Blinking its wide eyes, the youngling poked a larger hole in the shell and crawled out, revealing a scaly hide and two slight, undeveloped wings. Rather than licking the remaining shell covering off itself, it settled on the edge of the precipice, its wings folded on its back, tail stretched behind it, sinuous neck craning forward to rest on its foreclaws. It watched the sun rise that first morning, felt the warmth from the golden ball, saw the darkness recede before it. Hunger and thirst were no issue, nor was lonliness. For now, the young dragon was quite content to simply sit and gaze at this amazing phenomenon.

It sunned itself throughout the day, eventually lapping some dew collecting in bits of eggshell with its forked tongue, even catching a young snake that must have mistook it for another corpse. Still it had not seen the carnage that lay just behind it. As the sun faded into the western sky, the young dragon stretched and followed the cliff's edge, meandering along to a large rock. He climbed the rock, feeling the cool breeze apparently brought on by the approaching darkness. Satisfied with his exploration for the day, he lowered his head, curled up, and slept.

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To All of You [14 Mar 2004|10:49pm]
[ mood | optimistic ]
[ music | Lots of Classical; mostly soundtracks ]

As the subject suggests, this one goes out to all of you. Thanks for being there, and know that I'm here, whether for listening, advising, relaxing, chauffeuring, or just good ol'-fashioned partying ;) And for whatever-you-believe-in's sake, leave comments! I like getting feedback from my work; it lets me know how I can improve.

Gather 'round, o people ye
Hear my voice this day
I come to neither preach nor pry--
A bard who won't long stay.

I'll tell a tale, this eve divine;
Take of it what you will.
I ask for but a list'ning ear--
There are no strings nor frills.

Once upon an age ago,
When hope was nearly gone,
The Dark Queen saw within her grasp
The cont'nent Ansalon.

Cities great and true did fall,
Regardless of their lord;
The Dark Queen's armies caréd not
Which race's flesh they gored.

The realms of elves and dwarves and men
Were shattered by this storm,
But from the carnage-spewing forth,
A band of heroes formed.

They knew not what their futures held,
Naught of their destinies,
And still they set about their quest
To set their peoples free.

Through Dragonfire and endless death
They journeyed long and far
Each obstacle they overcame
Help'd change the tide of war.

Despite their many suff'rings
And two who breathed their last,
The heroes grew e'er closer
To each other and their past.

The Dark Queen could not stop the will
Of such a determined crew
Their dedication to each other
Did fin'lly see them through.

I use the heroes' tale tonight
In hope you all might hear:
Remember well your friends in need
And those who you hold dear.

No more precious thing exists
Than friends who will hold true;
Draw courage from their steadfastness,
As they may draw from you.

3 comments|post comment

Cursed Writer's Block... [08 Mar 2004|05:32pm]
[ mood | tired ]
[ music | Dvorak - Othello Overture ]

Decided I want to write today, but have absolutely nothing...no motivation nor inspiration; simply stagnation of my mental situation. (Heh sorry couldn't resist...promise not to turn this into freestyle). Instead, I'll entertain those yelling at me to update with a poem some of you may recognize; I wrote it last year in Simonsen's class. In the meantime, I'll return to my attempts at napping....got this nagging pain that won't go away around my left temple (ironically enough, that's about the only area of my head that wasn't wounded this weekend; go figure. Let me know what ya think, and for best results, relax your mind and travel along with the poem...short journey, I promise.

Heroes of the Pen

Here’s to the heroes
Existing only in our minds
The valiant knights of Romantic days
Whose ideals we’ve left behind.

The common men and women who
Within themselves have found
The power to defend their homes
And drive Evil through the ground.

From the scruffy, naïve moisture farmer
In a galaxy far, far away
To the mice and men who daily fought
To free their kin someday

Here’s to the heroes
Unsung through many days
They bring those champions to light
In unique and mem’rable ways

They capture the great moments
And create some of their own
No great deed goes unnoticed
No hero rests unknown.

The tales and legends remain alive
Through their noble work
In the pens of humble authors
Every child’s dream does lurk

Here’s to those who help
Keep visions of the young alive
May they always keep this freedom
May their pens never run dry.

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Okay; I Lied [03 Mar 2004|10:21pm]
[ mood | amused ]
[ music | Garth Brooks - New Way to Fly ]

Meh; so I didn't end up finishing that conversation with Jill...Fear not, though! Harriet and I were debating what would happen when Graves finally blew up at the Joes squared (cellist and violist; I'd butcher the names if I tried spelling them). After much deliberation, I modified the chorus of Weird Al's The Night Santa Went Crazy to fit it =) If you decide you like it and wish to hear the song, drop me an IM and I'll send it to you =P It'll take all of 1 minute if you've got a cable modem, and if you don't...well...get one, cause it'll take longer over dialup.

For best effect, listen to song while reading the modified chorus...it's one of my favorite Weird Al songs even without the modifications hehe.

Just off of County
In the school Norwalk High
The string players were tuning;
Talking at the same time.
When Ol' Gravey busted in
Nearly scared 'em half to death
The baton in his hand,
Cold coffee on his breath.
From the foam on his lips
To the deathglare in his eye
We could tell he was fuming
O'er some imagined crime.
As Joe opened his mouth
The look vanished into air
And he stood and he smiled
As we gaped from our chairs.

The night Gravey went crazy
His students made him go nuts
He just blew up in mid-rehersal
And now we're covered in Gravey Guts.

-----------------------------------------------

Let me know if you guys like it *cough*comment*cough*; if ya do, I'll try and edit the other verses. =)

3 comments|post comment

Imitations = Fun [29 Feb 2004|10:45pm]
[ mood | satisfied ]
[ music | Annie Lennox, Howard Shore - Into the West ]

Haha...Jillian and I were considering what would happen if we skipped school tomorrow and had a "Movie Day." By far the most amusing thought involved Graves' reaction, which I was all too happy to predict...coupled with an imitation of his usual orchestra antics.

For best results, picture Graves with 4 cups of coffee in him, during the usual 4th Period rehersal. If that image proves too grotesque, simply imagine his frantic, slurred speech, when he gets so excited he trips over his own words.

MKS86: "where were you yesterday?"
MKS86: "sick, huh? oh, right!" ::gravey scoff::
MKS86: ::droll pools on sides of mouth:: start at number 3! ::raises arms::
MKS86: ::drops arms and shakes head obsessively::
MKS86: no. no. no. no. no. i'm sorry. no.
MKS86: you're not ready.
MKS86: no.
MKS86: ::raises arms again::
MKS86: ::drops arms and rolls eyes:: no! no. you're not ready; i'm sorry! no.
MKS86: i'm not going to start till you're all ready.
MKS86: ::raises arms::
MKS86: ::grunts, sending spittle flying everywhere, and gives downbeat::
MKS86: ::stops after two measures:: ohoo! i went faster there! you've gotta stay with me!
MKS86: ::raises arms again::
MKS86: ::gives two measures for nothing this time::
MKS86: *someone comes in early*
MKS86: ::disgusted look:: i said two measures for nothing!"
MKS86: "is that so hard?"
MKS86: ::raises arms (fifth time now)::
MKS86: ::gives downbeat::
MKS86: ::drops arms after one line::
MKS86: ::points at random second violin::
MKS86: ::tired look:: what note am i going to complain about? {if you're in orchestra and not screaming the note now, something's wrong with you}
MKS86: *second violin replies* C#? ~sidenote: second violin was neither paying attention nor playing; they just know by default which note it is~
MKS86: "very good! yes! seconds, you have to stretch for the C#s"
MKS86: ~side note #2: C#s were fine; it was the note directly before/after/in a different place that was off, or graves was just being a moron~
MKS86: ::raises arms again::
MKS86: ::drops arms::
MKS86: no
MKS86: cellos.
MKS86: play this for me.
MKS86: start at letter F ~side note #3: orch had just been playing at letter D~
MKS86: *cellist:* um, mr. graves...did you mean letter F?
MKS86: ::ignores cellist::
MKS86: ::raises arms::
MKS86: ::gives downbeat...half section starts at D, other half at F::
MKS86: what's wrong? i told you letter D!
MKS86: *orchestra* No! you said F! (repeat 248573908x)
MKS86: Ohh, well letter D then ::raises arms:: (8th time i think)
MKS86: ::gives measure for nothing:: 1..2..3..4..::gives downbeat::
MKS86: ::doubles tempo::
MKS86: ::cellos fall apart::
MKS86: ::stops conducting::
MKS86: no.
MKS86: no.
MKS86: no. no. that's terrible. no.
MKS86: ::raises arms again:: look, i'll give you a measure for nothing.
MKS86: 1..2..3..4..::gives downbeat::
MKS86: ::halves tempo::
MKS86: ::celli fall apart again::

I'd have continued, but she had to go to bed...so check back tomorrow night for the finale =)

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On Choice [26 Feb 2004|09:20pm]
[ mood | bored ]
[ music | Howard Shore - Samwise the Brave (LotR:TTT) ]

DISCLAIMER: Unless feeling pensive, thoughtful, or otherwise analytical, reading further on this entry could cause headache, drowsiness, and general confusion.

Several people have seen this before, but I like it, so I'll post it anyways...feel free to direct your other Blurty, LJ, or other buddies here to read if you think they'll like it.

For maximum effect, read in your best Morpheus voice from The Matrix

For more of a fun effect, picture me saying it in the trenchcoat and shades...Cort, you know what I'm talking about 8) Enjoy, and feel free to comment or curse me for giving you a headache ;)




I have a headache.
I did not choose to have this headache; it simply happened. If it just happened, without any freedom on my part to intervene, to have something else or nothing at all, I cannot be free.
If I am not free, I cannot choose. If I cannot choose, my path has been preordained before I drew my first breath; in fact, someone or something decided for me whether I would inhale at all.
If I cannot choose, however; if someone else decides everything for me, I “exist” only as a puppet, a plaything. I am but a pawn in a layout that must ultimately lead somewhere, unless it leads nowhere.
If there is a path this layout follows, however, someone or something must have lain that path, whether a fraction of a second or an eon ago.
If someone laid that path, they must have made a choice. They chose to make me do what I did, to have everyone else do what they did. Therefore, choices do exist.
If someone made a choice, and choices exist, then I too exist, for I am the product of a choice.
If I exist, and choices exist, I can make choices. If everything around me exists, everything I do is a choice, and I can do or experience anything I choose, except not choosing at all.
So if I refuse to choose an opinion on a subject, I have still made a choice.
That means I chose to have this headache; although I wish I could remember doing so. It may have seemed quite the novel idea at the time, but I find myself regretting it now.
There, I just made another choice: regretting choosing to have a headache. Neither of these choices, however, seem to stem from any form of logic or reason.
If choices are not logical, then they must come from emotion and passion, but emotion and passion are only words. We chose (logically!) To invent these words to describe our actions, especially ones that did not follow the flow of logic.
If emotion and passion do not exist, I cannot make a choice involving them, and if logic dictated their creation as words, then choices are logical.
Now I really have a headache.
If I did not consciously, logically choose to make my headache stronger, the choice must have been subconscious. Our subconscious, beyond human thought, is dictated by intense emotions. If our subconscious exists, then emotions exist, for they control it (if such a thing can be controlled).
If emotions and passions exist, if they are not just words, then we choose to view them as such. Their complexity makes them beyond our comprehension; therefore, we choose to ignore them and let them do their job.
By letting emotions and passions take over the process of choice, we free our “logical” minds from such a burden. But when we stand by a choice, support it, we use logic and reason. We call those choices our “beliefs,” our “morals.”
If we only use logic in relation to choices we consciously stand by, then a conscious, (sometimes-) logical choice is a belief. Our inner reactions, then, constitute the rest of our choices. Whether to breathe; how often; how deep; all these choices are subconscious.
Thus, to remove ourselves from this unending cycle of choice, we have to make a choice.
Suicide ends our existence, removing all choices.
Alcoholism removes us from reality; hence, it temporarily ends our existence.
Drug addiction removes us from reality as well, often for extended periods of time. It periodically ends our existence.
If we fall deep enough into addiction, we can reach the point of simultaneous existence and nonexistence: insanity. We are beyond reality, trapped in our own mind; therefore, we cannot choose. At the same time, our body exists, trapped in reality. It can make choices still, through our subconscious. Inhale, exhale; inhale, exhale.
The ultimate ender of choice, of course, is time. We all eventually succumb to its grasp.
But if we succumb to time, does time then choose, consciously or not, when our choices should expire?
That question, I leave to the next person with a headache. For now, mine is gone, and I choose to suspend my writings. An amazing thing, choice is.

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Preacher of Cheese [24 Feb 2004|05:24pm]
Picture a short, enthusiastic character preaching from his soapbox for maximum effect on this one =)

The Preacher of Cheese

And the Lord looked down upon his creation, and he saw that it was good. But it could be better. Something was missing. And so the Lord thought, all throughout his day of rest. And then, on the Eighth day, the Lord leapt from his morning bath, shouting, 'Eureka!' When he emerged from his Creation Laboratory several hours later, he gave unto Adam and all his descendants the most powerful substance in all the Cosmos: Cheese. Cheddar, Swiss, American, Feta, Roquefort, even the potent Limburger. These were his most powerful creations, the only beings to ever hold true sway over Man. And from these First Cheeses came more varieties, ever expanding into the various continents. There were Monterrey Jack, Cottage, Gouda, Gorgonzola, Mozzarella, Parmesan, Provolone, Ricotta, Babybel, and many others, whose names, or at least flavors, would become known worldwide. Remember: Repent! For the Kingdom of Heaven is near! And if thou hatest cheeses, thou hadst better learn, for St. Peter, Guardian of the Gate, gives entry only to those who can handle the potent Nectar of Heaven--the only cheese to never reach the mortal world!
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Greetings! [24 Feb 2004|05:12pm]
[ mood | cheerful ]
[ music | Clint Black - State of Mind ]

Welcome to my humble abode on the 'net. Whether you stumbled here by chance, or obtained directions from someone, enjoy your stay and make yourself at home. For your entertainment, I will provide my (sometimes-) random ramblings, along with my various works, fictional and otherwise. If you've read it all here and find yourself still bored, check my AIM profile (MKS86) for some amusing links, at least one of which is updated daily. Enjoy your stay, and please leave plentiful comments with your thoughts, suggestions for improvements, ideas for future works, etc.

For those wondering, my other aliases include: Qazyn, Ardhiel, and Kentho Birne.

-Matt

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