A Vision of Mexico

I was in Mexico. I don’t know how or why, but I was in Mexico. I found a small Mexican kid. For some reason, I decided that I had to help him get in to the United States. So we walked across the border. We saw a herd of buffalo, so we stopped and I placed him on one and slapped it on the back. The buffalo took off running, and the rest of the herd followed. I stayed back so as not to arouse suspicion to myself. The herd quickly passed a border patrol car, which we had both assumed was there. It tried to take off after the kid when it saw a lone buffalo running, but the rest of the herd soon squashed the idea.

I met up with the kid some time later to decide on a permanent hiding place. I thought Austin, San Antonio, or whichever of Dallas or Houston was closer would make a good spot. I assumed that was Houston, and that was where we went. Once there, we ran into the Walla Walla College church. We were quickly trailed by the secret service/army/whatever those guys were. They were wearing a colourful uniform. Dr. Scott [Walla Walla organ professor] was playing the organ. The kid seemed amazed and awed by it, and obviously wanted to play like that one day. I think it was his first experience with classical music. I took the kid to hide in a children’s room to the right of the platform and told him not to move for anything. Then I went out and showed myself to them, in hopes that would distract them from searching the area too closely.

They took me and everyone else they found in the church to the balcony, where we were “arrested” and they had guards posted. They interrogated us for information, but got none. There were about 15-20 people there, mostly people I knew. Now there was a woman we didn’t know playing the organ, and there was two consoles. Pressing the key on one made the same key on the other go down. The keyboards were set up differently on the other—they were really wide keys, one set was coloured dark green, and the others I don’t know. Two were beside each other, colour-coded being the only way to tell them apart; a third was on top, above the second keyboard but not the first. We watched the keys go down and were awed by her playing.

The captain began to press us for information, when a professor among us informed him the Mexican army was standing outside the church to ensure they didn’t harm the boy; that his 10 troops weren’t going to stand a fighting chance; and that he would be best to take the two French guys as hostages to barter for their safety with said army. The captain crawled out of the balcony window to look for himself, and saw them approach in the distance—but also saw a larger American army standing at the entrance to the church. Two higher-ups with 20 troops each were coming to take over. You could tell which soldiers were whose by the pattern of the uniform. They didn’t notice the captain. The captain slipped on the roof and was holding on to a ledge by his fingers.

We went down in to the lobby, where we were asked about the whereabouts of the captain. We informed the troop commander about the captain clinging for his life, and the commander ordered us all in to the sanctuary, where he had guards posted at every entrance, and searching down every aisle and room of the church. We thought that we needed to inform someone official at the campus to save us or else we would all be dead, because we didn’t trust the soldiers to give us due process or justice.

We went in, when a strange thought occurred to me: I wonder if they knew about the back entrance. I was walking towards it, and was about 15 metres from it, when suddenly the people ahead of me began running for the entrance, and the guards noticed, so I ran after them—I was the last one out. An unnamed friend shoved me right before the door because she thought there was only room for one of us. We ran across the lawn to Canaday [Technology Centre, the building behind the church]. There were five of us, all of whom are people I know at Walla Walla, and won't be named. The same friend who shoved me previously shoved me away from the door again and ran through, again because she thought there was only room for one, and we were all desperate for our lives at this point.

I still made it and we began running up the stairs. We hit the second floor and ran down the hall to the north, where it ended in a balcony to a billiards room. Not being what we wanted, we ran back to the stairs and continued running up. We heard soldiers chanting “the ants go marching two by two, hurrah, hurrah.” The leader of our group commented “that isn’t music we want to hear.” We ran up to the third floor, and found a dead end, so we quickly ran back down to the second floor, fearing the soldiers would get there first.

I thought I was following them, but when I was partway down to the first floor, I realized they had stayed on the second floor. I continued running down the first floor, and I ran into the building. Some soldiers at the far end of the hall saw me as I ran across past the black box theatre. I burst out the doors [behind the building] and ran towards Sittner Hall [the men's dorm, beside the church with a parking lot in between], trying to find a building I was familiar enough with that I might stand a chance at finding a good enough hiding spot to wait for them to pass, at which point I might get help. I ran through the parking lot, and some soldiers were not more than 20 or 30 yards behind me. I didn’t think I could make it through the dorm to where I really wanted to be, which was the library or music building, so I crawled under a truck and got up onto the axle, where I propped myself up so that I couldn’t be seen from the sides of the truck.

And there the dream ends….

A Quandary

I've got a quandary here for you, and I'd like to know how you would solve it, so please comment below.


Imagine that you are a doctor who has gone on a backpacking trip. You are at least an 8 hour hike from the nearest point of civilization. As you are hiking, you come across a man, laying on the ground unconscious and bleeding to death.

Luckily, you happen to have a first aid kit with you, as well as some basic medical supplies, so you patch him up. Unfortunately, as you finish you notice that he is showing signs of shock--he has lost too much blood. Your medical education tells you he has ten minutes to live.

After performing a quick analysis, you notice that he has the same blood type as you. You do happen to have blood transfusion equipment with you, and this action would save his life, but there's one complicating factor: you have AIDS.

So, do you do the transfusion, and save his life, while simultaneously infecting him with an incurable disease? Or do you let him die?

Sunday Morning

So I woke up Sunday morning to discover my Dad ruffling through papers and books, asking me if I'd read the morning's paper. As I had just woke up, obviously I hadn't. I reach for the Toronto Star, and discover a headline, something that I don't remember, but it basically meant the time of trouble was starting now, and we needed to be gone by Monday (tomorrow).

Dad said he was going to make a court case regarding his writings. I wondered what they could possibly charge him on his writings about, then realized that any conservative Adventist could easily be charged with hate literature against Catholics. Basically, instead of running, he was purposely going to get himself martyred.

For whatever reason, I was completely disturbed by this whole thing. What about my future? What about doing something great for God? What about my career? Was I even ready?

I woke up for an hour or so, then returned to sleep. I then found myself at the computer in the records office at academy. I was looking up on the internet about this developing story. When I was finished, I asked the records office workers what they made of the story, and they said "Oh, it happened in Iran. This is nothing; we still have time." I replied that I read this morning that it happened in Canada, to which they answered "where?" I said "the Star," and they answered "they're usually a good paper. How could they make a mistake like that?"

I left the office and walked down the hall. Outside I saw a car drive by a giant Twix bar on the ground; and another chocolate bar was on top of it, both on their sides and still wrapped.

I met the band director, who asked me about the Oboe he had lent me, asking when I intended to bring it back. I replied there are two options. One was for me to hold on to it until he finds someone who needed it. He interjected "I can tell you already it will be number one." I said the second option was for me to get it right now and bring it back.

He asked if the alcohol pump was still in the case. I said I didn't remember any alcohol pump, but that I had taken it for repairs, and the repair guy said there was an alcohol crack in the instrument (implying that air/water couldn't get through, just alcohol), and that he had repaired it. The director seemed pleased.

Then I woke up. Sadly, this dream doesn't seem to have the same realism or logic as the last dream; but it seemed so much more real--especially because I was going to wake up on Sunday morning, and the dream had me waking up Sunday morning.


"In that day, he which shall be upon the housetop, and his stuff in the house, let him not come down to take it away: and he that is in the field, let him likewise not return back." (Jesus)

Neck Tone

I'd like to sell you all on a new device I've created.

What it involves is getting something heavy, then taping it very tightly to the front of your face. Wearing a plastic bag over your hair is acceptable as long as it doesn't move; but seeing as that is highly unlikely, it's much better to tape it to the neck below your hairline.

Then, lie on your back. While breathing out, raise your head; while breathing in, lower it, but don't allow the neck muscles to completely relax: they need to stay tense. Do this for about 20 reps, or for as long as you can. It is important to continue raising your head for as many as possible, even when pain strikes your neck.

Then, lie on your stomach and do the same. You may also feel free to do the same on each side.

Should you be able to do 40-50 reps without getting the least bit tired, consider adding more weight. The idea is to build up the muscles in your neck while improving the tone. Good neck tone is sexy.

Plus, you never know when you'll get an irresistible urge to stand up on a roller coaster. This way, when your head hits a metal post, your neck muscles will be strong enough to avoid your neck being snapped in two and your being decapitated. (I'd worry about your back, though. Or your skull.)

Should you be unable to sufficiently attach a weight to your face, consider applying for a job as a crash test dummy instead. I hear whiplash also causes your neck muscles to be sore.


"No pain, no gain."

Inaction and Ennui

Why do we get bored?

Is there any other human instinct which causes us more trouble than the feeling of wanting to do something?

Just think about the things we do just because we're bored: lying down on the yellow line of the road, krazy-gluing doorstops in front of rooms, shopping at Wal-mart, bungee jumping off of bridges, travelling...

Granted, the average American does prove that without this drive to do something, we might just vegetate to death watching TV on our couches. This same piece of evidence sort of disproves that we have this drive at all.

Whatever. I have it. Right now. And it sucks. I'm about this close to doing something stupid just to make this uneasy, uncomfortable, unpeaceful feeling go away and restore my mind.

Perhaps I've misidentified it, and it's actually the feeling that something just isn't right in my life; something is missing. If something is missing, then I hope to find it soon, because I like my peace and quiet--and I want it back.


"When everyone cries 'peace and safety,' then the end shall be." (Jesus)

A Cynic's view of Plato

I'm going to assume you're familiar with Plato's theories, his cave story, and all that it implied. If not, then the rest of this blog probably isn't going to make any sense.

What if I accept Plato's view of the world? It's been around so long, and been popular so long, that it probably has some merit, right? After all, it's the idea of something that we remember, not the thing itself.

Which brings us to the problem: name one horse out there in the entire world that looks exactly like the ideal "idea" horse. It isn't out there. Our idea of a horse, granted, depends on what horses we've seen. For the sake of illustration, I'm bringing up a solid brown horse with four legs, and tail hair slightly darker than it's body hair.

Others may have grey horses in their minds as the "idea horse," but the point still stands--the true idea horse does not exist anywhere on the planet. Every being is unique, so every being must have a "defect" that differentiates it from the idea horse.

Now, this idea horse is simply one level up on the plane of knowledge, the lowest level being shadows, if you will; the next being the horse itself; followed by the idea of the horse, and so on. If the idea of the horse is the highest level of knowledge, and it can never be reached by viewing horses, then what is the point in exploring the world and accumulating knowledge?

Exploring the world with our senses fills our mind with second-rate knowledge. Why bother? Everything you need to know is up there already. Just study the books, and let your mind fill out the picture.


"What slender youth courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave?" (Quintus Horatius Flaccus)

The Girl in the Jungle

Once upon a time, there was a little short girl who lived in the jungle. No one knew how she got there, or why she was out there--she was just there. She wore a cute white dress that still had a little sparkle left; and a green ribbon on her wrist.

It was a long green ribbon. It was a very long green ribbon. It was so long, that it stretched as far as the eye could see--which in the jungle wasn't very far. It constantly trailed behind her, marking her path--but she wasn't much for travelling in those days.

Now, you might ask why she didn't follow the ribbon all the way home. "Easy" she would reply. The ribbon just beyond her wrist went through the dangerous Predator field. She could see the field from where she sat. It was sandy, with short grass, and filled with all sorts of wild animals--snakes, crabs, and alligators--that were constantly eating each other. She points out a crab to you, and right before your eyes, it gets slashed down the middle. Now its two halves begin glowing and flashing; and now they're gone, a part of some other larger creature just out of sight.

One day, a park ranger was strolling through the jungle when she saw three green balloons stuck in a tree. "How odd!" she thought, "that there would be balloons all the way out here in the jungle." As she looked closer, she saw that attached to the balloons was a green ribbon. A very long green ribbon. The park ranger got curious and began to follow the green ribbon. She went around trees, through glens, and over streams, until she found... the little girl in the white dress!

"You must be Amy, that little girl who went missing a few years ago" the Ranger stated. "You must come with me."
"But wait! What about my friends?"

And as Amy interjected, six other boys and girls suddenly materialized. "What have I taught you?" Amy asked.
The first boy began counting aloud. After he got to ten, the next boy began reciting the alphabet. And each child had something to say, up to the last one, who proudly recited "un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq,..."

A passing Frenchman dressed for the Parisian nightlife exclaimed "He's counting in French!"

When the show was over, the park ranger carried Amy past the predator field, over creeks, through glens, and around trees, all the way back to her home in a village just outside the jungle. And her parents were very glad to see her.

Amy was glad to be home too. But sometimes, at night, she would go into her front yard, by the gate, and look at the jungle...

The Failure of DDT

Mosquitos are a pets, aren't they? Oops, I meant pest.

DDT was such a good idea. That is, if it hadn't threatened every other creature above it in the food chain.

Humans have long killed off creatures that were a threat, or were just plain stupid. Dodo birds, passenger pigeons, buffaloes, pumas, lions, tigers, T-Rexes... you get the picture.

Well, I think it is about time we took out the mosquito--except this time, we won't do it by threatening their water supply. We'll take out their food supply. Us.

I mean, if farmers have long preserved their crops by genetically altering them to contain poisons that will kill off their pests, why can't we inject pesticides fatal to mosquitos into our own bloodstreams and knock off those little buggers. They'd all be dead within a couple of years, for sure.

We are what we eat, aren't we? If we can genetically mess with our food, poisoning it and chemicaling it and whatever else we do to it, and we're still alive, even taller than ever, surely we can mess with our bloodstreams. Our blood isn't us. It's just the thing inside of us that moves stuff around. The circula-whatever system.

Are we really the body? If you took our brains out, and safely connected all the nerve thingies to another body, we would live inside that body, would we not? So injecting ourselves with pesticides really wouldn't harm us--it would just harm our host.

And even if this great idea fails and we all die--at least we can take the mosquito down with us. Because revenge is all that matters. (Stupid mosquito bite on my knee.)


"Politics, n: Poly 'many' + tics 'blood-sucking parasites.'" (Larry Hardiman)