Okay, I wrote this in France while I was gone. No contact with the English language. You will probably think it sucks. I have to be in Queens tonight where they do not let me use the computer for idle crap
I will not see your comments, if any, until much later tonight.

Writers need to please themselves. It is almost like masturbation. No one matters but you. That is about the way this story is.

I am pleasing myself.

I hope I can please at least one of you.

The Goddess returns Monday. Even she may be dismayed at this story. But I have to be me. Grace, my best critic, may remain silent. Woo, my second best critic, may say nothing.

I don't need to care.

I am Devon, and Devon must write.

Criticisms are normal and expected. Ignoring is the norm.

None of you will ever totally understand why I write here. That's cool.

Not my best story coming in a minute.

Devvy.

Okay, I wrote this in France while I was gone. No contact with the English language. You will probably think it sucks. I have to be in Queens tonight where they do not let me use the computer for idle crap
I will not see your comments, if any, until much later tonight.

Writers need to please themselves. It is almost like masturbation. No one matters but you. That is about the way this story is.

I am pleasing myself.

I hope I can please at least one of you.

The Goddess returns Monday. Even she may be dismayed at this story. But I have to be me. Grace, my best critic, may remain silent. Woo, my second best critic, may say nothing.

I don't need to care.

I am Devon, and Devon must write.

Criticisms are normal and expected. Ignoring is the norm.

None of you will ever totally understand why I write here. That's cool.

Not my best story coming in a minute.

Devvy.

Another thing. I have another story coming which I think will be better than this one.

But some of you can let me know about this what you think.

I am too early on the forum. I am too drunk. Yes, drunk. I drink like all writers, famous or otherwise.

Grace is probably out partying in Austin this evening, and The Goddess is absent until Monday.

Leia only skims, and Dr. Woo has become far too spritual and serious.

So slather it on.

Or don't.

I can take it.

Dev

Polony,sublime.

THE BROWN CRAYON AND THE BURDEN OF FREE WILL by Devon Pitlor, MA Econ.



"Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does."

---Jean-Paul Sartre (from L'Etre et le Néant, 1943)

I. Old Tremsy addresses an advanced group of young citizen acolytes.

"Years ago, people used to cast ballots," said Tremsy. "They used to vote on things."

The citizen acolytes, a mixed collection of dazed looking boys and girls, had all heard the story twice before---and always from Tremsy, as stated in the rules. His next utterance would be "They were all unhappy and worried. Voting presented them with too many choices, and most were not prepared to get involved enough to know what they were voting for."

Old Tremsy was a prime superannuary, one of the very elder ones, who had actually been there at the start, one whom the Administration had kept around on artificial life support to remind people of how bad things had been before the advent of the Dynasty. Tremsy wanted to die, but he had an assigned job to do. People needed to know from an actual living human being, if one could still call Tremsy that, what life was really like before the Dynasty. So for all the required gatherings, and there were several each day, Tremsy told his story again and again.

It was a simple little tale the way Tremsy told it, and it more than explained why things like group decisions, committees, participatory democracy and voting had once put such a psychological burden on everyone. "Every second person used a drug called Prozac in those days,"sighed Tremsy, the words falling out of his mouth mechanically with a dull metallic ring echoing from somewhere deep inside his false and jerry-rigged innards. "People were nervous and insecure. Then came Jeff Bonner."

The story would always start in the same place. Tremsy made sure of that. He was talking about an event that had happened way over two hundred years ago, but of course he was there or reasonably nearby. He never exactly said which. No one ever interrupted Tremsy. It was kind of a loose ordinance, but no one ever dared to anyway. So no one ever asked exactly where Tremsy himself was two hundred and thirty years ago when Jeff Bonner, age ten, arrived in the famous Miss Rintangle's famous fifth grade class at the famous Orion Elementary School in the equally famous Melvinhill, Indiana. One had to take some things on faith. There was not a single photograph anywhere to be found of Miss Rintangle, her fifth grade class or of Jeff Bonner; that is, until the latter was about 85 years old, and in charge of everything and was spreading the claws of the Dynasty over the entire North American Union. Likewise, Melvinhill, Indiana was on no map, either historical or contemporary, and surely at least one of the acolytes must have thereby doubted its existence. Jeff Bonner, Orion Elementary, Miss Rintangle, Melvinhill, Indiana---they may have all been fictional for all that anyone knew, but Tremsy and his ilk were all over the Union spreading the gospel of these immortal beings and hallowed places by droning their dull leaden tones into the ears of each succeeding generation of citizen acolytes. For full citizenship in the Union, it was requisite to sit through at least three of the narratives and then take a test afterwards. You didn't get a social passcard until you did that. Without a social passcard, you amounted to very little. With one, you were free and clear for life.

So Jeff Bonner and his class of nameless, phantom children lived on and on for each succeeding era. If you wanted the benefits of partial life extension, you had to be a citizen, and if you wanted to become a citizen, you had to be schooled in Jeff Bonner lore among several other things.

Tremsy coughed.

Mechanically he blurted "I want to die!" He always punctuated his tale with that. He could not control it. It was a glitch in his life extension system, a system which was starting to get as old as Tremsy himself. When it could no longer support his life, Tremsy might have the chance of actually dying. But there remained the possibility that the Administration would just replace it. They had perfected much better hardware since Tremsy's time. And they still needed him and his firsthand story.

Tremsy coughed again. He failed to burble out his signature flaw line and just went on with the story.

For this group of citizen acolytes, it was the third and terminal telling. The test, reputed to be easy, would be next. Then something about falling backwards off a steep cliff into a totally invisible safety net--which on occasion was removed suddenly and not even there, in which case the citizen acolyte would be dashed headlong onto the rocks below, die, and others would understand that an slight error in standard deviation would always doom a certain number of happy and contented citizens to a sudden and unexpected death. But the details of that trial are not the subject matter of this story.

II. The Jeff Bonner test.

It was taken on an electronic device which had not even had a name when Tremsy was a young man. But it was still just an old-time Q and A thing about twenty or so questions long.

The general idea of most of the questions would be leaked to the citizen acolytes in advance by one of the monitors. Things like: summarize the brown crayon story; explain why Miss Rintangle ceded total power to Jeff Bonner; why were the fifth graders happier in April than they had been in October? And, of course, why did Jeff Bonner go on and found the Dynasty, which now spanned the entirety of the North American landmass?

The answer to the last question was "because he made so many people so happy and they asked him to."

That was the cheat answer.

III. A disruption

Incredible as it was, a bald kid with a red-tattooed skull who had a birth number something like 4007---pre-citizens all had only numbers until they earned full citizenship---rose from his seat and bowed to Tremsy. The boy's forehead almost touched the ground. Tremsy coughed again, and the industrial redolence of motor oil filled the classroom. Did the life extension prosthetics in his body actually run on something as obsolete as motor oil? "I want to die," Tremsy sputtered unable to control himself. Then he politely acknowledged the interruption signal and asked 4000-whatever to speak.

4000 grinned from ear to ear and rolled his eyes around the room seeking approval.

"If I had been there...."

"Which you weren't," interjected Tremsy almost on cue.

"If I had been there, I would have grabbed my crayons and run out of the room and no one would have ever seen me again." Then he weakly added "Ha...ha" because no one laughed at what he obviously considered a joke. He sat down, arms folded across his chest, waiting for the programmed response.

Tremsy explained to him that the source of all human discontent was keeping one's things for oneself and not letting a higher power decide how many of any sort of thing one really needed. In the case of the crayons, what if there had been only two reds, or more than enough yellows? What if some of the crayons were broken but others were neatly sharpened? What if? What if? Tremsy was mentally designed to argue logically and not rebuke.

4000 went on to say that voting on stuff sounded like a neat idea. "Like everyone gets a say," he said regaining some confidence.

This made Tremsy cough violently and shout his "I want to die" line three times in rapid succession. The oily odor emanating from his patchwork body became violently overpowering. Surely the Prime Superannuary was full of motor oil.

A monitor burst in and led 4000 off somewhere. No one ever saw him in class again. No one ever saw him anywhere again. No one ever asked any more questions.

IV. Jeff Bonner

Although no photograph had ever remained of Jeff Bonner from the age of ten to 84, millions of likenesses were preserved from age 85 until his death at 112, where he willingly immolated himself and thus retrieved his final reward. His face always came across bumpy and amost lifeless. He was tired, he said. Unlike the superannuaries, mostly old class companions from his youth, he would not be forced to stay alive and malinger forever. A quiet death would be his recompense. The Dynasty was left in the hands of his successors. The North American union had already solidified itself with the dismissal of the last two national presidents—of Mexico and the United States—as well as the Canadian prime minister, and all decisions thenceforth came from Jeff and the Dynasty, and they were fair and equitable to all, just as Jeff Bonner had always been when he ran the show himself. No one voted on anything. The Dynasty decided everything, and society was relieved of mankind's greatest burden: freewill.

This, in 1999---240 years prior to Tremsy's last class---had been the brainchild of Miss Rintangle, whose sole existing image, an etched cameo, was preserved in flowery icons all over the Union. It was, however, not a real photograph. The cameo portrayed a sweet lady with a charming glow in her benevolent eyes. This, they were told, was the Miss Rintangle who had, almost single-handedly created Jeff Bonner when a dispute had broken out in her class over the unequal distribution of crayons. She had given out a map coloring assignment, suitable for ten year olds, and everyone was to use crayons to highlight mountains, rivers and other topographical features. Trouble was not every child had enough crayons. Miss Rintangle was enmeshed, or so they said, in a complicated emotional affair and didn't have time to distribute or provide the crayons equitably. Or maybe she just didn't want to. So she asked a newcomer, a one-armed boy named Jeff to do it. Jeff jumped up from his desk and swung his single arm around like a windsock and collected everyone's crayons. He threw them into a basket in front of the room and then divided them up quickly with his long, spindly fingers. Then, without speaking, he gave each classmate the crayons they needed. A girl, whose name has now been famously preserved as Rachel, sat in the back and did not receive a brown crayon. Brown was needed to indicate mountain ranges according to Miss Rintangle. The teacher, though lovesick, had been precise about that.

Jeff told her to use orange for her mountains, and Miss Rintangle suprisingly agreed. "Yes, your mountains can be orange," she sighed looking at Jeff Bonner. She was undoubtedly thinking about her wayward boyfriend and things far removed from the color of mountains and was much relieved that Jeff had decided the issue so quickly.

The children did not holler, scream or get into fights. They sat quietly and colored their blank maps. Jeff Bonner had solved the problem. As the story went, he colored no map himself but simply sat and watched for problems to erupt.

V. Jeff goes on to solve all other issues.

Venue of class field trip…no vote, no argument----decided by Jeff Bonner with minimal deliberation that it would be the geyser park.

Halloween party costumes…no vote, no discussion, no dispute--- ordained almost at once by Jeff Bonner that everyone would come as a favorite Nintendo game character.

How many chapters in the math book to cover before the next test? Jeff Bonner again. What to give as a class present to the retiring principal? A signet ring. --Jeff Bonner. How much each student should contribute for the Christmas snack party. $5. --Jeff Bonner. Whether Miss Rintangle should skip the chapter on the Korean War in history. Yes. --Jeff Bonner.

Before long Jeff Bonner made all the decisions…..just as he would for the rest of his life when governments, dignitaries and financial institutions would petition him for directions. From the tiny, unknown nucleus of Miss Rintangle's class, he went on and became renown everywhere for his swift decision making. He acted with trenchant speed and, above all, with indisputable fairness. His think time on any dilemma or conflict became almost null. The rapidity of his decisions pleased everyone. No one even thought of arguing. Playground disputes? They had none. Jeff told them not to fight or call each other names. Why? Because one-armed Jeff said so. Later he resolved bellicosities of far greater scope, religious , political, legal and otherwise with the same firm and immediate directness, the reverberations of which thundered far and wide as the years piled on.

So at the earliest onset of what was to become the new face of the American world, it was the now-famous Miss Rintangle who ceded total control of decision making to Jeff and got on with the business of teaching and finding a husband and making a baby. Little is known about her beyond this point in history. But it was the absolute perfection of her fifth grade class that mattered. Happy, conflict-free children with little or no need to make independent decisions of any sort.

But there was a catch.

VI. The catch

For Jeff Bonner to be so widely obeyed at first, he needed to be elevated both physically and metaphysically above the other children. He was not a particularly strong or attractive boy, so he needed embellishment. One of Miss Rintangle's last instructions made without the intervention of Jeff was that everyone should provide the boy with small gifts, nutritious snacks and other trinkets and toys each week. In later life, entire regions would shower him with wealth, as they most willingly ceded their free will to him. But in Miss Rintangle's class, Jeff was given a soft chair to sit on or roll around in, a free lunch each day, presents of all sorts each week and later small sums of money contributed by his grateful classmates, as well as their parents who appreciated the harmony that the lanky, one-armed boy had apparently provided.

Thus, he moved both apart from and above the rest, did no schoolwork---an unwanted chore from which he had early on exempted himself---made no close friends and followed no school rules---not that he needed to because his normal comportment was exemplary even in the absence of administrative restraint.

In short, Miss Rintangle's class found that in evading the time honored principle of classroom democracy, much freedom, levity, and joy could be cultivated and ultimately achieved. 75 years later, when Jeff Bonner was virtually elevated to the status of a lofty but benevolent social potentate for his lightning decision making efforts, an entire continent had followed this example—which was simply to make him more special than the rest--- and for that small price they basked in the same blithe and gleeful absence of free will that had first crowned Miss Rintangle's class so long ago. The burden of making choices was evaporating throughout the land. North American mankind was no longer the prisoner of its poor choices. Jeff Bonner saw to that. And with kindness and fair judgment too.

This serendipitous solution to mankind's oldest problems was not to be easily relinquished or abandoned, and the Dynasty---the children and grandchildren of Jeff Bonner---carried it forward and made the North American Union the envy of the world. The tortured and chaotic populations of many other lands sought their own version of Jeff Bonner, but in vain, as there was no Rachel needing a brown crayon, no Orion Elementary School where it all started, no Miss Rintangle. The phenomenon had been confined to patches of the New World and for many years before that only to rural Indiana, places which burgeoned into much happier places than they had once been.

As the Union consolidated, Jeff ordered his continent's isolation from the rest of the world and a strong enough arsenal to protect his Union. Peace and harmony reigned as long as Jeff, and later the Dynasty, was there. The rest of the civilized world had long looked onto this with glowering envy.

Thus after centuries of uncertainty and confusion and suffering, the calm nimbus of true peace had at last descended on a portion of the world. Its secret had been the voluntary elimination of all free will.

VI. Conclusion: The death of Tremsy

"Happiness," sputtered Tremsy metallically, "can always be yours. Go to the Dynasty with every question and expect every answer. Expect your every need fulfilled for your service and tribute as citizens. It will always be thus."

The third repetition of the Jeff Bonner story was complete and the weary citizen-acolytes filed silently out of the room.

Tremsy looked at his hand. The skin was brown and wrapping-paper thin. There seemed to be no blood coursing in the flattened web of arteries and veins at the base of his craggy fingers. He was ancient, artificially ancient. How he wanted to die, for he was so, so tired. Painless and placid death had been Jeff Bonner's reward. But he, Tremsy, was only one working member of the now-thin ranks of superannuaries charged to train the upcoming generations. The Dynasty would probably refit him with new parts. There were so few of his type left now, so few who had been there from the start.

He felt sorry for himself. His face folded as if expecting tears, but none came. His eyes were, in fact, dry things, like dessicated onion bulbs that someone had just come along and poked into his face.

Long ago in a never-never land, he had enjoyed having a first name and friends who used it. That was in a real school, in a real place called Melvinhill, in a real state called Indiana. And he liked to play with the other children during recess and never got into fights. But then one day he had come back from recess early, determined to have the best map, determined to make his map a tribute to the wishes of his pretty fifth grade teacher, perhaps determined to craft his map in total perfection that one can only dream of at ten years of age. Arriving in the classroom just before his peers, he had secreted a fine, sharpened brown crayon in his pocket. He then minutes later was issued another one by the little-known boy with one arm, but he didn't bother to say to this boy that he already had a brown crayon on him. And so there was one brown crayon short, and Rachel needed one. In this way the sparkling and enviable history of the next 275 years of joy and prosperity began. He reached his decrepit, skinless fingers into the slick silk-like material of the new clothing that one now had to wear and fingered out a small object. It was the brown crayon. He had carried it all those years just as a reminder.

As he stood alone gazing at it, a monitor came in and handed him a small capsule and a glass of juice. "Your reward," said the monitor blankly. "Your request was approved this morning. Good luck, sir."

Tremsy swallowed the pill instantly and drank a small mouthful of juice to make sure it got past all the plastic and/or metallic stuff in his throat. He took one last look at the brown crayon, aged over 250 years. How had it lasted intact that long? The label still read Crayola. It was still pretty and sharp. It was still brown.

With the last faint glimmer of his dying energy he crushed the crayon in his hand and, knees buckling, crumbled to the floor.

He had served Jeff Bonner. He had served the Dynasty.

The evil of free will had been forever bleached from the once-soiled cloth of humanity.

_________________________________________

Devon Pitlor, November 2008

Oh Gary Kolar, poor Gary. I'm starting to feel sorry for you and your lack of imagination, originality and real life experience.

Can't your dull ass com eup with ONE fucking topic that's not rehashed and you haven't written about before?

This is just a spin off of The Boys that Live to Suck Cock forever (The Boys - you and yourself).

Devon---they wont see it butt this story may be one of your best.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I read it.

1984, The Green Mile and Being There melded into an analogy of our incoming president. Which arm was missing? Left or right?

The one other story I read (versus skimmed) was also futuristic or more accurately, tied to a watershed moment in the past that changed the accepted culture forever. If I recall correctly, the characters in that story fought the change. In this story they are lulled into changing and are never cognizant of what's happened. The implications of the second story (this one) are much more disturbing than the first.

Keeping in mind, this is just my take on it but I thought I would share. It is an interesting story.

On another note, a long time ago someone wrote a story about the bees taking over the letterbox. The overall theme of all three stories reminds me of this quote by Louis D. Brandeis:

"The greatest dangers to liberty lurk in insidious encroachment by men of zeal, well-meaning but without understanding."

Sorry 'bout the addition,just reminded of sumpin'...

Louis Brandeis was born in Louisville, Kentucky in 1856 to a family tolerant of Jewish and Christian rituals. In later life Brandeis might be best described as a secular­humanist. Although he completed his secondary education in Germany, he returned to the United States where he studied law at Harvard. After settling in Boston, Brandeis became a successful lawyer spending a good deal of his time pursuing cases with a political bent. In particular, he enjoyed representing small companies against giant corporations, and aiding the cause of the minimum wage against companies opposed to this principle. In 1912, he supported Woodrow Wilson's nomination for Presidency and in 1916, was appointed a Supreme Court judge, the first Jew ever to be appointed to this position.

Brandeis showed little interest in Jewish affairs until the turn of the century when a combination of his professional work and a changing political climate brought about an alteration. He was introduced to Zionism by Jacob de Haas, an English Zionist, and later still by Aaron Aaronsohn, the Palestinian botanist and founder of Nili.

Brandeis became active in Zionist affairs during the First World War, when he accepted the role of Chairperson of the Provisional Executive Committee for General Zionist Affairs. Brandeis had a major impact on the American branch of the Zionist movement, drawing to it a number of sympathizers, improving its organization and its finance.

Whilst he resigned his official position on joining the Supreme Court, he nonetheless worked behind the scenes to influence President Woodrow Wilson to support the Zionist cause. After the war, Brandeis headed a delegation of American Zionists to London where at a conference differences emerged between Chaim Weizmann and himself. These arguments over the role of the organization and its pursuit of political activities caused a rift between the two leaders with Weizmann gaining the upper hand. Brandeis withdrew from Zionist activity although he continued to take part in Eretz­Israel economic affairs. Brandeis did intervene from time to time in political matters for example he appealed to Roosevelt to oppose the British partition scheme of 1937 calling instead for the whole area of Eretz­Israel to become a Jewish National Home.

Brandeis represented a rather different genre of Zionism, one born out of the American context that affirmed Zionism as part of American ethnic identity. It was Brandeis who coined the term that "to be a good American meant that local Jews should be Zionists."

He died in Washington, D.C. in 1941.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Source: The Jewish Agency for Israel and The World Zionist Organization.


I'll be a reading your tale shortly.

That son of a bitch! Maybe he was describing what he had in mind!

he only had one arm because the other one was held behind him crossing his fingers, rendering it invisible to Miss Rintangle, he was new after all with no history or origin.
another good story as usual hopefully not prophetically inspired

This was a good story. As a short story it didn't leave you hanging, with a ambiguous ending. Let's hope that free will never goes by the wayside as this story suggests might be possible. Had the story been set in a much earlier time the decider central figure would have had a religion sprout up as his legacy. The biblical figure Solomon has much in common with the premiss of this story. I know you think I am becoming too serious and spiritual, but I have always been that way. It is the only serious posting subject I have to balance out the rest of my empty posts. I think you were wrong about your assumption that not many of us would "get it". This story was something all of us conspiracy nuts can relate to.

Devon, good writing, but I am disturbed by stories where one gives up his free will. It is the only thing we have left. Nice writing, troubling story.

An interesting read, Devon. But you have proven once again that you are not Jody Casgraine or Joey Leguay which is what you are always trying to prove anyway. But I liked the story anyway, it is another one of your doomsday projects, and come to think of it the whole Tremsy thing is very sad: old people at the end of their days like in your story about Veraine [spell?] and the shotgun the one that I still think is your best. You have unlimited ideas it seems. Keep writing. Thanks for another easy to read tale even if it is sad and depressing.

RMTHB

your story really did make me think-devon. imagine how much fun living would be if we didnt have to vote or make decisions, they teach 'democracy' in all schools like youre story says but it is just a scam for the kids to be voting on all that crap and fighting about it just like countries do, if we had a jeff bonner to make all choices fast and w/o aguing and talk talk talk all we do is talk and argue, it is just too temptting the way you have it down here that makes it scarey too b/c ppl would chose the decision maker like suleman like person wrote above in post, a suleman to make all our decisions and cut the baby in two, scarey story that really makes you think!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

.................//.......................

You don't know me Devon, I'm rather new to this board. I was first pointed to you by someone who was absolutely certain that you were one of those who were once involved with the JPK mess. I don't know if you are or aren't, I'm past trying to figure out who's who - a gigantic waste of time. That's a lesson I learned long ago....and too many posters here have fallen into the same never ending cycle I once had. None of that matters, that's not why I'm responding to your story.

I'm a nobody here, and my opinion doesn't really matter, but I'm giving it to you anyway.

I read the story you wrote before this one, and quite honestly wasn't too impressed. Then another poster whom I know urged me to read some that are in the library, and I did. Only two - and I have to be honest, I found them predictable. There were other reasons for not liking one of them, but it's personal and would be uninteresting to anyone else I'm sure. I didn't bother reading any others after that.

BUT, I saw this this morning and decided to give you one more chance, and I'm glad I did. THIS ONE, is awesome....I must admit, I really, really liked it. There's only one problem....this isn't short story material. It's too damn short. You could turn this into a fantastic novel, seriously. Although I'm not too keen on the idea of a loss of free will.....and I'd hope there are more people like me who would hardly go along with the rest of the sheep on that one....it still makes for a good story, and I loved the little twist at the end. Good stuff. Bravo....

SB

Interesting comparisons you make, Leia. Glad you found time to read this one. I tend to get into alternate realities a lot. I usually start with a what-if premise and take it from there.

I like the Brandeis quote. It is written on the front of some building I've seen in Manhattan, one I pass quite often, but I can't remember exactly which.

Anyway, thanks.

Love,

Devon

Thank you, guest. Maybe he was crossing his fingers.

Devon

Thanks! You know I like your input. You're right in that I did not want to make a classic religion out of the early protagonists in the story. I figured that that will not be done in a more enlightened era. Turning "important" people into godheads just seems to be something we have progressed beyond. However, they still remain iconic. Look how the present era has taken that sniveling idiot Reagan, a horrible and stupid president (and I think even he would admit that), and embellished him with almost god-like status today.

Being serious and spiritual is not bad. I just know you have a keen wit and a good mind, and I didn't want to see your creativity blocked by too much concern for spiritual decorum. And it isn't.

It looks like more people have understood this story than I thought. So you're right about the conspiracy nut angle. Someone wrote me once that this board really was for conspiracy theorists, but I didn't think so at the time.

Thanks for your input and thanks for reading.

Devon

Disturbing or not, thanks for reading anyway. I can't always be responsible for the disturbing content. I am working on a next story that deals with a very disturbing theme as well.

Devon

I keep having to prove I am not the Great Ones!!

Thanks for liking the stories and being a reader.

My story about Vereine is probably my favorite too. Its end does somehow resemble the end of this one. Sometimes it does seem like I have unlimited idea, so thanks.

Devon

If Devon wasn't such an attention whore, he'd make one post instead of a whole bunch in a row.

Thanks.

I like making people think. Where I went to school, there was no classroom democracy as here in the US. It is a concept that always intrigued me. Are we making people unhappy by getting them too much involved in stuff they really don't need to be dealing with? Could a greater happiness come from an overwhelming power that made our decisions for us? If our race were protected someday by some superior breed of "caretakers", would we all be freer than we are now with all these decisions and all this commotion? All this phony participation?

Thanks for reading,

Devon

Thank you for the comment and for reading. I do write very short stories for forums. You can go back and read some others and see that they are all short. I leave it to others to use my stories as the start of something longer. Dr. Woo suggested this more than once, especially about my West Texas story which displeased him because he thought it was only a beginning of a novel. But my creativity is firmly planted in the short story, and the shorter the better, as long as I can get the thing told. Your approval means a lot to me whether I've read posts from you before or not. I can't thank you enough!!! We are encouraged in writing by people who understand and appreciate. I don't need to tell you that.

I welcome you to go back to the archive here and try another of the stories that you might have missed and then write me back with either criticism, neutrality or compliments if desired. You have a good insight, and you are the sort of person for whom I write, like Grace, The Goddess, Leia, and Dr. Woo. I have never expected everyone to read or even like my stories. We always write for the select few who can understand us.

I suppose I have covered the bases enough about not being part of any of the JPK coterie. I wish that I was. I have written that so many times before. Whoever did the JPK series was a far superior writer to me, as was Jody Casgraine. I derived inspiration from both writers. Too many people believe that I have shaken the hand of Joey Leguay and become touched with his magic. In truth, I know none of the JPK players, but I wish I did.

Your input is intelligent and appreciated. I like it when someone who knows how to write, as you do, responds to my stories.

Love,

Devon

To Devon: Thought you might like to know this. You don't know me either. But someone printed out and posted your story from this thread on a bulletin board here in back of the store. They wrote 'please read' on it and then 'is this a warning of things to come??'

So you've made it 'big time' to an employee bulletin board next to our time clock.

Good going!!

I sent you a PM about something completely unrelated, respond at your leisure. I just wanted to let you know that I will now look back at some of your other stories once I have the time, and will not hesitate to tell you exactly what I think of them - I never do. I've always rubbed some people the wrong way because of that, but you appear to have thick enough skin to take it.

Heidi

Okay. I will look at your PM before I go to bed. I work nights and sleep days. If your question is not too long, I'll answer right away. Thanks for looking back at some other stories, and always say exactly what you want to. Even if it's "that sucks." Criticism helps writers.

Devon

Very quickly...
I think I'll address the moral of the story as I see it, since no one else did....

.

Tremsy ended up paying a horrific price for the theft of the brown crayon, didn't he? Guilt continually washed over him as he uttered "I want to die" so many times...One wonders if the Administration forced him to artificially stay alive as a teacher in the form of a penalty.
The equal sharing of resources among all is addressed, as well. Rachel's very act of colouring the mountains orange instead of brown had the effect of changing reality, which was caused by Tremsy's theft. Is the higher power the moral compass that people either have or do not have?
Is it a conscience?




Freer? How could oppression of free will be considered freedom? Free will is used in so very many more ways than the so-called phony participation in politics.
The "superior breed" that your phrase brings to mind is the Borg. Unless people actually DO become more involved in stuff they really need to be dealing with, your future scenario may indeed become a reality that materializes right out of thin air.


~
Anyway...Good Morning Devon!!

I always enjoy your stories, and that completed my morning swoon...
Thank you.

Love always!

Love always to you too, Goddess! I have so much to say to you and so little time. My inbox is loaded with things from you that need attention, and I love it. I need to write you soon.

Interesting as hell interpretation of my story. I mean that.

You are "da bomb" as the kids say now. I am fortunate to have you as a friend and possible R.L. friend soon!!

Please excuse my brevity until later today. I need some sleep. Work nights, as you remember.

Loving you,

Devon


PS--Don't be offended, but I need to respond to one other person here before I go to bed. Talk to you later, and LOVE!!

To: SB

You should have a PM by now which briefly answers your question...which is YES and YES, and I explained why but not enough in depth because I accidentally deleted the long PM I had composed for you, so there are some details that I want to elaborate on.

I hope to hear back from you soon.

Look at your PM box.

Your question was not all that compelling, but it brought back another time that is starting to interest me more and more today, or rather it never stopped interesting me.

I owe The Goddess so much response, but I put you up front because of who you are....and as I explained, I know who you are kind of.

Love,

Devon

Go crawl back under the rock from whence you came, OP Fucktard. I didn't even read your stupid "story". You need too be locked up in a mental institution.

DEVON!!!



JUST CAUGHT UP WITH YOUR LATEST STORY!!! DY-NA-MITE!!! LOVED THE STORYLINE. YOU ARE GETTING BETTER WITH TIME.

COLOSSAL JUST COLOSSAL!!

Good story as your norm, but things must have been really good for so many people to give up their voluntary will all over the whole continent. Still I liked the idea. I suppose it could have all started with a crayon. Stranger things have happened.

Hector P.

I think it could happen in the future. Lots of people would willing surrender their free will for the "bliss" of not having to make decisions.

If that's true then what do you see happening to the rest of the people who are unwilling to go along with it?

It's hard to say. Devon's story suggests that things become so wonderful that no one objects to a central figure handing out all the directions. It is not a story about dictatorship, not even benevolent dictatorship. It is about removing a <<burden>> from people that they never could deal with in the first place, or wanted to. That is what makes the story different, and a probability.

Hey Hector, why does your AV pic tie to some kid named Jamey? Did Gary Kocksuck pic the wrong photo again?

I've seen that AV before, different forum

Apathy


There are those that lack capacity.

There are those that see all too clearly yet succumb to apathy.

Still others intend to create the illusion of change & hope to access power.

Many more are focused soley on the mundane primarily motivated by survival instinct.

The story makes one wonder. Do we really need democracy or has it been a colossal mistake???

The reviews were personal, he is just making his replies personal.

DEVON RULEZ!!!

The United States is supposed to be a Constitutional representative Republic.

Democracy is a process that presently usurped the republic,although it has been undermined by both political parties for decades.

majority rule: the doctrine that the numerical majority of an organized group can make decisions binding on the whole group.

Like the One party sytem soon to consolidate power January 20th,2009.

In short: Devon is an artificial attention whore with a bunch of sock puppets. He has perhaps two real fans.

Look at Goddass. She's his #1 fan. No one could be phonier than that over-acting piece of ham. She reminds me of Rod Steiger in slutty drag.

Given that, he doesn't deserve reviews.


YMMV.

Devon can write, I'll say that for him. I have always read and liked all his stories, and he is always polite to people who write back to him, even when they are not always polite to him.

I say continue to archeve his stories. They may one day make this place famous.

Who knows?

Keep putting them in the library. People do read there more than we think.

A Steiger quote...and I consider your compliment somehow satisfying,,,


When old actors come up to me and say, "I don't know if I should do this role. It might be bad for my image", I say, "That's tough that you only have one image. My heart bleeds for you!" We are supposed to create raw people, explore life and communicate at the highest level; be it pain, joy or what have you. That's what I believe. I guess you could say it does become a philosophy, a way of life.

http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001768/bio

Busy tonight. Things are happening in the econ world.

LOVE to The Goddess, but of course I did not need to say that. She already knows.

Lots of people are speculating on who or what I am.

I am whatever you want me to be.

Dr. Woo, of course, comes the closest. In fact, he hit the target long ago, and for that I thank his intelligence and insight. He is one of the smartest and most incisive persons here. For that he will be scorned and ridiculed, but he is prescient enough to anticipate that.

Now read this:

I live in Brooklyn, NY and I work in Manhattan. I like bars, dancing, drinking and arm wrestling. I also love writing. I write on this forum because not in spite of the criticism. The criticism makes me a better writer. I like things raw and loose.

But, I am a very boring person in real life. I eat mostly mutton and goose, and, yes, I eat anchovies and tomatoes. I came from another country years ago, but I can vote, so that tells you something.

Did you read the word "boring" above?

I would not be boring to The Goddess, Leia, Dr. Woo or Grace....because we have "stuff" in common, but to the puppy cam people (and I thank another poster for bringing this up) I would be dreadfully boring.

I have two kids who are not doing particularly well, so I suppose I was not a very successful parent.

I like to see my stories here and get responses.

I am an old follower of JPK, PD, JL,TM, etc., and I have never hid it.

But if you came here and followed me around all day, you would most probably be very monotonized.

I try to be polite to as many people as I can, and I do not care who torches me, but I do not like Christian fundamentalists and anyone whomsoever who would spend time on a puppy cam.

So just forget about me unless you like my stories or my econ posts.

I am imminently forgettable.

Love,

Devon


PS--Grace has said nothing about my last story. That bodes ill for me. Unless she is MIA.

You are always imminently lovavble. Mean that.

Do old actors come up to you? Let's still get together, and bring some of them with you.

Be forewarned, I have an accent. Even after all these years. Do accents turn you off?

Love,

Devvy

I am about ready to ask Ankhy to archive this last story---which brought a lot more favorable comments than I expected.

The story stands on its own, as I hope all my tales do.

My next one is coming soon.

It is about a very somber topic.

It will be called THE SUPREME COUNCIL OF THE COALITION OF PLANETS.

It will not be what you expect.

Love,

Devon