This is a replica of Heron's steam ball. This is the first step towards a steam engine, which is of course the first step towards industry. Fire and water is all it took to make the top bit spin at high speeds. By fixing a simple gear (which Heron also used brilliantly) to the spinning axle or the ball itself the energy created could power any number of machines. The Greeks dismissed it as a simple toy for the amusement of the very wealthy. Isn't that stupid!

independent piece 8 intro

Another God piece. This one is a Pantoum (that's a type of repeated line pattern) inspired by, what else, a girl and some flies. When I started it, it didn't have anything to do with religion, it was just a poem about a girl. Than it took this whole turn and it was all tied together so I couldn't change anything and it went downhill from there. Anyways, read it and comment on it, but don't enjoy it. If you want to read a good poem on this topic scroll down to independent piece 7 a little ways down the page. Knick-knack patty-whack give a dog a bone.

independent piece 8

Queen of Flies


There she is the queen of flies
Embodiment of God
Infinitely powerful
Yet still endlessly ignored

Embodiment of God
She sits alone with all her flies
Yet still endlessly ignored
While near her no one treads

She sits alone with all her flies
Amid the bustle of a crowd
While near her no one treads
No one knows the her she is

Amid the bustle of a crowd
She manages to isolate herself
No one knows the her she is
For she is more than any know

She manages to isolate herself
Despite the swarming mass of man
For she is more than any know
And no one dares to learn

Despite the swarming mass of man
She sets herself apart from all
And no one dares to learn
About the girl with all the flies

She sets herself apart from all
Except her tiny buzzing brood
About the girl with all the flies
Buzz a multitude of subjects

independent 7 intro

This is a stream of consciousness-style piece (God how l hate them) but I think it still has some good qualities. I was kinda hoping to comment on how many edifices of the "old ways" we hang on to despite hanging no real connection to them. People are always so quick to say "Oh, I'm an atheist" or "God is just a lie," but when push comes to shove and they really need Him they pull God out of their pocket like some kind of genie and expect Him to save their ass. I have issue with that. I'm not a freaky zealot of anything, but l think that people should be honest and consistent. It's just as bad when people try to use God's name to justify all manner of unspeakable acts of hatred. I think that people should have a personal relationship with God (or at least some kind of greater power) but that's just my personal feeling on the subject, some might disagree and I encourage that by all means. Anyways, this piece is pretty tame for me (no one dies and no one swears.) Also, l think this may be my first piece all year that doesn't objectify or degrade women in some way.

independent 7

Anachronism
Johannes H.

Saintly men from long ago
Are all but now forgotten
Saint George’s cross, Saint Elmo’s fire
Names foul to a Yuletide parishioner

The ancient God and the modern gods
All mocked with mock irreverence
Crowds of self-styled atheists
Match self-proclaimed disciples

The power and the glory
For ever and ever
Now marked by red bows, pink bunnies
And self-forbidding icons on courthouse lawns

Once God stood on Earth
Not in Eden but in the mind
Now that ground is shrinking

But I’m an anachronism
In my mind the old God still stands
I’m just a stupid little boy
And Saint Hubert’s just the Jager man

act I scene I + II (first half)

Scene I
Scene opens:
Close up on feet in boots propped up at the end of a bed, slowly pan up the length of a human body. We hear Bagatelle in A minor playing softly on a single piano. It sounds far off, hollow. As we slowly pan away from the feet up the length of the body the music slowly swells, as if getting closer. Around the belt line we flash off the sleeping body, we see a washed out and speed ramped clip about two seconds long of a single person laying on the ground surrounded by four others the music continues but we still hear the sounds of the scene muted, but audible. They kick him, spit on him, laugh at him, etc. We flash back to the sleeping body. The music still continues as we continue panning up his torso. Around the neck we flash to a similar scene to the one before, this time the laying body is dowsed in gasoline, we flash out just as one of the standing figures drops a lighter. The music ends just as we come to rest on a close up on the figure’s face, he is an adolescent male. One brief moment of silence before his eyes snap open, straight into the camera.

Voice-over
(dead pan)
That was how I died.

His eyes close as the scene fades out
Scene closes

Scene II
Scene opens
High school scene. Nothing too fancy, just a bunch of people milling around in a hallway, very cliché. Camera moves about a foot above head level of the milling students along the hallway. We eventually land on the same boy we saw sleeping earlier. He’s sitting in the cafeteria eating lunch. Our voice from before starts talking, as he introduces each character we flash to a still shot which will be described later.

Voice-over
This is where I go to school. I’m a senior this year…was a senior…am a senior. This is yesterday, you won’t really understand what happens tonight unless you see this part. There are a few people that you should probably be familiar with. Meet Fergus. [still frame shows a very fit teenager dressed in camo proudly holding up a deer’s head, his face is obscured by face-paint] Fergus hates everyone, not that anyone is too fond of him either. He once got in a fight and broke the arm of Marcus. [still frame shows an obvious athlete down in a push-up position, his shirt bears the school mascot and the word "FOOTBALL."] Marcus, school celebrity. He never forgave Fergus and made sure his life was a living hell from than on. Fergus made up for it by stalking Marcus’ sister, Alice. [still frame shows cheerleader hanging midair] Just kidding, that sort of family only exists in bad movies. [still switches to a girl sitting in the bleachers surrounded by other girls, all smoking. Very chic, they think.] The true-blue American-bitch. I never got what Fergus saw in her but she loathed him and it made for some entertainment. Oh, and while we’re on this shot, meet Beth. [shot pans slightly to the girl on Alice’s right] Alice’s best friend and guard dog. Beth was the only girl to ever voluntarily speak to Fergus. Shortly thereafter she became the first girl Fergus ever had to fight. Fergus won. Beth and Alice killed his dog in retaliation. Crazy bitches. Oh, and lets not forget Duke. [still shot shows a teenager in jeans and a wife-beater leaning up against a red convertible.] Frank J. Duke, Marcus’ best friend since childhood and his version of Beth. A sadist of finest caliber. He too had had a run-in with Fergus. He won. Broke three of Fergus’ ribs.

Switch back to the hallway scene. Still focused on the boy from scene one. Rotate camera around him so we see the scene unfolding in front of him. He is sitting at a table with three other boys.

Voice-over
Oh, and that’s me at the table there

Marcus enters tailed by Duke.

Marcus
(mid-sentience when he enters)
…and she was asking for it besides.
(Duke laughs, nonverbal agreement)
(Marcus shifts attention to the boys sitting at the table)
Hey…You. Get the fuck outa my chair.

this is a baseball. Baseball is often called the national sport of America. Baseball games are long slow and boring yet some people absolutely love them. Isn't that stupid!

microfiction, not sure if this works but l enjoyed writing it

And the day had started out so well. He’d had a nice breakfast, eggs and coffee. It had been good, not perfect, she hadn’t been much of a cook. But it had sure as hell been better than this, standing toe-to-toe with some vicious thug. He stopped to think for a moment. Twelve shots on his belt, only his belt was back in the room. Knife in his boot, too far to reach right now. Matches and tobacco in his pocket, not much good right now but damn he needed it.
"I say again you s__t. We don’t want you here, we want you out."
He pulled a smoke and a match. Struck the match, lit the smoke, and flicked the match away. This scene wasn’t new to him, it was getting to be pretty familiar truth be known. Stupid ba____ds in these small towns, all of ‘em have some delusions of heroics. He was going to have to stare this one down; they always caved.
"Put down that pick-ax or else we’re going to have problems."
The trick was finding the weak spot and pushing. Thug was a big one but none too bright, probably some brain-dead miner’s son. Maybe he knew that b__ch from the night before, maybe Thug was a brother, he hated brothers almost as much as fathers. A smarter man would have learned his lesson by now. He’d lost one of his fingers, on the left hand, and nearly been blinded once, but he still enjoyed what he did. This was what he did. Tomorrow it would be a new town, by next month it would be a new state. But right now he had a big slow f__k between him and his guns. But tomorrow would start out well.