| (no subject) |
[Sep. 10th, 2006|03:12 am] |
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get me the hell outta here. |
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| All around the world today, kilo is the measure. |
[Aug. 21st, 2006|11:41 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Ghostface Killah, "Kilo" [Fishscale] | ] |
I load death into my clip one bullet at a time, end first. The tension on the spring makes each successive round harder to push in, my thumb pushing down harder against the cold metal. Five clips later and I'm loading the first into a slick little compact pistol. My right thumb moves upwards to move the safety into 'fire' position and my left comes across to pull the slide back and let it go with a satisfying 'click'.
***
The double-click of a slide is a most empowering sound. With it, you're not holding an intimidating metal object but a highly specialized piece capable of laying out any fucker foolish enough to get in your way.
I think this is also why many stupid decisions are made on the right end of a gun. The sense of invunerability clouds ones' judgement, makes light the weight of human life. There are no bullet-ridden corpses, black-and-white clad masses at funerals, doctors trying to prolong the life of a casualty for only ten minutes longer to move them into an open operating room. There is only the sensation of fingertip against tempered metal, the firing pin coming forward to convert chemical energy to kinetic as bullet exits barrel in a puff of vaporized cordite.
***
The paper target is three quarters of the way down the lane hanging solemnly in the still air. I'm ready to start putting holes in it when Mark leans over into my lane and pushes it all the way down to the end. It's far down now; I can make out the black-on-white humanoid outline with difficulty.
"Just pretend that the MCATs are somewhere down there." He grins as he pulls away and begins firing forty-fives from a miniature howitzer ill-suited to his slim frame.
My index finger brushes the trigger for an instant before smoothly squeezing it, the tension wonderfully even throughout the entire process. The gun rocks back in my hand as fire instantaneously emerges from the barrel. At the opposite end of my land a tiny hole appears in the torso of my paper target, an imperfection in the previously immaculate black background. |
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| From the Scarface script: |
[Aug. 15th, 2006|08:18 pm] |
GINA: Against what?
MANNY: 'Gainst assholes -- like the sleazeball in the red suit. He says it like it's personal.
GINA: (picks up on it) I like Fernando, he's a nice guy, he knows how to treat a woman.
MANNY: (a face) What future's he got? On a bandstand somewhere? He's a bum, Why don't you go out with somebody who's going somewhere?
She gives him a look.
GINA: Like who?
MANNY: Like a doctor or a dentist or something.
GINA: What about you? Why don't you take me out?
She's looking straight at him now, challenging.
MANNY: What? Me?
GINA: Yeah, you. I see the way you look at me -- Manolo Ribera.
EXT. TONY'S MOTHER'S HOUSE - NIGHT
MANNY: (Pulls the car over to the curb.)I guess we're here.
Pause.
GINA: You think about it, okay, you think about it real hard, Manny. 'Cause you don't know what you're missing....
She leans across the front seat and lightly lays a kiss on his cheek. The ladykiller is rigid in his terror. She gets out of the car, crosses in front of his headlights, towards the house, looking at him.
He watches.
***
I'll write here after the 19th. Don't expect much. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 19th, 2006|10:51 pm] |
Bitch, I'll show you where that white light leads you.
From now on, I play to win. Happy happy joy joy. |
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| Like the fly on the wall with the secret eyes. |
[Jul. 9th, 2006|11:40 pm] |
It's seaside-paradise hot this Saturday, the pool deck awash with children. At three in the afternoon sunlight reflects off the white tile and onto a rainbow of vivid swimsuits, kids in bright oranges and yellows running across the deck. Shrill screams of joy echo off the compound walls.
I'm crossing the grass to an open lane and dodging fast-moving little bodies, nalgene bottle in one hand and swimming goggles in the other. A young asian couple in the lane next to me are taking . She's already in, slender fingers gripping the lip of the pool as he sits over the edge with his ankles submerged.
"It feels cold!" he says, his voice sounding sounding whiny, shoulders rising as his legs make egg-beater patterns in the water.
I go in feet first, knees bending as the balls of my feet strike the four-foot-deep pool floor. Laughing malevolently on the inside at the scaredy-cat in the lane next to me, push off the wall and begin a horrible attempt at a fool's depiction of freestyle. It's my fourth week of swimming and for all ends I am still a newbie.
Well I guess what you say is true, I could never be the right kind of girl for you slams loudly into my ears as soon as my head's underwater. It's enough to make me break my hideous form and start treading water, head swiveling back and forth like a looking for the source of music. At the other end of the pool at the foot of a lifeguard tower, White Town whispering its way over the surface of the water. The noise amplifies a thousandfold as soon as I duck my head back in.
Swimming to pop tunes is a lot of fun - I'll take that for now, until someone invents a waterproof player and a set of tubes that don't fizzle out every time they get immersed. |
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| Pirates of the Caribbean II |
[Jul. 7th, 2006|03:07 am] |
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Transported me back to an adventurous past I thought I'd forgotten. Oh, what fun it was! |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 1st, 2006|10:37 pm] |
Today has been very, very unproductive.
I'm praying hard that it's just 'one of those days'.
edited: Cori has a margarita and a metabolic cycle named after her, and I have neither. Time to get drunk and famous, mayhap one because of the other. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 30th, 2006|12:30 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  surprised | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Sondre Lerche, "Modern Nature" | ] |
Mastering others,
Is strength,
Mastering yourself,
Makes you fearless
~Lao Tzu
Six weeks and two days left! Three weeks for material review intermingled with practice tests, and another three for pure problem related review before the big date. I have studying, swimming and ER routines and I'm sticking to 'em. Next rotation is Labor and Delivery. I'm not too sure how it will feel when I watch my first birth, but I think my nose will wrinkle and my gut will tighten up.
I've been wanting to grow out my hair all summer; the last time I had hair even remotely close to long was four years ago. I had a vision of myself running across a white sandy expanse with beautiful dark flowing scene-ish hair as the surf snakes its way slowly up the beach in my wake and David Hasselhoff croons in the backgound.
Impatience, however, has taken its toll on me and today I suspended my studies (I learned about the female menstrual cycle, the major hormones involved, the zygote/embryo delopment and the birth process. If I ever become a gynecologyst, for the love of all that is holy and pure in the universe please punch me in the ovaries I will have developed by then.) to have a decent-size chunk of it shorn off. Now it's short and spikey and I have +2 dex because I'm a tad more aerodynamic.
Someone give me a simple solution to the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, because right now apathy is really looking like a good option. Two days ago - two days! - I thought that both parties were on the brink of achieving something wonderful. Haniya was about to broker what the BBC labeled an "implicit recognization of Israel", which is something that Hamas has refused to accept for so long; whether this is childish or justifiable I do not know. But I have this incredible sense of loss; that something so close to coming to fruition was halted to make way for a downward spiral of hate. |
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