A Resolute New Year's (Post 101)

Everyone makes New Year's resolutions, such as losing that extra weight, doing work on time, quitting addictions, or deciding to finally stop bundling bad mortgages with other investments. I, however, have decided to make no New Year's resolution. No, it isn't because I'm awesome (which I am), but it's because I'd rather not make a one year contract with myself that I would probably break. Instead, I'm making a life resolution.
Why a life resolution, you might ask? For one thing, there is no sense of urgency. I can complete or attempt to complete my life resolution at any time. I can also gradually chip away at my life resolution instead of diving into it head on. I feel like it's much safer that way.

What is my life resolution, you ask? To fight crime as a super hero.

That's all for now,
Das Flüg

P.S. I now write posts for a liberal Rutgers blog called Ruckmakers. I write under the moniker REDACTED It's just some random name I picked out of a hat. Check it out.

A Centennial To Remember

Hello everyone, and welcome to my 100th post on this blog. It seems like it's been many a (one) year since I began this online journal, and so I thought that I would regale you with a yuletide story.
'Twas the night before Christmas, and all throughout Metropolis, not a sound was to be heard, not even from Lex Luthor. Back in Smallville, Clark Kent was spending his Christmas at home with his parents and his cousin Kara, enjoying his usual time of non-superhero work. It was a merry time in Metropolis; the streetlights were adorned with wreaths, the trees adorned with lights in a beautiful, if not slightly twisted, work of art. If one were to walk to streets of Metropolis, only the slight sound of carols and good cheer would be felt and heard in the frigid night air. All was peaceful, all was quiet; all was merry, all was safe. The only caveat to all this safety and joy was that it was temporary, and oh how temporary it was. At that very moment of placidity, Darkseid, Superman's longtime foe, had broken his treaty with Highfather of New Genesis and had encroached upon Highfather's territory like no interloper ever had before. He overwhelmed the New Genesis forces, reducing them to nothing more than ash and cries for help, largely unheard in the expansive universe.
With Highfather gone and New Genesis destroyed, Darkseid now had free reign to invade Earth and continue his vendetta against Superman. Utilizing his wormhole device known as a boomtube, he rounded his army and set sail for Earth.
In Metropolis, the buildings shook and the people all became quiet as a thunderous clamor came crashing down upon the tranquil city. Darkseid's army emerged from the boomtube portals, immediately wreaking havoc upon the great city of Metropolis. Darkseid's parademons, his winged servants of death, hunted down any people on the street with an ecstatic shriek of joy. Darkseid calmly stood upon his flagship, waiting. He had prepared for this moment for years. He had built up his army to the point where not even the destruction of the universe itself could stop him. Right now, seemingly, nothing could.
A call came in to Clark Kent's home in Smallville, much to his family's chagrin. Clark's mother, handing him the phone, had a worried expression. Clark asked curiously, "Hello?" "Darkseid is here. No time for pleasantries." The voice was unmistakably that of Bruce Wayne, otherwise known as Batman. He had already set his course for Metropolis and warned the other members of the Justice League, all of whom were preparing for the battle of their lives. Clark looked sadly at his mother. "Ma...I have to go. Kara." Clark motioned for his cousin. Striding swiftly, he walked outside, his cousin in tail, into the comfortably cold air. "Clark, what is it?" Kara asked, worried. Clark stared into her eyes, trying to gauge her fear. "Darkseid." At first, Kara was taken aback. Her face then became hard and her heart only sang a tune of anger. They changed and flew towards Metropolis.
In a matter of minutes, Darkseid's towering army had razed much of Metropolis. He took no part, however; No, he would wait. He would only wait for Kal-El, the prodigal son of Earth, to appear before him. He would give Kal-El a chance to yield, though he did not desire for Kal-El to...No, he wanted Kal-El to fight until his dying breath, and Darkseid would claim that final gasp as Earth's mightiest protector fell to him.
On the streets below, much of the league had been mobilized and was attempting to fight Darkseid's forces, though to not much avail. Darkseid, however, had given his army the order to not kill any members of the Justice League. He wanted them to watch.
Wonder Woman, princess of the Amazons, fought through Darkseid's massive hordes to his ship, where he simply stood on the hull, gazing into space. "Highfather will not approve of this, Darkseid. He will make you pay. Either him, or I will." Darkseid nonchalantly turned his head towards her. "He does not have a choice anymore. You, however, will not stop me." She flung herself towards him with all of her strength. Darkseid casually reached into his belt and threw what appeared to be a small metallic object. The object seemed to transform in mid-air, growing several tentacle-like objects with a long spike in the center. The object hit her square in the chest as the spike drove into the space below her sternum. The tentacles reached around to her back, where they burrowed through her skin and wrapped around her spine. Wonder Woman seemed to stop her strength in mid-air, her face frozen in an expression of pain and anger. Darkseid knocked her to the ground with a hard slap. "You are paralyzed. You will not die, as I will give you the chance to join my army after this is over. You will be a valuable commodity." With that last word he smiled and kicked her off of the platform. Unable to muster a scream, she fell, silently. Tears began to float upward, it seemed, as she fell through the air. With a mighty jolt, she stopped falling as Superman carefully lowered her to the ground. He placed her among some rubble, looking at the device that attached itself to Wonder Woman's chest. "Diana, can you speak?" No response. She could only look at him, her eyes welling. Superman examined the device and saw that it was burrowed into her spine. "Don't try to remove it." Superman turned around as Batman walked up behind him. Batman was bleeding from his left arm and legs, and seemed to have been stabbed in his right leg, as it was being held by a crimson bandage. He knelt beside her, grimacing. "She'll need microsurgery. I'll take her to a safe-" "SUPERMAN!" Darkseid's thunderous voice seemed to pause the calamity in the streets. The platform he was standing on detached itself from his ship and lowered him to the ground. Superman's face changed from one of concern to pure anger. Fire raged in his eyes as his heat vision blasted Darkseid. Superman yelled.
Darkseid stood there, absorbing the excruciating force of Superman's heat vision. It seemed to him nothing more than a distraction. "You can save all of Earth, Kal-El, if you bow to me. I will order my army to only occupy your feeble world if you swear fealty to me; otherwise, I will hang your body in my throne room and enslave everyone on this planet." Superman was surprised at Darkseid's boldness. Never had he seen Darkseid so sure of himself, and what's more, Superman had never seen him so strong. "Never." Superman flew at Darkseid with all the speed he could muster. Darkseid, in what seemed like a motion even faster than Superman, drew a glowing green dagger from his belt and drove it into Superman's heart. Superman's eyes grew with shock. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. Darkseid threw his body to the ground. Superman mustered enough strength, but only for what was his final scream. The air around Metropolis shook as Superman's final breath reverberated off of the buildings, vanishing into the sky. Kara, staring in shock from a distance, began to cry. "NO!" she screamed, throwing herself at Darkseid with all that she had. Darkseid pulled a metallic-green object from his belt which promptly linked itself with Kara as she fell to the ground beside her cousin. The Justice League could only watch with all of their members badly injured as their greatest hero, the man who inspired all, lay on the ground in front of Darkseid with his eyes staring blankly at the sky and his mouth frozen in a scream. Darkseid smirked. "Finally," he spoke regally,"I have claimed my greatest trophy."

Yeah, that's right. For Christmas, I killed Superman.

There might be a possible part II. I don't know yet.

Merry Christmas!
Das Flüg

Pro Temporum

Finals time has reared its ugly head, so blogging will likely be limited from me. There is one issue, however, to which I would briefly like to lend my two cents: the SHIELD Act.

And no, for those of you comic book fans, this has nothing to do with the SHIELD agency in Marvel comics; in actuality, it is an act proposed by Senator Joseph Lieberman to make the publication of classified documents by an outside party (journalist, newspaper, any third-party medium, including Wikileaks) a federal offense. You can find the actual language of the act here.

In my very brief opinion on the US' Wikileaks imbroglio, I have no problem with them publishing documents, especially ones that offer a better insight into actual foreign relations than that which I read in the newspaper. The documents they leak are not designated as "Top Secret," nor are they overwhelmingly mind-blowing to any extent of the imagination.

Seemingly, the feeling of vulnerability, in every sense of the word, is a bitch.

That's all for now.

Journey into the Mind, Part 10

It’s been many a year since my son called. Hell, it’s been too long since my phone rang at all. No one seems to care for the elderly once their own independence begins. So, once again I find myself alone in this house without a soul to share a cup of tea with or talk about the affairs of the day. Again I find myself sitting by the phone, silently eating an apple, waiting for a caring soul to check in on me to at least ensure that death has not yet wrapped his hands around my neck and choked the life out of me. Why do I bother? My son is just an ungrateful philanderer, my eldest daughter a vacuous nonentity; the only person who bothers to check in is my youngest daughter, Eve, and she has been away in Europe for months now. I’ve tried calling them, the undeserving children, but they always insist that they are busy with work or something of that sort. I’m done. I feel no reason to care for them anymore, except for Eve. Always was a smart one, she was. I’m proud that she’s doing great things in Europe. I think I’ll amend my will to leave her everything. Yeah, I’ll do that now. After that, I suppose the best way to go would be by car exhaust. It’s not like anyone will find me for a while anyway.

Well, that is it. Those are all the short stories I wrote for my psych class. Assess them if you wish, tell me what you think, etc.

Journey into the Mind, Part 9

The crowd sat, many sharing a look of bemusement, as the speaker stood frozen in his spot. He didn’t know what to say, and his mouth hung open like a rusted gate. He couldn’t believe what he had just read from his prompt; all employees in the local branch would be fired with no benefits given. In an effort to cut costs and save money, the company had decided to close several office branches without so much as a moment’s notice. Only those branches that had a certain sales number were able to avoid downsizing.
“This is ludicrous!” one audience member yelled. “How can you judge our sales based on some arbitrary criteria that has no basis in reality? Our branch sold twice as much as the Little Rock branch did! How dare you!” The audience began to grow restless and murmurs began to grow. The speaker, still frozen, looked to his manager off the stage who stood as stable as a boulder with his arms crossed across his chest. He only gave a stare to the speaker, as if willing him to continue with the speech. The speaker looked back at the crowd, and then back to his boss. Closing his mouth, the speaker nodded his head and gripped the podium.
“I quit,” he said calmly to the audience, and walked off the stage.

Journey into the Mind, Part 8

I’m poor and I’ve always been poor. Growing up in absolute filth and poverty is not easy for even the most disingenuous, though I suppose that I have become accustomed to a certain level of disgust. It seems as though my family has never attempted to move out of the slums, most likely because of the bizarre job security of my father or of the fear from my mother of not being accepted in a higher class of society. That’s all fair and good, I suppose, though I’d prefer to not have to steal in order to afford my school supplies. I’d also prefer that the streets and sidewalks not be flooded with garbage, and I’d also prefer to not have to carry my stolen butterfly knife with me everywhere I go. I’d like to be able to afford to see a moving picture; I’ve heard good things about Casablanca. I’d like to be able to impress a girl if I were ever to bring one back to my home, not that I ever would since my 2 brothers would tease me and constantly berate me. I suppose that it’s on me to improve my life, but how can I do that when colored people still have no rights?

Journey into the Mind, Part 7

Standing in the doorway of his former classroom, in his former school, in what used to be a city, James gripped the doorknob as tears began to well in his eyes. Since the war, no one had returned to his once bustling city, now a skeleton of itself. The school had grown decrepit and putrefied, with dust and cracked walls now painting an ugly portrait. James walked into the room, and almost at once was hit with a resounding wave of memories. He turned around to face the blackboard, tears falling from his eyes, remembering the time his favorite teacher, Ms. Smith, had showed up to class on Halloween wearing a banana suit and had a hard time writing on the board. He remembered the sound of the children’s laughter, which cut through him like the sharpest of knives. He didn’t want to remember, but he couldn’t help it. I should not have come, he thought to himself. He turned away from the blackboard, instead facing where he used to sit. Almost immediately, memories began playing themselves like movies in front of his eyes, and no matter how much he tried, he could not stop it. He fell to his knees, sobbing in his hands.

Journey into the Mind, Part 6

As she lay there, the only soul in sight simply stood and took a picture. As she lay there, a perfectly dead beauty of a woman who seemed to have simply fallen from heaven, no one called for help or aid; the one man, simply existing there, took a picture. She was elegant, and by the expression on her face, had died peacefully. Her blond hair almost seemed to spread out like great golden waves of the ocean, and her face looked to be as soft as the finest silk. And yet, the lone observer only took a picture.
How she died is unknown to anyone; there was no blood, no bruises, no cuts, no scrapes, and no fear in her face. To the observer, however, nothing else mattered other than the serenity of her pose, the eyes-wide-open, emotionless, arms spread docility of her final pose. The observer knelt beside her, getting a close-up of her face. He felt no compassion and no urge to act. She was dead, he thought, and calling the police now or later would not make a difference. What entranced him was the beautiful simplicity of her face, as if she were still alive and posing for him in some kind of disturbing photo shoot. After the observer took his pictures, he stood up, turned on his heels and walked away calmly.

Journey into the Mind, Part 5

Tear gas fell upon the rioting crowd as riot police moved forward against the protesters. The people were angry; the government had reduced their social benefits, exported jobs, and threatened them with the removal of their health care. The workers had had enough; the day after the government’s announcement, they mobilized en masse to strike against the government’s austerity. The anger of the crowd was palpable, and they continued forward regardless of the tear gas. Covering their mouths, they charged forward against the riot police. There seemed to be an infinitely long moment in between their charge and their inevitable clash with police, as if the anxiety and tension felt by every police officer were enough to stop the rushing crowd. The footsteps of the workers echoed off of the surrounding buildings, creating the sound of giants stomping. The workers continued charging, their anger and fervor driving them forward like a locomotive out of control. A single policeman, in the moment before the rioters made contact, withdrew his shield, drew his gun, and fired in fear. The crowd hit the police barrier with the force of Hercules, knocking many officers off their feet. Defending the capital building was the only objective for the police, regardless of cost or casualty. The only problem with their objective was that, at the moment, it seemed unlikely.

Journey into the Mind, Part 4

Aafiya and Shariq walked through the empty alley in Ramallah. There was very little in the way of decorations or glamour, of joyful exhibition or of culture. The city seemed to be a skeleton of itself since the Israeli army choked off all supplies to Palestine with their complete blockade. The city was once a cornucopia of color and ebullience; now, a lone pair of siblings ventured into the dangerous back streets of the city. Shariq, the slightly chubby younger brother, looked up tearfully at his older sister; she only stared ahead, looking into that invisible object that was their uncertain future. Shariq stopped in place, tears gently falling from his eyes. Aafiya stopped, her eyes devoid of color or emotion.
“Come,” she stated sternly. Shariq stood like a sobbing statue, his arms stiffly at his sides as he refused to move. Aafiya sighed. She walked over to Shariq and kneeled in front of him. “What?” Shariq looked into her eyes, searching for a shred of empathy. “Mother, father…I miss them.” His nose began running. Aafiya grabbed a portion of her sleeve and wiped his nose for him. Her eyes still showed no emotion, as if she were repressing every single instinct within herself to mirror her younger brother and cry. “As do I,” she said coldly, “but we must keep going. We only have ourselves now.”

Journey into the Mind, Part 3

The wooden table in the center of the room held many memories. Years ago, around it men planned the assassination of foreign dignitaries; decades ago, men laid out the plans for the insurrection against their government, which was carried out swiftly and mercilessly. Now, after 30 years, around that table sat three old men, each of whom regarded their roles with little purpose. Ali, sitting at the head of the table, looked to the wall with mournful nostalgia. There hung pictures of his heroes: Karl Marx, Mao Zedong, Ho Chi Minh, and Joseph Stalin. Each portrait seemed to radiate an aura of accomplishment, almost belittling Ali. Ali turned to Mukbar and Sanji, both of whom were staring at the table, as if transfixed by its many imperfections.
“We are no longer popular, my friends. Our times, our causes, they have passed. Do we just…” Ali trailed off. He averted his gaze from his comrades. Mukbar looked up from his point of attention.
“We return to our families and live our lives in ignorance. For too long have we neglected our loved ones. I have never been allowed to see my granddaughter; my son abhors me.” Sanji looked up, his hands clasped in front of his face.
“We are scum.”