?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Say What Friday

Greetings all. We have again survived another week. I hope it has been more word filled than stressful.

The weekend awaits.

This week's quote is...

"Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored."

Aldous Huxley

This brought to mind the well-known tagline from the TV show Dragnet. "Just the facts, ma'am. Nothing but the facts."

Use one or both of them however you want.

Remember Big Buddy is watching and this month's challenge is BINGO!!

Let's all have fun.

Comments

( 5 comments — Leave a comment )
thatwasjustadream.dreamwidth.org
Jun. 9th, 2018 02:25 am (UTC)
It's funny because it's true! But it also suggests how very powerful our ability to ignore the facts can be. Like me telling myself I'd have one scoop of ice cream after dinner, even though I've never managed that with any pint of ice cream in the last twenty years. :).

Well, at least I kept it to two...
sharpiesgal
Jun. 9th, 2018 04:14 am (UTC)
Lol....

Ice cream doesn't survive in my home. Between me and the pups, it's gone in a heartbeat, so we feel your pain.
agdhani
Jun. 9th, 2018 05:54 pm (UTC)
I did this with a couple of the Bingo Image Cards too, but I used the "Facts do not exist" as a launching point...

Fandom: Da Vinci Code (Silas). rated g/pg, no spoilers or warnings necessary I think...beyond a veiled reference to torture.

Facts did not cease to exist because they were ignored.

Facts, however, could be twisted, shaded, torn into gradient images of things they had never been meant to be, frayed and splayed open like the skin on his back, on his thigh, until the line between what was fact and what was delusion, what was lie and what was truth, became impossible to know.

Silas knew that. Deep down, in the darkest subverted corners of his soul, he knew it. One truth had been so drilled into him that it had entirely supplanted any previous truth until now, on this lonely stretch of road, hot in his torn, dirty cassock, he had little idea of where he was going, what he was intended to find, or if he had even been sent in this direction with a purpose.

Finding out he was a clone…not even a man…and thus, potentially, lacking a soul…the soul he had believed he was saving in the blind obedience he remembered which had resulted in gunshots…

…death…?

That had ruined everything. He did not know what he was anymore. Who he was? He remembered betrayal. He remembered pain. He remembered death.

And then he remembered voices and images and an effort to convince him to kill. But he only killed with a purpose. Only for God. This time, he had not known why, had felt no purpose in it, and so he had fled. Drunk on pain and thirst and hunger, without concept of where he was, he had staggered into a city street, beneath the bright, blinding midday sun, a garish billboard in red, white and blue advertising fireworks on a local beach overhead.

After that, everything had blended together into a washout shade of pastel lavender splashed with the stabs of pain.

He had lost the cilice by now, though he wasn’t sure where. The sackcloth texture of his cassock rubbed and stuck to the open wounds on his thigh on his back, but still he walked, and automaton moving where the blistering pavement guided the nearly worn-through soles of his flat leather sandals. A few times cars had stopped, the drivers, the passengers, intending to offer him a ride, to see if he was okay in his staggering, shuffling gate. Usually they had moved on quickly without speaking to him, or maybe they had spoken and he had been unable to hear it. What voices he did recall, beyond those he had escaped from, had been taunts of ‘freak’, ‘nutjob’, ‘psycho’…and other slang terms he had not understood.

Once he had thought the world to be more black and white, good and evil, us and them. Now it only seemed grey.

Too hot. He needed water.

There. A cabin. A barn. Whatever it was…there would be water. Shade from the sun. And maybe a chance to sleep.

Sleep would dull the pain. Sleep would ease the chaos and erase the shadows in his head. Sleep would bring clear-headedness and perhaps restore the recollection of purpose and direction.

It would at least, he believed, allow him to think clearly again in order that he could formulate a plan.

There was no Order here. He was a clone. All of what he knew was gone. The purpose of that life was no more. But he could find a new purpose. He could please God and find favor…and if he did that, maybe he would be given purpose once again.
sharpiesgal
Jun. 9th, 2018 07:45 pm (UTC)
Not familiar with the fandom, but it was a good story.

Thank you for sharing it.
agdhani
Jun. 11th, 2018 02:37 am (UTC)
I'm not really sure there's much fic out there for Silas (played by Paul Bettany) (though I imagine there's a bunch for DaVinci Code and Langdon).
But I felt really bad for Silas, think he got a bum rap. He's been bugging me for some sort of redemption arc, so he's come to play in my RP world. We'll see how he does ;)
( 5 comments — Leave a comment )

Profile

Little comm. that could
1_million_words
One Million Words

Tags

Latest Month

December 2018
S M T W T F S
      1
2345678
9101112131415
16171819202122
23242526272829
3031     
Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Tiffany Chow