tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79794122011-04-21T18:48:17.392-05:00It is proper to every gathering that the gatherers assemble to coordinate their efforts to the sheltering; only when they have gathered together with that end in view do they begin to gather. --- Martin Heidegger, LogosGendo Ikarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195481987884278626noreply@blogger.comBlogger81100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7979412.post-1176524185469921172007-04-13T23:08:00.000-05:002007-05-03T15:11:08.415-05:00

There are ironies in this world, and there are ironies in this world. And then there is this.. To be perfectly honest, I have no idea what this statement really means. Its probably just another careless sentence, carelessly thrown together by a careless mind. Well, in my case, most probably a bored mind. I’ve been wiping this counter top for the Nth time, at first just making sure that its nice,

Gendo Ikarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195481987884278626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7979412.post-1143973978699848942006-04-02T04:34:00.000-05:002006-11-27T04:30:29.506-06:00

I close the locks at the office, put on my jacket, and make my way downstairs. It's a little past a quarter to 3 in the morning; I'm guessing the Peter Cat is still open. I feel thirsty, and a cold beer, or maybe another shot of bourbon, will quench my dry throat. So, bracing for the cold downpour of the morning rain, I make my way towards the bar three blocks from my office.As expected, Peter

Gendo Ikarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195481987884278626noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7979412.post-1128721058987339482005-10-07T16:32:00.000-05:002005-10-24T05:12:49.036-05:00

My keys are in my handbag somewhere, yet for the life of me, I can’t seem to find them. And what a time to loose them; the rain won’t be letting up anytime soon, a bag of groceries filling my right hand, while my left rummages for the house keys in my handbag, which hangs lazily ON my right hand. Putting my groceries on the ground is not a choice, on account of the rain, plus I don’t want my

Gendo Ikarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195481987884278626noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7979412.post-1122499962354478342005-07-27T16:30:00.000-05:002005-07-27T16:35:08.466-05:00

Chapter 2I look at the watch on my office. I’ve never been fond of those digital-type watches. I’m not really sure why; somehow, it seemed that those types never really tell what time it is. So, all of my watches have the three-arms with the face on them; and this particular one on my table is no exception. Through the soft glow of the lamp next to it, I saw the current time; 2:30. Morning. The

Gendo Ikarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195481987884278626noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7979412.post-1111398336355277682005-03-21T03:42:00.000-06:002005-03-21T03:49:38.586-06:00

CHAPTER 1Stepping on the edge, the sight before me is overwhelming. Looking to the horizon, as far as I can see, I feel a sense of insignificance. I am an ant, trudging on the vast, gray earth. But I am not an ant right now; I am myself, on the edge of a high precipice, atop a very high escarpment.The wind blows softly on my face, caressing my skin with sensations I never thought I could feel.

Gendo Ikarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195481987884278626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7979412.post-1109585270477938832005-03-08T16:01:00.000-06:002005-03-08T16:10:21.036-06:00

It was a rainy, February night when I got a call from Alicia. Just like any phone calls, I was reluctant to answer it at first. I'm not really big in people looking for me, and besides, I was not expecting any calls that night. It was a Saturday, and I believe that Saturday nights are meant to be spent in any way the person deems appropriate. If he or she wants to go out, dance in a disco, get

Gendo Ikarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195481987884278626noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7979412.post-1108338005523673192005-02-13T17:15:00.000-06:002005-02-20T19:12:30.013-06:00

In the autumn of 1995, my wife and I had our divorce.Such a strange year that was, 1995. Five years before the turn of the millenium. Mobile phones, the size of a brick, are starting to resemble smaller bricks. Everybody still mourns over Kurt Cobain. As for me, I was on my way as a general manager at the Regency Hotel, and my wife is starting to gain some nods as a fiction writer.Looking at that

Gendo Ikarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195481987884278626noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7979412.post-1092729417570045032004-08-17T02:46:00.000-05:002004-08-24T04:02:51.563-05:00

hmmm.... I'm not really sure why Im making this blog. I've already convinced myself that I am done with this stage of my life. Circumstances have come and gone, yet I refused to pick up the pen again. So what's so different now, you might ask? Well, to be honest, everything is different. Different, not in the sense that changes have forced the thinker into some state otherwise. Different,

Gendo Ikarihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16195481987884278626noreply@blogger.com0