For the past couple of weeks, I've been meaning to write on the spiritual truths I've been learning. The angry love of God in Luke 12, the scandal of 1 Kings 2, the humility of Christ in 2, the unapologetic command of sabbath in Luke 3, the logical progression of Luke 3 into 4, the power of truth in Luke 4. And of course, the revelations on the CULT OF INTENTIONALITY and the power of living in the day.
First, I have to define what I mean by intentionality or intentional living. Preachers herald from every pulpit, "Step out of your comfort zones. Live intentionally. Seek out those places where you need to do good." And from this mindset, I have seen nothing but good. I've seen with my eyes the nature of this campus change for the better through the intentional actions of individuals committed to making a difference. They've brought wisdom and patience an friendliness into environments that might have been otherwise hostile. I have witnessed for myself the results of intentionality and I cannot mistake that it is good.
What I have seen, however, is that "good" is the veil pulled over our eyes. In Luke 4, the devil doesn't tempt Jesus with evil things. He does not say, lust after this woman, kill this man. He tempts him with good things. He wants to give Jesus bread which is good. God wants Jesus to have bread too. (and you better believe that after 40 days of fasting, Jesus wants that bread). The devil tempts Jesus with the power to change the world. "All authority and splendor" would be given to Him and with it Jesus could change the world for the better, which is a good and godly thing. The devil wants Jesus to prove that God the Father is there for Him, that the Father still loves Jesus. This is a good and godly desire for Jesus.
The sins that lie behind these temptations come with their context. Jesus was in a time of fasting, his eating bread at the time would be seizing unwarranted control over the food he was meant to have later. He would be acting out of faithlessness, a fear that he would not have food when he needed it. If Jesus claimed the power he would be gaining power He was meant to gain, just through the wrong means. The sin falls in his taking the wrong means to accomplish the deed. He is meant to suffer and hang on the cross at the right time, the act of obedience that has not just led to His own personal victory but for that which all members of our faith can profess to. The sin of putting His Father to the test is not just because we're not supposed to put God to the test. It's fault lies in a mistrust of God. Jesus is thinking about the cross after the second temptation. He's thinking, power will come through my suffering. Perhaps the thought enters his mind, "does the father really want good for me? Why do I have to suffer so?" Then the devil, knowing this, tempts Jesus. "Does Your Father really love you? If He loves You so much, give Him this opportunity to show it" Jesus refuses because He knows the deception behind this. The push to not have proper faith in the Father.
My greatest anguish is when I look back at myself when I was in the greatest positions of leadership. I lived the most intentional lifestyle I could. I had the most meetings with those who I oversaw. I served my dorm community the most. I pushed to see reform in systems that didn't promote similar living but I am led to a confession full of sorrow and regret. That year was filled with anxiety, faithlessness and inwardly I was dying.
I saw great need in my environment and I attacked the need with the passion and zeal. I attacked it with the only force I know how, my own hands and feet and mouth and mind. I did all that I could and I recruited others to my task. I can only look back and mourn over my attitude when it came to the people I was "discipling." I doubt that if they were asked to recall their experience they would say this, but I have to admit that I cared more about their involvement with service than I cared about them. My desire for them to know Christ paled in comparison to my desire for them to go out and address the needs I saw prevalent.
I lived in constant anxiety and stress because there was always more to do. There was always more I could be intentional about. I remember times where I laid in bed, unable to sleep and my mind screaming the questions, "Is this what you wanted, God? Is this enough for you? What do you want from me? What am I supposed to do here?"
Stepping back this past year, I've been challenged to rethink what intentional life should be, or if our lives out to be intentional. I spent the greater part of this past semester in depression. I skipped classes, meetings and social events to sit. Sit at home listening to Frank Sinatra and wonder what my purpose in life is. What is the next big thing I can put all of my intentionality into?
Fortunately, these questions were coupled with a healthy dose of Ecclesiastical meaninglessness. The wisdom of Solomon kept me from quickly diving into another trite pursuit and made me question the meaning of things. I then found solace in the great meaninglessness of all things.
You see, if you claim that one thing is more meaningful than the other, than the logical conclusion of that would mean that there is one grand thing that is the most meaningful. If our lives out to be devoted to pursuing that event of greatest meaning than we are plunged into this constant pursuit from more to more meaningful. "This also is vanity and chasing after the wind"(ecc.) When all things are meaningless, as I believe they are, all things are meaningful. (Makes you think that Syndrome was onto something)
As a university student, if I believed that building wells in Ghana was more meaningful, imagine the anxiety I would feel my entire time here. Conversely, what if I realized that where I am is where I'm supposed to be? That meaning is a presupposition that is a false construction. Then I would live in peace knowing that where I am is not of meaninglessness but on the contrary, of utmost meaning because all endeavor is devoid of meaning.
In this, I see the revolutionary philosophy of the bible. Ecclesiastes concludes that "there is nothing better for [us] than to be joyful and to do good as long as [we] live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all [our] toil -- this is God's gift to man" (ecc. 3:12-13)
Jesus, in Matthew 6 says look at the grass of the fields and the birds of the air, see how I clothe them. How much more will I clothe you, you of great value. He says "Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is it's own trouble." The cure for anxiety is faith. He's saying do not be like those people who go and store up for themselves storehouses, but believe in the God who desires to provide for you daily.
My hesitation with this intentionality, (and I call it a cult because it can be a false God) is that it takes us away from this idea of faith. With intentionality, you're always trying to do more, to plan for the future, build and build and build. There's a sense of personal responsibility that almost indicates that if I don't do it, who will? And I can't help but rebuke this idea. Because it's a faithless thought. That if there were no you, all would crumble. We strive and cling on to doing more and more and I don't see this in the bible. I see this all around me.
I believe this cult of intentionality to be birthed from our Western progressivism. The idea that there is always a bigger and better, that there is more and greater things. So we strive after that. We seek to make the biggest impact and we live in the anxiety that we are not. We are running what I like to call a rat-race, "a term used for an endless, self-defeating or pointless pursuit" (wikipedia)
Again, this is hy the bible is so revolutionary. The idea of meaninglessness, of not being anxious for tomorrow. While the Israelites wander in the desert, God sends them manna daily. In fact he punishes those who collect more than they need. The Lord's prayer has one line that asks God for something specific, and it says "Give us THIS DAY our DAILY bread" The idea that God is seeking to provide on a daily basis is every where throughout the bible.
Does that principle not ring true for the ministry we seek to do? Will God not give us the opportunities to do His will? Will He not prompt us to do what is required of us?
I believe that the remedy for intentionality is obedience. I believe that intentionality is the new buzzword for the "sacrifice" we see in the bible. Where we can often give to God without the relationship with Him. I believe that God desires more from us. I believe that God wants to walk with us daily in our obedience. And I think this is harder.
It requires me to believe that God will point me in the direction I need to go daily. It requires me to have the faith that God will take care of the rest. And thanks be to God, it gives me peace! This is why Jesus says "come to me all who labor and are heavy laden, for I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." (mt 11:28-29)
It required no relationship with God for me to live intentionally in my year on leadership. And believe me, my relationship with God was almost non-existent. I can count the times I spent time alone with him on my fingers that year. I look back on that time and imagine the peace, joy and faith I could have lived that year in. Being more effective because of my faith that God would do what I was not supposed to. Resting in God.
I hope my rambling does not pronounce guilt upon leaders or those who have taken great strides to do good for God. My hope is that all find peace and joy in their work, as it was meant to be. That we live without anxiety as God intended to. That our lifestyles, full of faith would differentiate us from the striving of a non-christian charity. That God would amaze us with His plan and His provision outside of us.
p.s. This is why I believe more than intentionality, the defining characteristic of a certain Pam Chan of Binghamton University is obedience. God told her to do things and she did them. She did not live intentionally for because she thought she ought to, but she did so because God said she ought to. I think in this she found joy and peace and God honored her obedience with fruit that we see today and will continue to see for years to come.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
old superman story (for bix)
Sunroot Liu
Kryptonite
The box is empty. It didn’t occur to me to check.
It isn’t until John is holding me by my throat a foot off the ground with a translucent green hand that I begin to consider that maybe I have made a mistake
“Let me explain” I say, or rather, I try to say. But what gurgles from my kryptonite weakened body issomething like, “lghh mehh ekhpth” it occurs to me that I might die here.
I consider the irony of meeting my end while robbing Metropolis National Bank and it makes my eyes smile… almost.
I’m standing in the doorway of the vault in the forted basement with half a ton of solid titanium—steel alloy crumbled like aluminum foil in my hand. I assess my situation to figure my chances of leaving here. John is using all of his will just to hold my throat with any significant strength. He’s standing directly inside the center of the vault at my 12 o’clock with his arm extended towards me and his feet a little less than shoulder width apart. He should know that I can see that he’s getting tired. Beads of sweat look like buckets on his skin which is a few shades flushed. The light of his ring is a half-inch lower than when he started this grip, and the muscles are tightening in his arm. You don’t need x-ray vision to see these things. You just need to notice the light shining off of the perspiration on his skin, the angle of his arm and the bulge of his shoulder.
Diana stands directly behind me, so close I can feel the heat coming off of her body. Her modified lasso binds my shoulders and upper arms. My elbows are still bent and in each of my hands is a half of the vault door. The rope is tight and biting with it’s kryptonite dipped cords. Bruce is directing them from the JLA satellite via headset. He must’ve thought of these.
The kryptonite is draining the strength from my arms but I don’t let go of the heavy titanium doors. If I act now, one of the pieces of the vault can still be thrown at John. He’d be too surprised to dodge or stop it. Plus, he’s already pretty tired. Then as his skull is crushed like an eggshell, I would take advantage of the distraction to break Diana’s arms in order to free myself. In another five minutes, I won’t have the strength to do that. I decide that the world needs The Green Lantern and Wonder Woman. I make this assessment and decision in the time it takes John to blink.
Before the time John blinks again, Barry will have come from home and made his way to the vault.
“Loosen up, John.” Diana’s voice is strained and quiet from behind me. The rate of her heartbeat tells me that there is still some tenderness in her. “He’s trying to speak.”
John lets out a small sigh of relief as he loosens his grip and shuffles his feet to a more comfortable position. I realize that along with the weight of my body, he is also lifting the vault door in my hands. I make a note to not underestimate him again.
“I can explain,” I find myself speaking to an audience of three because the red blur in the corner of my eye finds a spot next to John.
“Well, spill it, big guy.” Barry says. “You pulled me out from ma night out with the lady. I think I might’ve gotten lucky tonight.” Diana scoffs and I feel the breath on my neck.
“You were at home eating a box of powdered donuts and watching TV.”
“Oh geez, boss, are you watching me at home?”
“No, Barry. You flip through your channels so fast that you leave an indentation of a button on the bottom of your thumb.
“Well don’t X-ray me anyhow. What if one of these days I get cancer or something—”
“I didn’t X-Ray you, Barry. And I’ve tested my abilities, they have no harmful effects on anyone unless I will them to.”
“Then how do you-“
“Wipe your mouth, Barry.”
“Oh.” Barry always had a way to ease the tension in a room. I feel the grip waver for a second as John smiles. I try not to notice the pattern of Diana’s heartbeats when I speak.
“I needed the contents of box 7007.” I say, my eyes gesturing past john to the wall of safe deposit boxes.
“What for?” John asks.
“I needed a diamond.”
“What? Why?”
For a second I pause and look him in the eyes “I want to go home, John. “ Diana’s heart skips a beat behind me and Barry starts to tap his foot in restlessness.
“What do you mean home?”
“I mean Krypton.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Barry interjects. “Hold on just a minute, boss. Last I checked, Krypton blew up. Went the way of the dodo, if you catch my meaning. Gone. Finito. Kaput.
The green around my neck flickers. “He gets the idea.” John looks back at me still shaking his head at Barry. “What are you talking about? What does a diamond have to do with going home?”
“Lex,” I gasp because John refocuses. “He said he had a way to send me back home.”
“Luthor?” Diana’s voice quickly interrupts, quivering. “You’re working with Luthor? You’re the one who busted him out? What’s happening to you, Clark? What’s going on in that head of yours?” My name sounds cold and unfamiliar in her mouth.
I can hear Bruce through Barry’s headset. He’s talking to me. He tells me they’re doing this because they care. He tells me he’s sorry he hasn’t had been a better friend. They’re doing this to help me. That if I stop what I’m doing and turn myself in, the public will forgive. That I still have a choice. That the League understands my trouble. That I’m not alone.
* * *
My answer to Diane’s question came eight months ago.
It was eight months ago and my ears were thundering with the sound of alarms twenty miles away. My hearing was tuned in onto the outskirts of metropolis to metropolis power where meltdown was about two minutes away. My eyes were fixed on my seated legs as I struggled to hear.
To Perry this meant that his number two reporter wasn’t paying attention. “Look at me, Kent. What are you doing spacing out when I’m talking to you? What are you looking at? Are you looking for a new job? Because I’ll let you in on a secret, Kent. No self respecting editor wants a reporter who never shows up to work on time, never is where he needs to be on time, never even a half-decent reporter for chrissakes.”
His face was flushed from screaming but I was clutching the chair of his office so tight that the polished mahogany cracked with the imprint of my finger tips. He didn’t know where the sound came from but he winced when he heard the crack. I only heard sirens. Do the Math: An ambulance was traveling west at a speed of seventy miles per hour. Twenty miles away a nuclear power plant was going to explode in about ninety seconds. You don’t need X-ray vision to see that that wasn’t going to turn out well. Perry was screaming in my face while I remembered that I’m the only JLA member whose jurisdiction Metropolis Power fell under.
Suddenly I started to cough. I hacked and coughed and keeled over and gurgled. Perry stopped after he realized that my inability to breathe impeded his ability to yell at me. Before he reached me to see if I was ok, I was holding up a hand to stop him. I made my way out of the door and in the direction of the bathroom. In order to do that, I hobbled through the pit where everyone but one popped their heads up from their desks to see what was going on. The second I hit the empty hallway, I stood up straight and before the second is over, my clothes were in a neat pile inside the brass “P” on the globe on the rooftop of the Daily Planet and I was traveling west at three times the speed of sound. I was there before the heat leaves my empty suitjacket.
I arrived to find what I already knew was there. Even with air rushing past your eat at five thousand square feet a second, it’s hard to ignore an explosion half the size of Hiroshima. My sight confirmed what I heard from mid-air. No buildings. No heartbeats. Smoke was rising from a crater in the ground a quarter of a mile wide. The earth was stained black with a shape like that of a daddy-long-legs after it met the arts sections of the Planet. All that was left was half of a reactor about ready to blow. I remembered to inform the ambulance to keep its distance.
Seconds later I was on the ground with ash in my fist. Then I was on my knees with my fist in the ash. Five miles away, the ambulance driver hears me scream. It was there, with my knees in the dust of human skeletons that I decided that Clark Kent needed to die.
I didn’t do anything rash, because I’ve learned that emotional decisions are a bad idea for someone with my power and position. For the moment, Kent stayed alive. But far too many times, my being Clark has cost the lives of innocent people.
An hour later, I was back in Perry’s office pretending to cough still and he was giving me an assignment to report on.”Apparently,” he said, “There was a tragedy right outside of the city limits. Metropolis Power just blew to high heaven. Thirty-six deaths and counting. I need you to give a report on it for the early edition tomorrow. I figure that this is the story of the month and I’d give it to Lois if she weren’t swamped with an expose on Luthor’s new incarceration. The Times won’t have a story until the late edition, so you’ve got to get us the edge, Kent.” He threw a manila envelope at my chest. “Here’s what we know so far. Now get out of my office.”
Before I make it out the door he added, “And go get that lung checked, Kent. There aren’t any decent reporters out there willing to work at you pathetic salary, so don’t die on me.”
“That’s very sweet of you chief.”I smiled at him.
“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t tell anyone about it. Bosses who are sweet just get unpunctual workers in return. Now beat it. You have a deadline, slacker. If you have the time to be flapping your jaw at me, I expect a report on my desk soon. “
I was reminded that it’s not his fault that people died. It’s my own. Perry didn’t know my secret, Perry’s not responsible for anything. I am. I have the speed of a bullet, the strength of a thousand men. I was responsible for this tragedy I hold in an envelope in my hand.
I opened the file in my cubicle and the emotions hit me like a tent spike in the chest.
Jackson Michaels, 37, Reactor Foreman. Died instantly. Leaves behind a wife Lillian, 37 and daughter Emma, 3. Jackson (Jackie) and Lillian high school sweethearts before getting married in a small ceremony their second year of college. After trying unsuccessfully for years, they finally had Emma who was born premature with a cesarean section. Jackie never cried so much in his life as when he held his feather light daughter in his arms. Not because she was born with Downs Syndrome but because she made it out of the ICU.
Tripp Zimmerman, age 16, Stock boy , He was working restocking vending machines. He was always quiet in class but his classmates didn’t know that he was working to pay to be a relief worker in Indonesia.
Joel Shultz, 28, Janitor, Lone caretaker for his mother, 61, recovering from a recent stroke.
Kris Dumane, 62, Plant Manager, whispered the name of his ex-wife before passing away under his desk rocking in a fetal position.
The list went on. Fathers, husbands, brothers, sons. I learned to contain my emotions, but the wincing in my eyes almost burned a hole through my Macintosh computer. I looked up from my desk to find that it was hours later and everyone was gone except for one other lone light in the darkness of the pit. Before checking, I knew who it was. Lois is working late again. My feelings pulled me one way but the manila envelope in my hands told me that I shouldn’t do whatever it was in my mind to do. The suit underneath my suit echoed the thought. I decided to head back for the night.
She barely looked up at me when I said goodbye. With a dismissing wave, she said “Night, Kent.” Not even a Clark. I felt defeated and for the first time I realized that this would be the last time she would see Clark Kent alive.
In the shower soap did nothing to clean off the ash of nuclear waste and charred human flesh. I watched as the dirt and grime washed down my body like streams of black dye ending in a pool of ying-yang colored swirling liquid at the bottom of the drain. I thought of the Iced Tea Mix from back on the farm. How the powder streaked as it dissolved and the way it would look before Ma took the long wooden spoon and stirred it until it was a nice even brown color.
After my shower, I remembered to call Ma and Pa to tell them what I’m deciding. Before long, I found Ma crying on the phone. “Don’t! You’re Clark. It’s not your fault what happened. You’re Clark Kent. You’re my son. You’re Clark!” She struggled to say this quickly before she broke into sobbing. I realized there was sobbing on my end too. I told her I had to go. I told her that I loved her and I’ll see her soon. That it was silly to cry over a fake death.
After I hung up, I went through my metropolis apartment and remove any ties to Superman I could find. The police would go through the whole place soon and I couldn’t have them making the connections. Ma and Pa would be at too great a risk. After I looked around the apartment one last time, I went out to kill Clark Kent.
At 2:01 I was by the police tape surrounding what used to be Metropolis Power. I found my heart beating faster than I could remember it ever doing. My fingers quaked as I clipped my press pass onto a fence. I made it in an obvious place but secret enough to make it seem like Clark was just an ambitious reporter sneaking in to get a scoop. I made the proper fake footsteps. Finally, I readied my eyes to ignite the remaining reactor and at 2:16 AM on a Wednesday morning in February, Clark Kent, Aged 34, single with otherwise no noteworthy achievements in life, was blown away by a nuclear blast enough to incinerate any remains.
Three months later and I saved more people than I can count. No more work. No more social parties to report. No more fluff stories. No more pretending I need to eat more than once a week. Sarah O’Shea, single mother of three, trapped in a fire. A construction worker falling from a high rise. Twenty or so kids on a highway with a driver having a heart attack. These people were all still alive because Clark Kent was dead.
The feeling was exhilarating at first. The freedom of doing anything at anytime. Going to bed at night finally feeling like I did all I could possibly do. Being able to sleep without the guilt. I think that was the best. I didn’t even attend my own funeral. Instead, I saved fifteen people from a burning tenement building in Gotham and stopped a plane from crashing in Lisbon. A productive afternoon, I’d say.
Ma said that the service was nice. She told me this on the phone between crying. She told me I made a mistake. That I was always a smart boy but this time I made a mistake. That I made the worst mistake of my life. She said she’s sorry she couldn’t help out more with my struggles growing up. She did the best she could, she told me. I changed the subject.
I asked her if Lois was there. She said no.
That was the night I chose to sleep with Diana.
Diana helped me evacuate the passengers from the flight and asked me if I would talk with her after the rescue. I brought her back the Fortress and made her a rich coffee-like drink from two galaxies away.
“Go ahead,” I said laughing. “It’s edible.”
“It’s green.”
“It’s better than any drink on this planet. Trust me.”
“Oh Hera, that’s delicious.” She looked up from the cup at me. “This isn’t a good idea, Clark.”
“It’s perfectly edible, Diana. Just don’t be alarmed at how it comes out the other side.”
“Eww. Gross.” She pushes the cup away. “But that’s not what I meant. I mean the fake death isn’t a good idea, Clark.”
“Kal.”
“You’re still Clark to me. All of us keep our identities for a reason you know?”
“And what reason is that? I’m not like the rest of you. I can’t take breaks. Not while I hear the whole world crying for help. The guilt of my inaction is the only weight I’ve never been strong enough to lift. Do you know what it feels like to hear a thousand voices screaming for help while you sit in a cubicle in a monkey suit editing an article about the effectiveness of peanuts while dieting? Well now, guess what? the weight is lifted. I can sleep at night. Well, at night ever few days, when I actually need sleep. Honestly, this is the best I’ve ever felt.”
“The whole league is worried about you. You’ve been acting strangely lately. You’re usually so responsible, but lately you haven’t been checking in with HQ and you’ve been taking on so many cases.”
“C’mon Di, I can’t possibly give account to all the things I do. I mean if I’m saving people at the rate of a speeding bullet, how am I supposed to keep track of it all?”
“Even still…”
“Hey! Have I ever shown you around the fortress, Di?
“Well no, I’ve seen the main trophy room… but…”
I grabbed her hand and gently pulled her out of her seat. “C’mon I’ll give you the grand tour.
John always said that Diana had feelings for me.
“She’s attracted to your heroism and leadership.” He said one day over alien coffee.
“Are you sure it isn’t because of these big blue eyes and muscles that can move a mountain?”
“No way, Kent. If she likes you, I’ll tell you honestly as a friend. It isn’t for your looks.”
Well if she didn’t have feelings for me, she sure didn’t act like it. While I showed her alien animals, stars the size of nickels, plants from other dimensions and the tragedy that is Candor, I’d never seen her so feminine, so girlish. Princess Diana, also called Wonder Woman is the strongest woman on the planet. You might imagine that she became accustomed to carrying herself around like a man would, so it was really quite endearing to see this side of her, shy but flirtatious. Well, when I showed her the bedroom, one thing led to another.
“Amazons are supposed to lose their strength after their first time.” She said, out of breath and exhausted.
“Well?” I said.
She crushed a bedpost beneath her fingers. “I guess not.”
“Well,” I said. “Maybe it just takes a couple of times.”
She giggled as I turned to kiss her.
Later when she was asleep, I found her body strange and unattractive. Her face held a strong prominent jaw and her neckline was almost invisible as muscles connected her head to her shoulders. Her already small breasts were accompanied with powerful pectorals. Her feet were large her toes and fingers were pudgy and unrefined. I saw that her large muscular hands were calloused and masculine. The lack of body fat and the prevalence of tones muscle on her made her tough and rigid to the touch. It also eliminated any curves that you might imagine on a woman’s body.
I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of her contrast as I found in Lois. Lois whose body fat built her the curves that even a business suit couldn’t hide. Lois whose mortality has given her a zest for life that Diana will never understand. Lois who cursed like a sailor but still, with every movement of her soft thin lips built in me a yearning furnace like a hundred suns. Lois who with every beat of her heart shows me that I’m not alone on this planet. There are six billion hearts beating on this Earth and I can hear them all but it’s the gentle arrhythmia of her human heart that is closest to the beat of my own Kryptonian one.
When I was still a child figuring out what to do with my newly manifesting powers it was that heart-beat that gave me hope. It was before I met her, when I spent time alone because my parents couldn’t figure out what to do with me. It was in those times that the sound kept me going. I heard the slow breaking of it when her father died. The million beats a minute it went through at her first kiss. The sound of it hardening when she found her college boyfriend with another girl from her journalism class.
There were times in conversations with her where I just stopped. She just assumed I was awkward, but I was speechless, listening to the sound of our hearts beating at exactly the same time.
People were happy when they found out about me and Diana. In fact, they threw us a party. Kind of like an engagement party, but not. John made a toast and took all the credit for it.
“Let it be written down in history. I set these two up. The man of steel and the Amazon Princess.” He came over to where I had my arm around her shoulder. “Match made in heaven. Or wherever they make a pair of super-strong indestructible crime fighting superheroes. May she soften your rough edges, and maybe he always remember that he is not only the strongest man on earth, but the luckiest.”
She smiled at me as applause went around the room. I don’t ever remember seeing her so happy. I could even hear it in her excited heart-rate and satiated breathing. The JLA all came over to where we were sitting their congratulations, saying things like “Super-couple” or “The kids will be super.” Barry was saying, “When you guys do it, does everything around explode or –,“ before his wife smiled at us and pulled him away by the ear. Bruce shook my hand smiling at Diana. Then leaned over to whisper, “Don’t hurt her, Clark.”
Of anyone on Earth, including Diana, Bruce knows me best. He was the only one I ever told about Lois. At the time, though, he hadn’t spoken to me for months. I think he was still upset that he found out about Clarks death from the news. You can imagine that a guy like Batman would hold the meanest grudges.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before Diana and I split up. I lost interest after a while and Lois was still in my mind. I gradually grew more and more distant. I didn’t talk to her much and I spent more and more time flying around the world so when she confronted me one time, I ended it.
One day after a routine bank robbery bust, she just exploded at me.
“You’re late, again.”
“I stopped an armed robbery, so if dinner got cold.”
“You’re selfish.”
“What?”
“You’re not as selfless as you think you are.”
“What are you talking about, Diana?”
“You’re not as selfless as you think you are. You’re desperately insecure and you try to earn acceptance in this world by helping people.”
“Where is this coming from?”
“You throw yourself at them, but they don’t care about you. Those people out there? They don’t care about you. They just want your help. But I’m here and I don’t need you and that scares you. I don’t need anything from you. I just love you. I want to be the one you can rest around. One you don’t have to save. But you need to save someone to feel needed. You give yourself to everyone and you end up so goddamned lonely!”
“I don’t know if you’re listening to yourself Diana. All I hear is a needy woman asking me to give up my time from saving lives so that I can come home to eat her collared greens and meatloaf. Who’s the selfish one Diana?”
“You can be such an ass sometimes, you know that?”
“Well, you don’t have to put up with such an ass?”
“Why do you keep pushing me away?” She burst out into sobs and I shifted my weight where I was standing.”
“Because,” I wanted to say, “because you’re right.” But what came from my mouth was “Someone needs help.”
I flew away and when I came back, she was gone. She had taken her things and left a note. I read it through the envelope.
Dear Clark,
When you realize that you need the world more than it needs you, I’ll be here. Until then, I pray to the gods you don’t hurt yourself.
-Diana
It wasn’t long after that, that the loneliness began to get to me. The JLA sympathized with Diana after the break-up and I never felt in place at HQ, and after a while the people I saved stopped having names. Then they stopped having faces. Then I only saw ungrateful humans.
It was then that Luthor approached me.
“I have a way to send you home.” He said, with my hand around his throat after catching him in a bank vault.
“Right behind me, “He gestured towards the safety deposit boxes. “ in box 7007, you’ll find a diamond the size of a small fist. But it’s not a normal diamond. It’s cut like a lens.”
“A lens?”
“I need that diamond lens for a machine I’m working on. One that could send you back to Krypton.”
I sensed his vitals. He wasn’t lying.
“The machine could send you back in time and through space. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“And why wouldn’t you? I ‘m sure you know what I can hear in your voice. I know you’ve trained yourself how to lie. Why wouldn’t you lie to me?”
“Because I want you gone more than anyone else.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to let me get arrested. Then bust me out before you steal the rock.”
* * *
And that’s how I found myself where I am now. With Clark Kent dead and Superman’s reputation destroyed, the Justice League at my throat, quite literally. And I have a choice to make.
“What do you mean home?”
“I mean Krypton.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Barry interjects. “Hold on just a minute, boss. Last I checked, Krypton blew up. Went the way of the dodo, if you catch my meaning. Gone. Finito. Kaput.
The green around my neck flickers. “He gets the idea.” John looks back at me still shaking his head at Barry. “What are you talking about? What does a diamond have to do with going home?”
“Lex,” I gasp because John refocuses. “He said he had a way to send me back home.”
“Luthor?” Diana’s voice quickly interrupts, quivering. “You’re working with Luthor? You’re the one who busted him out? What’s happening to you, Clark? What’s going on in that head of yours?” My name sounds cold and unfamiliar in her mouth.
I can hear Bruce through Barry’s headset. He’s talking to me. He tells me they’re doing this because they care. He tells me he’s sorry he hasn’t had been a better friend. They’re doing this to help me. That if I stop what I’m doing and turn myself in, the public will forgive. That I still have a choice. That the League understands my trouble. That I’m not alone.
But he’s wrong. I am the only one of my kind. I am alone.
“Kal.” I say. “Call me Kal.”
Kryptonite
The box is empty. It didn’t occur to me to check.
It isn’t until John is holding me by my throat a foot off the ground with a translucent green hand that I begin to consider that maybe I have made a mistake
“Let me explain” I say, or rather, I try to say. But what gurgles from my kryptonite weakened body issomething like, “lghh mehh ekhpth” it occurs to me that I might die here.
I consider the irony of meeting my end while robbing Metropolis National Bank and it makes my eyes smile… almost.
I’m standing in the doorway of the vault in the forted basement with half a ton of solid titanium—steel alloy crumbled like aluminum foil in my hand. I assess my situation to figure my chances of leaving here. John is using all of his will just to hold my throat with any significant strength. He’s standing directly inside the center of the vault at my 12 o’clock with his arm extended towards me and his feet a little less than shoulder width apart. He should know that I can see that he’s getting tired. Beads of sweat look like buckets on his skin which is a few shades flushed. The light of his ring is a half-inch lower than when he started this grip, and the muscles are tightening in his arm. You don’t need x-ray vision to see these things. You just need to notice the light shining off of the perspiration on his skin, the angle of his arm and the bulge of his shoulder.
Diana stands directly behind me, so close I can feel the heat coming off of her body. Her modified lasso binds my shoulders and upper arms. My elbows are still bent and in each of my hands is a half of the vault door. The rope is tight and biting with it’s kryptonite dipped cords. Bruce is directing them from the JLA satellite via headset. He must’ve thought of these.
The kryptonite is draining the strength from my arms but I don’t let go of the heavy titanium doors. If I act now, one of the pieces of the vault can still be thrown at John. He’d be too surprised to dodge or stop it. Plus, he’s already pretty tired. Then as his skull is crushed like an eggshell, I would take advantage of the distraction to break Diana’s arms in order to free myself. In another five minutes, I won’t have the strength to do that. I decide that the world needs The Green Lantern and Wonder Woman. I make this assessment and decision in the time it takes John to blink.
Before the time John blinks again, Barry will have come from home and made his way to the vault.
“Loosen up, John.” Diana’s voice is strained and quiet from behind me. The rate of her heartbeat tells me that there is still some tenderness in her. “He’s trying to speak.”
John lets out a small sigh of relief as he loosens his grip and shuffles his feet to a more comfortable position. I realize that along with the weight of my body, he is also lifting the vault door in my hands. I make a note to not underestimate him again.
“I can explain,” I find myself speaking to an audience of three because the red blur in the corner of my eye finds a spot next to John.
“Well, spill it, big guy.” Barry says. “You pulled me out from ma night out with the lady. I think I might’ve gotten lucky tonight.” Diana scoffs and I feel the breath on my neck.
“You were at home eating a box of powdered donuts and watching TV.”
“Oh geez, boss, are you watching me at home?”
“No, Barry. You flip through your channels so fast that you leave an indentation of a button on the bottom of your thumb.
“Well don’t X-ray me anyhow. What if one of these days I get cancer or something—”
“I didn’t X-Ray you, Barry. And I’ve tested my abilities, they have no harmful effects on anyone unless I will them to.”
“Then how do you-“
“Wipe your mouth, Barry.”
“Oh.” Barry always had a way to ease the tension in a room. I feel the grip waver for a second as John smiles. I try not to notice the pattern of Diana’s heartbeats when I speak.
“I needed the contents of box 7007.” I say, my eyes gesturing past john to the wall of safe deposit boxes.
“What for?” John asks.
“I needed a diamond.”
“What? Why?”
For a second I pause and look him in the eyes “I want to go home, John. “ Diana’s heart skips a beat behind me and Barry starts to tap his foot in restlessness.
“What do you mean home?”
“I mean Krypton.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Barry interjects. “Hold on just a minute, boss. Last I checked, Krypton blew up. Went the way of the dodo, if you catch my meaning. Gone. Finito. Kaput.
The green around my neck flickers. “He gets the idea.” John looks back at me still shaking his head at Barry. “What are you talking about? What does a diamond have to do with going home?”
“Lex,” I gasp because John refocuses. “He said he had a way to send me back home.”
“Luthor?” Diana’s voice quickly interrupts, quivering. “You’re working with Luthor? You’re the one who busted him out? What’s happening to you, Clark? What’s going on in that head of yours?” My name sounds cold and unfamiliar in her mouth.
I can hear Bruce through Barry’s headset. He’s talking to me. He tells me they’re doing this because they care. He tells me he’s sorry he hasn’t had been a better friend. They’re doing this to help me. That if I stop what I’m doing and turn myself in, the public will forgive. That I still have a choice. That the League understands my trouble. That I’m not alone.
* * *
My answer to Diane’s question came eight months ago.
It was eight months ago and my ears were thundering with the sound of alarms twenty miles away. My hearing was tuned in onto the outskirts of metropolis to metropolis power where meltdown was about two minutes away. My eyes were fixed on my seated legs as I struggled to hear.
To Perry this meant that his number two reporter wasn’t paying attention. “Look at me, Kent. What are you doing spacing out when I’m talking to you? What are you looking at? Are you looking for a new job? Because I’ll let you in on a secret, Kent. No self respecting editor wants a reporter who never shows up to work on time, never is where he needs to be on time, never even a half-decent reporter for chrissakes.”
His face was flushed from screaming but I was clutching the chair of his office so tight that the polished mahogany cracked with the imprint of my finger tips. He didn’t know where the sound came from but he winced when he heard the crack. I only heard sirens. Do the Math: An ambulance was traveling west at a speed of seventy miles per hour. Twenty miles away a nuclear power plant was going to explode in about ninety seconds. You don’t need X-ray vision to see that that wasn’t going to turn out well. Perry was screaming in my face while I remembered that I’m the only JLA member whose jurisdiction Metropolis Power fell under.
Suddenly I started to cough. I hacked and coughed and keeled over and gurgled. Perry stopped after he realized that my inability to breathe impeded his ability to yell at me. Before he reached me to see if I was ok, I was holding up a hand to stop him. I made my way out of the door and in the direction of the bathroom. In order to do that, I hobbled through the pit where everyone but one popped their heads up from their desks to see what was going on. The second I hit the empty hallway, I stood up straight and before the second is over, my clothes were in a neat pile inside the brass “P” on the globe on the rooftop of the Daily Planet and I was traveling west at three times the speed of sound. I was there before the heat leaves my empty suitjacket.
I arrived to find what I already knew was there. Even with air rushing past your eat at five thousand square feet a second, it’s hard to ignore an explosion half the size of Hiroshima. My sight confirmed what I heard from mid-air. No buildings. No heartbeats. Smoke was rising from a crater in the ground a quarter of a mile wide. The earth was stained black with a shape like that of a daddy-long-legs after it met the arts sections of the Planet. All that was left was half of a reactor about ready to blow. I remembered to inform the ambulance to keep its distance.
Seconds later I was on the ground with ash in my fist. Then I was on my knees with my fist in the ash. Five miles away, the ambulance driver hears me scream. It was there, with my knees in the dust of human skeletons that I decided that Clark Kent needed to die.
I didn’t do anything rash, because I’ve learned that emotional decisions are a bad idea for someone with my power and position. For the moment, Kent stayed alive. But far too many times, my being Clark has cost the lives of innocent people.
An hour later, I was back in Perry’s office pretending to cough still and he was giving me an assignment to report on.”Apparently,” he said, “There was a tragedy right outside of the city limits. Metropolis Power just blew to high heaven. Thirty-six deaths and counting. I need you to give a report on it for the early edition tomorrow. I figure that this is the story of the month and I’d give it to Lois if she weren’t swamped with an expose on Luthor’s new incarceration. The Times won’t have a story until the late edition, so you’ve got to get us the edge, Kent.” He threw a manila envelope at my chest. “Here’s what we know so far. Now get out of my office.”
Before I make it out the door he added, “And go get that lung checked, Kent. There aren’t any decent reporters out there willing to work at you pathetic salary, so don’t die on me.”
“That’s very sweet of you chief.”I smiled at him.
“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t tell anyone about it. Bosses who are sweet just get unpunctual workers in return. Now beat it. You have a deadline, slacker. If you have the time to be flapping your jaw at me, I expect a report on my desk soon. “
I was reminded that it’s not his fault that people died. It’s my own. Perry didn’t know my secret, Perry’s not responsible for anything. I am. I have the speed of a bullet, the strength of a thousand men. I was responsible for this tragedy I hold in an envelope in my hand.
I opened the file in my cubicle and the emotions hit me like a tent spike in the chest.
Jackson Michaels, 37, Reactor Foreman. Died instantly. Leaves behind a wife Lillian, 37 and daughter Emma, 3. Jackson (Jackie) and Lillian high school sweethearts before getting married in a small ceremony their second year of college. After trying unsuccessfully for years, they finally had Emma who was born premature with a cesarean section. Jackie never cried so much in his life as when he held his feather light daughter in his arms. Not because she was born with Downs Syndrome but because she made it out of the ICU.
Tripp Zimmerman, age 16, Stock boy , He was working restocking vending machines. He was always quiet in class but his classmates didn’t know that he was working to pay to be a relief worker in Indonesia.
Joel Shultz, 28, Janitor, Lone caretaker for his mother, 61, recovering from a recent stroke.
Kris Dumane, 62, Plant Manager, whispered the name of his ex-wife before passing away under his desk rocking in a fetal position.
The list went on. Fathers, husbands, brothers, sons. I learned to contain my emotions, but the wincing in my eyes almost burned a hole through my Macintosh computer. I looked up from my desk to find that it was hours later and everyone was gone except for one other lone light in the darkness of the pit. Before checking, I knew who it was. Lois is working late again. My feelings pulled me one way but the manila envelope in my hands told me that I shouldn’t do whatever it was in my mind to do. The suit underneath my suit echoed the thought. I decided to head back for the night.
She barely looked up at me when I said goodbye. With a dismissing wave, she said “Night, Kent.” Not even a Clark. I felt defeated and for the first time I realized that this would be the last time she would see Clark Kent alive.
In the shower soap did nothing to clean off the ash of nuclear waste and charred human flesh. I watched as the dirt and grime washed down my body like streams of black dye ending in a pool of ying-yang colored swirling liquid at the bottom of the drain. I thought of the Iced Tea Mix from back on the farm. How the powder streaked as it dissolved and the way it would look before Ma took the long wooden spoon and stirred it until it was a nice even brown color.
After my shower, I remembered to call Ma and Pa to tell them what I’m deciding. Before long, I found Ma crying on the phone. “Don’t! You’re Clark. It’s not your fault what happened. You’re Clark Kent. You’re my son. You’re Clark!” She struggled to say this quickly before she broke into sobbing. I realized there was sobbing on my end too. I told her I had to go. I told her that I loved her and I’ll see her soon. That it was silly to cry over a fake death.
After I hung up, I went through my metropolis apartment and remove any ties to Superman I could find. The police would go through the whole place soon and I couldn’t have them making the connections. Ma and Pa would be at too great a risk. After I looked around the apartment one last time, I went out to kill Clark Kent.
At 2:01 I was by the police tape surrounding what used to be Metropolis Power. I found my heart beating faster than I could remember it ever doing. My fingers quaked as I clipped my press pass onto a fence. I made it in an obvious place but secret enough to make it seem like Clark was just an ambitious reporter sneaking in to get a scoop. I made the proper fake footsteps. Finally, I readied my eyes to ignite the remaining reactor and at 2:16 AM on a Wednesday morning in February, Clark Kent, Aged 34, single with otherwise no noteworthy achievements in life, was blown away by a nuclear blast enough to incinerate any remains.
Three months later and I saved more people than I can count. No more work. No more social parties to report. No more fluff stories. No more pretending I need to eat more than once a week. Sarah O’Shea, single mother of three, trapped in a fire. A construction worker falling from a high rise. Twenty or so kids on a highway with a driver having a heart attack. These people were all still alive because Clark Kent was dead.
The feeling was exhilarating at first. The freedom of doing anything at anytime. Going to bed at night finally feeling like I did all I could possibly do. Being able to sleep without the guilt. I think that was the best. I didn’t even attend my own funeral. Instead, I saved fifteen people from a burning tenement building in Gotham and stopped a plane from crashing in Lisbon. A productive afternoon, I’d say.
Ma said that the service was nice. She told me this on the phone between crying. She told me I made a mistake. That I was always a smart boy but this time I made a mistake. That I made the worst mistake of my life. She said she’s sorry she couldn’t help out more with my struggles growing up. She did the best she could, she told me. I changed the subject.
I asked her if Lois was there. She said no.
That was the night I chose to sleep with Diana.
Diana helped me evacuate the passengers from the flight and asked me if I would talk with her after the rescue. I brought her back the Fortress and made her a rich coffee-like drink from two galaxies away.
“Go ahead,” I said laughing. “It’s edible.”
“It’s green.”
“It’s better than any drink on this planet. Trust me.”
“Oh Hera, that’s delicious.” She looked up from the cup at me. “This isn’t a good idea, Clark.”
“It’s perfectly edible, Diana. Just don’t be alarmed at how it comes out the other side.”
“Eww. Gross.” She pushes the cup away. “But that’s not what I meant. I mean the fake death isn’t a good idea, Clark.”
“Kal.”
“You’re still Clark to me. All of us keep our identities for a reason you know?”
“And what reason is that? I’m not like the rest of you. I can’t take breaks. Not while I hear the whole world crying for help. The guilt of my inaction is the only weight I’ve never been strong enough to lift. Do you know what it feels like to hear a thousand voices screaming for help while you sit in a cubicle in a monkey suit editing an article about the effectiveness of peanuts while dieting? Well now, guess what? the weight is lifted. I can sleep at night. Well, at night ever few days, when I actually need sleep. Honestly, this is the best I’ve ever felt.”
“The whole league is worried about you. You’ve been acting strangely lately. You’re usually so responsible, but lately you haven’t been checking in with HQ and you’ve been taking on so many cases.”
“C’mon Di, I can’t possibly give account to all the things I do. I mean if I’m saving people at the rate of a speeding bullet, how am I supposed to keep track of it all?”
“Even still…”
“Hey! Have I ever shown you around the fortress, Di?
“Well no, I’ve seen the main trophy room… but…”
I grabbed her hand and gently pulled her out of her seat. “C’mon I’ll give you the grand tour.
John always said that Diana had feelings for me.
“She’s attracted to your heroism and leadership.” He said one day over alien coffee.
“Are you sure it isn’t because of these big blue eyes and muscles that can move a mountain?”
“No way, Kent. If she likes you, I’ll tell you honestly as a friend. It isn’t for your looks.”
Well if she didn’t have feelings for me, she sure didn’t act like it. While I showed her alien animals, stars the size of nickels, plants from other dimensions and the tragedy that is Candor, I’d never seen her so feminine, so girlish. Princess Diana, also called Wonder Woman is the strongest woman on the planet. You might imagine that she became accustomed to carrying herself around like a man would, so it was really quite endearing to see this side of her, shy but flirtatious. Well, when I showed her the bedroom, one thing led to another.
“Amazons are supposed to lose their strength after their first time.” She said, out of breath and exhausted.
“Well?” I said.
She crushed a bedpost beneath her fingers. “I guess not.”
“Well,” I said. “Maybe it just takes a couple of times.”
She giggled as I turned to kiss her.
Later when she was asleep, I found her body strange and unattractive. Her face held a strong prominent jaw and her neckline was almost invisible as muscles connected her head to her shoulders. Her already small breasts were accompanied with powerful pectorals. Her feet were large her toes and fingers were pudgy and unrefined. I saw that her large muscular hands were calloused and masculine. The lack of body fat and the prevalence of tones muscle on her made her tough and rigid to the touch. It also eliminated any curves that you might imagine on a woman’s body.
I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of her contrast as I found in Lois. Lois whose body fat built her the curves that even a business suit couldn’t hide. Lois whose mortality has given her a zest for life that Diana will never understand. Lois who cursed like a sailor but still, with every movement of her soft thin lips built in me a yearning furnace like a hundred suns. Lois who with every beat of her heart shows me that I’m not alone on this planet. There are six billion hearts beating on this Earth and I can hear them all but it’s the gentle arrhythmia of her human heart that is closest to the beat of my own Kryptonian one.
When I was still a child figuring out what to do with my newly manifesting powers it was that heart-beat that gave me hope. It was before I met her, when I spent time alone because my parents couldn’t figure out what to do with me. It was in those times that the sound kept me going. I heard the slow breaking of it when her father died. The million beats a minute it went through at her first kiss. The sound of it hardening when she found her college boyfriend with another girl from her journalism class.
There were times in conversations with her where I just stopped. She just assumed I was awkward, but I was speechless, listening to the sound of our hearts beating at exactly the same time.
People were happy when they found out about me and Diana. In fact, they threw us a party. Kind of like an engagement party, but not. John made a toast and took all the credit for it.
“Let it be written down in history. I set these two up. The man of steel and the Amazon Princess.” He came over to where I had my arm around her shoulder. “Match made in heaven. Or wherever they make a pair of super-strong indestructible crime fighting superheroes. May she soften your rough edges, and maybe he always remember that he is not only the strongest man on earth, but the luckiest.”
She smiled at me as applause went around the room. I don’t ever remember seeing her so happy. I could even hear it in her excited heart-rate and satiated breathing. The JLA all came over to where we were sitting their congratulations, saying things like “Super-couple” or “The kids will be super.” Barry was saying, “When you guys do it, does everything around explode or –,“ before his wife smiled at us and pulled him away by the ear. Bruce shook my hand smiling at Diana. Then leaned over to whisper, “Don’t hurt her, Clark.”
Of anyone on Earth, including Diana, Bruce knows me best. He was the only one I ever told about Lois. At the time, though, he hadn’t spoken to me for months. I think he was still upset that he found out about Clarks death from the news. You can imagine that a guy like Batman would hold the meanest grudges.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before Diana and I split up. I lost interest after a while and Lois was still in my mind. I gradually grew more and more distant. I didn’t talk to her much and I spent more and more time flying around the world so when she confronted me one time, I ended it.
One day after a routine bank robbery bust, she just exploded at me.
“You’re late, again.”
“I stopped an armed robbery, so if dinner got cold.”
“You’re selfish.”
“What?”
“You’re not as selfless as you think you are.”
“What are you talking about, Diana?”
“You’re not as selfless as you think you are. You’re desperately insecure and you try to earn acceptance in this world by helping people.”
“Where is this coming from?”
“You throw yourself at them, but they don’t care about you. Those people out there? They don’t care about you. They just want your help. But I’m here and I don’t need you and that scares you. I don’t need anything from you. I just love you. I want to be the one you can rest around. One you don’t have to save. But you need to save someone to feel needed. You give yourself to everyone and you end up so goddamned lonely!”
“I don’t know if you’re listening to yourself Diana. All I hear is a needy woman asking me to give up my time from saving lives so that I can come home to eat her collared greens and meatloaf. Who’s the selfish one Diana?”
“You can be such an ass sometimes, you know that?”
“Well, you don’t have to put up with such an ass?”
“Why do you keep pushing me away?” She burst out into sobs and I shifted my weight where I was standing.”
“Because,” I wanted to say, “because you’re right.” But what came from my mouth was “Someone needs help.”
I flew away and when I came back, she was gone. She had taken her things and left a note. I read it through the envelope.
Dear Clark,
When you realize that you need the world more than it needs you, I’ll be here. Until then, I pray to the gods you don’t hurt yourself.
-Diana
It wasn’t long after that, that the loneliness began to get to me. The JLA sympathized with Diana after the break-up and I never felt in place at HQ, and after a while the people I saved stopped having names. Then they stopped having faces. Then I only saw ungrateful humans.
It was then that Luthor approached me.
“I have a way to send you home.” He said, with my hand around his throat after catching him in a bank vault.
“Right behind me, “He gestured towards the safety deposit boxes. “ in box 7007, you’ll find a diamond the size of a small fist. But it’s not a normal diamond. It’s cut like a lens.”
“A lens?”
“I need that diamond lens for a machine I’m working on. One that could send you back to Krypton.”
I sensed his vitals. He wasn’t lying.
“The machine could send you back in time and through space. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“And why wouldn’t you? I ‘m sure you know what I can hear in your voice. I know you’ve trained yourself how to lie. Why wouldn’t you lie to me?”
“Because I want you gone more than anyone else.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to let me get arrested. Then bust me out before you steal the rock.”
* * *
And that’s how I found myself where I am now. With Clark Kent dead and Superman’s reputation destroyed, the Justice League at my throat, quite literally. And I have a choice to make.
“What do you mean home?”
“I mean Krypton.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Barry interjects. “Hold on just a minute, boss. Last I checked, Krypton blew up. Went the way of the dodo, if you catch my meaning. Gone. Finito. Kaput.
The green around my neck flickers. “He gets the idea.” John looks back at me still shaking his head at Barry. “What are you talking about? What does a diamond have to do with going home?”
“Lex,” I gasp because John refocuses. “He said he had a way to send me back home.”
“Luthor?” Diana’s voice quickly interrupts, quivering. “You’re working with Luthor? You’re the one who busted him out? What’s happening to you, Clark? What’s going on in that head of yours?” My name sounds cold and unfamiliar in her mouth.
I can hear Bruce through Barry’s headset. He’s talking to me. He tells me they’re doing this because they care. He tells me he’s sorry he hasn’t had been a better friend. They’re doing this to help me. That if I stop what I’m doing and turn myself in, the public will forgive. That I still have a choice. That the League understands my trouble. That I’m not alone.
But he’s wrong. I am the only one of my kind. I am alone.
“Kal.” I say. “Call me Kal.”
Monday, August 24, 2009
Is it weird to covet steinbeck's wife?
Excerpt from "Travels with Charley in Search of America"
... In long range planning of a trip, I think there is a private conviction that it won't happen. As the day approached, my warm bed and comfortable house grew increasingly desirable and my dear wife incalculably precious. To give these up for three months for the terrors of the uncomfortable and unknown seemed crazy. I didn't want to go. Something had to happen to forbid my going, but it didn't. I could get sick, of course, but that was one of my main but secret reasons for going at all. During the previous winter I had become rather seriously I'll with one of those carefully named difficulties which are the whispers of approaching age. Whb I came out of it I received the usual lecture about slowing up, losing weight, limiting the cholesterol intake. It happens to many men, and I think doctors have memorized the litany. It ad happened to so many of my friends. The lecture ends, "Slow down. You're not as young as you once were." And I have seen so many begin to pack their lives in cotton wool, smother their impulses, hood their passions, and gradually retire from manhood into a kind of spiritual and physical semi-invalidism. In this they are encouraged by wives and relatives, it's such a sweet trap.
Who doesn't like to be a center for concern? A kind of second childhood falls on so many men. They trade their violence for the promise of a small increase of life span. In effect, the head of the house becomes the youngest child. And I have searched myself for this possibility with a kind I horror. For I have always lived violently, drunk hugely, eaten too much or not at all, slept around the clock or missed two nights of sleeping, worked too hard or too long in glory, or slobbed for a time in utter laziness. I've lifted, pulled, chopped, climbed, made love with joy and taken my hangovers a a consequence not a punishment. I did not want to surrender fierceness for a small gain in yardage. My wife married a man; I saw no reason why she should inherit a baby. I knew that ten or twelve thousand miles driving a truck, alone and unattended, over every kind of road, would be hard work, but to me it represented the antidote for the poison of the professional sick man. And in my own life I am not willing to trade quality for quantity. If this projected journey should prove too much then it was time to go anyway. I see too many men delay their exits with a sickly, slow reluctance to leave the stage. It's bad theater ad well as bad living. I am very fortunate in having a wife who likes being a woman, which means that she likes men, not elderly babies. Although this last foundation for the journey was never discussed, I am sure she understood it..."
... In long range planning of a trip, I think there is a private conviction that it won't happen. As the day approached, my warm bed and comfortable house grew increasingly desirable and my dear wife incalculably precious. To give these up for three months for the terrors of the uncomfortable and unknown seemed crazy. I didn't want to go. Something had to happen to forbid my going, but it didn't. I could get sick, of course, but that was one of my main but secret reasons for going at all. During the previous winter I had become rather seriously I'll with one of those carefully named difficulties which are the whispers of approaching age. Whb I came out of it I received the usual lecture about slowing up, losing weight, limiting the cholesterol intake. It happens to many men, and I think doctors have memorized the litany. It ad happened to so many of my friends. The lecture ends, "Slow down. You're not as young as you once were." And I have seen so many begin to pack their lives in cotton wool, smother their impulses, hood their passions, and gradually retire from manhood into a kind of spiritual and physical semi-invalidism. In this they are encouraged by wives and relatives, it's such a sweet trap.
Who doesn't like to be a center for concern? A kind of second childhood falls on so many men. They trade their violence for the promise of a small increase of life span. In effect, the head of the house becomes the youngest child. And I have searched myself for this possibility with a kind I horror. For I have always lived violently, drunk hugely, eaten too much or not at all, slept around the clock or missed two nights of sleeping, worked too hard or too long in glory, or slobbed for a time in utter laziness. I've lifted, pulled, chopped, climbed, made love with joy and taken my hangovers a a consequence not a punishment. I did not want to surrender fierceness for a small gain in yardage. My wife married a man; I saw no reason why she should inherit a baby. I knew that ten or twelve thousand miles driving a truck, alone and unattended, over every kind of road, would be hard work, but to me it represented the antidote for the poison of the professional sick man. And in my own life I am not willing to trade quality for quantity. If this projected journey should prove too much then it was time to go anyway. I see too many men delay their exits with a sickly, slow reluctance to leave the stage. It's bad theater ad well as bad living. I am very fortunate in having a wife who likes being a woman, which means that she likes men, not elderly babies. Although this last foundation for the journey was never discussed, I am sure she understood it..."
Required reading... And thoughts on Spartan marraige
This is required reading for anyone who is thinking about marrying myself or nathan bixler. (prospects may not be that many. Sorry buddy)
The Mountain and the River - Pablo Neruda
In my country there is a mountain.
In my country there is a river.
Come with me.
Night climbs up the mountain.
Hunger goes down the river.
Come with me.
Who are those who suffer?
I do not know, but they are my people.
Come with me.
I do not know, but they call to me
and they say to me: "we suffer."
Come with me.
And they say to me: "Your people,
your luckless people,
Between the mountain and the river,
with hunger and grief,
they do not want to struggle alone,
they are waiting for you, friend"
Oh you, the one I love,
little one, red grain
of wheat,
the struggle will be hard,
life will be hard,
but you will come with me.
Poverty - Pablo Neruda
Ah you don't want to,
you're scared
of poverty,
you don't want
to go to the market with worn-out shoes
an come back with the same old dress.
My love, we are not fond,
as the rich would like us to be,
of misery. We
Shall extract it like an evil tooth
that up to now has bitten the heart of man.
But I don't want
you to fear it.
If through my fault it comes to your dwelling,
if poverty drives away
your golden shoes,
let it not drive away your laughter which is by life's bread.
If you can't pay the rent
go off to work with a proud step,
and remember, my love, that I am watching you
And together we are the greatest wealth
that was ever gathered upon the earth.
Iono. I can't speak for bix but throughout these past months and years I think I'm realizing how difficult it would be to have a lady who would be willing to live with me. Emotional abuse aside, I know already that I won't ever make good money, have a steady job or have any desire to. I will want to spend our life savings to help a friend or some cause that ring in my heart. I will buy people things with the last of our money because they seem thoughtful or encouraging. I will go to great lengths to drive people around. I will sacrifice the shirt on my back for my neighbor and feel too guilty to ask the same of her. My family will always be at risk and constantly going to wonder of it's really them I care about.
I think that's why me and bix might need Spartan women. If you saw 300, you saw lady gorgo (yes that's her name) support Leonidas in being the man he was supposed to be. She even gives him the head nod to kick some Persian dude to death. She challenges him to act as a free man, to come ban with his sheild or on it. That's crazy, man. Then I was watching "a time to kill" today and matthew mccaunaghey's wife gets mad after death threats an wants him to quit. I just felt like this was much more realistic. But state of women aside, I don't know if I would want to put a family in that sort of danger. I think i understand paul more now. I don't think be had some gift of celibacy. I think he was just a badass.
In any case I'll end with some other words of Neruda that I can't forget because, we'll you'll see.
"...I shall go on living,
because you wanted me to be, above all things,
untamable..."
The Mountain and the River - Pablo Neruda
In my country there is a mountain.
In my country there is a river.
Come with me.
Night climbs up the mountain.
Hunger goes down the river.
Come with me.
Who are those who suffer?
I do not know, but they are my people.
Come with me.
I do not know, but they call to me
and they say to me: "we suffer."
Come with me.
And they say to me: "Your people,
your luckless people,
Between the mountain and the river,
with hunger and grief,
they do not want to struggle alone,
they are waiting for you, friend"
Oh you, the one I love,
little one, red grain
of wheat,
the struggle will be hard,
life will be hard,
but you will come with me.
Poverty - Pablo Neruda
Ah you don't want to,
you're scared
of poverty,
you don't want
to go to the market with worn-out shoes
an come back with the same old dress.
My love, we are not fond,
as the rich would like us to be,
of misery. We
Shall extract it like an evil tooth
that up to now has bitten the heart of man.
But I don't want
you to fear it.
If through my fault it comes to your dwelling,
if poverty drives away
your golden shoes,
let it not drive away your laughter which is by life's bread.
If you can't pay the rent
go off to work with a proud step,
and remember, my love, that I am watching you
And together we are the greatest wealth
that was ever gathered upon the earth.
Iono. I can't speak for bix but throughout these past months and years I think I'm realizing how difficult it would be to have a lady who would be willing to live with me. Emotional abuse aside, I know already that I won't ever make good money, have a steady job or have any desire to. I will want to spend our life savings to help a friend or some cause that ring in my heart. I will buy people things with the last of our money because they seem thoughtful or encouraging. I will go to great lengths to drive people around. I will sacrifice the shirt on my back for my neighbor and feel too guilty to ask the same of her. My family will always be at risk and constantly going to wonder of it's really them I care about.
I think that's why me and bix might need Spartan women. If you saw 300, you saw lady gorgo (yes that's her name) support Leonidas in being the man he was supposed to be. She even gives him the head nod to kick some Persian dude to death. She challenges him to act as a free man, to come ban with his sheild or on it. That's crazy, man. Then I was watching "a time to kill" today and matthew mccaunaghey's wife gets mad after death threats an wants him to quit. I just felt like this was much more realistic. But state of women aside, I don't know if I would want to put a family in that sort of danger. I think i understand paul more now. I don't think be had some gift of celibacy. I think he was just a badass.
In any case I'll end with some other words of Neruda that I can't forget because, we'll you'll see.
"...I shall go on living,
because you wanted me to be, above all things,
untamable..."
Monday, May 11, 2009
Sarcastic Egotists and Books about Love
I recently discovered a profound big life lesson. I am a huge egomaniac. Many of you are like, Root, we already knew that about you. Few of you are like, yeah that's a real problem you have.
I am poor and destitute, starving for attention and approval. I have such low self-worth that i go glory-mongering wherever I can. I want to make a name for myself. I want to make myself known. I want the people who have been graced with the privilege of meeting my presence to tell they children, "yes, I lived in the time of Sunroot." I do this because I am pathetically insecure and I think that if i win the approval and hearts of others, I am thus worthy of such approval. I think that if other people admire me, follow me, love me; then I am worthy to be admired, worthy to be followed, worthy the be loved.
The reason I've been feeling I've been feeling weird about IV and eboard now is because I haven't been a part of it. I've been gaining no fame and no glory and because other people are, that irks me. What about me? Me me ME! I've always found it hard to be happy for other people if i haven't helped make it that way. The feeling of bitterness comes from a part of me that thinks i can do a better job. That I could make a bigger difference, when really what i want is the position of biggest power so I can garner the more glory for myself.
I am unconventional for it's own end because i want to stand out. I want to be different and noticed and known. I don't like jumping on the band wagon of someone else's ideas unless i improve them. Unless I had a part in developing them. I like starting up my own things because if they succeed, they reflect my courage, my genius.
I strive for people to see how great I am. How charming, how flattering I can be. I think the only reason I even try to have a sense of humor is because making people laugh makes me feel better about myself. I'm at a strange place when it seems that people don't take notice of my splendor. This totally gets out of hand when I'm talking to women. Because of how I was raised, I'm used to getting affirmation through women, subsequently I whore myself out to them, pathetically striving for the affections and favor to any who would give me the time of day. I buy flowers, give gifts, compliments, obvious destructive favoritism, praise, worship, whatever it takes to sucker them into a place of false intimacy and unrealistic expectation so I can take advantage of them emotionally for my own needs. I'm lucky that God has blessed me with a scheevy and creepy air. Fortunate that rejection has become a normal experience.
And luckily, these devices all fail. Women reject me with astonishing frequency and all of my projects, dreams, hopes and aspirations come to a burning epic fail. Every thing I could've used to take pride in hasn't worked out. Every relationship FAIL. Every project FAIL. Academics FAIL. Every ministry FAIL. Hot Body EPIC FAIL.
In light of the failure of these, I turn to a pathetic defense mechanism. I, in lieu of having nothing to deserve praise for, praise myself. I talk about how great I think I am. It might seem like a funny joke or a sly remark but really it's an unhealthy way for me to praise myself because no one else is.
Fortunately, at the end of this self-realization there's a place for God. (Besides throughout the process, thwarting my plans and making me turn to Him. ) Actually, I'm looking now at Proverbs 11 because it's the 11th and verse 2 says, "When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom."
I need to internalize an attitude of bringing God glory. I thought I could combat my insecurity with some understanding of how God sees me, but I dont know if that was working out for me. So I'm trying to actively instill this mindset that I am here to bring God glory and not myself. It sounds like lame-christian-cheesy-what-the-hell-does-that-even-mean-bullcrap, but I need to think of myself as a steward of God's name and not a herald of my own. I believe that when I honor Him, He honors me. And in a world governed by the law of "the first shall be last and the last shall be first," that is all the affirmation I need.
I am poor and destitute, starving for attention and approval. I have such low self-worth that i go glory-mongering wherever I can. I want to make a name for myself. I want to make myself known. I want the people who have been graced with the privilege of meeting my presence to tell they children, "yes, I lived in the time of Sunroot." I do this because I am pathetically insecure and I think that if i win the approval and hearts of others, I am thus worthy of such approval. I think that if other people admire me, follow me, love me; then I am worthy to be admired, worthy to be followed, worthy the be loved.
The reason I've been feeling I've been feeling weird about IV and eboard now is because I haven't been a part of it. I've been gaining no fame and no glory and because other people are, that irks me. What about me? Me me ME! I've always found it hard to be happy for other people if i haven't helped make it that way. The feeling of bitterness comes from a part of me that thinks i can do a better job. That I could make a bigger difference, when really what i want is the position of biggest power so I can garner the more glory for myself.
I am unconventional for it's own end because i want to stand out. I want to be different and noticed and known. I don't like jumping on the band wagon of someone else's ideas unless i improve them. Unless I had a part in developing them. I like starting up my own things because if they succeed, they reflect my courage, my genius.
I strive for people to see how great I am. How charming, how flattering I can be. I think the only reason I even try to have a sense of humor is because making people laugh makes me feel better about myself. I'm at a strange place when it seems that people don't take notice of my splendor. This totally gets out of hand when I'm talking to women. Because of how I was raised, I'm used to getting affirmation through women, subsequently I whore myself out to them, pathetically striving for the affections and favor to any who would give me the time of day. I buy flowers, give gifts, compliments, obvious destructive favoritism, praise, worship, whatever it takes to sucker them into a place of false intimacy and unrealistic expectation so I can take advantage of them emotionally for my own needs. I'm lucky that God has blessed me with a scheevy and creepy air. Fortunate that rejection has become a normal experience.
And luckily, these devices all fail. Women reject me with astonishing frequency and all of my projects, dreams, hopes and aspirations come to a burning epic fail. Every thing I could've used to take pride in hasn't worked out. Every relationship FAIL. Every project FAIL. Academics FAIL. Every ministry FAIL. Hot Body EPIC FAIL.
In light of the failure of these, I turn to a pathetic defense mechanism. I, in lieu of having nothing to deserve praise for, praise myself. I talk about how great I think I am. It might seem like a funny joke or a sly remark but really it's an unhealthy way for me to praise myself because no one else is.
Fortunately, at the end of this self-realization there's a place for God. (Besides throughout the process, thwarting my plans and making me turn to Him. ) Actually, I'm looking now at Proverbs 11 because it's the 11th and verse 2 says, "When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom."
I need to internalize an attitude of bringing God glory. I thought I could combat my insecurity with some understanding of how God sees me, but I dont know if that was working out for me. So I'm trying to actively instill this mindset that I am here to bring God glory and not myself. It sounds like lame-christian-cheesy-what-the-hell-does-that-even-mean-bullcrap, but I need to think of myself as a steward of God's name and not a herald of my own. I believe that when I honor Him, He honors me. And in a world governed by the law of "the first shall be last and the last shall be first," that is all the affirmation I need.
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