<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503</id><updated>2011-07-08T02:58:44.164-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Crashing to Earth</title><subtitle type='html'>An angry young man writes fueled by rage and driven by a surplus of time, giving you a window into his various exploits and a few other things mixed in there as well. Insanely biased and completely one sided I hope you enjoy this magical ride</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>20</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-8281794242742194437</id><published>2009-11-30T05:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-30T05:32:29.179-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Back to the bottom</title><content type='html'>A warm wind blows across your face and you feel the humid air as it blows off of the ocean. The warm sun kisses your skin softly. You could be any where in the world right now, but your here. Your thoughts drift quietly like a thousand sail boats that sit out past the breakers. Sounds of sea birds fill your ears, they chatter on all day as if they have no place to be and no one waiting on them. You feel as though you could stay for an eternity and you fix your self to take in as much a you might in hope that this beautiful day can help you though the dark and guide you on your long path. Calm and without worry you lay down and close you eyes on the sun, the ocean and the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As always I remain,&lt;br /&gt;                                The Destroyer of Worlds&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-8281794242742194437?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/8281794242742194437/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=8281794242742194437' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/8281794242742194437'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/8281794242742194437'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2009/11/back-to-bottom.html' title='Back to the bottom'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-1863884109147702544</id><published>2008-11-23T01:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-23T01:31:30.683-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's raining, it's  pouring</title><content type='html'>Breath deep, exhale, your lungs are in the cold sky. The beautiful white shimmers in the full moons light. The weight make you feel the need, the weight makes you feel important, it makes you feel as though you may have something to offer. It makes you feel the strain on your legs and the coming defeat. Yet you push as your muscles scream, telling you that you can't and must not go on. Looking down on the earth and up at the sky you realize to leave life go and take it as things come, pushing through like the piker commanded to march on through the muck and the grit. You are the first line and nothing will pass.&lt;br /&gt;                                                    As always I remain,&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                        The Destroyer of Worlds&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-1863884109147702544?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/1863884109147702544/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=1863884109147702544' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/1863884109147702544'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/1863884109147702544'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2008/11/its-raining-its-pouring.html' title='It&apos;s raining, it&apos;s  pouring'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-2823742960971740576</id><published>2008-09-03T02:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T02:43:38.198-07:00</updated><title type='text'>soft steps</title><content type='html'>It's three and my home reverberates with silence. A calm silence that envelops you like a small  child in a blanket. A silence the I have missed one which allows my mind to drift off and play. I think and I imagine. I remember and I laugh uncontrollably aloud. A comforting silence that only ever comes in the dead of night. A gift left for those who lay awake or for those who activity seek it. Thought the peace is beautiful it would truly be nothing with out it's equal and opposite the other side, the seeds my mind and allows me to dream.&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                                                       As always I remain,&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                    the Destroyer of Worlds&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-2823742960971740576?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/2823742960971740576/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=2823742960971740576' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/2823742960971740576'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/2823742960971740576'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2008/09/soft-steps.html' title='soft steps'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-511602671697177722</id><published>2008-07-05T23:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-06T00:32:10.544-07:00</updated><title type='text'>All debts are final</title><content type='html'>The street light blinds as the man steps out from shadow. A whispered word of warning the man speaks, his voice falls short of an  audience. Still speaking wanting the silence only he can bring. Sadly he listens to what so many chant and jabber as they pass his soapbox, a  podium of the poor. The pedestal he use to raise above above all others thought a shovel and sad hole could have done him a better turn. If voice where to leave could he return to the dark world he come from, the world where he was free of sin and let to be what he was before his mouth was ever opened. The man stands quiet in his thoughts, he stands  pennant,  silent and regretful of the voice the lead him astray. Only a plea permeates him lips. One of forgiveness, that someday his words could be forgotten.        &lt;br /&gt;                                                        As always I am,&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                        The Destroyer of Worlds&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-511602671697177722?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/511602671697177722/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=511602671697177722' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/511602671697177722'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/511602671697177722'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2008/07/all-debts-are-final.html' title='All debts are final'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-691360781374002008</id><published>2008-06-18T18:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-18T20:02:37.209-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Absolutely nothing</title><content type='html'>A familiar rhythm interrupted, eyelids open, breathing changes the white noise that surrounds him. The comforting song that nearly lulled to sleep the peace that had not been felt in some time was gone. She moves her hand slowly and quietly down to her phone checking the time as the sun beings to rise. He wants to reach out, hold on to this time and not let second another leave. He is tried wanting to rest a little while longer but leaves fearing his welcome has been over stayed.  She says something to him but he can't hear for the sound of the door closing yet he walks away opting for the sound of gravel under his feet over that of her voice. The birds sing and the warm sun rises.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                                                             As always I remain,&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                       The Destroyer of Worlds&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-691360781374002008?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/691360781374002008/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=691360781374002008' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/691360781374002008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/691360781374002008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2008/06/absolutely-nothing.html' title='Absolutely nothing'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-1832712676411359103</id><published>2008-05-09T01:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-09T02:19:19.547-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Plastic rain poncho</title><content type='html'>The road curves and I accelerate into the turn. Gravity pins me to my seat and I smile. The sun shines down on the ocean as it beats against the jagged cliff below. Twist and turn one hundred feet up fifty back down. I can't help but to think of some sort of defiant possibly deviant  mind looking and pointing at the cliff, saying "there, that's where we build boys", I laugh. The warm sea air blows throw the window and dances through my hair. I forget and I leave my world, let my thoughts drown softly in the ocean like the sun that is now setting in the distance. Racing upward I turn my back to the sea ready to defend my peace waiting for a return that I hope never to come.   &lt;br /&gt;                                                   As always I remain,&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                The Destroyer of Worlds&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-1832712676411359103?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/1832712676411359103/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=1832712676411359103' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/1832712676411359103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/1832712676411359103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2008/05/plastic-rain-poncho.html' title='Plastic rain poncho'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-8627533409413900991</id><published>2008-04-29T01:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-29T02:39:39.820-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe next time I can think with my head and not my ass</title><content type='html'>"Ok, just take a deep breath", I tell my self "everything will be better once you do", I add... It's not, things aren't better. My hand shakes as I reach up to rest my head. It's not better. The questions begin to race through me head, why did I go through with this? I'm sitting in some random parking lot across from a rundown hotel in some small B.C. town, the halfway point in a trip that is not going nearly as smoothly as it should have. I'm alone in a area that would not normally bother me, doing something that has always allowed me to relax and yet I feel a strong fear inside. A fear that might only be silenced by the familiar voice of a friend or loved one. Nothing to hear but cars as they roll on past, off to do what ever one does in a small town such as this.  No nothing for me here but more time to think, to worry and so I move on.&lt;br /&gt;                                                                The Destroyer of Worlds&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                            (So I lied, but I couldn't help but to write)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-8627533409413900991?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/8627533409413900991/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=8627533409413900991' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/8627533409413900991'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/8627533409413900991'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2008/04/maybe-next-time-i-can-think-with-my.html' title='Maybe next time I can think with my head and not my ass'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-94237985041733635</id><published>2008-03-08T13:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-08T14:18:31.573-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lucky Thirteen</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;A paved highway transforms to a dirt road, and a dirt road changes to an old path through the trees. A path that has been walked by so many others, but it is still new to you. I sit here every day and I think. I just think and I sit but that is all that has been done. I try to top what has already been placed and I push back the branches but I can no longer see the path that once lay before me. When I first start this blog topics would come easy to me stories would unfold before me and now I have drained my muse to nothing. I have enjoyed write for you and I hope you have enjoyed reading. I cannot continue to keep this blog up without going in a direction that I truly do not want to go. So I leave it behind like so many ruins that once held meaning and purpose to those who built them but now just hold decay and speculation for they're true purpose. One thing is certain and undeniable...&lt;br /&gt;Always and ever I am The Destroyer of Worlds&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-94237985041733635?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/94237985041733635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=94237985041733635' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/94237985041733635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/94237985041733635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2008/03/lucky-thirteen.html' title='Lucky Thirteen'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-5376397597776160403</id><published>2008-01-24T15:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-24T03:51:22.837-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Those kids and their glue</title><content type='html'>A cold night moon lit night, a fresh clean blanket of snow lay to cover the ground. An old man is walking down a dimly lit alleyway, staggering side to side. The old man's face covered by over grown hair and his eyes are tried, and  faded.  His refuge from the cold in a brown paper bag. A bottle always held the answers to his life's problems, though he knows it caused more then solved. He feels the nip of cold on his face and the bitting pain on his feet the beginnings of frostbite, the man takes a swig to numb. He thinks and wonders how long since sleep has taken him or has at least  rested his legs. Finding a place out of the wind he sits and tries to close his eyes for a little while, but a cold hand continues to shake him a wake. The old man cold, weary and with bottle in hand gets up and staggers on into the cold night searching for rest that is never to be found.&lt;br /&gt;                                      As always I remain,&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                  The Destroyer of Worlds&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-5376397597776160403?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/5376397597776160403/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=5376397597776160403' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/5376397597776160403'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/5376397597776160403'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2007/11/those-kids-and-their-glue.html' title='Those kids and their glue'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-541706133547223245</id><published>2008-01-09T08:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-09T09:09:16.029-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A fly in an ice cube</title><content type='html'>Close your eyes. It's quiet now, you can sleep. While the world is awake you sleep. You sleep and dream. Bright rooms give way to darkened passages. Feeling your way through the dark. You find your way to a great hall with an enormous banquet table. The table is filled corner to corner with dishes, and any variety  of  treat that one can imagine. On either side of the table line filled with people carrying the dish that they made. They eagerly wait for their dishes to be tasted, judged, and found fit to join the rest on the table. You stand in line with your specialty in hand. You shuffle along in line closer and closer to the front. You're close to the front now and you can see the judge, you realize that it's a pig, just a simple pig consuming every thing it sees and there by is judged fit for the table. You smile stepping up, holding your dish out proudly waiting for  it to be sampled. The pig sniffs it a few times, it takes a bite... the mouth full is spat out, it spoils and rots as it hits the ground. The next person steps up, the pig shoves it's snout into the dish, devouring it in it's entirety.    &lt;br /&gt;                                                              As always I remain,&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                  the Destroyer of Worlds&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-541706133547223245?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/541706133547223245/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=541706133547223245' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/541706133547223245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/541706133547223245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2008/01/fly-in-ice-cube.html' title='A fly in an ice cube'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-1198676559176840540</id><published>2007-12-20T17:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-20T17:53:03.662-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'll get you next time, Gadget.... Next time!!</title><content type='html'>I want to fight, feel a solid blow to my face. I want to feel one to drive their fist into my stomach. Lay into me with all their rage and furry. Experience the exhaustion from pushing oneself to the limits of endurance. For years now I have resolved situations with words. For years now I have held myself relatively in check. For years I pushed down that want to inflict pain for the reasons of self preservation. For years I have been unfulfilled. Every day in the wild animals fight for their survival, they define their character and make the best of who they are. We forget sometimes and hide behind our logic, but down in our deepest core we are still animals. We are the forgotten children of nature bound to roam the earth making a vain attempt at normalcy and we are always let down. After a short life lead without much meaning I am left with the want to fight, to bleed and to strive for something real.&lt;br /&gt;                                                             As always I remain,&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                          The Destroyer of worlds&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-1198676559176840540?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/1198676559176840540/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=1198676559176840540' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/1198676559176840540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/1198676559176840540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2007/12/ill-get-you-next-time-gadget-next-time.html' title='I&apos;ll get you next time, Gadget.... Next time!!'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-7296298067637406367</id><published>2007-12-14T14:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-14T04:44:34.685-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It came to me in a dream, and I forgot it in another dream</title><content type='html'>Mist rolls over a gravel road. The light from a full moon lights up the world, preforming it's best impression of the sun. The sudden appearance of headlights spook some deer grazing in a near by field. The car fishtails violently before screeching to a stop. Both men in the car are whipped back into their seats. The driver laughs uncontrollably," boy that was a close one", he remarks to the passenger, the passenger remains silent. "Oh come on..." he says, "don't be that way I hate when you don't talk". The driver turns to his passenger saying,"You should be happy we finally did it  and know there is no need to worry problems and cares there all gone for the both of us, I mean look at it look at what we've done" the driver motions to the back seat and the bags containing the money from the bank robbery they had just committed. "That job was the best we've pulled eh Franky", he says looking at his partner as he opens the door and proceeds to get out. "Too bad it was our last we would have had a lot of fun man, a lot of fun". He slowly makes his way around the car to the passenger side. The door is riddled with bullet holes, his partner is slumped in his seat. The man rips the door open, leaning over  his partner he unbuckles the seatbelt. Grabbing the body he heaves, pulling out then rolling the lifeless corpse into the ditch. Brushing the dust off his clothes he makes his way back to the drivers side. " Oh boy I love this song", says the man as he sits back in the drivers seat. He puts the car into gear and takes off all thats left behind is a cloud of dust, some tire tracks and the body of a man named Franky.&lt;br /&gt;                                                                  As always I remain,&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                      The Destroyer of Worlds&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-7296298067637406367?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/7296298067637406367/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=7296298067637406367' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/7296298067637406367'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/7296298067637406367'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2007/11/it-came-to-me-in-dream-and-i-forgot-it.html' title='It came to me in a dream, and I forgot it in another dream'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-1417030605848950651</id><published>2007-12-14T02:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-14T04:00:17.177-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stick a pin in a blowfish and watch it pop</title><content type='html'>Alarm clock goes off, hit the snooze button for those extra five minute that never last. Wake up again focus on the clock, you're late always late. You can never have enough time. Turn on the shower, hot steam in your cold bathroom. Stare in the mirror look at your eyes for signs of life. Shower, towel off, get dressed. Check your watch your still late never enough time for you. Backpack, cellphone, and keys everything you need is on your person. Lock up run to the elevator, wait, wait, waiting forever and never seems to change. Car keys, start the engine leave your home behind. Red light and green means go speed have to rush to make it. Two blocks from work think up a good excuse for being late. Get to work get in trouble once again, tell your boss it will never happen again, once again. Push your self do your best but it's never good enough. Finish up leave your drive to your happy home. Watch a show for an hour you eat a simple meal, then off to bed you set your clock you let your body heal. Wide awake you lay in bed and think those simple thoughts, the ones that keep you up at night they never let you rest.&lt;br /&gt;                                                               As always I remain,&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                       The Destroyer of Worlds&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-1417030605848950651?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/1417030605848950651/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=1417030605848950651' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/1417030605848950651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/1417030605848950651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2007/12/stick-pin-in-blowfish-and-watch-it-pop.html' title='Stick a pin in a blowfish and watch it pop'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-2350010525696957615</id><published>2007-12-04T15:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-04T16:23:27.771-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Flying V for vendetta</title><content type='html'>The tops of trees stunted by years of poor growth pop out of a hillside covered by years of rock slides. I sit next to a glacial river reminiscing upon the journey that has brought me this far up a mountain path. Eating a simple meal wondering why the same simple meal had never given me the pleasure when it was made at home. Even after getting back and preparing everything in the same manner the food could never rival that meal in the pass. At the time I thought that I had covered every point ,and detail. I however didn't take into account for the cold, the damp, and the strain the I had encountered to get to that meal. One always hears the expression, "to stop and smell the roses". To a man who smells roses on a daily basis another rose smells like just any other, another man who cleans up manure for his livelihood would have a differing point of view. The man who constantly is smelling the roses has his senses dulled, all the joy that would normally be brought by something simple like the smell is no longer there. What ever action this man takes it never again rivals the first rose.&lt;br /&gt;                                           As always I remain,&lt;br /&gt;                                                                  The Destroyer of Worlds&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-2350010525696957615?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/2350010525696957615/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=2350010525696957615' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/2350010525696957615'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/2350010525696957615'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2007/12/flying-v-for-vendetta.html' title='Flying V for vendetta'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-2612823330683016199</id><published>2007-11-27T15:46:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-27T16:53:46.954-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My little pony</title><content type='html'>I stick my hands out I can feel the air on my finger tips, and blowing through my hair. I'm reminded of a day when I was happy. Careless and watching the tie roll in on the beach. The sun warm on my skin. Surrounded by beauty and pleasant and caring people. I smile content with my decision. I look at my outstretched hand, from here I feel as though I could touch anything. From here I can see into infinity and I realize how insignificant this world is. The street lights slowly turn on below me as the sun sinks into the horizon. I see the expressions of disbelief in the faces of people as they rush to the window. The endless skyline fades, replaced now by the near by buildings. Every thing is moving faster, to fast to see. I close my eyes and think my thoughts. I open my mouth "Bullseye"... my body hits the escalade that was parked below.&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                     As always I remain,&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                                                             The Destroyer of Worlds&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-2612823330683016199?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/2612823330683016199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=2612823330683016199' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/2612823330683016199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/2612823330683016199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2007/11/my-little-pony.html' title='My little pony'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-2647721754972547967</id><published>2007-11-21T16:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-21T17:52:09.152-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Your problem now</title><content type='html'>A brilliant blue light, the sering pain burns through his arm. Scarlet is such a beautiful color he thinks to himself as he sees blood pour out of the remnants of his arm. A haze envelops his vision giving everything a heavenly glow.&lt;br /&gt;Now collapsed on the ground gasping for breath, taking in more dirt then air. He struggles for a moment the rolls over on his back. Gazing at the stars he feels his chest slowly fill with his own bodies fluids. A dark and blurry figure stands above him. He can't see who it is but somehow he knows who it.&lt;br /&gt;A cold steel blade is plunged into his shoulder. He coughs and sprays blood, moaning in pain. "I don't know why your not dead", the figure says. The blade is ripped out and once again thrust into him, this time into his stomach, "but, I'm enjoying every second of it!" exclaims the figure. The figure takes a seat next to him in the tall cool grass. Between the sharp pains caused by his breath he feels the index finger of the figure swirling around on his chest playing with the blood. He heard the occasional contented giggle come from the figure. Sitting, playing ,and pleased with the job they had done.&lt;br /&gt;                                                                            As always I remain,&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                                        The Destroyer of Worlds&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-2647721754972547967?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/2647721754972547967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=2647721754972547967' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/2647721754972547967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/2647721754972547967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2007/11/your-problem-now.html' title='Your problem now'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-8689133335299285320</id><published>2007-11-17T09:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-17T10:29:52.609-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Sixty Dollar Value!!</title><content type='html'>The air is warm and humid. Voices fill the room one mans words slowly trespass on another's. The faint sent of a meal just finished still in the air. I slowly and carefully way through the crowd. People who I don't know coming up to me, making the comments that one can only make when talking to a child. "You've gotten so big", one says , "and how old are you?" another asks. Every comment met with the same response, a shrug followed by covering my face a bit with the top of my shirt and the warm on my cheeks as I start to blush.&lt;br /&gt;    Quickly I move to some one familiar. My brother in the corner signals for me to come over. We head to to door, dressing ourselves in our winter snow suits that cause us to resemble miniature versions of the State Puff Marshmallow man. Stepping out the door the cold nips an the exposed parts of my face. The sky is black except for the faint shots of white that are distant stars.  The snow is powder and I wade waist deep through banks of snow. Looking up to the sky I gaze in to infinity, and lights of green and yellow dance for my amusement.&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                            As always I remain,&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                                                                                    The Destroyer of Worlds&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-8689133335299285320?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/8689133335299285320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=8689133335299285320' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/8689133335299285320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/8689133335299285320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2007/11/sixty-dollar-value.html' title='A Sixty Dollar Value!!'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-2643116533445479449</id><published>2007-11-14T20:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-14T21:18:56.343-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's was plants crave</title><content type='html'>Blood bursts from the swollen brow. One mans fist slams into another mans skull over and over. A blind furry driven by the cheer and roar of a crowd. A scene out of the Colosseum of old Rome. One man to face another for little more than glory. Ah the good old days were public spectacle such as this was use to harden the average person and mold them to the ways of and uncaring brutish state. If only we could get those lovely days of bloody glory back...&lt;br /&gt;     Fortunately for those who wish to desensitize and numb  them selves to the suffering of others there is UFC. Yes, the Ultimate Fighting Championship or UFC has what you want. Now recently it has come to my attention that a few of my friends watch this garbage. Honestly I find this type of thing to be complete load of crap. Is this the peek of human intelligence and society. For fuck sake we are less then a few decades away from setting foot on another planet and this is the only thing that can entertain us. I find this sport if one can call it that to be repulsive and several steps back in a logical thought process. You know maybe Mike Judge wasn't to far off when he made the movie Idiocracy. Then again I may be a bit harsh, I mean what is our world without excessive violence.&lt;br /&gt;                                            As always I remain,&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                        The Destroyer of worlds&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-2643116533445479449?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/2643116533445479449/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=2643116533445479449' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/2643116533445479449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/2643116533445479449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2007/11/its-was-plants-crave.html' title='It&apos;s was plants crave'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-168219414192219658</id><published>2007-11-07T14:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-07T16:21:48.657-08:00</updated><title type='text'>More please</title><content type='html'>A man hits his wife, a teenage girl sticks her finger down her throat, a man stands at a meeting says his name and that there is nothing he can do. My father hit my mother when I was a child, society says I should be skinny, it's a disease...  (Situations above and the excuses below)&lt;br /&gt;    I love how people justify their actions blaming a problem on something or someone else. What happened to pride? What happened to honor? I wish that the world would grow up and take responsibility for their actions and taking the consequences. When ever I hear those excuses it makes me angry. These people don't want understanding they want pity, oh and they get it too. I want to be clear, they are putting bullshit on your plate and you are eating it with a smile. A small child a few years ago was playing with hit dog in a park. The child sends the dog down a slide, the dog's leash somehow became entangled the dog strangled to death under it's own weight. The boy devastated at the loss of his dog runs home, telling his mother that some teens came up and killed the dog. Now the mother phones the police telling them what happened to her son and dog. This news moves quickly to the local media, this then becomes a national story. From across the country letters of outrage pour into the local tourism office about these nonexistent teens and their nonexistent act. Three days later crying on camera the boy admits the truth. The boy didn't kill the dog it was an accident, yet he felt the need to lie to hide himself from possible consequences. This is what the world is now. You wanted your beautiful lie you got it... I hope that you like the taste of your bullshit as you shovel it into you big grinning face.&lt;br /&gt;                                                As always I remain,&lt;br /&gt;                                                                 the Destroyer of Worlds&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-168219414192219658?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/168219414192219658/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=168219414192219658' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/168219414192219658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/168219414192219658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2007/11/more-please.html' title='More please'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5619127399549529503.post-9201377882448942925</id><published>2007-11-02T10:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-22T16:22:45.500-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Well hello there</title><content type='html'>A fireball rips through night sky. A crater in a bare field. No spectators this time no one to greet this traveler from his long journey. He stands though battered and bruised. Every breath of cold air he takes causes him to wince, he smirks, the thought that his body is telling him to stop doing something so necessary causes him to so. Thrusting his hands and feet into the side of the crater one after the other he begins to climb out of the hole he himself created.&lt;br /&gt;After what feels like hours he flings his now mud covered body over the rime of the crater. Again on his feet he scans the horizon. The jet black sky gives way to an eerie orange glow thrown off of street lights from a nearby city. Walking toward the lights, the haunting call of a pack of scavengers can be heard nearby. Sneaking around just out of sight drawn to the think scent of blood from a wounded animal. He smiles baring all his teeth after all their time in the wild the still don't know who's predator and who is the prey. Turning away from the light he strikes down his would be attackers. Finishing his deed he continues on his way, the sticky feeling of blood now on his fingers, the silence and the darkness protecting his back as he marches on the light...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                                                                       Thats it for now,&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                 The Destroyer of worlds&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5619127399549529503-9201377882448942925?l=pointblink.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/feeds/9201377882448942925/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5619127399549529503&amp;postID=9201377882448942925' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/9201377882448942925'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5619127399549529503/posts/default/9201377882448942925'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pointblink.blogspot.com/2007/11/well-hello-their.html' title='Well hello there'/><author><name>The Destroyer of Worlds</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02822251736974146008</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://www.railfame.ca/images/inductee/communities/2004_Edmonton_B_504px.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
