Asklemmy toomanyjoints69 • 1y ago • 100%

Why do I write more on my days with work rather than my days off?

My job is very dirty and labour intensive so i don't understand why I make 1000 words a day on those days, but 200 words a day on weekends.

Pikti'me sat on the tall stairs with his bag full of powerful herbs and sweet smelling flowers resting on his lap. He leaned forward, dreading what the night would have in store. He knew that he had to be in the temple right now, and that if the priests caught him dallying he would be whipped, but he was tired, and the view was beautiful. So high up but not quite all the way to the top of the Temple stairs, he had a good view of the city beneath the setting sun. Warm wind from the swelling ocean beneath the cliff knocked his blonde hair into his soft face and blew up his tunic. It felt soothing. The sun was setting over what remained of Kureph, casting long shadows and making the town of his ancestors look very desolate. Despite his stress, he couldn't help but be impressed at how the ruins extended for as far as he could see, only ending just past the ocean shore. Marble pillars poked out of the waters and looked tiny despite towering over wooden shacks built behind the beach in between ancient ruins that had once been far grander. Pikti'me took a moment to watch a tired shepherd lean on his walking stick. The dozen sheep nearly knocked the shepherd over before stopping to chewing on the grass that grew between discarded bricks that had once been a plaza. The elderly shepherd moved again, and lead his charge of a dozen sheep with tired, wobbly knees towards a clay barn. The barn was probably once a home for a wealthy Phem similar to Pikti'me's father, but a barn door had been knocked through its wall. Pikti'me wondered if the structure's interior had been stripped out and filled with hay. He was unfamiliar with the common people, despite seeing them every day. He wished he knew more about them. Their lives seemed simple, and more free. He watched the people walk along the overgrown streets for a long time. The whole city was a monument to what his people once had, and would never have again. His heart began to race when he realized that he had lost himself, and let entirley too much time pass by. The sun was closer to the ocean than it had been before. Malarik his tutor would be angry. He decided not to let himself sulk and be even more late. He forced himself to his feet, heaved the bag of fragence over his shoulder, and climbed up the stairs leading to the Temple of Ku on top of the enormous cliffside. He would accept the consequences of being late. In a way, he welcomed the delay a punishment would bring, as Malarik's kindness would be equally unbearable. Pikti'me felt his knees wobbling like the shepherd's, but the bag wasn't heavy despite its size. He was weighed down by all of his fear. He knew that he would fail at his spells, and what Malarik would say when he did. "Your father had done it, why can't you", Pikti'me said mocking Malarik's deep, cracking voice. He loved and hated the old man. The Temple loomed high above the stairs atop an enormous pyramid with balconies, tunnels, and fortifications made of mud brick that did not match the much finer ancient architecture. A priest dressed in a fine blue toga over her white dress silently walked down the stairs, not even sparing Pikti'me a glance. He was only an initiate, not worth noticing. Being invisible had its advantages. Sneaking was easy, and nobody punished him for being late until he showed up. It was a long climb, but Pikti'me finally reched the top of the steps. He spared one more glance at the city bellow. The people were tiny. It was impossible to make out their features. Atop the blocky pyramid was the entrance, which was decorated more elaboratley. Heavy Columns held up the pediments which supported a sloping marble roof over the ornatley painted wood facade of browns and yellows. Unlike the white marble of the ruins bellow, these pillars were painted with scenes of battling warriors and priests prostrating themselves before the gods. Pikti'me walked along the road flanked by pillars, stopping to look at one. Ku's tentacle wrapped around one pillar holding up a stylized ocean which flowed from Heaven all the way down to Hell. Pikti'me felt a strong hand rest on his shoulder. He flung himself around to see Malarik's bald wrinkled face looking up at him. "Young man, if you were a bird, and flew all the way up in the sky - when you looked down at the world that pillar is what you would see." Malarik had stark white eyes that always unnerved Pikti'me. Pikti'me forgot his worries and thought for a second. "Would it be standing up like the pillar, on on its side like a fallen tree?" "Nobody knows." The old priest closed his eyes and smiled, grateful that his student was interested. "You're late. Don't think that I forgot." "The lavender was right where you told me, but the mugwort had been fowled by a mule. I had to find another patch." Pikti'me considered himself a good liar. "If that's the case, then you shouldn't have sat and watched the sun set." Malarik was amused at how his student shifted nervously. "I have a good view from up here too, you know." Malarik turned around and beckoned his student to follow before he could come up with another excuse. Pikti'me wanted to ask where they were going, but decided not to risk it; Malarik's mood could change unpredictably. He led him through the huge already open doors of the temple, into the Sanctum of Ku. Sweet smelling incense filled Pikti'me's nostrils. Flickering light illuminated everything from a large dish containing the eternal flame, which had always been dutifully maintained ever since the city was founded. Cackling flames echoed across the spacious chamber. The rafters which held up the pediments were supported by a four rows of pillars. The room was dominated by the golden statue of Ku seated upon his heavenly throne. He had long hair and wore a bushy beard that extended all the way to his knees, which were visible beneath his tunic and kilt. He held a trident in one hand, and an orb in the other. Wrapping around his limbs and the throne and the trident were the suckery tentacles that grew from his hair. A hunchbacked slave silently polished the statue. "We are alone. Set the bag down.", Malarik said. Pikti'me wished he could be as invisible as a slave, then he could hide all day. He stopped fantasizing and did as his tutor asked. The statue was flanked by two smaller doors. Bowls of incense sat on the floor lining the walls, providing places for common folk to pray during the daytime when the Temple of Ku was open to them and their offerings. Malarik reached into the bag, grabbing Mugwort, Lavender, Thyme, and a chunk of wormwood. He dropped them into the fire. Pikti'me's eyes widened in amazement as the flames turned pink, green, then yellow before settling on a wisping ghostly blue. Pikti'me had magenta eyes like his father, Malarik thought. That man had been a more talented, but less interested student. He wished he could someday have a student who had gifts to match his interest. He wondered how well he hid his disappointment, and if that was the cause for the young man's recent string of disobedience. He took a deep breath. "Put your hands in the fire. You are a Phem with strong magenta eyes. It won't burn you." Nervously, cautiously, he brought his hands close to the fire. It felt warm, and he held back. Malarik scowled, and Piktime decided he was more afraid of the whip than the flame. The student winced and shoved his hands into the fire. He felt nothing, as if his arms were in air. He looked down and confirmed that his arms really were in the huge flame up to his elbows. "Back up a bit. You are immune but your tunic has no such gift." Pikti'me did as his teacher asked. He nodded, unsure of what to do now. "Move the flame. Make it dance to your will." Pikti'me stared at the strands of cackling blue fire until his eyes hurt. He focused, commanding it with his thoughts. Nothing happened. He tried moving his fingers to no effect. He waved his hands around uselessly, trying to somehow make them move and avoid once again to hear the dreaded - "Hmph. Your father got it right away. If you can't change it directly then maybe you can alter it indirectly. Think about yourself." Pikti'me gave him a confused pleading look. "Think about you own thoughts, your nature, and who you really are. Focus on only that until nothing exists except for you, not even the flame." He closed his eyes, and thought. What am I thinking about, besides that I don't know what I'm thinking of. I'm feeling anxiety. Is that a thought? He opened his eyes. The flame was unchanged. His eyes once again clamped shut. What is my nature? Why did he ask who I *really* am? Does he think I'm not genuine, or that maybe I fail at his lessons on purpose? That's what it is, isn't it? I'm a weakling, a sneaky coward, and I'm lazy. That's what I am. A terrible priest. "Pikti'me!" He came out of his trance, and saw that the flames were shrinking, moving at an unnatural slow rhythm. His palms were sweaty. He pleaded with the flame in his mind for the it to please rise. Despite his efforts, the flame continued to shrink and shrink, until he had to lower his arms just to remain in it. "Make them grow, now!" This is it, isn't it? It will be my destiny to be known as the initiate who extinguished the eternal flame, breaking a thousand year tradition... The flames were shrinking rapidly now. He had to lean forward just to keep inside of them. He breathed heavy. He felt hot, very hot, and suddenly felt a burst of anger. Make them grow? As if its that easy! I'm not my father. I shouldn't have to be as good as him! I'm not lazy! I sneak around because I'm tired of your weary eyes. I hate you, Malarik. I hate you Ku. I hate this whole damn temple, and i want these flames to grow so that I can burn it to the ground!! The flames jerked, and exploded upward in a torrent of sparkling flame. Pikti'me would have sighed with relief, but the force knocked him to his feet. He was breathing even heavier, and realized he was covered in sweat. For a moment he felt a sense of accomplishment, and even pride, before he remembered the awful things he had thought about his teacher and his God. He wished that he could put his hands back in and appologize, but he felt too tired to move. Maybe Ku hadn't heard him. After all, he only thought it. Relief washed over him. At least it was over. "Why do I feel so hot still?" He looked around to see that his teacher was gone. "Because your tunic is on fire." Pikti'me screamed, slapping the flame growing on his chest in a panic. It felt hot! Hot! His hands burnt from hitting it, but the flame spread up the fabric. Cool water suddenly drenched him and extinguished the horrible heat. He looked up to see that Malarik was standing over him holding an empty jug with an amused look on his face. "You did well. Very well, in fact. Your father had only gotten them to dance a little, but I've never seen anything like that." Pikti'me was overjoyed. He wanted to get up and squeeze his teacher in a warm embrace, but he was too tired. He lay his head back on the tile floor exhausted. "Does this mean I won't be whipped for being late?" "And sully your accomplishment? Of course not!" "What a relief." He let his hands rest on his chest. He felt a small hole where the flames had eaten through his expensive blue tunic, and the whole thing was singed and no longer felt soft. "What should I do about my tunic?" Malarik extended his hand and helped him back to his feet. "One of the slaves can fetch you a new one, but leave it on tomorrow. I want all the other priests to see just what *my* student is capable of!"

Linux for Leftists toomanyjoints69 • 1y ago • 63%

How pracitcal of a choice is red star os for my type writer machine? It doesn't need to do much besides send emails and use vim.

I have become attrached to the idea of using a totally marxist set up for my writing.