We are pleased to welcome Professor Oak, who is a world expert on The Bermuda Triangle, to our school. A short man got up from his chair. His essence and radiance was that of my spectral and lonely uncle who lived by himself in the woods. His voice, which I expected to be tiny and pitiful, was also surprisingly spectral. He held a piece of welder's glass up to his eyes and waited. The professor's huge gaze looked up from his paper, and stared at us furiously. He then started talking:
The Bermuda Triangle is a fascinating topic. It is perhaps the most famous unexplained natural phenomenon in the world. People have mysteriously been wiped off the face of earth, and nobody can properly explain why. One of the most embracing and mysterious stories is the curious incident of Flight 19. In December 1945 five Avenger torpedo bombers was called for a mission to conduct practice bombing runs. Taylor and his group of thirteen men were given a route back to there base, a 120 mile long triangular path. They went missing after that day, and nobody has found them since. Was it because of Taylor's navigational confusion? Taylor's mother refused to believe that, and got the Navy to change the report to read «causes or reasons unknown.» Yet another Bermuda Triangle mystery.
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It is exactly like that last year's student says, everything is allowed on the preparation day. However, that doesn't make it easy as pie to prepare. You must, naturally, also have the willpower to use them, it all comes down to the person. I did not use Youtube or Wikipedia. Nor did I actually make use of internet, except looking up words and definitions in the online dictionary.
I, very devotedly, read English stories. Some written by Robert Jay Lifton. The Broken Connection: On Death and The Continuity of Life. Why would I read something so boring? I read it mainly for the purpose of grammar, but it is at the same time fortunately interesting. The little book about nuclear developement, and describing the explosion in the best possible way. I believe reading English is the best way to prepare for an English exam.
Task 3f ...What you see is not always what you get
2. - Tim is searching time and forgiveness
Tim and the Princess lounge in the castle garden, laughing together, giving names to the colorful birds. Their mistakes are hidden from each other, tucked away between the folds of time, safe. All those years ago, Tim had left the Princess behind. He had kissed her on the neck, picked up his travel bag, and walked out the door. He regrets this, to a degree. Now he's journeying to find her again, to show he knows how sad it was, but also to tell her how good it was.
3. - Time and mystery
For a long time, he thought they had been cultivating a perfect relationship. He had been fiercly protective, reversing all his mistakes so they would not touch her. Likewise, keeping a tight rein on her own mistakes, she always pleased him. But to be fully couched withing the comfort of a friend is a mode of existence with severe implications. To please you perfectly, she must understand you perfectly. Thus you cannot defy her expectations or escape her reach. Her benevolence has circumscribed you, and your life's achievements will not reach beyond the map she has drawn.
Tim needed to be non-manipulable. He needed a hope of transcendence. He needed, sometimes, to be immune to the Princess's caring touch.
4. - Off in the distance Tim saw time and place
Visiting his parent's home for a holiday meal, Tim felt as though he had regressed to those long-ago years when he lived under their roof, oppressed by their insistence on upholding strange values which, to him, were meaningless. Tasks like taking a shower every day or any day, or getting rid of the garbage when it's not even full. Back then, tickering would erupt over drops of gravy spilt onto the tablecloth. Escaping, Tim walked in the cool air, toward the university he'd attended after moving out of his parents' home. As he distanced himself from that troubling house, he felt the embarrasment of childhood fading into the past. But now he stepped into all the insecurities he'd felt at the university, all the panic of walking a social tightrope.
Always on Time
Marked to Standard
Tim only felt relieved after the whole visit was over, sitting back home in the present, steeped in contrast: He saw how he'd improved so much from those old days. This improvement, day by day, takes him ever closer to finding the Princess. If she exists - she must! - she will transform him, and everyone. He felt on his strip that every place stirs up an emotion, and every emotion invokes a memory: a time and a location. So couldn't he find the Princess now, tonight, just by wandering from place to place and noticing how he feels? A trail of feelings, of awe and inspiration, should lead him to that castle: In the future: her arms enclosing him, her scent fills him with excitement, creates a moment so strong he can remember it in the past. Immediately Tim walked out his door, the next morning, toward whatever the new day held. He felt something like optimism.
5. - Time and decision
She never understood the impulses that drove him, never quite felt the entire intensity that, over time, chiseled lines into his face. She was never quite close enough to him - but he held her as though she were, whispered into her ear words that only a soul mate should receive. Over the remnants of dinner, they both knew the time had come. He would have said: «I have to go find the Princess,» but he didn't need to. Giving a final kiss, hoisting a travel bag to his shoulder, he walked out the door. Through all the nights that followed, she still loved him as though he had stayed, to comfort her and protect her, Princess be damned.
6. - Hesitance
Perhaps in a perfect world, the ring would be a symbol of happiness. It's a sign of ceaseless devotion: even if he will never find the Princess, he will always be trying. He still will wear the ring. But the ring makes its presence known. It shines out to others like a beacon of warning. It makes people slow to approach. Suspicion, distrust. Interactions are torpedoes before Tim can even open his mouth. In time he learns to deal with others carefully. He matches their hesitant pace, tracing a soft path through their defenses. But it exhausts him, and it only works to a limited degree. It doesn't get him what he needs. Tim begins to hide the ring in his pocket. But he can hardly beat it - too long tucked away, that part of him might suffocate.
At a cafe on a bright plaza, most customers sit back, feeling the warmth of the sun, enjoying their cold drinks. But not Tim - he barely notices the sun, doesn't really taste his coffee. For him this corner affords a good view of the city, and in the teeterings of the passers-by, in the arc of a shop-girl's hand as she displays tea to an interested gentleman, Tim hopes to see clues. That night at the cinema, fictious adventurers lounge implausibly across the screen. The audience here is mixed. Some patrons of the café, now sitting excitedly in the plush chairs, eager for another new flavor, for distraction from the boredom of their easy lives. Other seats hold fishermen and farmworkers, hoping to forget their toils and rest their hands. Tim is here too, but he is scrutinizing the glass on the lips on the screen, measuring the angle of plume of a distant helicopter crash. He thinks he discerns a message; when the cinema closes and most of the audience strolls down the plaza to the South, Tim goes North. People like Tim seem to live oppositely from the other residents of the city. Tide and riptide, flowing against each other.
Tim wants, like nothing else, to find the Princess, to know her at last. For Tim this would e momentous, sparking an intense light that embraces the world, a light that reveals the secrets long kept from us, that illuminates - or materializes! - a final polace where we can exist in peace.
But how would this be perceived by the other residents of the city, that flows contrariwise? The light would be intense and warm at the beginning, but then flicker down to nothing, taking the castle with it; it would be like burning down the place we've always called home, where we played innocently as little children. Destroying all hope of safety, forever.
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The boy called for the girl to follow him, and he took her hand. He would protect her. They would make their way through this oppressive castle, fighting off the creatures made of smoke and doubt, escaping to a life of freedom. -- The boy wanted to protect the girl. He held her hand, or put his arm around her shoulders in a walking embrace, to help her feel supported and close to him amid the impersonal throngs of Manhattan. They turned and made their way toward the Canal St. Subway station, and he picked a path through the jostling crowd. His arm weighed upon her shoulders, felt constructive around her neck. «You're burdening me with your ridiculous need,» she said. Or, she said: «You're going the wrong way, and you're pulling me with you.» In another time, another place, she said: «Stop yanking on my arm; you're hurting me!»
He worked his ruler and his compass. He inferred. He deduced. He scrutinized the fall of an apple, the twisting of metal orbs hanging from a thread. He was searching for the Princess, and he would not stop until he found her, for he was hungy. He cut rats into pieces to examine their brains, implanted tungsten posts into the skulls of water-starved monkeys. Ghostly, she stood in front of him and looked into his eyes: «I am here,» she said. «I am here. I want to touch you.» She pleaded: «Look at me!» But he would not see her; he only knew how to look at the outsides of things. Through these clues he would find the Princess, see her face. After an especially fervent night of thinkering, he kneeled behind a bunker in the desert; he held a piece of welder's glass up to his eyes and waited. He had found the princess.
On that moment hung eternity. Time stood still. Space contracted to a pinpoint. It was as though the earth had opened and the skies had split. One felt as though he had been privileged to witness the Birth of the World...*
Someone near him said: «It worked!»
Someone else said: «Now we are all sons of bitches.»
She stood there tall and majestic. She radiated fury. She shouted: «Who has disturbed me?» But then, anger expelled, she felt the sadness beneath; she let her breath fall softly, like a sigh, like ashes floating gently on the wind. She could not understand why he chose to flirt so closely with the death of the world.
He cannot say he has understood all of this. Possibly he's more confused now than ever. But all these moments he's contemplated - something has occured. The moments feel substantial in his mind, like stones. Kneeling, reaching down toward the closest one, running his hands across it, he finds it smooth, and slightly cold. Tim's wife stood still, then she moved urgently through the gateway of something-or-other. «She is the bomb,» she concluded in a hurry to his dear reader. «The Princess is the nuclear bomb, and you are being told the story of a man so focused on the development and harnessing of an immensely destructive power that it inevitably falls out of his hands, and into the wider world.» She wished, above anything else, to tell the story about the man who strived to invent the almighty nuclear bomb. He believed it would bring peace to the world. He was wrong.
The big boom came about a houndred seconds after the great flash - the first cry of a newborn world.*
Think about the ending, she said. A purging wall of flame chases Tim and the Princess, all the way up to the point of Tim is found lurking outside a bedroom window. At this point everything reverses; Tim is now chasing her, not following. She is now trying to trap and block Tim from ever reaching her, not aid his progression. Instead of trying to escape the hands of an aggressive knight, he is now the one figure that takes her away from Tim's 'ridiculous need', his obsession with control. Tim finally manages to reach the her bedroom, and come into contact with the Princess herself. What happens? She fucking explodes.