Jeffrey A. Sapp
There are various genres that include short fiction, poetry, and philosophy, that I enjoy writing about. There are some controversial as well as moving topics I hope to invite you to explore.
Death of the "Man"
Re-establishing Truth Recently, Iv'e reached where I found some comfort in my self-image. For too long, ideas perpetuated through higher education institutions informed me (while using this word informed very loosely) of the deeply rooted evil of who I am as a man of eastern European descent. Iv'e been silent and afraid of formulating rational discussions about these issues. These professors, whom we are supposed to look to for guidance, use fear and manipulation as a tactic to push their personal agendas. Tenured professors give lectures based entirely on research constructed on the pretense of demonizing particular groups of people (White, Male, Christians mostly) while lifting up (they call empowerment) others who have no connection to any form of oppression. They teach victim mentality and laziness. Those so-called activists who have barely lifted a finger appear as hard workers, while those who break their backs are framed as oppressors. They TEACH them that they are oppressed whether they know or accept it. It becomes clear that this format relies on Marxist principles, though arguing this point would only result in quick dismissal under the assumption of radical conservatism. This tyranny goes as far as to assume these radical conservatives are mentally ill. We are not allowed to have conversations.
Among the Milky Way
1- The Departure Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Only a simple miscalculation placed the crew in this unfortunate circumstance. Of the original 15 members, only Sarah O'Neil remained tethered to the vessel, with little to no chance of survival. The rest were left drifting among the infinite cosmos, along with the broken scrapes of the vessel. For those left adrift, their oxygen tanks became entirely depleted, no matter how conservative of breaths they took. Removing their masks would kill them almost instantly, and leaving them on would force them to absorb large quantities of Co2 until the body slowly shuts down from lack of cellular respiration. Many say it's a peaceful way to go, almost like drowning without water. Communications were lost, and now, the central life support systems are increasingly scarce with each passing moment. Mother earth, in all her unique magnificence, could be seen drifting slowly out of focus. Mission control was now unreachable. Only short static-filled signals could be heard as they slowly dissipated, cutting in and out with unintelligible voices. There was some hope that a rescue pod would reach her soon if the solar flare didn't fry the suit's tracking device. Where should she find herself, an hour, day, or week even longer? If she reached a new frontier, would it even be habitable? In this vast expanse of infinite possibility, would it be possible to achieve something before it's too late? Of those in the crew, she was the only one with something back home.
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. For as long as the people of the small town of Rock Hill could remember, the quaint little home sat mysteriously within the forest, now splintered and bleeding with a blackened mold as thick as dried pine sap. As the howl of the wind passed through the cracks of the walls, it produced a horrible cry, but the flame remained still; perhaps it was more of a force than flame, calling anyone who desired something more toward it. Local children often found interest in its ominous presence but never entered, fearing only what their imaginations could construct. Years ago, a man whose body was never recovered allegedly vanished into the forest. Some thought that he was taken but found no trace of evidence to support the theory. A legend began to spread that one night, he gazed intensely into the forest from his bedroom window. It was as if his gaze could pierce the thicket, allowing him to understand the entirety of its grandeur. Something called him, something that even he couldn't see yet was powerful enough to pull him in with immeasurable inducement.
1 - From War to Promise There weren't always dragons in the valley. What is now named Volshire was once but a sea of rolling green pasture, devoid of much life but the calm grazing beasts among it. Now, villages line the river's edge that cuts between the risen peaks. At night the lit torches of each dwelling resemble the stars above, merging seamlessly into the night sky. Here, a golden age free of conflict or hunger corresponds to the closest thing to paradise & heaven that could be constructed decades after the end of the great war.
As we look inside
No matter the position of authority, or the differences we've chosen to value over our innate similarities, there are universal truths that make us human. To this day, I can't understand why, no matter the justification, people choose to look for the differences. It comes down to the simplest superficial qualities that end up dividing us. Eventually, these biases morph into horrible monstrosities that corrupt our egos and bring us closer to our downfall as a species. Our current global conditions show how the choices of one or a select few individuals can shake the very foundation of the very structure we chose to construct underneath us. But who gave them their ego? Unfortunately, we did. Sitting idly tweeting about such atrocities does not address the issues at hand, nor does it prove whose the better person. And while that last statement is now directing your finger toward the close button of this article, I invite you, with open arms, to continue reading. There needs to come to a point where we as a species should take responsibility for our freedom and not allow these influential individuals to march forward in archaic conquest.
Fostering Smiles Under Masks
So much to say with no way to say it It's been a bit difficult to find something to write about, not for any reason more than I always feel I fall short somewhere. I always try too hard. Some may call it perfectionism, but I see it as a hope to provide the most value to the reader. I always ask the question, in my work and all aspects of my life, where can I hope to provide some degree of benefit? What do I have to do to help those around me? Iv'e dedicated my degree, as have so many of those around me, toward bettering the world. We want to create solutions for the problems in the world that became so quickly disregarded. Often overlooked are such simple things; Things we all take for granted in this wild, face-paced world we've created.