BROADCASTS.com

b'Reflect on your Knowledge and Imagine a new world\\u2026oh yeah, and write about it\\u2026\\n\\xa0\\xa0\\nFeatured Quote:\\n\\u201cI had therefore to remove knowledge, in order to make room for belief.\\u201d\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\u2028\\u201cHappiness is not an ideal of reason, but of imagination.\\u201d\\n~Immanuel Kant\\n\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\nFeatured Poem:\\nOde on a Grecian Urn\\n~ John Keats\\n\\xa0\\xa0\\nThou still unravish\\u2019d bride of quietness,\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,\\u2028Sylvan historian, who canst thus express\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:\\u2028What leaf-fring\\u2019d legend haunt about thy shape\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Of deities or mortals, or of both,\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 What men or gods are these?\\xa0 What maidens loth?\\u2028What mad pursuit?\\xa0 What struggle to escape?\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 What pipes and timbrels?\\xa0 What wild ecstasy?\\u2028Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;\\u2028Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear\\u2019d,\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:\\u2028Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,\\u2028Though winning near the goal \\u2013 yet, do not grieve;\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!\\u2028Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu;\\u2028And, happy melodist, unwearied,\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 For ever piping songs for ever new;\\u2028More happy love! more happy, happy love!\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 For ever warm and still to be enjoy\\u2019d,\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 For ever panting, and for ever young;\\u2028All breathing human passion far above,\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy\\u2019d,\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.\\u2028Who are these coming to the sacrifice?\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 To what green altar, O mysterious priest,\\u2028Lead\\u2019st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?\\u2028What little town by river or sea shore,\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?\\u2028And, little town, thy streets for evermore\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Will silent be; and not a soul to tell\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Why thou art desolate, can e\\u2019er return.\\u2028O Attic shape!\\xa0 Fair attitude! with brede\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Of marble men and maidens overwrought,\\u2028With forest branches and the trodden weed;\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought\\u2028As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 When old age shall this generation waste,\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say\\u2019st,\\u2028\\u201cBeauty is truth, truth beauty,\\u201d \\u2013 that is all\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.\\n\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\nPoetry writing Prompt:\\nWhat is your Grecian Urn? What will stand the test of time and outlive the creator? Is it your own writing? Is it a building? Is it someone\\u2019s legacy? Choose your connection to Keat\\u2019s passion and vision and build a poem to last as long as the symbolic Urn.\\n\\xa0\\xa0\\nFeatured Short Story:\\nThe Bet\\n~Anton Checkhov\\n\\xa0\\xa0\\nIt was a dark autumn night. The old banker was walking up and down his study and remembering how, fifteen years before, he had given a party one autumn evening. There had been many clever men there, and there had been interesting conversations. Among other things they had talked of capital punishment. The majority of the guests, among whom were many journalists and intellectual men, disapproved of the death penalty. They considered that form of punishment out of date, immoral, and unsuitable for Christian States. In the opinion of some of them the death penalty ought to be replaced everywhere by imprisonment for life. \\u201cI don\\u2019t agree with you,\\u201d said their host the banker. \\u201cI have not tried either the death penalty or imprisonment for life, but if one may judge a priori, the death penalty is more moral and more humane than imprisonment for life. Capital punishment kills a man at once, but lifelong imprisonment kills him slowly. Which executioner is the more humane, he who kills you in a few minutes or he who drags the life out of you in the course of many years?\\u201d\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 \\u201cBoth are equally immoral,\\u201d observed one of the guests, \\u201cfor they both have the same object \\u2013 to take away life. The State is not God. It has not the right to take away what it cannot restore when it wants to.\\u201d\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Among the guests was a young lawyer, a young man of five-and-twenty. When he was asked his opinion, he said:\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 \\u201cThe death sentence and the life sentence are equally immoral, but if I had to choose between the death penalty and imprisonment for life, I would certainly choose the second. To live anyhow is better than not at all.\\u201d\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 A lively discussion arose. The banker, who was younger and more nervous in those days, was suddenly carried away by excitement; he struck the table with his fist and shouted at the young man:\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 \\u201cIt\\u2019s not true! I\\u2019ll bet you two million you wouldn\\u2019t stay in solitary confinement for five years.\\u201d\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 \\u201cIf you mean that in earnest,\\u201d said the young man, \\u201cI\\u2019ll take the bet, but I would stay not five but fifteen years.\\u201d\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 \\u201cFifteen? Done!\\u201d cried the banker. \\u201cGentlemen, I stake two million!\\u201d\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 \\u201cAgreed! You stake your millions and I stake my freedom!\\u201d said the young man.\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\u2028< 2 >\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 And this wild, senseless bet was carried out! The banker, spoilt and frivolous, with millions beyond his reckoning, was delighted at the bet. At supper he made fun of the young man, and said:\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 \\u201cThink better of it, young man, while there is still time. To me two million is a trifle, but you are losing three or four of the best years of your life. I say three or four, because you won\\u2019t stay longer. Don\\u2019t forget either, you unhappy man, that voluntary confinement is a great deal harder to bear than compulsory. The thought that you have the right to step out in liberty at any moment will poison your whole existence in prison. I am sorry for you.\\u201d\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 And now the banker, walking to and fro, remembered all this, and asked himself: \\u201cWhat was the object of that bet? What is the good of that man\\u2019s losing fifteen years of his life and my throwing away two million? Can it prove that the death penalty is better or worse than imprisonment for life? No, no. It was all nonsensical and meaningless. On my part it was the caprice of a pampered man, and on his part simple greed for money \\u2026\\u201d\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Then he remembered what followed that evening. It was decided that the young man should spend the years of his captivity under the strictest supervision in one of the lodges in the banker\\u2019s garden. It was agreed that for fifteen years he should not be free to cross the threshold of the lodge, to see human beings, to hear the human voice, or to receive letters and newspapers. He was allowed to have a musical instrument and books, and was allowed to write letters, to drink wine, and to smoke. By the terms of the agreement, the only relations he could have with the outer world were by a little window made purposely for that object. He might have anything he wanted \\u2013 books, music, wine, and so on \\u2013 in any quantity he desired by writing an order, but could only receive them through the window. The agreement provided for every detail and every trifle that would make his imprisonment strictly solitary, and bound the young man to stay there exactly fifteen years, beginning from twelve o\\u2019clock of November 14, 1870, and ending at twelve o\\u2019clock of November 14, 1885. The slightest attempt on his part to break the conditions, if only two minutes before the end, released the banker from the obligation to pay him the two million.\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\u2028< 3 >\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 For the first year of his confinement, as far as one could judge from his brief notes, the prisoner suffered severely from loneliness and depression. The sounds of the piano could be heard continually day and night from his lodge. He refused wine and tobacco. Wine, he wrote, excites the desires, and desires are the worst foes of the prisoner; and besides, nothing could be more dreary than drinking good wine and seeing no one. And tobacco spoilt the air of his room. In the first year the books he sent for were principally of a light character; novels with a complicated love plot, sensational and fantastic stories, and so on.\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 In the second year the piano was silent in the lodge, and the prisoner asked only for the classics. In the fifth year music was audible again, and the prisoner asked for wine. Those who watched him through the window said that all that year he spent doing nothing but eating and drinking and lying on his bed, frequently yawning and angrily talking to himself. He did not read books. Sometimes at night he would sit down to write; he would spend hours writing, and in the morning tear up all that he had written. More than once he could be heard crying.\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 In the second half of the sixth year the prisoner began zealously studying languages, philosophy, and history. He threw himself eagerly into these studies \\u2013 so much so that the banker had enough to do to get him the books he ordered. In the course of four years some six hundred volumes were procured at his request. It was during this period that the banker received the following letter from his prisoner:\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 \\u201cMy dear Jailer, I write you these lines in six languages. Show them to people who know the languages. Let them read them. If they find not one mistake I implore you to fire a shot in the garden. That shot will show me that my efforts have not been thrown away. The geniuses of all ages and of all lands speak different languages, but the same flame burns in them all. Oh, if you only knew what unearthly happiness my soul feels now from being able to understand them!\\u201d The prisoner\\u2019s desire was fulfilled. The banker ordered two shots to be fired in the garden.\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\u2028< 4 >\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Then after the tenth year, the prisoner sat immovably at the table and read nothing but the Gospel. It seemed strange to the banker that a man who in four years had mastered six hundred learned volumes should waste nearly a year over one thin book easy of comprehension. Theology and histories of religion followed the Gospels.\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 In the last two years of his confinement the prisoner read an immense quantity of books quite indiscriminately. At one time he was busy with the natural sciences, then he would ask for Byron or Shakespeare. There were notes in which he demanded at the same time books on chemistry, and a manual of medicine, and a novel, and some treatise on philosophy or theology. His reading suggested a man swimming in the sea among the wreckage of his ship, and trying to save his life by greedily clutching first at one spar and then at another.\\u2028The old banker remembered all this, and thought:\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 \\u201cTo-morrow at twelve o\\u2019clock he will regain his freedom. By our agreement I ought to pay him two million. If I do pay him, it is all over with me: I shall be utterly ruined.\\u201d\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Fifteen years before, his millions had been beyond his reckoning; now he was afraid to ask himself which were greater, his debts or his assets. Desperate gambling on the Stock Exchange, wild speculation and the excitability whic h he could not get over even in advancing years, had by degrees led to the decline of his fortune and the proud, fearless, self-confident millionaire had become a banker of middling rank, trembling at every rise and fall in his investments. \\u201cCursed bet!\\u201d muttered the old man, clutching his head in despair \\u201cWhy didn\\u2019t the man die? He is only forty now. He will take my last penny from me, he will marry, will enjoy life, will gamble on the Exchange; while I shall look at him with envy like a beggar, and hear from him every day the same sentence: \\u2018I am indebted to you for the happiness of my life, let me help you!\\u2019 No, it is too much! The one means of being saved from bankruptcy and disgrace is the death of that man!\\u201d\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 It struck three o\\u2019clock, the banker listened; everyone was asleep in the house and nothing could be heard outside but the rustling of the chilled trees. Trying to make no noise, he took from a fireproof safe the key of the door which had not been opened for fifteen years, put on his overcoat, and went out of the house.\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\u2028< 5 >\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 It was dark and cold in the garden. Rain was falling. A damp cutting wind was racing about the garden, howling and giving the trees no rest. The banker strained his eyes, but could see neither the earth nor the white statues, nor the lodge, nor the trees. Going to the spot where the lodge stood, he twice called the watchman. No answer followed. Evidently the watchman had sought shelter from the weather, and was now asleep somewhere either in the kitchen or in the greenhouse.\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 \\u201cIf I had the pluck to carry out my intention,\\u201d thought the old man, \\u201cSuspicion would fall first upon the watchman.\\u201d\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 He felt in the darkness for the steps and the door, and went into the entry of the lodge. Then he groped his way into a little passage and lighted a match. There was not a soul there. There was a bedstead with no bedding on it, and in the corner there was a dark cast-iron stove. The seals on the door leading to the prisoner\\u2019s rooms were intact.\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 When the match went out the old man, trembling with emotion, peeped through the little window. A candle was burning dimly in the prisoner\\u2019s room. He was sitting at the table. Nothing could be seen but his back, the hair on his head, and his hands. Open books were lying on the table, on the two easy-chairs, and on the carpet near the table.\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Five minutes passed and the prisoner did not once stir. Fifteen years\\u2019 imprisonment had taught him to sit still. The banker tapped at the window with his finger, and the prisoner made no movement whatever in response. Then the banker cautiously broke the seals off the door and put the key in the keyhole. The rusty lock gave a grating sound and the door creaked. The banker expected to hear at once footsteps and a cry of astonishment, but three minutes passed and it was as quiet as ever in the room. He made up his mind to go in.\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 At the table a man unlike ordinary people was sitting motionless. He was a skeleton with the skin drawn tight over his bones, with long curls like a woman\\u2019s and a shaggy beard. His face was yellow with an earthy tint in it, his cheeks were hollow, his back long and narrow, and the hand on which his shaggy head was propped was so thin and delicate that it was dreadful to look at it. His hair was already streaked with silver, and seeing his emaciated, aged-looking face, no one would have believed that he was only forty. He was asleep \\u2026 In front of his bowed head there lay on the table a sheet of paper on which there was something written in fine handwriting.\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\u2028< 6 >\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 \\u201cPoor creature!\\u201d thought the banker, \\u201che is asleep and most likely dreaming of the millions. And I have only to take this half-dead man, throw him on the bed, stifle him a little with the pillow, and the most conscientious expert would find no sign of a violent death. But let us first read what he has written here \\u2026 \\u201d\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 The banker took the page from the table and read as follows:\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 \\u201cTo-morrow at twelve o\\u2019clock I regain my freedom and the right to associate with other men, but before I leave this room and see the sunshine, I think it necessary to say a few words to you. With a clear conscience I tell you, as before God, who beholds me, that I despise freedom and life and health, and all that in your books is called the good things of the world.\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 \\u201cFor fifteen years I have been intently studying earthly life. It is true I have not seen the earth nor men, but in your books I have drunk fragrant wine, I have sung songs, I have hunted stags and wild boars in the forests, have loved women \\u2026 Beauties as ethereal as clouds, created by the magic of your poets and geniuses, have visited me at night, and have whispered in my ears wonderful tales that have set my brain in a whirl. In your books I have climbed to the peaks of Elburz and Mont Blanc, and from there I have seen the sun rise and have watched it at evening flood the sky, the ocean, and the mountain-tops with gold and crimson. I have watched from there the lightning flashing over my head and cleaving the storm-clouds. I have seen green forests, fields, rivers, lakes, towns. I have heard the singing of the sirens, and the strains of the shepherds\\u2019 pipes; I have touched the wings of comely devils who flew down to converse with me of God \\u2026 In your books I have flung myself into the bottomless pit, performed miracles, slain, burned towns, preached new religions, conquered whole kingdoms \\u2026\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 \\u201cYour books have given me wisdom. All that the unresting thought of man has created in the ages is compressed into a small compass in my brain. I know that I am wiser than all of you.\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\u2028< 7 >\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 \\u201cAnd I despise your books, I despise wisdom and the blessings of this world. It is all worthless, fleeting, illusory, and deceptive, like a mirage. You may be proud, wise, and fine, but death will wipe you off the face of the earth as though you were no more than mice burrowing under the floor, and your posterity, your history, your immortal geniuses will burn or freeze together with the earthly globe.\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 \\u201cYou have lost your reason and taken the wrong path. You have taken lies for truth, and hideousness for beauty. You would marvel if, owing to strange events of some sorts, frogs and lizards suddenly grew on apple and orange trees instead of fruit, or if roses began to smell like a sweating horse; so I marvel at you who exchange heaven for earth. I don\\u2019t want to understand you.\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 \\u201cTo prove to you in action how I despise all that you live by, I renounce the two million of which I once dreamed as of paradise and which now I despise. To deprive myself of the right to the money I shall go out from here five hours before the time fixed, and so break the compact \\u2026\\u201d\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 When the banker had read this he laid the page on the table, kissed the strange man on the head, and went out of the lodge, weeping. At no other time, even when he had lost heavily on the Stock Exchange, had he felt so great a contempt for himself. When he got home he lay on his bed, but his tears and emotion kept him for hours from sleeping.\\u2028\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 Next morning the watchmen ran in with pale faces, and told him they had seen the man who lived in the lodge climb out of the window into the garden, go to the gate, and disappear. The banker went at once with the servants to the lodge and made sure of the flight of his prisoner. To avoid arousing unnecessary talk, he took from the table the writing in which the millions were renounced, and when he got home locked it up in the fireproof safe.\\n\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\nShort Story Writing Prompt:\\nWhat are you locking up? Connect the story to a real life situation. How is belief let out and let grow? Or, what would happen if the Lawyer asked for 10 million since he lasted longer than the banker had originally proposed? Choose your storyline. Maybe, if you believe enough, it will turn into a longer story for you.\\n\\xa0\\xa0\\nShort Story Topic:\\nGifts Shared at a New Home\\nhttp://www.storyinstitute.com/2008/10/21/short-story-topics-gifts-shared-at-a-new-home/\\n\\xa0\\xa0\\nSmall, feathered creatures make their way into a new pond. In order to feel welcome, they bring a few gifts for their new neighbors. Each treasure is specially selected for each new friend. The ducks listen to each story and find out who represents each prize.\\nChoose the gifts. Choose the new friends. Choose the location or view of the new lake. Connect each topic to a part that is important to your overall meaning and storyline. Connect each new friend to the location itself and its history.\\nIn case, you didn\\u2019t see it in the brief context, this story should be geared toward children. So, keep the words simple. Keep the story focused. Remember to include a moral, a value, and a message with your story. Children learn much through stories and rely on them to help create memories for their long awaited future. Decide on the story, and write. Post it here, or share elsewhere, but write and enjoy\\u2026\\n\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0\\nIf you are an author in search of readers or have comments about our show, contact us:\\nramblingverser@storyinstitute.com\\n615-431-WRIT (9748)\\n\\n\\xa0\\xa0\\nRemember to Imagine, Enhance, and Grow your stories @ www.storyinstitute.com'