Toilet Paper Novels

Nortahn Antivilus found himself in the situation several times a month. His psychiatrist has tried to help with therapy and medications but to no avail. He had used the restroom just before leaving the house but found that he now had to use the restroom again. In this particular case he would have to sit, which of course he could not do because he was terrified of touching anything others had touched. He wasn't just afraid of germs, he was afraid of everything, obsessive compulsive to the core. He didn't like the idea that there could be scracthes on the seat that could be hiding extra germs.



Nortahn pulled off about 25 sheets of brown rolled paper towels from the dispenser walked to the stall, he pulled on his latex gloves and began the long process of locking the door, unlocking, and locking it several times. Methodically he folded the paper towels and laid them across the seat making sure to cover any possible area that could contact his skin including the very front where his thighs and legs could touch.



He took one last paper towel for entertainment as he would be here for an hour of more. He began folding the brown paper as he'd learned through his training in oragami. This time he choose to fold and a tear and turned it into a small booklet. For the first time it occured to him that a book with no words just wouldn't do for a meticulas man such as himself. He took a pen and carefully began to write. His doctor had advised he write about his life so he could work through his troubles. He finished penning his story about his odd childhood, and being locked in the closet when he forgot to pick up his room and his loss of his mother at 5 and his father at 10. He explored his days at prep school during his post middle school years. Much better, here, no more closets, only strange kids who he had no problem pretending he wouldn't like to know. He never made a friend. Truth be told, nobody would have noticed if he disapeared.



He placed the booklet into his inside coat pocket and doned another pair of gloves to comlete his task at hand. He hated the fact that some new grunt store employee would have to clean up after him since the 20 some odd towels would not properly flush along with two pairs of plastic gloves, but he also could not override his compulsive need to flush it all either. He quickly left ingnoring the knowing stair of a long time manager.

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Toilet Paper Novels

Nortahn Antivilus found himself in the situation several times a month. His psychiatrist has tried to help with therapy and medications but to no avail. He had used the restroom just before leaving the house but found that he now had to use the restroom again. In this particular case he would have to sit, which of course he could not do because he was terrified of touching anything others had touched. He wasn't just afraid of germs, he was afraid of everything, obsessive compulsive to the core. He didn't like the idea that there could be scracthes on the seat that could be hiding extra germs.

Nortahn pulled off about 25 sheets of brown rolled paper towels from the dispenser walked to the stall, he pulled on his latex gloves and began the long process of locking the door, unlocking, and locking it several times. Methodically he folded the paper towels and laid them across the seat making sure to cover any possible area that could contact his skin including the very front where his thighs and legs could touch.

He took one last paper towel for entertainment as he would be here for an hour of more. He began folding the brown paper as he'd learned through his training in oragami. This time he choose to fold and a tear and turned it into a small booklet. For the first time it occured to him that a book with no words just wouldn't do for a meticulas man such as himself. He took a pen and carefully began to write. His doctor had advised he write about his life so he could work through his troubles. He finished penning his story about his odd childhood, and being locked in the closet when he forgot to pick up his room and his loss of his mother at 5 and his father at 10. He explored his days at prep school during his post middle school years. Much better, here, no more closets, only strange kids who he had no problem pretending he wouldn't like to know. He never made a friend. Truth be told, nobody would have noticed if he disapeared.

He placed the booklet into his inside coat pocket and doned another pair of gloves to comlete his task at hand. He hated the fact that some new grunt store employee would have to clean up after him since the 20 some odd towels would not properly flush along with two pairs of plastic gloves, but he also could not override his compulsive need to flush it all either. He quickly left ingnoring the knowing stair of a long time manager.

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The Giving Father and Protecting Holy Spirit

John 15:16  You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that remains, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name he will give you.

So I've never heard this whole verse quoted, just the first part. So in fact the point of bearing fruit is so that whatever you ask the Father in the name of Jesus He will give you. The Father has always been about giving. "He came bearing good gifts for men"


John 15:26  When the Advocate comes, whom I will send you from the Father — the Spirit of truth who goes out from the Father — he will testify about me,

Advocate = In Greek is G 3875


G3875
παράκλητος
paraklētos
par-ak'-lay-tos
An intercessor, consoler: - advocate, comforter.

ad·vo·cate

   [v. ad-vuh-keyt; n. ad-vuh-kit, -keyt]  Show IPAverb, -cat·ed, -cat·ing, noun

–verb (used with object)

1.

to speak or write in favor of; support or urge by argument;recommend publicly: He advocated higher salaries forteachers.

–noun

2.

a person who speaks or writes in support or defense of aperson, cause, etc. (usually followed by of ): an advocate ofpeace.

3.

a person who pleads for or in behalf of another; intercessor.

4.

a person who pleads the cause of another in a court of law.

One who comes along side of. I'm thought of the Holy Spirit as comforter and counselor but not as "Advocate". He is our Attorney; our Lawyer. He is always there to justify us from wrong doing and enforce our rights as Royal Children of the Kingdom of God! We are God's kids.

In many states you can disown your real kids but not adopted kids. Adopted kids are just as much your kids as natural kids, in a sense better because there was a deliberate choice to go through a process in order to adopt. This means as children of God containing the spirit of adoption we are just as much the son or daughter of God as Jesus.

The Father is our father, Jesus is our Brother, the Holy Spirit is our Guardian, Lawyer, Nanny if you will. He is our constant companion on earth and our caretaker this side of heaven. In many ways the Holy Spirit is our mother. One must remember that ALL humans came from God. Man and Woman. So I think much of the Woman's personality came from the Holy Spirit. So in a sense, the Holy Spirit is the Mother of the Family. Have you ever seen a mom fight for her kids? It's vicious. A mama bear who's cubs are threatened is a violent animal. I believe this is part of what is being said here. The Holy spirit is our advocate, protector, and defender. He is the one who who comes along side of. Mom's are also more comforting to kids than Dad's are. They come along side, and hold them, and hug them, and reassure them. This is the Holy Spirit too.

I have a defender! My rights are enforced! Hallelujah.

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Plunger

In the grimy forgotten corner of a restroom, resting against the tile, was a white handle, nicked and dinged from use. At the bottom of the handle was a black rubber base, now turned green from age or use one couldn't tell. The grout had turned a brownish black over the years. The water ran a steady slow stream from a faucet in disrepair. The restroom, like the store, was a forgotten area. Used daily but never really tended to.



This particular restroom was located in the back of...

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Plunger

In the grimy forgotten corner of a restroom, resting against the tile, was a white handle, nicked and dinged from use. At the bottom of the handle was a black rubber base, now turned green from age or use one couldn't tell. The grout had turned a brownish black over the years. The water ran a steady slow stream from a faucet in disrepair. The restroom, like the store, was a forgotten area. Used daily but never really tended to.

This particular restroom was located in the back of...

Read more →

Paper

He stood before an audience of 3,000. He took out a blank notebook and slowly, ceremoniously, ripped out a piece of paper. The sound carried across the auditorium through his lapel mic. He never tired of this demonstration. He held out this paper over his head. Walking down passed the first 100 seat section, he stopped in near a disinterested young man in his late teens. “Excuse me, young man,” He prodded. “could you tell me what this is?” The teen looked up as he handed him the paper. “It’s a piece of paper” The young man replied un-amused. “It is?” the speaker replied. The speaker prodded further, “Is that all it is? Is that all you see?” The teen looked it over, and turned it around a few times. “A blank piece of paper?” The teen asked as if he wasn’t getting the question.

“Does anybody else see anything differently?” the speaker took the paper back and held it up again. He waited a beat before moving on. “I don’t see a blank piece of paper. I see money!” The teen must have thought it an interesting thing to say as he sat up a little straighter and leaned forward. He removed his hood to reveal a snake tattoo rotating around from his ear around his neck to the opposite shoulder and large holes in his ears.

“Potential” the speaker began to expound. “All things big or small begin as potential. This paper could be a battle plan for an expert tactician, a play in the play book of a head coach, or a new hit song or popular novel. This paper could just as easily…” he began to rip strips of paper off and crumple it before tossing it over his shoulder to the floor behind. “…be trash. Yesterday’s big ideas. How many people ever envisioned something only to see it on the market later. How many writers considered small electronic handheld devices that could carry a voice and images over distance to other hand held devices before the first cell phones hit the markets? Ideas are not enough. They must be carried out.” He held one last strip “This is a new invention” and he crumpled it u and flicked it at the teen. “Young man..” he turned. “Please examine that”

He waited as the teen turned it over a few times. “Would you like to keep it or toss it?” The speaker asked with a wink. “The teen was not appreciating the attention and threw it at the speakers chest. “Toss it!” the teen replied. The paper hit his chest and landed on the floor in front of him. “OK, the young man doesn’t want to be an inventor. Anyone else care to examine the trashed idea?” A few moments of expectant silence followed. Finally a young girl, about ten, stepped into the aisle a few rows back. “I would” she said. Her mother motioned her back but the speaker had already motioned her forward and she was stepping up to the paper, smiling. She looked at the wad of paper as though at any moment it might explode into fireworks or some great magic.

The speaker winked at her and smiled, he kicked it with his toe at her and turned to walk away. The young girl stepped up to it and picked it up from the floor. “I think” she began, and the speaker stopped and looked back over his shoulder, “I see a cave” she said finally. “Really?” the speaker turned all the way back to her. “And?” Her small face contorted into an exaggerated look of concentration. “Inside” she began again “ see a Dragon. He is a tall Dragon, stately looking, but with a broken wing. He is green and he is hiding from a man in the cave.”

The speaker then pressed her further, “Is the man in the cave or the Dragon?” To which the girl replied “The Dragon of course.” She smiled. “I DO believe this young girl may be the smarted person in the whole room today!” he exclaimed. He waited a moment to let the rooms attention build. He turned back to her, egging her on to produce more details and finally he yelled as though we really were on a mission to protect this very real Dragon… “HURRY! Enter the cave! He must be protected at all costs!” It was now he and she in the room. He treated the rest of the room as though they didn’t exist for the moment. The girls expression was dramatic and excited she opened the wad and stopped suddenly. The whole audience was enraptured with the scene.

She examined the wad as she pulled out from it’s crevices a small bit of green. “We have found the dragon!” he said triumphantly. It too was paper and she revealed it to the audience as she unfolded it. A $100 bill. “That” he said softly over his mic, “is for having a vision my young girl. Go find your dragon and get me the rest of that story.”

15 years later

25 year old Victoria De La Corazon sat huddled over a desk, cheek pasted to her notebook. The other cheek was lighted softly by the blue hue of her computer monitor. She was still wearing her sever uniform from Denny’s, she didn’t bother changing when she got home because she wanted to get to her desk immediately, back to her dragon. She had fallen asleep as fire was clashing against shield. The first signs of morning now showing against her far wall, Vicky as they called her, began to stir. She grabbed her notebook and loaded her school bags and rushed for a quick shower and change.

She had spent 7 years working on her degree from the local State University. She had to attend part time, as she worked full time to pay for school and apartment. One week from now she would graduate. She already had 5 major publishers giving firm offers for well paying jobs as an editor and book reviewer, due in no small part to her dear professor Charles Stanfield. She was among his best and brightest students. She could still recall the day she met him, in an auditorium full of people. It wasn’t the $100 that sparked her love for him, it was his belief in her. Now she was studying under him. As images of street signs and store fronts passed her through the window of the public bus she rode to school each morning, her thoughts drifted to another world, full of mystery and dragons and fighting for survival.

--

Professor Charles, now President of the “Creative Writing Guild” and Head Dean for the school of fiction authors at the university, was now reclining in his dungeon.

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Paper

He stood before an audience of 3,000. He took out a blank notebook and slowly, ceremoniously, ripped out a piece of paper. The sound carried across the auditorium through his lapel mic. He never tired of this demonstration. He held out this paper over his head. Walking down passed the first 100 seat section, he stopped in near a disinterested young man in his late teens. “Excuse me, young man,” He prodded. “could you tell me what this is?” The teen looked up as he handed him the paper. “It’s a piece of paper” The young man replied un-amused. “It is?” the speaker replied. The speaker prodded further, “Is that all it is? Is that all you see?” The teen looked it over, and turned it around a few times. “A blank piece of paper?” The teen asked as if he wasn’t getting the question.

“Does anybody else see anything differently?” the speaker took the paper back and held it up again. He waited a beat before moving on. “I don’t see a blank piece of paper. I see money!” The teen must have thought it an interesting thing to say as he sat up a little straighter and leaned forward. He removed his hood to reveal a snake tattoo rotating around from his ear around his neck to the opposite shoulder and large holes in his ears.

“Potential” the speaker began to expound. “All things big or small begin as potential. This paper could be a battle plan for an expert tactician, a play in the play book of a head coach, or a new hit song or popular novel. This paper could just as easily…” he began to rip strips of paper off and crumple it before tossing it over his shoulder to the floor behind. “…be trash. Yesterday’s big ideas. How many people ever envisioned something only to see it on the market later. How many writers considered small electronic handheld devices that could carry a voice and images over distance to other hand held devices before the first cell phones hit the markets? Ideas are not enough. They must be carried out.” He held one last strip “This is a new invention” and he crumpled it u and flicked it at the teen. “Young man..” he turned. “Please examine that”

He waited as the teen turned it over a few times. “Would you like to keep it or toss it?” The speaker asked with a wink. “The teen was not appreciating the attention and threw it at the speakers chest. “Toss it!” the teen replied. The paper hit his chest and landed on the floor in front of him. “OK, the young man doesn’t want to be an inventor. Anyone else care to examine the trashed idea?” A few moments of expectant silence followed. Finally a young girl, about ten, stepped into the aisle a few rows back. “I would” she said. Her mother motioned her back but the speaker had already motioned her forward and she was stepping up to the paper, smiling. She looked at the wad of paper as though at any moment it might explode into fireworks or some great magic.

The speaker winked at her and smiled, he kicked it with his toe at her and turned to walk away. The young girl stepped up to it and picked it up from the floor. “I think” she began, and the speaker stopped and looked back over his shoulder, “I see a cave” she said finally. “Really?” the speaker turned all the way back to her. “And?” Her small face contorted into an exaggerated look of concentration. “Inside” she began again “ see a Dragon. He is a tall Dragon, stately looking, but with a broken wing. He is green and he is hiding from a man in the cave.”

The speaker then pressed her further, “Is the man in the cave or the Dragon?” To which the girl replied “The Dragon of course.” She smiled. “I DO believe this young girl may be the smarted person in the whole room today!” he exclaimed. He waited a moment to let the rooms attention build. He turned back to her, egging her on to produce more details and finally he yelled as though we really were on a mission to protect this very real Dragon… “HURRY! Enter the cave! He must be protected at all costs!” It was now he and she in the room. He treated the rest of the room as though they didn’t exist for the moment. The girls expression was dramatic and excited she opened the wad and stopped suddenly. The whole audience was enraptured with the scene.

She examined the wad as she pulled out from it’s crevices a small bit of green. “We have found the dragon!” he said triumphantly. It too was paper and she revealed it to the audience as she unfolded it. A $100 bill. “That” he said softly over his mic, “is for having a vision my young girl. Go find your dragon and get me the rest of that story.”

15 years later

25 year old Victoria De La Corazon sat huddled over a desk, cheek pasted to her notebook. The other cheek was lighted softly by the blue hue of her computer monitor. She was still wearing her sever uniform from Denny’s, she didn’t bother changing when she got home because she wanted to get to her desk immediately, back to her dragon. She had fallen asleep as fire was clashing against shield. The first signs of morning now showing against her far wall, Vicky as they called her, began to stir. She grabbed her notebook and loaded her school bags and rushed for a quick shower and change.

She had spent 7 years working on her degree from the local State University. She had to attend part time, as she worked full time to pay for school and apartment. One week from now she would graduate. She already had 5 major publishers giving firm offers for well paying jobs as an editor and book reviewer, due in no small part to her dear professor Charles Stanfield. She was among his best and brightest students. She could still recall the day she met him, in an auditorium full of people. It wasn’t the $100 that sparked her love for him, it was his belief in her. Now she was studying under him. As images of street signs and store fronts passed her through the window of the public bus she rode to school each morning, her thoughts drifted to another world, full of mystery and dragons and fighting for survival.

--

Professor Charles, now President of the “Creative Writing Guild” and Head Dean for the school of fiction authors at the university, was now reclining in his dungeon.

Read more →