So, I wrote this long ago. Sometimes my writing is alarming, but in this case it is mostly serene. The story is simple and focuses on two humans staring at each other through their memories. The first paragraph is one human, and the second is another. Try to decipher what they feel about each other, and understand the deep roots memories can keep in us.

I think, I was standing on a lake somewhere far off in West Virginia, perhaps. You could hear the geese flapping their wings and honking loud ambient musical notes that wobbled delicately through the air. Each note glided effortlessly forward into my thoughts. The cold clear air of the mind is something you will need, but you will soon forget the feeling of these desires when with a shift of the wind you begin to move forward and then look back again. We as humans begin to wiggle and bobble with each wave of movement as your mind shifts around these many words of mine. With each intricate and delicate chime you become something entirely different, and you keep stopping and looking back and forward to me, but never at me.

But, that's not what you wanted to say to me because I think I was standing too far off now. I was looking into those deep...deep eyes of yours and wanted to caution you about that movement, but your eyes just began to drink me up. I wanted to feel the thick harmonious colored bans and melt with the blackness. I wanted to crawl inside your body and plant myself like a little tree and grow there, but these damn geese keep flapping their wings and harking delicate symphonies in the far off mist now on that same lake. Let these words fill your mind, and know that I was standing on a lake somewhere listening to you. I just can't seem to remember where. And, then I heard crack of the ice and you were gone forever.

In the end the story is simple, the human in the first paragraph dies after they fall through the ice. The first person states that the second person can never really look at the memory of their death without connecting it with the past and the future. And the second talks about how they feel. The story is something we can all relate to if someone is lost when we are near, unless our minds never wonder over the memory.

It's so hard believe what my heart keeps saying today when I look into my grandmother's eyes. I wrap my arms around her, and kiss her on the cheek. I step back, and look her in the eyes and tell her I love her and goodbye. She turns away and steps out the door into the coldness of the night. Inside, I'm screaming to myself you forgot to say you loved me....you forgot to say you loved me, but it's not really a scream just a silent realization as I turn away into the night. As I move into dreamy restfulness, I don't ever want to wake from this dream or this life.

Tomorrow, I walk slowly down the stairs into the living room listening to her ebbing conversation with my mother. I walk forward and I smile and kiss her. She laughs and smiles and tells me I never come up to kiss her. "I know....I know grandma.." is all I can manage to utter. I trail off to myself silently, "I forgot I had ever loved you." It's really everything it seemed, in my my life.

I don't remember how it felt to say goodbye to her as person. I laid up in my room against the impossibly empty white walls trying to figure out what everything meant. After she had the stroke, she had a hard time keeping track of her money and her memories. She was still the same person she always was, but her sullen eyes couldn't shed those teardrop lies then criticize. It's hard to say what I felt...when I realized she had never really loved me all those years. I think I closed my eyes feeling some terrible euphoria and anguish and then opened my eyes again to find some teardrops tracing along the contours of my face to finally hang impossibly at the edge of my chin. And, I think they're still hanging there against those white walls.

I never thought I'd find this innocent broken child in myself. When I stared out the window, I had never seen a bluer sky. I could feel it reaching out and coming closer. At least in the far reaching sky, I could remember those days long gone when I was nothing and felt the occasional cold sting of some object against my body for nothing, but being a kid. It's hard to be poetic about the death of my innocence or any type of child abuse. Those days when I was just impossibly a kid....just a kid who never talked much.

Impossibly, I thought I had somehow changed her, and she had loved me after I had almost died in the hospital. As I laid there in the hospital barley awake against the rhythmic drip of my life, she had stopped by, but she never said much. And I think after that she started telling me she loved me.

But, "To-day we have naming of parts. Japonica Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens, And to-day we have naming of parts."

It's impossibly hard to look into the future and see the beauty in it all, but you can see it if you look around at least today when you name the parts of your life, but more importantly hers and every person you think is a black hearted fiend. When I closed my eyes, and thought of her gone forever to me as person, I think I was whispering to myself, .Goodbye grandmother....I never thought I known you, but you will live on inside me as the person I always wanted you to be.. Dramatically impossible, but that is how it plays out in your emotions. Even if you don't think about it logically as the images of your life and hers keep flashing off and on.....you try to set yourself free and you can feel the sadness of life inside you. Yes, you feel that sadness deeply of what she should have been or could of been. And, when she dies like the Jews at Auschwitz, and much like the ethnic cleansing of the Germans after World War II, only vagaries will be left in which a human being can be nothing more than pure goodness, evil, or sadness. And they will say she was evil, but she was much more than that. She was human. But, they never really understood at least the most simple truth: there is no black and white in this world at all. And, there never will be. At least I understood the human is never evil nor good. And I thought I knew who she, because I had a memory of her, but I never really understood who she was or anyone, did I?

So I'm here once again updating this page. After spending some time searching my name("josh landwehr") up on google like Stephen Colbert does, I've happened to see this page makes the top rank and my live journal comes in second. Where are you snaphat.com? Anyway, it's the summer, and sometime has passed since I finished out the semester here at UD. I'm sure you're wondering if you know me, how could I afford such a place. The truth is I can't, and I've come to realize most of the people around me can. No it's not an epiphany, I was never that dumb, but the deceptions people keep in their minds is vaguely wary. What people want to do at this place and what I am here to do are separate axioms which may not seem to make sense, but there are many ideals I believe should be universal and so do other people, but they just focus on themselves and what they want for themselves. They keep those truths to themselves, like alcohol pressed against their pursed lips. So descriptive.

So, this summer I've been working in my own way developing and working on my website trying to make some money and learning more about css, xhtml, and graphic design in general. Aaron my twin brother has been doing some open-source development for Miranda-IM software. Yes, we both are beyond the simple programming classes we took at UD and probably have been since we were in 7th grade. My older brother has been developing a website using a content based ideology for ad revenue Needless to say after his site was finally included in the google cache, msn, and yahoo, its traffic started to pick up. Comparing traffic detail and ad impressions, we've discovered my site gets better revenue per 10 thousand impressions, by a factor of around 400%. I gave him some advice on what he should do to increase his revenue, and we'll see how that works out. Yes, this technical jargon.. I'm so sorry, and I'm not a technological elitist like so many people(tech savvy people) around me are. I know I waste time learning stupid technology crap, when I could be saving in the world. That's why I write stories and think deeply perhaps.

Other than that, I've spent some time reading some good comic books(yes they do exist), and books in general. I recommend, Blankets - by Craig Thompson, for all those comic book naysayers. So I hope that's a good update for all those who know me and, but weren't inclined to ask me. Thanks a lot. More to come later whenever that is.

As the boundless night approaches, my mind flutters for a second, but only briefly. Most nights are for sleeping, but some nights are for the past. I lay awake transfixed, but not really awake because I'm thinking of the past. Memories flood my gaping mind, and then I see the streets or the schools of places once gone. The cold air pulls at my being pressing my pulsating thoughts through my mind from this lang syne to something less . the coldness. I'm now fully aware of myself, but I have not forgotten the others of the past or even my once self. I've lived in so many ways and touched so much of life that I think I never truly understood what life could be or was before. Perhaps it was just because I was so young at heart that I lost touch with the world.

I'm staring off into the darkness now, but my cat, Chowder, pulls me back as meow erupts from him. I look over at him, and he stares at me quizzically for a brief second, then back out the window watching the secret little things I could never manage to see. He concentrates on a tree transfixedly as it sways in the wind. He's so mesmerized by life, and enjoys it so much that it truly amazes me. Even now I'm watching him clean himself as I type these very words. His golden fur hangs delicately against his mouth as he roams his body over and over with his tongue. And now, he has jumped into my lap and he sets there slowly nodding off.

And so, these pictures of the past hang like delicate fragments of glass in my memory. Much like my cat, I sometimes idly enjoy life, but other times I contemplate about the nature of the world like it once was. My memories of the past are what mesmerize me about life. I see the faces of times long gone and passed. I remember the trees and things and the seasons, but most of all I remember the people.

I remember the long vivid nights when my brothers and I would waste the nights away living in the world of James Bonds or million other lotus lands. Just being their together with them and interacting was my happiness. In those very moments my eyes only rested on those lotus flowers and lands in which I lived, but now I see too far away times resting like dreams upon my honey dewed mind.

So, like lank chastened spirits I carry the reproaches of the world. In the miasma I lived once upon the capacious whims of poverty. Now I've seen people grow and change, but I've never seen anyone stay the same. I've watched my mother pulling us from the tumult of our depression. With five children chained to her back, she went to college full time, and succeeded. I know, I could never undertake something so demanding. Then, when I watch delicate colored roses, I see the people and places. Their warm colored petals float delicately in the air. It matters not what choices brought them their to the evening sky because they are so beautiful.

With dreams like rivers and hearts like ice, I've felt the coldness and bitter contempt of others and with chaotic regularity I've grown to love humanity. My brothers have gone out in the world and set up their strongholds. They live rather meagerly. When a lump swells up on their bodies, they just hope it goes away or if they get sick upon the swells of night, no one is there to lift a helping hand. I want to give my hand. I want them to take it and feel it. Yet, something is missing. With so many grooves not yet etched into it, they shall slip from my grasp.

I've seen them grow from teenagers to college students and now to their hapless lives. And, so they have tried to escape life by many means. None of which are so pretty. I do not wish or dream for delicate butterflies to lament their lives, but to just see and feel them is all I can hope for. Although, I do not just see or feel their lives because I've lived in such a world before. And so, my mother's hand lifted me from that far away place. Life for me has changed, and my past like pigeoned breasted determination resides in me. In these very words my future rest nigh. It matters not what my brothers' choices in life were. They are those rose petals that hang in the air watching over me.

With dew dropped dreams and lovely lees, my family stood by side when I fell violently ill hanging in the air like those very rose petals I admire. And so, everyday my body scorns itself. Attacking its very being because of this unknown disease other than its futile name, Crohn's. My dreams are now woven and so are the people I see. They smile for they do, laugh because they can. It matters not in the whats or whys because they just do. So I admire them for what they are, and I oh do smile when I see them so.

I lie in that area where the moon meets the earth. Stuck in the void of space. My life and my thoughts are what make me whole. And now, I need a place to rest. A place where my thoughts can slowly be organized as I lie there nodding off. I shall jump upon you, and when least expect it, I shall mesmerize you by the simple ways in which I observe life. That is all I can offer for I'm just like my cat. So, I shall cut these lines deep into my hand; bending and shaping them around others. They shall become intricate patterns in my life weaving into my mind through these memories of life. Like you, I sacrifice a part of myself so in days not yet foretold, I shall live in your hearts and minds and make you smile like you once did. Who can really ever offer more?

So, here is story I once wrote called We Walked:

We walked single file; then, stopped. Each movement had some meaning. We pressed forward through the hall and our footsteps echoed noisily off every surface that chimed with our movements. We step forward, but never back. We walk and walk slowly moving into the lunchroom. We barely remember the place or our lunches once gone.

A boy steps forward, he moves slightly out of line with an orange lunch box in hand. It's all plastic and there is some band on it. He can't recall their name, but only the shame the box brought him. He's barely six or seven perhaps. His hair is golden blond and messily cut. He hurriedly eats his lunch and hides the box beneath the table. He doesn't talk today, no one notices.

We walk disordered. Our stomachs growl and ache. A slow tremble-our feet drag across the cement. We press down as hard as our might bears it. We walk and walk resentfully moving toward the bus stop. We barely remember our hearts or the lives they once destroyed.

A boy stands astray, he moves slightly shuffling his feet. They smile and giggle and laugh at his expense. No one likes a kid worth a dollar or a quarter. He can't recall anything except perhaps the resentment they eagerly pushed into his being. He stops talking, no one notices.

We walk doggedly, eagerly trumping anyone in our way. Our movements skittered and haltered moving sneakily...distastefully forward through life. We walk and then run moving forward through the halls. We barely remember all the reasons in the whys and hows, but we can taste the world crumbling out our lips.

A boy steps in then out, he moves lightly treading on ancient ground. He sees a girl, then destroys her taking his pain easily away. He draws her rather crudely on a piece of paper never leaving any detail out. He's sent away down to the office, and blames all his friends. His mother burns him with every word that he should of never learned. He can't recall anything except perhaps all the malice that filled his heart. He never would talk again, no one ever notices.

We walk eagerly, running to fill every empty swing, every monkey bar not seen, every inch not possessed. We run and scream and call aloud every ancient thing that makes life easy. We barely remember the people or the songs they once sung except perhaps one or two, but we can remember every moment that proved our worth or crumbled our castles.

A boy never mingles with another; he just walks around peering into the hearts of others, then turns away. Today a girl calls him sad Josh, saying he is just like Eeyore the donkey. Why can't he remember why? Then days later, a boy pushes him to ground and begins attacking him. He doesn't fight back, does anyone know why? He cries and cries, but never tells anyone. He can't recall anything except each person that filled his heart...their faces is all he can see and perhaps some of their names. He can't remember talking, no one really cares.

We walk steadily, shuffling into our desks. We set and stare and wonder. We pull out our crayons or our markers and begin a little busy dance. These pictures are ourselves--an expression of our beauty. We laugh and giggle and make jokes; our times to remember. We barely remember what made life so easy even in the hardest times, but we can still remember each person that filled our hearts.

A boy reads and reads. Too much does he read. Books far beyond his eager little mind does he barely understand, but he reads them anyway. A teacher steps in then out. His name is Mr. Vidovich. He teaches the boy to read and read and cares too much about him. The boy can't recall anything except the big blue heart this man possessed. He found a place to exist . a place where he could live and never talk again. Could anyone really be that broken?

Hey, I'm doing good in school, although I probably won't get a 4.0 this semester like last.

-Josh Landwehr

Although, it may appear that I'm not that advance at programming, I've had a lot of self taught experience programming since I was 12. Anyways, I'm currently working a program that uses dynamic memory management with a genetic algorithm to solve mathematical problems. I'm trying to make my program dynamic enough and flexible enough so it can creatively solve mathematical problems and one day the millennium problems based on simple user rules.

I currently have a strauss link: Gentic that outlines what I have completed.

-Josh Landwehr

My older brother Chip dropped out of college. Even though he has the greatest life EVAR, he still does programming projects all the time. His latest project, a type of portal, dynamically updates its content to maximize its profitability based on content alone. So far the program runs as a process and updates once a day, but it can be tweaked to update however much you want it too. You can catch a sneak peak of the developmental version at, ninjabucket.com.

I currently have a link: Web Portal that shows the content generated by the program.

-Josh Landwehr