Steven Hunley
01-25-2013, 11:12 PM
Plagiarism
by
Steven Hunley
What a player the Grandmaster was. There were rumors he’d been a boy genius, then a Russian Grandmaster at chess. Highly prestigious. Lived outside Petrograd on an estate in the country with his mother and aunt. Government paid for it all. Ate what he wanted, did what he chose.
Fame brought money, and in a typical youthful capitalist/communist way he wasted it, over- steeping himself in wine, women, and song. After that he was a gambling addict who thought he knew all the percentages and formulas, and positive he could correlate the rules of occurrences that determined the fall of dice, the spin of a wheel, every card in a hand of cards, and predict each and every outcome. He indulged in risky behavior, and unprotected sex. Unfortunately, his genius bloomed early in life, and by now his intellect had withered. He never again experienced the shining moments of his youth or savored its tender triumphs. He lived in a dingy studio next to the Babylon, the government still paid his rent, but from a different end of its benevolent spectrum, ten Kunas a week, one step from homeless.
To console himself he’d turned to opium, and under its calming influence, his flame of youth had settled down to passive dying embers, hardly enough to keep a man warm. At one time he was able to look ahead, predict the future, and plan his future moves. But now he spent more time falling behind, lost in reverie. Unwilling to escape his poisoned dreams, he preferred to clutch at fantasy with a crippled hand instead. Sometimes geniuses are so focused on genius they lose sight of their limitations.
Wishful sinful wicked youth, can’t escape the blues. They can’t even get in through the door.
OK madams and monsieurs, here’s the truly literate writer's test. A piece of this is as bold an example of plagiarism as I can make. It’s not hard to find, and there’s even a hint for the youngsters, LOL.
So what is it?
©2013 Steven Hunley
Ooops! Looks like I added a 'th'.
by
Steven Hunley
What a player the Grandmaster was. There were rumors he’d been a boy genius, then a Russian Grandmaster at chess. Highly prestigious. Lived outside Petrograd on an estate in the country with his mother and aunt. Government paid for it all. Ate what he wanted, did what he chose.
Fame brought money, and in a typical youthful capitalist/communist way he wasted it, over- steeping himself in wine, women, and song. After that he was a gambling addict who thought he knew all the percentages and formulas, and positive he could correlate the rules of occurrences that determined the fall of dice, the spin of a wheel, every card in a hand of cards, and predict each and every outcome. He indulged in risky behavior, and unprotected sex. Unfortunately, his genius bloomed early in life, and by now his intellect had withered. He never again experienced the shining moments of his youth or savored its tender triumphs. He lived in a dingy studio next to the Babylon, the government still paid his rent, but from a different end of its benevolent spectrum, ten Kunas a week, one step from homeless.
To console himself he’d turned to opium, and under its calming influence, his flame of youth had settled down to passive dying embers, hardly enough to keep a man warm. At one time he was able to look ahead, predict the future, and plan his future moves. But now he spent more time falling behind, lost in reverie. Unwilling to escape his poisoned dreams, he preferred to clutch at fantasy with a crippled hand instead. Sometimes geniuses are so focused on genius they lose sight of their limitations.
Wishful sinful wicked youth, can’t escape the blues. They can’t even get in through the door.
OK madams and monsieurs, here’s the truly literate writer's test. A piece of this is as bold an example of plagiarism as I can make. It’s not hard to find, and there’s even a hint for the youngsters, LOL.
So what is it?
©2013 Steven Hunley
Ooops! Looks like I added a 'th'.