We interrupt our normal broadcast for a special report.
It has come to my attention that a man of power, indeed, a veritable prophet, might be visiting this humble corner of the interweb in the near future. To him I give my warmest welcome, which is at least as warm as the heart of the sun. May he partake fully of the pleasures contained herein and, by Providence, avoid altogether any bitterness and silly talk; therefore, I wish him peace.
We now continue with our regular programming.
Now, my friends, I may proceed to my intended topic: nonhuman friends. These may be animate objects, inanimate objects, or abstract objects. Many households have adopted animate objects, usually animals, as friends. Though my household has done no such thing for many years, this yet remains a noble practice, unless of course those animals happen to be those that do not make friends, such as the jellyfish or the unicorn or the elephant. Even worse, one could adopt a unicorn and and elephant, which are perpetually at war in their native home, India. Also, elephants are very difficult to feed, as the mandrake plants tend to run away. The same applies to unicorns, except that it is the unicorns that run from their food and the one feeding them rather than the food itself running away. There is and exception, though, in the case of the unicorn: it may be cared for by a beautifully dressed virgin in the midst of a forest, otherwise the unicorn will gore its intended master to death, just as Alexander gored the Persian Empire. Thus we must be very selective of our animal friends, remaining with such creatures as dogs and horses and talking dogs and talking horses. The latter two, though, should be tested for unclean spirits before making friends. To conclude, I would like to advise my friends on certain truths in animal-friend-naming.
That one ought to call a dog by the name Philokunos
That one ought to call a horse by the name Philoippos.
That one ought to call a bird by the name John Cage.
That one ought to call a fish by the name Philoichthus.
Next we move on to friendship with inanimate objects, which is also a noble practice, pursued by many fine individuals, though admittedly fewer than the latter. I for one, the readership may recall, made friends with a miracle gourd (which seems to have been a squash) until the Lord sent a worm (or fungus or something) to kill it. Regardless, I am not without precedent. The naming of these friends, unless we are Scientists, matters little to me, as far as noble truths go. I named my friend the gourd, or perhaps my friend the squash, My Friend the Gourd. Of course, there are other inanimate objects less suitable for friendship, such as the mirror's reflection or the gilded (and bearded) idol or the deceased corpse. Pet rocks, by the way, are fine.
Lastly we come to the most important variety of nonhuman friend, the abstract object. These include numbers and words, which are the best abstract objects for befriending. It is mathematical fact, after all, that some numbers are greater than others. Which number is the greatest, however, is a matter of dispute. Some say (all right, so one noble reader says) that twelve is the greatest number, while others say that twelve must be less than some number. Of course, we must remind ourselves of the number three, which is the number of the Holy Trinity, and that three and thirty seems to be the number of years Our Lord Christ Jesus spent upon the earth, three of which comprised His ministry, and that He seems to have died at 3:00 pm, only to rise three days later. Furthermore, we find a propensity of three-point slogans (shout your slogans! throw your stones! it will not help!) throughout human history, including but not limited to the French Revolution, "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity," and the Russian Revolution, "Land, Peace, Bread" and from the radio (the voice of the Evil Right-Wing Republicanofascist Conspiracy), "USA! USA! USA!" So it must be a sound proposition to make better friends with some numbers over others.
This moves us on to words, which may be kept as adopted pets or children. It is, after all, a moral imperative to treat orphans and widows well, and why should this not extend to orphaned and widowed words? Here are three (the number of the Holy Trinity, et cetera) words that I at least have adopted:
Groovy, that I might express something to be swell.
Swell, that I might express something to be neato.
Neato, that I might express something to be groovy.
It is also recommended that we occasionally make use of common word orderings in dead languages. Take the sentence, "I cut him into little pieces with a knife, and I hid his remains under the floorboards."
The Ancient Greek would phrase it as follows:
"Having cut him into little pieces with a knife, I at least hid his remains under the floorboards."
Or the Middle Englishman:
"Indeed, I did take mine own knife and dice his most foul corpse into the smallest of pieces, and furthermore I hid that which remained beneath my floorboards, ere the mangled corpse remaineth yet."
Can we really leave these unpleasant and cumbersome wordings out to die in the cold and the wind and the rain and the airplane and the blood and the mud and the beer? Of course not. By the way, you are right. I did just quote Pink Floyd ("San Tropez") and Johnny Cash ("A Boy Named Sue") in the same breath.
So concludes our discussion of inhuman, that is, nonhuman friendship. Remember, though, my friends (who are human), you are always the best of friends. As I have said before (in precisely three words), hurrah for friendship!
29 January 2008
22 January 2008
Trampling Modernity Underfoot
Happy birthday! Happy birthday, my friends! Happy birthday to me!
Well, actually, my birthday is not until next month, but that does not stop me from having a happy birthday today, now does it? There has come into my possession as of yesterday a wonderful new device, coming in the name of Birthday Present, subspecies Early. It is a musical machine, which plays all manner of musical recording that a human being in probability might possess. These are, in order of importance and enjoyability: LP's, CD's, Radio Signals, Mp3's, and Tapes. Indeed, this is a very exciting business, most of all the business pertaining to the LP, the greatest recording medium known to human history.
Like many parents of people aged in such a way as myself, mine possess albums in LP form in profusion. In the late summertime, my household acquired its own, brand new record player, the old ones having broken in the last couple of decades. Thus I gained great entertainment and edification from making use of these LP's on the record player, as such facilitated my discovery of and subsequent devotion to Jethro Tull in particular. I can now also listen to such favorites as Wish You Were Here and The Dark Side of the Moon and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band in their True Forms. The experience is, I think, much like understanding the books of the New Testament or the Homeric Epics in Immortal (or "dead") Ancient Greek, which is not at all similar to the Modern Greek which is now spoken upon the earth.
Why, then, is it so wonderful that I have a record player of my very own? Well, my has come with me to Oxnard, where I can walk for three minutes to arrive at the music library, where contained therein are somewhere in the area of five thousand LP's, all cataloged on the interwebs. Yesterday I checked out three LP's, including Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition performed in their original piano format (rather than the usual Ravel orchestration), Satie's Socrate, and at the height of obscurity, Satie's Messe des Pauvres. Now, here are some strange facts:
The music library possesses Trout Mask Replica, as well as three other Captain Beefheart albums, which exceeds the number of Led Zeppelin albums that they possess, as well as the number of Pink Floyd albums and Jethro Tull albums. Frank Zappa, however, trumps them all, equating approximately to The Beatles in album quantity. By no means can I explain it.
In conclusion, I would like to speak on footprints. I awoke this morning at precisely 7:05 AM, and I ventured outdoors at about 7:45 AM to find snow on the ground. In snow, the human foot, in these conditions usually covered by a shoe, leaves a distinct print in the shape of that shoe or (heaven forbid!) foot. I have been observing these footprints, and it has come to my attention that most prints consist of strange shapes and designs, many of them unpleasant. This is to be contrasted with my footprint, which consists of a smooth heel and a smooth rest-of-the-shoe. It goes without saying whose footprints are more aesthetic, but I shall say anyway that mine are, for they do not clutter the ground with commerce.
Watch well your steps, my friends, that we all might grow stronger and wiser for your having taken them.
Well, actually, my birthday is not until next month, but that does not stop me from having a happy birthday today, now does it? There has come into my possession as of yesterday a wonderful new device, coming in the name of Birthday Present, subspecies Early. It is a musical machine, which plays all manner of musical recording that a human being in probability might possess. These are, in order of importance and enjoyability: LP's, CD's, Radio Signals, Mp3's, and Tapes. Indeed, this is a very exciting business, most of all the business pertaining to the LP, the greatest recording medium known to human history.
Like many parents of people aged in such a way as myself, mine possess albums in LP form in profusion. In the late summertime, my household acquired its own, brand new record player, the old ones having broken in the last couple of decades. Thus I gained great entertainment and edification from making use of these LP's on the record player, as such facilitated my discovery of and subsequent devotion to Jethro Tull in particular. I can now also listen to such favorites as Wish You Were Here and The Dark Side of the Moon and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band in their True Forms. The experience is, I think, much like understanding the books of the New Testament or the Homeric Epics in Immortal (or "dead") Ancient Greek, which is not at all similar to the Modern Greek which is now spoken upon the earth.
Why, then, is it so wonderful that I have a record player of my very own? Well, my has come with me to Oxnard, where I can walk for three minutes to arrive at the music library, where contained therein are somewhere in the area of five thousand LP's, all cataloged on the interwebs. Yesterday I checked out three LP's, including Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition performed in their original piano format (rather than the usual Ravel orchestration), Satie's Socrate, and at the height of obscurity, Satie's Messe des Pauvres. Now, here are some strange facts:
The music library possesses Trout Mask Replica, as well as three other Captain Beefheart albums, which exceeds the number of Led Zeppelin albums that they possess, as well as the number of Pink Floyd albums and Jethro Tull albums. Frank Zappa, however, trumps them all, equating approximately to The Beatles in album quantity. By no means can I explain it.
In conclusion, I would like to speak on footprints. I awoke this morning at precisely 7:05 AM, and I ventured outdoors at about 7:45 AM to find snow on the ground. In snow, the human foot, in these conditions usually covered by a shoe, leaves a distinct print in the shape of that shoe or (heaven forbid!) foot. I have been observing these footprints, and it has come to my attention that most prints consist of strange shapes and designs, many of them unpleasant. This is to be contrasted with my footprint, which consists of a smooth heel and a smooth rest-of-the-shoe. It goes without saying whose footprints are more aesthetic, but I shall say anyway that mine are, for they do not clutter the ground with commerce.
Watch well your steps, my friends, that we all might grow stronger and wiser for your having taken them.
17 January 2008
Historical Expletives or: Unwinding the Conspiracy
Good evening, my friends. A grave matter is on my mind, a matter of which I have long been aware, but one whose manifestations of late have not failed to distress and agitate. I refer, of course, to the use of certain words and combinations thereof in the discipline of History. Historians, oftentimes a despicable lot, at least the despicable ones anyway, frequently show undue favor to these words and combinations thereof. These are typically youthful historians*, all of whom faced a brutal and persistent indoctrination of these concepts by their even more evil predecessors. These youthful historians of which I speak are not so much evil in themselves, but they are rather cogs in the great Machine of Evil that operates in the prevalent and popular Dark Corners of Academia. Thus in using their obscene terminology, they demonstrate** more of a mental weakness and lack of independent thought as being puppets of the Machine (colloquially known as "The Man") than demonstrating a wicked desire to perpetuate the operation of the Machine of Evil, which runs on the Blood of the Ignorant.
What is so vile about these words? What do they stand for? The trouble with them is that they stand for evil and error, and this indeed is vile. I grow weary to think upon them, and it is not without difficulty that I review them here:
Context is an asinine term meaning (or at least it should mean) that we ought to think of history in its proper place and time. This idea is perfectly sound, but the word itself is horribly abused and uttered to death. Forget entirely events (especially that bloody mess of battle), causes*** and effects (someone will just reinterpret them so that you are wrong), and focus everything on understanding context that we might understand cultures or something. Speaking of culture:
Culture used to be something in which to take pride. There was a time when an Ancient Greek could say, "Look at my wonderful Ancient Greek culture, with its art, architecture, philosophy, and hedonistic mystery cults," and everyone would agree that that is all just wonderful. Then the Ancient Roman would say, "Look at my wonderful Ancient Greek culture, which I borrowed from the real, live Ancient Greeks who are dead now," and everyone would still agree that that is still just wonderful. Now any bumpkin or yahoo can have culture; indeed, all bumpkins and yahoos do have "culture," and it is blasphemous not to honor this wonderful culture. I, however, have trouble believing that the cannibal or the heathen have culture. Is it really wrong not to tolerate cannibalism and human sacrifice (the latter where it applies)? Are cannibalism and human sacrifice "culture?"
Bias is the Lord-Emperor of all enraging words. If someone dares make use of it in reference to history, that same individual deserves violent correction. It is not a term of any particular merit in historical analysis, indeed, it has little to do with history at all, yet it continually finds itself regurgitated in from the decayed mouths of some deeply rotten individuals. While the intended expression is that the "biased document" or what have you was influenced by the mindset of its author, the employment of the expletive drags in a weighty, negative connotation, implying that the "biased document" is of limited worth. Thus a student's making of such an utterance is mere ignorance in need of correction, whereas the historian's use thereof is an inexcusable slip of rhetoric.
Consolidation of Power is essentially a meaningless phrase, like unto the others of its kind here listed. Historians use it when the wish to say in an intellectual sounding way that some leader did some clever thing to gain power at the expense of others. Used sparingly, I think this could have turned out to be a fine device, but it has become hackneyed to the point of horror. The only thing worse than having too much of a good thing is having too much of a mediocre thing. At least a good thing can be shared with one's excellent good friends.
BCE/CE are not brought up with the same weight as the others, I simply think they are really extraordinarily stupid and most of all aesthetically displeasing. They originated (as I understand it) in the nineteenth century as "Before the Christian Era" and "Christian Era," but they have sense become the neutral*^ "Before the Common Era" and "Common Era," which I need not point out makes absolutely no sense. If we want a secular dating system, go all the way with it. Make year 1 mark the birth of Henry Ford or something^. Also, to digress, is a secular system a neutral system^*?
Encounters are the events that occur when one "culture" meets a different "culture," and frequently one of them dies, but frequently one does not, also. It is founded in the idea that "discovery" is a nonsense term, that one cannot discover that which already exists and is known to exist by some. This does not hold logical water, but it holds ideological water, that is, the nearly insane veneration of non-Western civilization, the less important and more oriented southward in Africa the better. A wise Oompa-loompa^** once said, "I don't like the look of it," and I must agree with that Oompa-loompa.
Perspective is yet another term that has found itself utterly purged of any significance whatsoever thanks to recent obsession therewith and (as we should expect) excessive use thereof. It is supposed to mean that we should consider history from the angles of all its concerned parties, which is fair, except that it takes effect to the point of parodying itself. Yes, "perspective" gives insight into matters that might not otherwise have received attention, but very often (especially in the worst offenders on all these points: Elementary School and High School textbooks^***) at the expense of obviously more important matters. The fact of the matter is that the Civil War is vastly more important than nineteenth century proto-feminism. This is not do deny the worth of certain historical specialties, simply the need for balance outside those specialties, but when three of five authors of a particular textbook are noted feminists, what am I supposed to expect?
Geopolitical, Socioeconomic, Ethnoreligious, Religio-cultural, et cetera are all dreadful words that those historians wishing to sound more intelligent than they actually are use in profusion. These words are useful because they are both lengthy and often made up on the spot. For example, I invented the terms ethnoreligious and religio-cultural just now, but that does not make them useless. It makes them profound, destined to impress the easily confused. I, however, hate these words not simply because they are invented, in which case I would have a difficult time using words, rather, I hate them because they are invented to propagate a sham, which is the ability of the writer or speaker thereof as an exceptional wordsmith.
In conclusion, the Man is full of rhetoric, all of which is crafted carefully to prey on the feeble-minded, whose blood (I remind you) is the oil of the Man's Machine of Evil. As long as the cogs on this machine are turning, the mass delusions (not that the masses know enough history to become too terribly deluded) will not be beaten. I implore you, my friends, to abstain entirely from speaking these obscene expletives, and that you all might cringe upon hearing them, for they reek of dishonesty whether their speaker realizes it or not. It is a subconscious conspiracy, so watch out. Everyone is out to get you, they just do not realize it*^^.
Notes:
*See Thorvald Erikson, The Youthful Professor as Ideal Form (Erikson Press. Oxnard: 2008) for further information. I quote:
**Note the presence of "Demon" in demonstrate. See Matthew 8:28-34.
***The word "cause" nearly made the list, but not quite. Causation is out. Just dig the groove of an infinite history until your head explodes in paradox.
*^The linguist Zeldornius prefers "impotent" in his recent translation of The Quotable Thorvald Erikson.
^Aldous Huxley, Brave New World. Give credit where it is due, my friends.
^* No.
^** See Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, 1971, screenplay by Roald Dahl, based on the novel by the same, for whatever reason replacing Charlie with Willy Wonka in the film title. Starring Gene Wilder and lesser beings.
^***Especially in American history textbooks, which have a long history of being just awful. American history is not at all as important as this country's educational system makes it out to be, and if you ever want your European friends to talk to you, you must first realize that the French Revolution was far more important than that strange uprising in a few British colonies.
*^^ That is right. Only you. Yes, you, right there. Call into Coast to Coast AM and tell George, Ian, or Art about it, but preferably George.
What is so vile about these words? What do they stand for? The trouble with them is that they stand for evil and error, and this indeed is vile. I grow weary to think upon them, and it is not without difficulty that I review them here:
Context is an asinine term meaning (or at least it should mean) that we ought to think of history in its proper place and time. This idea is perfectly sound, but the word itself is horribly abused and uttered to death. Forget entirely events (especially that bloody mess of battle), causes*** and effects (someone will just reinterpret them so that you are wrong), and focus everything on understanding context that we might understand cultures or something. Speaking of culture:
Culture used to be something in which to take pride. There was a time when an Ancient Greek could say, "Look at my wonderful Ancient Greek culture, with its art, architecture, philosophy, and hedonistic mystery cults," and everyone would agree that that is all just wonderful. Then the Ancient Roman would say, "Look at my wonderful Ancient Greek culture, which I borrowed from the real, live Ancient Greeks who are dead now," and everyone would still agree that that is still just wonderful. Now any bumpkin or yahoo can have culture; indeed, all bumpkins and yahoos do have "culture," and it is blasphemous not to honor this wonderful culture. I, however, have trouble believing that the cannibal or the heathen have culture. Is it really wrong not to tolerate cannibalism and human sacrifice (the latter where it applies)? Are cannibalism and human sacrifice "culture?"
Bias is the Lord-Emperor of all enraging words. If someone dares make use of it in reference to history, that same individual deserves violent correction. It is not a term of any particular merit in historical analysis, indeed, it has little to do with history at all, yet it continually finds itself regurgitated in from the decayed mouths of some deeply rotten individuals. While the intended expression is that the "biased document" or what have you was influenced by the mindset of its author, the employment of the expletive drags in a weighty, negative connotation, implying that the "biased document" is of limited worth. Thus a student's making of such an utterance is mere ignorance in need of correction, whereas the historian's use thereof is an inexcusable slip of rhetoric.
Consolidation of Power is essentially a meaningless phrase, like unto the others of its kind here listed. Historians use it when the wish to say in an intellectual sounding way that some leader did some clever thing to gain power at the expense of others. Used sparingly, I think this could have turned out to be a fine device, but it has become hackneyed to the point of horror. The only thing worse than having too much of a good thing is having too much of a mediocre thing. At least a good thing can be shared with one's excellent good friends.
BCE/CE are not brought up with the same weight as the others, I simply think they are really extraordinarily stupid and most of all aesthetically displeasing. They originated (as I understand it) in the nineteenth century as "Before the Christian Era" and "Christian Era," but they have sense become the neutral*^ "Before the Common Era" and "Common Era," which I need not point out makes absolutely no sense. If we want a secular dating system, go all the way with it. Make year 1 mark the birth of Henry Ford or something^. Also, to digress, is a secular system a neutral system^*?
Encounters are the events that occur when one "culture" meets a different "culture," and frequently one of them dies, but frequently one does not, also. It is founded in the idea that "discovery" is a nonsense term, that one cannot discover that which already exists and is known to exist by some. This does not hold logical water, but it holds ideological water, that is, the nearly insane veneration of non-Western civilization, the less important and more oriented southward in Africa the better. A wise Oompa-loompa^** once said, "I don't like the look of it," and I must agree with that Oompa-loompa.
Perspective is yet another term that has found itself utterly purged of any significance whatsoever thanks to recent obsession therewith and (as we should expect) excessive use thereof. It is supposed to mean that we should consider history from the angles of all its concerned parties, which is fair, except that it takes effect to the point of parodying itself. Yes, "perspective" gives insight into matters that might not otherwise have received attention, but very often (especially in the worst offenders on all these points: Elementary School and High School textbooks^***) at the expense of obviously more important matters. The fact of the matter is that the Civil War is vastly more important than nineteenth century proto-feminism. This is not do deny the worth of certain historical specialties, simply the need for balance outside those specialties, but when three of five authors of a particular textbook are noted feminists, what am I supposed to expect?
Geopolitical, Socioeconomic, Ethnoreligious, Religio-cultural, et cetera are all dreadful words that those historians wishing to sound more intelligent than they actually are use in profusion. These words are useful because they are both lengthy and often made up on the spot. For example, I invented the terms ethnoreligious and religio-cultural just now, but that does not make them useless. It makes them profound, destined to impress the easily confused. I, however, hate these words not simply because they are invented, in which case I would have a difficult time using words, rather, I hate them because they are invented to propagate a sham, which is the ability of the writer or speaker thereof as an exceptional wordsmith.
In conclusion, the Man is full of rhetoric, all of which is crafted carefully to prey on the feeble-minded, whose blood (I remind you) is the oil of the Man's Machine of Evil. As long as the cogs on this machine are turning, the mass delusions (not that the masses know enough history to become too terribly deluded) will not be beaten. I implore you, my friends, to abstain entirely from speaking these obscene expletives, and that you all might cringe upon hearing them, for they reek of dishonesty whether their speaker realizes it or not. It is a subconscious conspiracy, so watch out. Everyone is out to get you, they just do not realize it*^^.
Notes:
*See Thorvald Erikson, The Youthful Professor as Ideal Form (Erikson Press. Oxnard: 2008) for further information. I quote:
Yea, the clock truly hath struck a dark hour in our history when such vulgar creatures gain most undeserved entry into positions of influence, and indeed it reflecteth great poverty in the beloved halls of the academy. Nay, I say unto them, thine attempts at youth and friendship are ill spent, for such spendeth undue energies better devoted to the academy. Therefore, never shalt thou be called by thine initial by me, and never shalt thou ever receive any credence from me, but only criticism, precisely that which thou lackest, for thou art unable to soundly interpret by thine own ability, rather I shall interpret by mine own ability, disregarding thy fallacies. Furthermore, 'tis a tragedy when thou speakest with strange and common accentuation, applying such accentuation to pure history, thereby subjecting it to much undue squalor by thy forked tongue. Much the same, never shalt thou make any gain in allusion to plebeian amusements or any other vulgar efforts toward good humor, lest thy aim be distraction, which yet remains an undue aim and not a gain at all. Last, in thy great defamation and degradation of the noble humanities, 'tis our desperate plea that wouldst cast off false conviction and unsound presupposition, thereby drawing nearer the truth. O youthful professor, who remains always in ideal form, a curse thee and all thine house for a thousand and one generations!
**Note the presence of "Demon" in demonstrate. See Matthew 8:28-34.
***The word "cause" nearly made the list, but not quite. Causation is out. Just dig the groove of an infinite history until your head explodes in paradox.
*^The linguist Zeldornius prefers "impotent" in his recent translation of The Quotable Thorvald Erikson.
^Aldous Huxley, Brave New World. Give credit where it is due, my friends.
^* No.
^** See Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, 1971, screenplay by Roald Dahl, based on the novel by the same, for whatever reason replacing Charlie with Willy Wonka in the film title. Starring Gene Wilder and lesser beings.
^***Especially in American history textbooks, which have a long history of being just awful. American history is not at all as important as this country's educational system makes it out to be, and if you ever want your European friends to talk to you, you must first realize that the French Revolution was far more important than that strange uprising in a few British colonies.
*^^ That is right. Only you. Yes, you, right there. Call into Coast to Coast AM and tell George, Ian, or Art about it, but preferably George.
14 January 2008
Navigation with the Senses
Good evening, my friends. Today has been a day of navigation. It is the day I have returned with melancholy to Oxnard, sailing westward against the winds of my will. I do not know how many are inclined to agree, but liberation from responsibility very nice, and it is not something I should like to surrender. Now I must be responsible once again. They will tell me in the morning, "Read this by Thursday. It is very long," and then later that morning, "Translate this lengthy and convoluted passage of a strange tongue by tomorrow, at which point you will be given a quiz and another assignment of the same kind due the next day," and then in the afternoon, "Write a lengthy and profound synthesis of your ideas, and also read this excruciatingly long document by Thursday," and then later that afternoon, "Read this very dull and repetitive text by Thursday, for it is full of profundity," and then I will return to my cell and do all these things, and they will devour my life away until Blessed Friday, when I take flight into the East, and then later into the South. Only on Blessed Friday shall I receive respite from my toil, and I shall take full advantage thereof, only to begin the cycle again with the coming of the next week. There is no navigation in a cycle. Wherever you go, there you are, and that place always turns out to be your starting point again and again until 9 May finally arrives.
Today, however, was a day of navigation, which was achieved with the senses. One such sense is the sense of magnetism, which is used by a certain creature, widely known as the compass, to lead Victor Frankenstein and his monster to their deaths near the North Pole. The sense of magnetism, like all other senses, is experienced in the brain, and it allows myriad destinations to be reached, especially if they are magnetic poles. Today it was used that travel continued in a westward direction, rather than another direction, such as upward or downward.
Another sense of this kind is that of sight, which allows us to see both where we are going and where we are not going. Without sight, it would be difficult to keep an automobile on the road and out of contact with animals, trees, and its fellow automobiles. Where indeed would we be without the sense of sight? Quite honestly, I do not think we would know.
Lastly, we have the sense of smell, which allows us to be repulsed. Certain places have certain smells, and as a general rule, pleasant places have pleasing aromatic qualities, and unpleasant places have displeasing aromatic qualities. The Lush River Valley where I live is excellent for breathing, for example, whereas my cell reeks of emptiness and melancholy. Furthermore, in the halls of my home in the Lush River Valley one may waft an air consisting of perpetual joy and righteousness, whereas the hallways outside my cell wafting will only bring the odor of mysteries that ought not be solved and iniquity. I often think to myself that I could easily discern my location by the sense of smell alone, and I believe it to be true. For this reason smell is the Emperor of the Senses, for it is all we truly need for navigation. Any talking dog will tell you this.
Now, having considered all the senses (magnetism, sight, and smell), I at last wish to consider the Arts associated therewith. The Art of Etch-a-Sketch is the Art of Magnetism. The Art of Painting is the Art of Sight. The Art of Navigation is the Art of Smell. These facts are not to be questioned. We can see now clearly the essential bond between the nose and navigation. Remember well the words of Gandalf in Moria, "'I do not like the feel of the middle way; and I do not like the smell of the left-hand way: there is foul air down there, or I am no guide. I shall take the right-hand passage. It is time we began to climb up again.'"
Good night, my much beloved friends.
Today, however, was a day of navigation, which was achieved with the senses. One such sense is the sense of magnetism, which is used by a certain creature, widely known as the compass, to lead Victor Frankenstein and his monster to their deaths near the North Pole. The sense of magnetism, like all other senses, is experienced in the brain, and it allows myriad destinations to be reached, especially if they are magnetic poles. Today it was used that travel continued in a westward direction, rather than another direction, such as upward or downward.
Another sense of this kind is that of sight, which allows us to see both where we are going and where we are not going. Without sight, it would be difficult to keep an automobile on the road and out of contact with animals, trees, and its fellow automobiles. Where indeed would we be without the sense of sight? Quite honestly, I do not think we would know.
Lastly, we have the sense of smell, which allows us to be repulsed. Certain places have certain smells, and as a general rule, pleasant places have pleasing aromatic qualities, and unpleasant places have displeasing aromatic qualities. The Lush River Valley where I live is excellent for breathing, for example, whereas my cell reeks of emptiness and melancholy. Furthermore, in the halls of my home in the Lush River Valley one may waft an air consisting of perpetual joy and righteousness, whereas the hallways outside my cell wafting will only bring the odor of mysteries that ought not be solved and iniquity. I often think to myself that I could easily discern my location by the sense of smell alone, and I believe it to be true. For this reason smell is the Emperor of the Senses, for it is all we truly need for navigation. Any talking dog will tell you this.
Now, having considered all the senses (magnetism, sight, and smell), I at last wish to consider the Arts associated therewith. The Art of Etch-a-Sketch is the Art of Magnetism. The Art of Painting is the Art of Sight. The Art of Navigation is the Art of Smell. These facts are not to be questioned. We can see now clearly the essential bond between the nose and navigation. Remember well the words of Gandalf in Moria, "'I do not like the feel of the middle way; and I do not like the smell of the left-hand way: there is foul air down there, or I am no guide. I shall take the right-hand passage. It is time we began to climb up again.'"
Good night, my much beloved friends.
12 January 2008
It is a dream come true!
Happy Day, my friends, for it is a day full of Life and Vigor! Look how I Capitalize all these words of Power and Glory, signifying in truth the Vitality that resides now within me! As some of the friendly readership is aware, illness consumed me for about six and thirty hours this week, ending once and for all around noontime on Friday, having begun late Wednesday night. Hurrah, though! Hurrah, indeed! I am strong and capable of lifting heavy things. In fact, I shall do just that.
...
The readership knows that I drink only purified water (Incidentally, not by my own design, but not without my favor). I carried a large bottle thereof up the stairs with just one hand, and then I placed in on the cooler with just two hands! I did not even break a sweat.
To what, though, do I owe this mythic power? Why, to green tea, of course. (Well, not really, but I had to transition the thought somehow.) In the course of my pain and suffering, which I endured with steadfastness and constancy, my organs demanded that I consume something neither particularly solid nor particularly flavorful. I asked them how they felt about tea, and they agreed that such would be an excellent idea.
Throughout the course of my existence, I have not made a habit of sipping hot tea, and I have have not ever cared for iced tea, either. I still do not care for iced tea, and I do not understand it in the least, just as I do not at all understand the idea of iced coffee. Both seem to altogether defeat their respective purposes and porpoises. Here is a strange note: I cannot speak on purposes without considering the noble porpoise. This, in turn diverts me to the noble narwhal, which Science teaches us belongs to the same order as the noble porpoise: Cetacea.* Naturally, this brings us back to green tea and how it involves the true-coming of a dream.
Often I have dreamed to myself of the admirable sophistication of the archetypal green tea sipper. The green tea drinker, however, is utterly devoid of sophistication and must also be quite the masochist. For this reason I wished deeply to become a green tea sipper, but I never was able to acquire the necessary taste; therefore, I wept. Herein the dream is manifested: the taste is acquired, and now I am enjoying the green tea in considerable quantities. I am even considering establishing a daily tea-time ritual, in order that I might attain great joy therefrom. Now may a gentle yet triumphant music sound, to celebrate this most righteous development.
If only I could convince myself that I enjoy coffee, then my joy would be made complete, as long as that entails also that the multitudes join our fellowship. Peace and Health be upon you all. Good day.
*Of course I knew that, and by no means did I look it up. Please note that that my previous sentence contains irony.
...
The readership knows that I drink only purified water (Incidentally, not by my own design, but not without my favor). I carried a large bottle thereof up the stairs with just one hand, and then I placed in on the cooler with just two hands! I did not even break a sweat.
To what, though, do I owe this mythic power? Why, to green tea, of course. (Well, not really, but I had to transition the thought somehow.) In the course of my pain and suffering, which I endured with steadfastness and constancy, my organs demanded that I consume something neither particularly solid nor particularly flavorful. I asked them how they felt about tea, and they agreed that such would be an excellent idea.
Throughout the course of my existence, I have not made a habit of sipping hot tea, and I have have not ever cared for iced tea, either. I still do not care for iced tea, and I do not understand it in the least, just as I do not at all understand the idea of iced coffee. Both seem to altogether defeat their respective purposes and porpoises. Here is a strange note: I cannot speak on purposes without considering the noble porpoise. This, in turn diverts me to the noble narwhal, which Science teaches us belongs to the same order as the noble porpoise: Cetacea.* Naturally, this brings us back to green tea and how it involves the true-coming of a dream.
Often I have dreamed to myself of the admirable sophistication of the archetypal green tea sipper. The green tea drinker, however, is utterly devoid of sophistication and must also be quite the masochist. For this reason I wished deeply to become a green tea sipper, but I never was able to acquire the necessary taste; therefore, I wept. Herein the dream is manifested: the taste is acquired, and now I am enjoying the green tea in considerable quantities. I am even considering establishing a daily tea-time ritual, in order that I might attain great joy therefrom. Now may a gentle yet triumphant music sound, to celebrate this most righteous development.
If only I could convince myself that I enjoy coffee, then my joy would be made complete, as long as that entails also that the multitudes join our fellowship. Peace and Health be upon you all. Good day.
*Of course I knew that, and by no means did I look it up. Please note that that my previous sentence contains irony.
09 January 2008
The Art of Harmonica Virtuosity
Good morning, dearest of friends. Earlier this week I learned the Art of harmonica-playing, which is in truth a very easy Art to learn. This is in truth a true thing because the harmonica is a very weak instrument, capable of playing only three chords and their inversions in only one key. These chords, of course, are the I, the IV, and the V. Indeed, there is a fair amount of music that can be performed with only those chords and their inversions, but that music tends to be mind-numbingly and ear-bleedingly boring; however, a good deal of excellent music contains melodic sections of this nature. Here are the playable bits of music that I have developed the ability to play (mostly in the wrong key):
"Heart of Gold" by Neil Young (appropriate because it actually has a harmonica part)
"Outside the Wall" from The Wall by Pink Floyd (yes, the whole song)
"Through the Fire and Flames" by Dragonforce (you know, that maddening one from Guitar Hero III, but not the whole song)
The Magic Flute by Mozart (Sarastro's theme and Papageno's aria)
The Lord of the Rings by Howard Shore (the Shire theme, at least)
Now, it is true that there exist such things as chromatic harmonicas, with appropriate mechanisms for achieving chromaticism. Obviously, I possess no such thing, as the harmonica that I found is essentially a toy, and this is a fine thing for a harmonica to be. I quite like toys, after all. One day I will start an amazing band, and it will be beyond mortal imagination, thanks to skills such as these.
"Heart of Gold" by Neil Young (appropriate because it actually has a harmonica part)
"Outside the Wall" from The Wall by Pink Floyd (yes, the whole song)
"Through the Fire and Flames" by Dragonforce (you know, that maddening one from Guitar Hero III, but not the whole song)
The Magic Flute by Mozart (Sarastro's theme and Papageno's aria)
The Lord of the Rings by Howard Shore (the Shire theme, at least)
Now, it is true that there exist such things as chromatic harmonicas, with appropriate mechanisms for achieving chromaticism. Obviously, I possess no such thing, as the harmonica that I found is essentially a toy, and this is a fine thing for a harmonica to be. I quite like toys, after all. One day I will start an amazing band, and it will be beyond mortal imagination, thanks to skills such as these.
06 January 2008
Normalcy, Satire, and Romance
Happy middle-of-the-night, my friends! On this night we are going to discuss humor and romance using special diagrams that I have prepared, about which I learned as part of my Education. In order to do this Scientifically, however, we shall need what the Scientist ("a first rate Magician," as Satie says) calls a "control group." This "control group" in turn is called "Normalcy." It looks like this:
For those not paying attention, it is a straight line with "Normalcy" written above it. It is a metaphor for "Normalcy," which is synonymous with "Stasis" or "Expectation." This is the usual state of existence, which ideally involves no occurrences whatsoever, or at least a limited set of occurrences, but we should not push the bounds of "Normalcy" by any means into "Abnormalcy," which would not be a straight line with "Normalcy" written above it at all. It would be an entirely different kind of line with "Abnormalcy" written above it.
Now that we completely understand that which is "Normalcy," we may attempt a comprehension of the intricacies of humor and romance. Let us begin with humor, using the following diagram:
As we can see, "Satire," our embodiment of humor, is not like "Normalcy" at all. Instead of being a straight line, it has what the gardener might call "Branches," or what the Freudian might call "Phalli." Given that gardeners are delightful people and Freudians are not, we shall use the more arboreal analysis. Now these "Branches" represent deviations from "Normalcy," and it is deviation from "Normalcy" that is the essence of "Satire" and indeed of all humor. You may notice, my friends, that we do indeed begin with a bit of a straight line, though, and this is the essential "Establishment of Normalcy," without which there shall be no "Normalcy" from which to deviate. Let us consider an example. It is the plot of every mediocre comedic film ever made. First we have a character, and he has a life, the "Normalcy" of which is unsatisfactory. A situation causes a disruption thereto, followed by a number of episodes of disruption until "Normalcy" is entirely dead. Afterward, a particular deviation causes that all be mended and a new and better "Normalcy" is established once the character gets the treasure, but more on this later. For now suffice it to say that humor consists simply of "Branches" on the "Tree of Normalcy."
Now for romance, which adheres to the following form, which some think looks like a severely disfigured rocketship:
As we can plainly see, "Romance" is even less like "Normalcy" than "Satire." In order to confound us, it consists of two lines, which are a metaphor for the two protagonists that make up a romance. The begin in separation, but in order for a romance to exist the must be brought together. This is done by a "Mediator," which is not featured in the diagram. It is the duty of this "Mediator" to give premise to the togetherness. Let us consider a scenario of my own invention. Three youthful individuals sit together at a table, two of which are male, one of which is female. One male is the brother of the female, whereas the other harbors affections for that same female and enjoys to run and jump and play with the brother. Thus it is the association with the brother that "Mediates" the romantic association. Now, let us generalize the point and then specify it once more. This part of the "Mediator" is to be found best between the "Individual" and "Object" in terms of desire. In this case the youthful male is the "Individual" desiring the youthful female, the "Object."
Now I take this opportunity to digress, for I said that I shall say more on a particular point later, and now is that later, except that now it is now. In tales of heroism and epic deeds, the hero seeks one of two things: a treasure or a woman; however, these "Objects" are essentially interchangeable. Let us consider the plot of the mediocre comedic film once more. Without fail, the most significant aspect of the preexisting unsatisfactory "Normalcy" is a somehow lacking or nonexistent romance, but it may as well be a lacking or nonexistent horde of treasure that is to be "Objectified," desired, and gained. The ending is always the same: the acquisition of an "Object," so why should it matter, excepting social influences, what the object is?
Back to our youths, we see another role for this "Mediator" figure, and that is the youthful male's "Identification" of him with the youthful female (an easy identification, granted the sibling relationship), the "Object" of his desire. It is important at this point to note; however, that neither the "Mediator" nor the object of "Identification" need to be human. It simply happens to be the case in this scenario. For instance, J.S. Bach "Identified" his music with God, and his large output of sacred music was quite arguably a form of worship for him, for through his creation of all these objects of "Identification," he was more able to "Identify" with God Himself. Art, indeed, has proven a frequent source of "Identification." Thus it can be said that acting upon an object of "Identification" brings the individual closer to the "Object" of desire, so as our youthful male associates with his friend, he has an "Identification" with the youthful female. We are reminded of the the words of the King to the sheep in the twenty-fifth chapter of the Gospel according to Matthew, "I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me." Aside from the very nice idea that the Christ wishes to "Identify" with His sheep (a point to be taken seriously regardless of how seriously we are taking ourselves in the rest of these words), we here find another link between "Identification" and desire.
Now let us assume that in all this convoluted mess a romance begins to exist, consulting the diagram (remember the diagram?) to see its course. Thanks to the "Mediator," perhaps (if so, ironically) the feud in Romeo and Juliet for yet another example, there exists a closeness, which shall be brief, at least in literature. In literature, of course, all must collapse, and in the end the romancing couple finds itself apart, necessarily by death. Romeo and Juliet marry, and then they die, and they are as separated as separation can go, as shown in the diagram. Because of their closeness, they must wind up farther apart than ever. That, my friends, is the point of a literary romance. If Art really does imitate life, my friends, the future is bleak. It is a good thing that romance is even less like "Normalcy" than "Satire!"
In conclusion, all which you have just read is what one gets when that same one decides it is a good idea to write on subjects about which he knows nothing. That is all right, though, for the readership should recall that I invoked Science at the very beginning. To quote the quotable Julius Sumner Miller, "I invoke the Laws of Newton!" In all, I hope it was a pleasant voyage, indeed, a voyage wrought with "Normalcy," rather than a voyage marked by the pounding waves of "Satire" (which necessarily comes at the expense of its object) or the crushed on sharp rocks by the storming death of romance. I trust this was not the case, as we are not literary characters. On a final note, I have changed my mind. It would be much more frightening if life imitated Art, and when it does it is. It is more frightening, that is. As Captain Beefheart so eloquently put it, "A squid eating dough in a polyethylene bag is fast and bulbous. Got me?"
Until next time, Godspeed.
For those not paying attention, it is a straight line with "Normalcy" written above it. It is a metaphor for "Normalcy," which is synonymous with "Stasis" or "Expectation." This is the usual state of existence, which ideally involves no occurrences whatsoever, or at least a limited set of occurrences, but we should not push the bounds of "Normalcy" by any means into "Abnormalcy," which would not be a straight line with "Normalcy" written above it at all. It would be an entirely different kind of line with "Abnormalcy" written above it.
Now that we completely understand that which is "Normalcy," we may attempt a comprehension of the intricacies of humor and romance. Let us begin with humor, using the following diagram:
As we can see, "Satire," our embodiment of humor, is not like "Normalcy" at all. Instead of being a straight line, it has what the gardener might call "Branches," or what the Freudian might call "Phalli." Given that gardeners are delightful people and Freudians are not, we shall use the more arboreal analysis. Now these "Branches" represent deviations from "Normalcy," and it is deviation from "Normalcy" that is the essence of "Satire" and indeed of all humor. You may notice, my friends, that we do indeed begin with a bit of a straight line, though, and this is the essential "Establishment of Normalcy," without which there shall be no "Normalcy" from which to deviate. Let us consider an example. It is the plot of every mediocre comedic film ever made. First we have a character, and he has a life, the "Normalcy" of which is unsatisfactory. A situation causes a disruption thereto, followed by a number of episodes of disruption until "Normalcy" is entirely dead. Afterward, a particular deviation causes that all be mended and a new and better "Normalcy" is established once the character gets the treasure, but more on this later. For now suffice it to say that humor consists simply of "Branches" on the "Tree of Normalcy."
Now for romance, which adheres to the following form, which some think looks like a severely disfigured rocketship:
As we can plainly see, "Romance" is even less like "Normalcy" than "Satire." In order to confound us, it consists of two lines, which are a metaphor for the two protagonists that make up a romance. The begin in separation, but in order for a romance to exist the must be brought together. This is done by a "Mediator," which is not featured in the diagram. It is the duty of this "Mediator" to give premise to the togetherness. Let us consider a scenario of my own invention. Three youthful individuals sit together at a table, two of which are male, one of which is female. One male is the brother of the female, whereas the other harbors affections for that same female and enjoys to run and jump and play with the brother. Thus it is the association with the brother that "Mediates" the romantic association. Now, let us generalize the point and then specify it once more. This part of the "Mediator" is to be found best between the "Individual" and "Object" in terms of desire. In this case the youthful male is the "Individual" desiring the youthful female, the "Object."
Now I take this opportunity to digress, for I said that I shall say more on a particular point later, and now is that later, except that now it is now. In tales of heroism and epic deeds, the hero seeks one of two things: a treasure or a woman; however, these "Objects" are essentially interchangeable. Let us consider the plot of the mediocre comedic film once more. Without fail, the most significant aspect of the preexisting unsatisfactory "Normalcy" is a somehow lacking or nonexistent romance, but it may as well be a lacking or nonexistent horde of treasure that is to be "Objectified," desired, and gained. The ending is always the same: the acquisition of an "Object," so why should it matter, excepting social influences, what the object is?
Back to our youths, we see another role for this "Mediator" figure, and that is the youthful male's "Identification" of him with the youthful female (an easy identification, granted the sibling relationship), the "Object" of his desire. It is important at this point to note; however, that neither the "Mediator" nor the object of "Identification" need to be human. It simply happens to be the case in this scenario. For instance, J.S. Bach "Identified" his music with God, and his large output of sacred music was quite arguably a form of worship for him, for through his creation of all these objects of "Identification," he was more able to "Identify" with God Himself. Art, indeed, has proven a frequent source of "Identification." Thus it can be said that acting upon an object of "Identification" brings the individual closer to the "Object" of desire, so as our youthful male associates with his friend, he has an "Identification" with the youthful female. We are reminded of the the words of the King to the sheep in the twenty-fifth chapter of the Gospel according to Matthew, "I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me." Aside from the very nice idea that the Christ wishes to "Identify" with His sheep (a point to be taken seriously regardless of how seriously we are taking ourselves in the rest of these words), we here find another link between "Identification" and desire.
Now let us assume that in all this convoluted mess a romance begins to exist, consulting the diagram (remember the diagram?) to see its course. Thanks to the "Mediator," perhaps (if so, ironically) the feud in Romeo and Juliet for yet another example, there exists a closeness, which shall be brief, at least in literature. In literature, of course, all must collapse, and in the end the romancing couple finds itself apart, necessarily by death. Romeo and Juliet marry, and then they die, and they are as separated as separation can go, as shown in the diagram. Because of their closeness, they must wind up farther apart than ever. That, my friends, is the point of a literary romance. If Art really does imitate life, my friends, the future is bleak. It is a good thing that romance is even less like "Normalcy" than "Satire!"
In conclusion, all which you have just read is what one gets when that same one decides it is a good idea to write on subjects about which he knows nothing. That is all right, though, for the readership should recall that I invoked Science at the very beginning. To quote the quotable Julius Sumner Miller, "I invoke the Laws of Newton!" In all, I hope it was a pleasant voyage, indeed, a voyage wrought with "Normalcy," rather than a voyage marked by the pounding waves of "Satire" (which necessarily comes at the expense of its object) or the crushed on sharp rocks by the storming death of romance. I trust this was not the case, as we are not literary characters. On a final note, I have changed my mind. It would be much more frightening if life imitated Art, and when it does it is. It is more frightening, that is. As Captain Beefheart so eloquently put it, "A squid eating dough in a polyethylene bag is fast and bulbous. Got me?"
Until next time, Godspeed.
05 January 2008
Striken by Amazing!
My friends, I know what you are asking yourselves:
"How could he possibly make his weblog more amazing?"
I tell you, I could augment it with more wonders than ever before! You may have noticed some of these things, but I shall detail them all, starting with the bar that lives at the very top of the page. It was once a shade of blue, which clashed with everything. "This," I said, "will not do, in the name of Art." Therefore I discovered a way to change it so that it now blends quite well. The other wonders are all new links to other interweb sites, which are these:
Scrupulo has a destiny. Either it shall become a great conqueror or a great prophet, unless of course it accidentally dies. It is a fellow weblog, operated by an excellent fellow. It should be read with complete devotion. It belongs to the mind that gave us the Duke of Mons, after all.
The Scriabin Society of America is a society that I would likely join, except I will not pay their dues.
P.D.Q. Bach is J.S. Bach's long-forgotten youngest son, and is considered to be perhaps history's worst composer, with such works as Oedipus Tex. The only real excuse for his life ist that he did not actually exist.
Howard Shore should be immortalized for all time for his scores for The Lord of the Rings films. He has his very own interweb site, and sometimes I look upon it.
The Royal Family has an interweb site. Who knew? Well, I did, of course.
The Prince of Wales has an interweb site of his own, as well. For those who have not yet done so, seek out the children's section and attempt his puzzles, truly the Amusements of Nobility.
Ravi Zacharias should have been added long ago. William Lane Craig has lived on my list for quite a while, but why should he be all alone? There is no excuse for such negligence. Of course, I am still neglecting other Wise Men who deserve a place on my list of links, but they do not matter right now.
Also, to wrap up (as the Christmastime Elf says) this discussion of my hyperlinks (to use the technical jargon), the following Excellent Good Friends of mine are currently to at least some extent alive on these interwebs:
Adventures in the Life of an Antisocial Treehugger
Backwards sdrawcaB
Blurredbrain
Church Voices
Doxazo Theos
Henrisian Theory
Scrupulo
It just goes to show that nothing can live without Friendship, so let us all go sailing on the Good Ship FriendShip, where the sunlight will brighten our faces as we sail under a rainbow with at least several porpoises.
"How could he possibly make his weblog more amazing?"
I tell you, I could augment it with more wonders than ever before! You may have noticed some of these things, but I shall detail them all, starting with the bar that lives at the very top of the page. It was once a shade of blue, which clashed with everything. "This," I said, "will not do, in the name of Art." Therefore I discovered a way to change it so that it now blends quite well. The other wonders are all new links to other interweb sites, which are these:
Scrupulo has a destiny. Either it shall become a great conqueror or a great prophet, unless of course it accidentally dies. It is a fellow weblog, operated by an excellent fellow. It should be read with complete devotion. It belongs to the mind that gave us the Duke of Mons, after all.
The Scriabin Society of America is a society that I would likely join, except I will not pay their dues.
P.D.Q. Bach is J.S. Bach's long-forgotten youngest son, and is considered to be perhaps history's worst composer, with such works as Oedipus Tex. The only real excuse for his life ist that he did not actually exist.
Howard Shore should be immortalized for all time for his scores for The Lord of the Rings films. He has his very own interweb site, and sometimes I look upon it.
The Royal Family has an interweb site. Who knew? Well, I did, of course.
The Prince of Wales has an interweb site of his own, as well. For those who have not yet done so, seek out the children's section and attempt his puzzles, truly the Amusements of Nobility.
Ravi Zacharias should have been added long ago. William Lane Craig has lived on my list for quite a while, but why should he be all alone? There is no excuse for such negligence. Of course, I am still neglecting other Wise Men who deserve a place on my list of links, but they do not matter right now.
Also, to wrap up (as the Christmastime Elf says) this discussion of my hyperlinks (to use the technical jargon), the following Excellent Good Friends of mine are currently to at least some extent alive on these interwebs:
Adventures in the Life of an Antisocial Treehugger
Backwards sdrawcaB
Blurredbrain
Church Voices
Doxazo Theos
Henrisian Theory
Scrupulo
It just goes to show that nothing can live without Friendship, so let us all go sailing on the Good Ship FriendShip, where the sunlight will brighten our faces as we sail under a rainbow with at least several porpoises.
03 January 2008
Happy Holy-Days!
O good and gentle readers, I never gave you all my wishes! What can be done without my wishes? How you all must have suffered.
First I forgot to give you my Solstice wishes. Merry Solstice! My druids and I have sacrificed several small animals for you, in addition to a couple of large ones and two-thirds of the local children. The portents contained in their burnt entrails indicate good fortune. Regrettably, the entrails also revealed all our Christmas gifts to us, which we proceeded to gift to the Sea. We also took this as an opportunity to commune with the dead. The dead are quite well, though altogether dead. They wished us a merry Christmas. Speaking of Christmas, here now are my Christmas wishes. Merry Christmas! I took great pleasure in honoring the Roman sun god Sol Invictus on his traditional birth-day. Where, after all, would we be without the All-Conquering Sun? I tell you, we would be in the dark. For Christmas, I also got to make further use of the tree my druids and I decorated for the Solstice, following the Teutonic custom. Lastly, the time in which the calendars change has come once again, so I wish you all a Happy New Year. Bounty and fertility to you all, in every sense of both words! Of course, my druids remind me that it has been the new year since Samhain, two months ago. It was a much superior New Year, as I recall, falling not long after the Equinox. The Autumnal Equinox, of course, is one of the most sacred days of the year (excellent for communing with the dead), as is the Vernal Equinox, really only obscured in significance by the festivities of Beltaine. You do not receive my Beltaine wishes now, though, for we must wait for that.
That is what the Season is all about, my friends.
First I forgot to give you my Solstice wishes. Merry Solstice! My druids and I have sacrificed several small animals for you, in addition to a couple of large ones and two-thirds of the local children. The portents contained in their burnt entrails indicate good fortune. Regrettably, the entrails also revealed all our Christmas gifts to us, which we proceeded to gift to the Sea. We also took this as an opportunity to commune with the dead. The dead are quite well, though altogether dead. They wished us a merry Christmas. Speaking of Christmas, here now are my Christmas wishes. Merry Christmas! I took great pleasure in honoring the Roman sun god Sol Invictus on his traditional birth-day. Where, after all, would we be without the All-Conquering Sun? I tell you, we would be in the dark. For Christmas, I also got to make further use of the tree my druids and I decorated for the Solstice, following the Teutonic custom. Lastly, the time in which the calendars change has come once again, so I wish you all a Happy New Year. Bounty and fertility to you all, in every sense of both words! Of course, my druids remind me that it has been the new year since Samhain, two months ago. It was a much superior New Year, as I recall, falling not long after the Equinox. The Autumnal Equinox, of course, is one of the most sacred days of the year (excellent for communing with the dead), as is the Vernal Equinox, really only obscured in significance by the festivities of Beltaine. You do not receive my Beltaine wishes now, though, for we must wait for that.
That is what the Season is all about, my friends.
01 January 2008
Thou slayest thy tens, I slay mine hundreds.
Greetings, friends. I am pleased to inform you that I am a winner. Let me tell of the games I have won in the last three days, in chronological order:
I. Rook
II. Trivial Pursuit (published in 1981)
III. Guitar Hero III
IV. The Settlers of Catan
V. Euchre
VI. Cranium (which is dreadful)
VII. Age of Empires II
VIII. Guitar Hero III some more
IX. The Lord of the Rings Trivial Pursuit
I defy my friends to face my unstoppable power, even to stand unflinching before me and my Cuchulainnian frame and my glowing countenance. Fear not, though, for I am a benevolent nigh-deity. I can only hope that I am allowed more heroic exploits before I must face my heroic end. That is, I know that I shall still have at least one, for I have not yet completed the necessary adventure into Hades (or "Spain"), but after that it is only a matter of time before I must sail across the sea to paradise (or "Brazil"), dead or alive.
In conclusion, though it is extraordinarily epic to be a myth, it is also highly predictable. Now how about some chess, or perhaps a duel to the death?
I. Rook
II. Trivial Pursuit (published in 1981)
III. Guitar Hero III
IV. The Settlers of Catan
V. Euchre
VI. Cranium (which is dreadful)
VII. Age of Empires II
VIII. Guitar Hero III some more
IX. The Lord of the Rings Trivial Pursuit
I defy my friends to face my unstoppable power, even to stand unflinching before me and my Cuchulainnian frame and my glowing countenance. Fear not, though, for I am a benevolent nigh-deity. I can only hope that I am allowed more heroic exploits before I must face my heroic end. That is, I know that I shall still have at least one, for I have not yet completed the necessary adventure into Hades (or "Spain"), but after that it is only a matter of time before I must sail across the sea to paradise (or "Brazil"), dead or alive.
In conclusion, though it is extraordinarily epic to be a myth, it is also highly predictable. Now how about some chess, or perhaps a duel to the death?
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