How many times will a flannel shirt go through the dryer before it's all converted to lint?
Kinda like the "How many licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop?" question.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
The Tomato - Vegetable or Fruit?
Rekindling the age-old debate, I weigh in with my reasoned opinion: veggie (though technically, a fruit). The tomato just goes well with other vegetables. Take V8 juice, for example. It's very much at home with the celery, the carrots, the lettuce, and the watercress. Wait a minute...is watercress a vegetable? How about beets? Parsley? (Can't remember the 8th component). To slam the lid on this middle school debate before it even gets started, let me present conclusive evidence that the tomato is a vegetable: Bob the Tomato on Veggie Tales. There we have it - case closed. http://www.eatcatomatoes.org/Consumer/Content.aspx?id=70
All summer long I have been absolutely nuts about tomatoes, specifically, tomato sandwiches. Can't get enough. Also, tomato soup. I am so glad not to be on dialysis. The first food to go when your kidneys fail is the tomato. You can have all the popcorn you like, but no tomatoes. I once visited a dialysis clinic and was amazed at what those folks go through just to stay alive. I hope I never have to go through that, and not just because of the tomato restriction. I know, I know, enough with the tomatoes already. Check the blog's title; just keeping it real. Oh, to be back in Spain during the tomato festivals, where the whole town would turn out to throw red ripe vegafruits at each other until it looked like a scene from a horror movie. Always great to see Thirdworlders wasting food. We couldn't throw a party like that in the US. The lawsuits, the complaints about food waste, the uptight community members who wouldn't understand the humor and uniqueness of it all, and then the lawsuits.
That's something we are lacking - community activities that allow the masses to get hysterically silly and let off steam. It would help keep us all sane, I think. Spain has another tradition. In Valencia in March, the Fallas http://www.fallas.com provide the opportunity for each neighborhood to construct larger-than-life massive wood and papiermache caricatures of political figures, trends, fashions, famous people, or whatever. They poke fun at whatever they like. Then at midnight at the end of a week of parties, every block sets fire to their falla, and voila! (I know that is the wrong word), the whole city is ablaze. Very cathartic. A great way to let off steam. It must do wonders for the overall mental health of the citizens, and we are in desparate need of better community events. Less Desparate Housewives. In the Valencia language it's called the Nit de Foc, or Night of Fire. I think we all need a night of fire. I need to go roast another tomato. http://www.tomato.org
All summer long I have been absolutely nuts about tomatoes, specifically, tomato sandwiches. Can't get enough. Also, tomato soup. I am so glad not to be on dialysis. The first food to go when your kidneys fail is the tomato. You can have all the popcorn you like, but no tomatoes. I once visited a dialysis clinic and was amazed at what those folks go through just to stay alive. I hope I never have to go through that, and not just because of the tomato restriction. I know, I know, enough with the tomatoes already. Check the blog's title; just keeping it real. Oh, to be back in Spain during the tomato festivals, where the whole town would turn out to throw red ripe vegafruits at each other until it looked like a scene from a horror movie. Always great to see Thirdworlders wasting food. We couldn't throw a party like that in the US. The lawsuits, the complaints about food waste, the uptight community members who wouldn't understand the humor and uniqueness of it all, and then the lawsuits.
That's something we are lacking - community activities that allow the masses to get hysterically silly and let off steam. It would help keep us all sane, I think. Spain has another tradition. In Valencia in March, the Fallas http://www.fallas.com provide the opportunity for each neighborhood to construct larger-than-life massive wood and papiermache caricatures of political figures, trends, fashions, famous people, or whatever. They poke fun at whatever they like. Then at midnight at the end of a week of parties, every block sets fire to their falla, and voila! (I know that is the wrong word), the whole city is ablaze. Very cathartic. A great way to let off steam. It must do wonders for the overall mental health of the citizens, and we are in desparate need of better community events. Less Desparate Housewives. In the Valencia language it's called the Nit de Foc, or Night of Fire. I think we all need a night of fire. I need to go roast another tomato. http://www.tomato.org
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Learn the Dictionary through prose
A Better Children’s Novel
(c) Robert Reeder, 2000
A certain morning of a certain springtime, an aardvark slowly crossed a dusty road. This normally would not be of note, but the animal was taken aback by what it observed on the other side. Wedged between gnarled branches of a rotting tree was a small framework strung with movable beads. It was an abacus, and it was held captive by the branching growth of the large tree. The aardvark thought to himself, in aardvarkese, "I’ve beheld calculators and computers discarded by the wayside, but never an abacus!" He then wandered on, pausing only briefly during his day’s journey to let a colorful parrot move across his path. The parrot was lost, and not having much birdsense, was on foot for much of his journey. He had most recently spent time on a pirate’s ship, where he was the default mascot for the leader of the gang of seafaring ruffians. They called themselves "pirouettes," thinking mistakenly that it sounded more cultured. During a roaring squall, where the parrot spent most of the time squawking and shouting for crackers in a transvestite manner, he was washed abaft and then overboard. Washed up on the sandy shores of an uncharted island, he survived for several days on a steady diet of salted abalone. He soon abandoned the shoreline in search of better meals, more parrot-worthy. It should be noted that the pirates did do their level best to search out their overboard avian companion, once they had learned of his disappearance. They dragged the seabottom for his feathered carcass, but only found old boots and waterlogged tires. One particularly dedicated swashbuckler even abased himself to be keelhauled as a sacrifice to Neptune. He was that bored. This, however, did not abate Poseidon’s fury, and the misplaced pet was not seen for many years, when the old salts had a salty reunion at Devil’s Skull Island. Returning to the story of the pirates’ parrot Pauly, we learn that he was too disconcerted and abashed to share lunch with the tree dwelling simians he met. To abate his substantial hunger, he took to digging for grubs and roots.
(c) Robert Reeder, 2000
A certain morning of a certain springtime, an aardvark slowly crossed a dusty road. This normally would not be of note, but the animal was taken aback by what it observed on the other side. Wedged between gnarled branches of a rotting tree was a small framework strung with movable beads. It was an abacus, and it was held captive by the branching growth of the large tree. The aardvark thought to himself, in aardvarkese, "I’ve beheld calculators and computers discarded by the wayside, but never an abacus!" He then wandered on, pausing only briefly during his day’s journey to let a colorful parrot move across his path. The parrot was lost, and not having much birdsense, was on foot for much of his journey. He had most recently spent time on a pirate’s ship, where he was the default mascot for the leader of the gang of seafaring ruffians. They called themselves "pirouettes," thinking mistakenly that it sounded more cultured. During a roaring squall, where the parrot spent most of the time squawking and shouting for crackers in a transvestite manner, he was washed abaft and then overboard. Washed up on the sandy shores of an uncharted island, he survived for several days on a steady diet of salted abalone. He soon abandoned the shoreline in search of better meals, more parrot-worthy. It should be noted that the pirates did do their level best to search out their overboard avian companion, once they had learned of his disappearance. They dragged the seabottom for his feathered carcass, but only found old boots and waterlogged tires. One particularly dedicated swashbuckler even abased himself to be keelhauled as a sacrifice to Neptune. He was that bored. This, however, did not abate Poseidon’s fury, and the misplaced pet was not seen for many years, when the old salts had a salty reunion at Devil’s Skull Island. Returning to the story of the pirates’ parrot Pauly, we learn that he was too disconcerted and abashed to share lunch with the tree dwelling simians he met. To abate his substantial hunger, he took to digging for grubs and roots.
Cold Kash excerpts
Kashtoreth Tales
(c) Robert Reeder, 2003
Preface: This book is a collection of accounts that reveal an ancient and enigmatic alien race. This is presented to the public as a compilation of almost 30 years of study and research of the Kash by members of the World Release Project. While I have never personally had the opportunity to meet one of the Kashtoreth people, these aliens are dear to my heart. This grand civilization has been the subject of study now for nearly 17 years, and I feel that I know them as well as any human from Earth could(1). Much like our genealogists, who are more familiar with their deceased ancestors than their own immediate families(2), I have grown fond of the Kash. My hope is that this translation will bring to others a familiarity and kinship with these strange and wonderful xenomen. They are so very different from us, but oddly similar in a great number of ways. A study of the Kashtoreth can teach us much, in that they are neighbors with commonalities with the human race. Had they not almost completely self-exterminated, the Kash race would likely have continued to be our closest neighbors, and I would like to think, our honored friends.
(1) Of course, the humans from Gueterlon VII are a different story. They lived among the Kash civilization first as slaves, then as an underclass, and then as limited-state equals in a truly pseudo-egalitarian society. They would certainly have known the real Kashtoreth. Some of the mulatto offspring (genetic miracles that they are!) are still living in a remote edge of the galaxy. The World Release Project is anxiously awaiting word from an expedition sent to locate and obtain word of them.
(2) I have an aunt who can tell you the birth and death dates of great-grandparents and distant cousins, but who has never been able to remember her own kids’ birthdays. I told my cousin that if he would just die, we could then celebrate his birthday.
Translator’s note: With the advent of the advanced lingualogos, and additional computational power of the World Release Project services, the Codex Kashton had finally been deduced to roughly 30% in the two years preceding my work on this present translation. Hopefully this work will further the utility and scope of the Codex, and stimulate work by greater minds on some of the more than 12,000 bodies of writing left to decipher. Due to the scarcity of the key, much herein has been omitted or, where noted, simply extrapolated with 'licencia autora'. My apologies for taking such liberties, but it was felt that this fleshing of the outline was necessary for continuity. Footnotes will serve to outline such interpolations. It is hoped that further advances will serve for correction and improvement.
History of the project: The first Kashtoreth tome to be discovered was the now famous "Minor Exploits of Prince Leh of Sand-land." This volume was recovered from a spacecraft crash site in Australia in 1983. Evidently, the ship’s self-destruct sequence was aborted in an unsuccessful last-ditch effort to aright the craft. This was a rare find. Teams of ufologists and NASA scientists worked several months before learning the mechanism of the "book." The highly talented linguist, Dr. Randolph Welton of Bermill University was called in to begin the interpretation of the work. Working with some of the more cooperative alien captives, Dr. Welton was able to sketch an impressive outline of this sacred alien record. His untimely passing came when delving into one of the book’s many "curses." The curse involved certain anatomically-placed radiation microbursts of a most unusual nature. The incident was captured on tape, since the Department Head had recently become aggravated with lab theft and installed a security camera. On the film the good doctor is seen disappearing a limb at a time. He looks quite surprised, and if it weren’t such a tragic event, it could appear almost comical. But it is a serious problem with this particular field of research. A laboratory technician standing in an adjoining room at the time assisting Dr. Welton experienced partial exposure. The result of this exposure to the technician’s head is that he currently experiences a 5 to 10 second delay in visual input, except at certain times during Kash religious holidays, when he is able to see his surroundings up to 90 seconds in advance! Because of the space-time disfractional nature of this curse, many of Professor Welton’s colleagues believe that his body may still someday be recovered. There is much debate on the subject, but many believe he will reappear during the Festival of Shame, a particularly important holiday on the Kash calendar. Perhaps he will arrive the day after the Festival ends (my personal opinion).. In any case, few of us will be around to find out, since eons will pass before the next Festival of Shame falls on the calendar. The particular curse experienced by Dr. Welton is a type of technological "booby trap," of the type that are now taken for granted when working with Kashtoreth artifacts. One must take great precautions to avoid the trick that may exist in the most benign or dull appearing tome. The Kash love to hide surprises, and are the great cosmic practical jokers. If not for a sort of institutional depression that would periodically afflict them en masse, they would probably never have returned from their lofty heights of silliness.
In 1985, work was commenced to translate documents recovered by spy satellites and reconnaissance missions to the Kash system outer satellites. Most of these proved to be illegible, and those few that were translated are of doubtful validity. One wonders if they are not false documents planted for our stumbling, and for their amusement. A great deal of the more authentic-looking documents appear to be tax and accounting audit records from ancient Kashtoreth dynasties. The project was massive, and many man-hours were wasted in literary dead-ends.
The year 1993 yielded a monumental find in the field of Kashtoreth documents. The capture of a Kash spy, together with administration of certain classified pharmaceutical compounds, resulted in the formation of the seminal Codex Kashton. This allowed scientists with the Release Project to begin in earnest the present study. This translator would like to thank the World Release Project and the estate of Granford D. Griffiths for a generous grant to complete this work.
Robert Reeder, June 2005
New York City
Into Kashtoreth Dome stepped five of training
Their emerald bodies glowed
The arena there bestowed the praise
Of thousands possessing lesser valor;
Of Five would stand One more than five together*
*From Royal Library Excerpts, 3105 Kashton MSR (Major Sun Revolutions, reckoned from the dual concurrent supernovas of Calaina System) to 3115 MSR.
The Ascension
When the Great Gryph-noern ascended the throne, following his unnamed sire, (a less lofty and less noble ruler, let all mention of his name be henceforth stricken!), a monument was staged outside the royal palace to commemorate the blessed day. The cost to the Empire exceeded 12 trillion hec, though out of deference to His Majesty, the exact sacred figure was not revealed. The parapet alone cost hundreds of millions of hec, and was beset with the rarest diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and other fair gems. These precious stone ornaments were all designed to depict the glorious rise to power of the Great Gryph-noern. Fourteen royal accountants lost their lives that day, by ceremonial beheading, after revealing to the Royal Court Jester the exact figure. Whereupon he (the Jester) sealed the number in the Vault Eternal, surrounded by the writing hands of the slain, now immortal accountants.(1)
(1)Translator’s note: It is the sole responsibility of the Jester to adjust the cost of the Ascension construction each year on the anniversary date. The total is traditionally adjusted for inflation, cost of living, additional construction, appreciation (royal monuments do not depreciate in value, the thought is grave blasphemy), and a certain extra allowance, always deemed to be necessary by the wisest of Jesters, just in case the ruler makes an inquiry. The noble Humbo Gnar, Jester Mathematician of the Great Yoope-llor, developed a formula for calculation of certain royal figures. Through careful study of previous jesters and Kings, he arrived at an equation that would yield what he referred to (privately) as the Survival Number. Even this he would pad somewhat on the fly if he arrived before a King that was grumpier than usual.
The Great Gryph-noern took the throne amid fanfare and cheers, and received the royal body tattoo, by branding and expert design. His sea-green body was branded with the royal insignia, and decorated with skillfully pierced flourishes of blue ribbon. The Path to Ascension was depicted from toe to torso to the crown of the head. Major victories in battle were inscribed on the right arm to the shoulder, until there was no room to continue. The left arm, traditionally reserved for small victories, was left untouched, since for the Great Gryph, there were no minor events in his glorious life. For this artistic service the tattooist was granted a large homestead in Cuttlain, and a stipend of 600 thousand hec.
Fifty brides, brought from the numerous provinces of the kingdom, were presented to His Highness, adorned in traditional garb of peasants joined expertly to the latest royal fashions, beset with rainbows of pearls and other precious gems.
An elaborate ceremony ensued, and the King publicly demonstrated his virility in a manner most glorious and regal, and received additional worthy tattoos. Seven sons were born 45 (Kashton) days later.(2)
(2)Translator’s note: Partially destroyed records indicate that some genetic manipulation occurred to achieve this royal feat. The sons were chosen because sons are thought to be more desirable. The 45-day gestation period for the wives’ pregnancies was chosen as opposed to the normal Kash 50 day wait in order to demonstrate the King’s power. Also, a preemie is thought less likely to rise up in (successful) rebellion.
An account of the Royal wedding can be found in the Tome Nuptial in His Majesty’s Library. A four-day feast, prepared by the most skilled foodcrofters of the land, began with fireworks and raucous celebrations.
The ascension to power of the Great Gryph-noern did not pass notice of the enemies of the kingdom.
Down from the lofty heights of the Shin-hoeyuen descended Mar-ranah the Firebeast, with five miserable cohorts, to cast destruction and turmoil unto the warriors of the Kingdom’s outpost city of Koth. Pausing briefly at the cavern of his father, the great Xeni-hoeyas, he devoured the smallest of his cohorts, filling the sizable belly with one gulp. The remaining four merely stood guard, and blessed the gods of Mar-ranah the Terrible. The beast released a mighty roar of pleasure and mourning, for he truly grieved the passing of another cohort, whose blood would grant strength, but whose absence would be a great disadvantage. The grim party paused at the Great Overlook Plateau, and surveyed the objects of conquest below.(3)
(3)Translator’s note: In my visits to the ruins of Koth, I was unsuccessful in locating the exact location of the Great Overlook Plateau. Volcanic upheavals are common, and have perhaps obliterated what was certainly once a magnificent landmark. Satellite data was scanty, illegible, and even belligerent. Several satellites are still in orbit after approximately 3,000 years, but their courses have deviated significantly, and the Codex does not include adequate reference to the technical language of the satellite robots. The metallorganic robots are still functional, and in remarkably good condition, but tend to self-destruct or become violent when pressed for information. They seem to be quasi-religious pilgrims of a sort, engaged in some mindless, endless quest. They eagerly pursue martyrdom. Professor L. Anthonies of the Civic Institute has made his life work of intercepting and interpreting the communications of these suicidal sentinels, who are the principal remnants of this nearly-lost alien culture. See his comprehensive treatise, "Hvras-torenth and the Cyborg Survivors", Xenandro Press, 1995.
Koth was a noble and ancient city, founded by the brothers of Detan, and the grey sisters of He’shvah. According to the records of the city, the honor listing showed it was one of the Nine Originals founded in the Beginning When It All Started at First.
Now it is well known that the firebeast must reproduce itself once every cycle of the Minor Moon, and must then devour the third part of its offspring. The name of the monster comes from the great violent splitting that occurs when the beast erupts, producing three identical copies, surrounded by massive conflagrations and explosions. It happened this day that the Minor Moon was near its 76 day cycle completion.
Mar-ranah and his cohorts raced into the city. They had been here before, but always as wisps, and undetected by the populace. Now they were revealed in all their fearsome glory. The populace screamed in terror, which added to the firebeast’s pleasure. The monstrous cohorts fought in a pack, chasing and corralling the fleeing citizens of Koth. Razor-sharp claws the size of sabers impaled Kash after Kash, and they were assembled like meat on a shish kabob(4), to be roasted in the oversized jaws of the firebeast.
(4)Translator’s note: Now I am well aware that there is no word for shish kabob in the Codex Kashton. The orginal text refers to a type of meaty delicacy prepared by juggling farm-raised flightless birds (Omax), and carefully impaling them on flaming swords (the "Dugguauga," rendered here as "shish kabob"). The more adept chefs among the Kash could skewer five or six of the hapless creatures while singing the Song of Eternal Flapping and stepping to the Hot Foot Dance. A good host at a dinner party would never begin the meal without personally preparing one or two birds for each guest. It sounds perhaps cruel, and certainly strange, but the Kash would likewise question with equal disgust our own propensity towards the drive-through meal ritual. The assembly lines of butchery and consumption would seem alien to them, as they would only eat honored food, to ingest into their bodies additional honor.
A now-alert sentinel named Jauga Herin searched for his weapon, and discharged it without hesitation in the direction of the largest explosions and roaring. Herin quickly reloaded, hoping that by firing in such a spectacular manner he hadn’t totally given away his position.. This beast was not going to go down easily. He was on the point of discharge, when suddenly, the firebeast burst into flame. The heatwave blast was terrific, singeing the leble fur that lined Herin’s tunic. Three miniature versions of Mar-ranah appeared from the beast’s splitting, crackling belly. Herin blasted the beast with his rifle, startling the firebeast. The offspring threesome, sensing that 33% of them were going to be devoured, took advantage of the distraction to leap upon the injured Mar-ranah, biting, howling un-Kashly bellows of rage, and shooting tiny baby firebeast blasts of flame from their mouths and nostrils. It could never be proven, but it was widely thought that the threesome formed the patricidal plan while in the belly of the beast, so well executed was their attack. Herin had been involved in a few firebeast attacks before, but he had never experienced anything like this. No one ever mentioned any kind of conspiracy by junior firebeasts. Because of this, he decided to call off the attack being waged against the surviving demons. "Put down your weapons! Cease fire! Let’s talk with the little ones!" So novel was this idea, that the other sentinels under Jauga Herin’s watch were startled into obedience. It seemed everyone was to be startled that day. The new firebeasts took notice of the change in events, and momentarily stopped snorting their characteristic great quantities of blue and yellow flames. The ceasefire was puzzling to both sides. This was going to be new territory. Herin saw that it was now up to him to take charge of the situation. He muttered to himself, "I started this, so I guess I’ll have to see it through."
In times of great stress or highly charged emotion, the Kashton people make use of a gland that converts that energy into a hormone that gives the individual great power. It has some serious effects, so most Kash would try to stay even-tempered. Others saw the potential that the hormone might impart, and spent great efforts trying to distill a safe purified form. It was at this time of stress and excitement that Herin allowed the normal course of events to progress, biologically.................
Revolt at Jzez City
The great hall of learning was filled to capacity that day when Al-lzhyr hara-mel opened the grand Tome Immemorial in the presence of the prefect Lsslibar. The honored guests included the High Mayor of the Library Proper (Jzez City), the Royal Senators from the Odd Houses, scholars from the 17 major universities of Jzez Province, and the three young men who rescued the Tome from the rebel Antoreri. Lssilibar performed the ceremonial sacrifice, by splitting two tree hogs in quarters, with seven swift strokes of his golden sword. The blood of the tree hogs splattered his gown, resulting in iridescent sparkles, and new brilliant colors. The audience bowed in reverence. The Great Ruler spoke. "Let the blood of these beasts remind us of the source of the paper that gave us this work!" To Al-lzhyr hara-mel he said, "You may proceed."
Al-lyzhr began with the preface, reciting for the enthralled, but captive audience all that it had to outline. The reading of the preface took three hours to complete. The preface contained a table of contents that detailed the contents of the tome in greater detail than the tome itself.4
4Translator’s note: The following is an example of this unique manner of writing. In the preface, the god of the Vurins is described in great detail. The tale of his destruction of Ganah is told in storyteller’s fashion, but in the Tome itself, all that is mentioned is the following: "Vurinsgod punishes G." Some have tried to suggest that the Tome is simply reversed in some fashion. Scholars, notably Linders and Schippers, have reasoned that the preface is the text, and the text is the table of contents. Our evidence is to the contrary. To the Kashtoreth, brevity is thought to be a supreme virtue, even though they will often indulge themselves with superfluous wordplay. They are quite enigmatic and their rules of Kash logic are difficult for us to understand. Our evidence is derived from certain "black" interview transcripts obtained from a former U.S. government employee. These interview sessions were conducted with a lone survivor of a spacecraft crash. These interviews yielded seminal data crucial to the decoding of the Codex, and lend great insight to the thinking of the Kashtoreth people. Our theory is that the incessant babblings of the alien were meant by the captive as a twisted sort of insult. Among his people he would certainly have behaved in a more abbreviated manner.
From the back of the enormous library, a shot blasted out, destroying the quiet reverence. Al-lyzhr hara-mel fell to the floor with a thud. The bodyguards immediately pounced on the Tome, fanatical in their desire to protect the work. They left the great honored official to officially sink, bleeding, with tattered flesh, into the plush carpeting of the library floor. He would not recover. The great book was saved that day, though many perished in its defense.
The doorbuilders’ guild carried the Al-lyzhr hara-mel (expired) on the woven frame of a library door. His partially charred corpse was in a state of rigor mortis, so it had been a simple task for the guild members to strap him to the oversized door. Adhesive was placed in strategic anatomical positions as well, further securing the body to its eternal passageway. After pausing briefly at the desk where he’d issued so many fines (and occasionally read a book) they chanted ancient words of encouragement for the deceased, and placed the door into its doorframe. An apprentice slammed the door shut with great vigor and finality, thus entombing the librarian in his eternal resting closet. Al-lyzhr’s widow paid the professional mourners (also from the doorbuilder’s guild), and made her way through the crowd to the mourning tavern, where the grieving went long into the morning hours, until the funerary banquet was decimated and the police visited to escort the more grief-stricken revelers home..................
Chapter of Dust
"Let us now unweave the tale of Meton the Omnivorous," begins the so-called Chapter of Dust. Among the caves of the Drel peoples lived a warrior, to whom were ascribed many great deeds. Meton the Carnivore, Meton the late-named Cannibal, or simply Meton Nan, lived as he was born and as he died- in a pool of blood. This tale is a tapestry best understood when unwoven, according to its revelators. And so they unravel this life, leaving a filthy mess of tattered yarn.
Meton was born in the caves, unaccustomed to sunlight and noises greater than a whisper. Echoes in caves can quickly lead to cacophony if silence is not cultivated. At the age of four stalactites layers, Meton embarked on his crusade to the surface, following the tradition of his fathers. Every Drel warrior must climb to the surface to cause chaos and war among the surface folk in a quest to achieve full manhood...............
In describing the way the charred carrion tasted, the husky troll of a man used the words "severe" and "agonizingly bitter," but he was hiding the fact that the burnt carnage was sweeter to his palate than fermented honey.
I met him outside the fire pits of Nortenie province, where we both warmed our hands from the awful blast of winter. My eyes had nearly frozen completely shut, the result of exposure to the elements in a four hour journey from the valley. I had come to see the holy lake in the mountains, and to seek my fortune with the other miners. I met with the same disappointment as the great majority of miners. The wealth was exhausted, and there was no work, only opportunities to lose the little already possessed. I found out that earlier that day he had been jumped by four Dwindlers and had been beaten pretty badly...............
"I am afraid you have offended the Sultan," said Jeba’s translator.
"But I did not mean to do so", the Silurien scientist quickly pled. "Any offense was unintentional. I am not very familiar with your world and its customs. What can I do to apologize to His Highness?"
"I will make an attempt for you, in The Old Tongue of Deference Before Rulers, but it does involve a formal request for beheading--strictly ceremonial you know."
With great anxiety the star traveler nodded his assent to the request for pardon of his ignorant transgression. "Tell him how very sorry I am."
The translator intoned with great reverence, "Oh Great One, this offender humbly craves beheading to appease thy holy wrath for the multitude of transgressions committed in thy eyes..."
"Granted!" boomed the deep metallic voice of the Sultan.
After the beheading of Jeba and his fellow travelers, the Sultan said to the translator, in perfect Common Tongue, "You are truly mad!"
"Not that I mind..." And so another traveler met his end under the rule of the Sultan.
(c) Robert Reeder, 2003
Preface: This book is a collection of accounts that reveal an ancient and enigmatic alien race. This is presented to the public as a compilation of almost 30 years of study and research of the Kash by members of the World Release Project. While I have never personally had the opportunity to meet one of the Kashtoreth people, these aliens are dear to my heart. This grand civilization has been the subject of study now for nearly 17 years, and I feel that I know them as well as any human from Earth could(1). Much like our genealogists, who are more familiar with their deceased ancestors than their own immediate families(2), I have grown fond of the Kash. My hope is that this translation will bring to others a familiarity and kinship with these strange and wonderful xenomen. They are so very different from us, but oddly similar in a great number of ways. A study of the Kashtoreth can teach us much, in that they are neighbors with commonalities with the human race. Had they not almost completely self-exterminated, the Kash race would likely have continued to be our closest neighbors, and I would like to think, our honored friends.
(1) Of course, the humans from Gueterlon VII are a different story. They lived among the Kash civilization first as slaves, then as an underclass, and then as limited-state equals in a truly pseudo-egalitarian society. They would certainly have known the real Kashtoreth. Some of the mulatto offspring (genetic miracles that they are!) are still living in a remote edge of the galaxy. The World Release Project is anxiously awaiting word from an expedition sent to locate and obtain word of them.
(2) I have an aunt who can tell you the birth and death dates of great-grandparents and distant cousins, but who has never been able to remember her own kids’ birthdays. I told my cousin that if he would just die, we could then celebrate his birthday.
Translator’s note: With the advent of the advanced lingualogos, and additional computational power of the World Release Project services, the Codex Kashton had finally been deduced to roughly 30% in the two years preceding my work on this present translation. Hopefully this work will further the utility and scope of the Codex, and stimulate work by greater minds on some of the more than 12,000 bodies of writing left to decipher. Due to the scarcity of the key, much herein has been omitted or, where noted, simply extrapolated with 'licencia autora'. My apologies for taking such liberties, but it was felt that this fleshing of the outline was necessary for continuity. Footnotes will serve to outline such interpolations. It is hoped that further advances will serve for correction and improvement.
History of the project: The first Kashtoreth tome to be discovered was the now famous "Minor Exploits of Prince Leh of Sand-land." This volume was recovered from a spacecraft crash site in Australia in 1983. Evidently, the ship’s self-destruct sequence was aborted in an unsuccessful last-ditch effort to aright the craft. This was a rare find. Teams of ufologists and NASA scientists worked several months before learning the mechanism of the "book." The highly talented linguist, Dr. Randolph Welton of Bermill University was called in to begin the interpretation of the work. Working with some of the more cooperative alien captives, Dr. Welton was able to sketch an impressive outline of this sacred alien record. His untimely passing came when delving into one of the book’s many "curses." The curse involved certain anatomically-placed radiation microbursts of a most unusual nature. The incident was captured on tape, since the Department Head had recently become aggravated with lab theft and installed a security camera. On the film the good doctor is seen disappearing a limb at a time. He looks quite surprised, and if it weren’t such a tragic event, it could appear almost comical. But it is a serious problem with this particular field of research. A laboratory technician standing in an adjoining room at the time assisting Dr. Welton experienced partial exposure. The result of this exposure to the technician’s head is that he currently experiences a 5 to 10 second delay in visual input, except at certain times during Kash religious holidays, when he is able to see his surroundings up to 90 seconds in advance! Because of the space-time disfractional nature of this curse, many of Professor Welton’s colleagues believe that his body may still someday be recovered. There is much debate on the subject, but many believe he will reappear during the Festival of Shame, a particularly important holiday on the Kash calendar. Perhaps he will arrive the day after the Festival ends (my personal opinion).. In any case, few of us will be around to find out, since eons will pass before the next Festival of Shame falls on the calendar. The particular curse experienced by Dr. Welton is a type of technological "booby trap," of the type that are now taken for granted when working with Kashtoreth artifacts. One must take great precautions to avoid the trick that may exist in the most benign or dull appearing tome. The Kash love to hide surprises, and are the great cosmic practical jokers. If not for a sort of institutional depression that would periodically afflict them en masse, they would probably never have returned from their lofty heights of silliness.
In 1985, work was commenced to translate documents recovered by spy satellites and reconnaissance missions to the Kash system outer satellites. Most of these proved to be illegible, and those few that were translated are of doubtful validity. One wonders if they are not false documents planted for our stumbling, and for their amusement. A great deal of the more authentic-looking documents appear to be tax and accounting audit records from ancient Kashtoreth dynasties. The project was massive, and many man-hours were wasted in literary dead-ends.
The year 1993 yielded a monumental find in the field of Kashtoreth documents. The capture of a Kash spy, together with administration of certain classified pharmaceutical compounds, resulted in the formation of the seminal Codex Kashton. This allowed scientists with the Release Project to begin in earnest the present study. This translator would like to thank the World Release Project and the estate of Granford D. Griffiths for a generous grant to complete this work.
Robert Reeder, June 2005
New York City
Into Kashtoreth Dome stepped five of training
Their emerald bodies glowed
The arena there bestowed the praise
Of thousands possessing lesser valor;
Of Five would stand One more than five together*
*From Royal Library Excerpts, 3105 Kashton MSR (Major Sun Revolutions, reckoned from the dual concurrent supernovas of Calaina System) to 3115 MSR.
The Ascension
When the Great Gryph-noern ascended the throne, following his unnamed sire, (a less lofty and less noble ruler, let all mention of his name be henceforth stricken!), a monument was staged outside the royal palace to commemorate the blessed day. The cost to the Empire exceeded 12 trillion hec, though out of deference to His Majesty, the exact sacred figure was not revealed. The parapet alone cost hundreds of millions of hec, and was beset with the rarest diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and other fair gems. These precious stone ornaments were all designed to depict the glorious rise to power of the Great Gryph-noern. Fourteen royal accountants lost their lives that day, by ceremonial beheading, after revealing to the Royal Court Jester the exact figure. Whereupon he (the Jester) sealed the number in the Vault Eternal, surrounded by the writing hands of the slain, now immortal accountants.(1)
(1)Translator’s note: It is the sole responsibility of the Jester to adjust the cost of the Ascension construction each year on the anniversary date. The total is traditionally adjusted for inflation, cost of living, additional construction, appreciation (royal monuments do not depreciate in value, the thought is grave blasphemy), and a certain extra allowance, always deemed to be necessary by the wisest of Jesters, just in case the ruler makes an inquiry. The noble Humbo Gnar, Jester Mathematician of the Great Yoope-llor, developed a formula for calculation of certain royal figures. Through careful study of previous jesters and Kings, he arrived at an equation that would yield what he referred to (privately) as the Survival Number. Even this he would pad somewhat on the fly if he arrived before a King that was grumpier than usual.
The Great Gryph-noern took the throne amid fanfare and cheers, and received the royal body tattoo, by branding and expert design. His sea-green body was branded with the royal insignia, and decorated with skillfully pierced flourishes of blue ribbon. The Path to Ascension was depicted from toe to torso to the crown of the head. Major victories in battle were inscribed on the right arm to the shoulder, until there was no room to continue. The left arm, traditionally reserved for small victories, was left untouched, since for the Great Gryph, there were no minor events in his glorious life. For this artistic service the tattooist was granted a large homestead in Cuttlain, and a stipend of 600 thousand hec.
Fifty brides, brought from the numerous provinces of the kingdom, were presented to His Highness, adorned in traditional garb of peasants joined expertly to the latest royal fashions, beset with rainbows of pearls and other precious gems.
An elaborate ceremony ensued, and the King publicly demonstrated his virility in a manner most glorious and regal, and received additional worthy tattoos. Seven sons were born 45 (Kashton) days later.(2)
(2)Translator’s note: Partially destroyed records indicate that some genetic manipulation occurred to achieve this royal feat. The sons were chosen because sons are thought to be more desirable. The 45-day gestation period for the wives’ pregnancies was chosen as opposed to the normal Kash 50 day wait in order to demonstrate the King’s power. Also, a preemie is thought less likely to rise up in (successful) rebellion.
An account of the Royal wedding can be found in the Tome Nuptial in His Majesty’s Library. A four-day feast, prepared by the most skilled foodcrofters of the land, began with fireworks and raucous celebrations.
The ascension to power of the Great Gryph-noern did not pass notice of the enemies of the kingdom.
Down from the lofty heights of the Shin-hoeyuen descended Mar-ranah the Firebeast, with five miserable cohorts, to cast destruction and turmoil unto the warriors of the Kingdom’s outpost city of Koth. Pausing briefly at the cavern of his father, the great Xeni-hoeyas, he devoured the smallest of his cohorts, filling the sizable belly with one gulp. The remaining four merely stood guard, and blessed the gods of Mar-ranah the Terrible. The beast released a mighty roar of pleasure and mourning, for he truly grieved the passing of another cohort, whose blood would grant strength, but whose absence would be a great disadvantage. The grim party paused at the Great Overlook Plateau, and surveyed the objects of conquest below.(3)
(3)Translator’s note: In my visits to the ruins of Koth, I was unsuccessful in locating the exact location of the Great Overlook Plateau. Volcanic upheavals are common, and have perhaps obliterated what was certainly once a magnificent landmark. Satellite data was scanty, illegible, and even belligerent. Several satellites are still in orbit after approximately 3,000 years, but their courses have deviated significantly, and the Codex does not include adequate reference to the technical language of the satellite robots. The metallorganic robots are still functional, and in remarkably good condition, but tend to self-destruct or become violent when pressed for information. They seem to be quasi-religious pilgrims of a sort, engaged in some mindless, endless quest. They eagerly pursue martyrdom. Professor L. Anthonies of the Civic Institute has made his life work of intercepting and interpreting the communications of these suicidal sentinels, who are the principal remnants of this nearly-lost alien culture. See his comprehensive treatise, "Hvras-torenth and the Cyborg Survivors", Xenandro Press, 1995.
Koth was a noble and ancient city, founded by the brothers of Detan, and the grey sisters of He’shvah. According to the records of the city, the honor listing showed it was one of the Nine Originals founded in the Beginning When It All Started at First.
Now it is well known that the firebeast must reproduce itself once every cycle of the Minor Moon, and must then devour the third part of its offspring. The name of the monster comes from the great violent splitting that occurs when the beast erupts, producing three identical copies, surrounded by massive conflagrations and explosions. It happened this day that the Minor Moon was near its 76 day cycle completion.
Mar-ranah and his cohorts raced into the city. They had been here before, but always as wisps, and undetected by the populace. Now they were revealed in all their fearsome glory. The populace screamed in terror, which added to the firebeast’s pleasure. The monstrous cohorts fought in a pack, chasing and corralling the fleeing citizens of Koth. Razor-sharp claws the size of sabers impaled Kash after Kash, and they were assembled like meat on a shish kabob(4), to be roasted in the oversized jaws of the firebeast.
(4)Translator’s note: Now I am well aware that there is no word for shish kabob in the Codex Kashton. The orginal text refers to a type of meaty delicacy prepared by juggling farm-raised flightless birds (Omax), and carefully impaling them on flaming swords (the "Dugguauga," rendered here as "shish kabob"). The more adept chefs among the Kash could skewer five or six of the hapless creatures while singing the Song of Eternal Flapping and stepping to the Hot Foot Dance. A good host at a dinner party would never begin the meal without personally preparing one or two birds for each guest. It sounds perhaps cruel, and certainly strange, but the Kash would likewise question with equal disgust our own propensity towards the drive-through meal ritual. The assembly lines of butchery and consumption would seem alien to them, as they would only eat honored food, to ingest into their bodies additional honor.
A now-alert sentinel named Jauga Herin searched for his weapon, and discharged it without hesitation in the direction of the largest explosions and roaring. Herin quickly reloaded, hoping that by firing in such a spectacular manner he hadn’t totally given away his position.. This beast was not going to go down easily. He was on the point of discharge, when suddenly, the firebeast burst into flame. The heatwave blast was terrific, singeing the leble fur that lined Herin’s tunic. Three miniature versions of Mar-ranah appeared from the beast’s splitting, crackling belly. Herin blasted the beast with his rifle, startling the firebeast. The offspring threesome, sensing that 33% of them were going to be devoured, took advantage of the distraction to leap upon the injured Mar-ranah, biting, howling un-Kashly bellows of rage, and shooting tiny baby firebeast blasts of flame from their mouths and nostrils. It could never be proven, but it was widely thought that the threesome formed the patricidal plan while in the belly of the beast, so well executed was their attack. Herin had been involved in a few firebeast attacks before, but he had never experienced anything like this. No one ever mentioned any kind of conspiracy by junior firebeasts. Because of this, he decided to call off the attack being waged against the surviving demons. "Put down your weapons! Cease fire! Let’s talk with the little ones!" So novel was this idea, that the other sentinels under Jauga Herin’s watch were startled into obedience. It seemed everyone was to be startled that day. The new firebeasts took notice of the change in events, and momentarily stopped snorting their characteristic great quantities of blue and yellow flames. The ceasefire was puzzling to both sides. This was going to be new territory. Herin saw that it was now up to him to take charge of the situation. He muttered to himself, "I started this, so I guess I’ll have to see it through."
In times of great stress or highly charged emotion, the Kashton people make use of a gland that converts that energy into a hormone that gives the individual great power. It has some serious effects, so most Kash would try to stay even-tempered. Others saw the potential that the hormone might impart, and spent great efforts trying to distill a safe purified form. It was at this time of stress and excitement that Herin allowed the normal course of events to progress, biologically.................
Revolt at Jzez City
The great hall of learning was filled to capacity that day when Al-lzhyr hara-mel opened the grand Tome Immemorial in the presence of the prefect Lsslibar. The honored guests included the High Mayor of the Library Proper (Jzez City), the Royal Senators from the Odd Houses, scholars from the 17 major universities of Jzez Province, and the three young men who rescued the Tome from the rebel Antoreri. Lssilibar performed the ceremonial sacrifice, by splitting two tree hogs in quarters, with seven swift strokes of his golden sword. The blood of the tree hogs splattered his gown, resulting in iridescent sparkles, and new brilliant colors. The audience bowed in reverence. The Great Ruler spoke. "Let the blood of these beasts remind us of the source of the paper that gave us this work!" To Al-lzhyr hara-mel he said, "You may proceed."
Al-lyzhr began with the preface, reciting for the enthralled, but captive audience all that it had to outline. The reading of the preface took three hours to complete. The preface contained a table of contents that detailed the contents of the tome in greater detail than the tome itself.4
4Translator’s note: The following is an example of this unique manner of writing. In the preface, the god of the Vurins is described in great detail. The tale of his destruction of Ganah is told in storyteller’s fashion, but in the Tome itself, all that is mentioned is the following: "Vurinsgod punishes G." Some have tried to suggest that the Tome is simply reversed in some fashion. Scholars, notably Linders and Schippers, have reasoned that the preface is the text, and the text is the table of contents. Our evidence is to the contrary. To the Kashtoreth, brevity is thought to be a supreme virtue, even though they will often indulge themselves with superfluous wordplay. They are quite enigmatic and their rules of Kash logic are difficult for us to understand. Our evidence is derived from certain "black" interview transcripts obtained from a former U.S. government employee. These interview sessions were conducted with a lone survivor of a spacecraft crash. These interviews yielded seminal data crucial to the decoding of the Codex, and lend great insight to the thinking of the Kashtoreth people. Our theory is that the incessant babblings of the alien were meant by the captive as a twisted sort of insult. Among his people he would certainly have behaved in a more abbreviated manner.
From the back of the enormous library, a shot blasted out, destroying the quiet reverence. Al-lyzhr hara-mel fell to the floor with a thud. The bodyguards immediately pounced on the Tome, fanatical in their desire to protect the work. They left the great honored official to officially sink, bleeding, with tattered flesh, into the plush carpeting of the library floor. He would not recover. The great book was saved that day, though many perished in its defense.
The doorbuilders’ guild carried the Al-lyzhr hara-mel (expired) on the woven frame of a library door. His partially charred corpse was in a state of rigor mortis, so it had been a simple task for the guild members to strap him to the oversized door. Adhesive was placed in strategic anatomical positions as well, further securing the body to its eternal passageway. After pausing briefly at the desk where he’d issued so many fines (and occasionally read a book) they chanted ancient words of encouragement for the deceased, and placed the door into its doorframe. An apprentice slammed the door shut with great vigor and finality, thus entombing the librarian in his eternal resting closet. Al-lyzhr’s widow paid the professional mourners (also from the doorbuilder’s guild), and made her way through the crowd to the mourning tavern, where the grieving went long into the morning hours, until the funerary banquet was decimated and the police visited to escort the more grief-stricken revelers home..................
Chapter of Dust
"Let us now unweave the tale of Meton the Omnivorous," begins the so-called Chapter of Dust. Among the caves of the Drel peoples lived a warrior, to whom were ascribed many great deeds. Meton the Carnivore, Meton the late-named Cannibal, or simply Meton Nan, lived as he was born and as he died- in a pool of blood. This tale is a tapestry best understood when unwoven, according to its revelators. And so they unravel this life, leaving a filthy mess of tattered yarn.
Meton was born in the caves, unaccustomed to sunlight and noises greater than a whisper. Echoes in caves can quickly lead to cacophony if silence is not cultivated. At the age of four stalactites layers, Meton embarked on his crusade to the surface, following the tradition of his fathers. Every Drel warrior must climb to the surface to cause chaos and war among the surface folk in a quest to achieve full manhood...............
In describing the way the charred carrion tasted, the husky troll of a man used the words "severe" and "agonizingly bitter," but he was hiding the fact that the burnt carnage was sweeter to his palate than fermented honey.
I met him outside the fire pits of Nortenie province, where we both warmed our hands from the awful blast of winter. My eyes had nearly frozen completely shut, the result of exposure to the elements in a four hour journey from the valley. I had come to see the holy lake in the mountains, and to seek my fortune with the other miners. I met with the same disappointment as the great majority of miners. The wealth was exhausted, and there was no work, only opportunities to lose the little already possessed. I found out that earlier that day he had been jumped by four Dwindlers and had been beaten pretty badly...............
"I am afraid you have offended the Sultan," said Jeba’s translator.
"But I did not mean to do so", the Silurien scientist quickly pled. "Any offense was unintentional. I am not very familiar with your world and its customs. What can I do to apologize to His Highness?"
"I will make an attempt for you, in The Old Tongue of Deference Before Rulers, but it does involve a formal request for beheading--strictly ceremonial you know."
With great anxiety the star traveler nodded his assent to the request for pardon of his ignorant transgression. "Tell him how very sorry I am."
The translator intoned with great reverence, "Oh Great One, this offender humbly craves beheading to appease thy holy wrath for the multitude of transgressions committed in thy eyes..."
"Granted!" boomed the deep metallic voice of the Sultan.
After the beheading of Jeba and his fellow travelers, the Sultan said to the translator, in perfect Common Tongue, "You are truly mad!"
"Not that I mind..." And so another traveler met his end under the rule of the Sultan.
Genealogical poetry
Piecing the Chain
...And she was there in a distant rocking chair
And she was telling of how she crossed the plains
Bore the pain and loved her family
Lost some friends, and children
And her windswept, sunburned face
Told of belief stronger than life
...And he was there, and his dusty records
Spoke to me of a distant land
Across a distant sea
And the message he heard carried him here
He lived and he loved
And his blood now flows in my pulsing veins
And we belong
(c) Robert Reeder, 1995
Children's book - Dallin liked it
Bill In The Tree
(c) Robert Reeder, 2005
There once was a man named Bill.
Bill lived up in a tall, tall tree.
Bill would talk to the birds who lived in the trees.
"Tweet, tweet, tweet," he would say. Sometimes he would say "Caw, caw!"
The birds would bring him breakfast every day.
One day, a big windstorm came through the trees.
Bill’s tree swayed back and forth, back and forth.
Bill didn’t know what to do.
A wise old owl swooped down to talk to Bill.
He said, "Why don’t you climb down out of this tree?"
So Bill climbed down, out of the wind.
Next Bill dug a hole in the ground to live in.
His neighbors were the badgers, who also dug holes to live in.
Bill talked to the badgers, saying "Gukkk-edukk, gukkk-edukk!"
They would say "Gukk-edukk" back to him, and bring him lunch.
One day, a big rainstorm came, and flooded the holes.
Bill was up to his nose in water.
The wise old owl swooped down and said to Bill, "Bill, why don’t you climb out of that hole?"
So Bill climbed out.
Next Bill dove into a lake, to live on a floating log.
He was on good terms with the fish, who brought him dinner every night.
Bill talked to the fish, saying, "Glub, glug, glub."
The fish said to Bill, "Glub, glug!"
One day, the dam broke and the lake water drained into the river, taking all the fish.
Bill was left alone in the mud.
Bill saw the wise old owl swooping down, and he said, "I know, I’m getting out of the mud."
The owl said to Bill, "I was just going to suggest that!"
Then he said, "Bill, why don’t you use your legs and walk down that road to town?"
Bill got up and started walking.
Soon he was in town.
He met nice people.
He talked to them, and they talked to him.
They had dinner together.
Bill was happy.
The End.
(c) Robert Reeder, 2005
There once was a man named Bill.
Bill lived up in a tall, tall tree.
Bill would talk to the birds who lived in the trees.
"Tweet, tweet, tweet," he would say. Sometimes he would say "Caw, caw!"
The birds would bring him breakfast every day.
One day, a big windstorm came through the trees.
Bill’s tree swayed back and forth, back and forth.
Bill didn’t know what to do.
A wise old owl swooped down to talk to Bill.
He said, "Why don’t you climb down out of this tree?"
So Bill climbed down, out of the wind.
Next Bill dug a hole in the ground to live in.
His neighbors were the badgers, who also dug holes to live in.
Bill talked to the badgers, saying "Gukkk-edukk, gukkk-edukk!"
They would say "Gukk-edukk" back to him, and bring him lunch.
One day, a big rainstorm came, and flooded the holes.
Bill was up to his nose in water.
The wise old owl swooped down and said to Bill, "Bill, why don’t you climb out of that hole?"
So Bill climbed out.
Next Bill dove into a lake, to live on a floating log.
He was on good terms with the fish, who brought him dinner every night.
Bill talked to the fish, saying, "Glub, glug, glub."
The fish said to Bill, "Glub, glug!"
One day, the dam broke and the lake water drained into the river, taking all the fish.
Bill was left alone in the mud.
Bill saw the wise old owl swooping down, and he said, "I know, I’m getting out of the mud."
The owl said to Bill, "I was just going to suggest that!"
Then he said, "Bill, why don’t you use your legs and walk down that road to town?"
Bill got up and started walking.
Soon he was in town.
He met nice people.
He talked to them, and they talked to him.
They had dinner together.
Bill was happy.
The End.
Screenplay excerpt
It Doesn’t Just Write Itself
(c) Robert Reeder 2003
Characters:
Fig Newton, aspiring playwright
Caramel Apple, his fiancé and bookstore owner
Patrons of the Ice Cream Avenue Bookstore
Act 1, In a bookstore, ICA
Fig Newton: The way I see it, the thing just writes itself!
Caramel Apple [walks down spiral staircase carrying a box of books]: How do you figure?
FN: Well, I know how plays work, right? I mean, I’ve seen a few, attended and participated in my fair share of regional repertory theater, read some. And I think I have the formula to make it work.
CA: Is that why you quit your job, to write this play of yours?
FN: Of course! That’s exactly it! I need to be able to devote my time to this. I know how to do it, I just need the time.
CA: And that’s why you came to me to work in my store...
FN: Well, it does give one a certain quiet atmosphere in which to work, and the books here may turn out to be terrific resources; it also has this great view.
CA: Do you plan on actually selling some of these books?
FN: Yes, yes, yes, don’t you worry about that.
[putters around with some books, moving one stack to the next]
Caramel, do you want some coffee?
CA: No, but I’d love some tea. Do you want to run down and get some?
FN: I don’t know why we don’t open up a coffee bar in here; a lot of bookstores are doing that now.
CA: "Why don’t we open up" [to herself] - I thought this was my store. My new assistant is overeager."
FN: Hey, this gives me an idea for the play... [writes furiously] ...when the words come, you’ve got to write them down. That’s how this works. I’m telling you, the thing writes itself.
CA: Was Shakespeare’s work created ex nihlo as well?
FN: That guy wasn’t a writer – he was simply a writing machine. He borrowed, cut, and pasted, and didn’t put anything into the work. [CUSTOMER walks over, slaps his face, and storms out.]
FN: Hey, how about that coffee? [CA glares, leaves]
FN begins a discussion, not realizing that CA is out: You see my dear, if you want to carve an elephant, you start with a block of wood, or ivory – wait, that’s not right, is it? – or whatever, and you cut away everything that is NOT ELEPHANT, and you are left with a carving of an elephant. It is the same thing with writing. You just have to do it. You need a quiet place, a good idea, and you need to carve away. Just start writing and be persistent and let it write itself. It’s just that the elimination of the Not-elephant can be tougher than creating an elephant. Does that make sense? [enter CUSTOMER] But you take away the things that AREN’T the story, and voila! you have the story! Ah yes, may I help you?
Mr. Grape, customer: I hope so. Isn’t there a book about a guy, and I think there is a trial, and I think one of the boys’ names is Scout...
FN: Sorry, wrong store for that, I’m afraid, I don’t think we have comic books.
(c) Robert Reeder 2003
Characters:
Fig Newton, aspiring playwright
Caramel Apple, his fiancé and bookstore owner
Patrons of the Ice Cream Avenue Bookstore
Act 1, In a bookstore, ICA
Fig Newton: The way I see it, the thing just writes itself!
Caramel Apple [walks down spiral staircase carrying a box of books]: How do you figure?
FN: Well, I know how plays work, right? I mean, I’ve seen a few, attended and participated in my fair share of regional repertory theater, read some. And I think I have the formula to make it work.
CA: Is that why you quit your job, to write this play of yours?
FN: Of course! That’s exactly it! I need to be able to devote my time to this. I know how to do it, I just need the time.
CA: And that’s why you came to me to work in my store...
FN: Well, it does give one a certain quiet atmosphere in which to work, and the books here may turn out to be terrific resources; it also has this great view.
CA: Do you plan on actually selling some of these books?
FN: Yes, yes, yes, don’t you worry about that.
[putters around with some books, moving one stack to the next]
Caramel, do you want some coffee?
CA: No, but I’d love some tea. Do you want to run down and get some?
FN: I don’t know why we don’t open up a coffee bar in here; a lot of bookstores are doing that now.
CA: "Why don’t we open up" [to herself] - I thought this was my store. My new assistant is overeager."
FN: Hey, this gives me an idea for the play... [writes furiously] ...when the words come, you’ve got to write them down. That’s how this works. I’m telling you, the thing writes itself.
CA: Was Shakespeare’s work created ex nihlo as well?
FN: That guy wasn’t a writer – he was simply a writing machine. He borrowed, cut, and pasted, and didn’t put anything into the work. [CUSTOMER walks over, slaps his face, and storms out.]
FN: Hey, how about that coffee? [CA glares, leaves]
FN begins a discussion, not realizing that CA is out: You see my dear, if you want to carve an elephant, you start with a block of wood, or ivory – wait, that’s not right, is it? – or whatever, and you cut away everything that is NOT ELEPHANT, and you are left with a carving of an elephant. It is the same thing with writing. You just have to do it. You need a quiet place, a good idea, and you need to carve away. Just start writing and be persistent and let it write itself. It’s just that the elimination of the Not-elephant can be tougher than creating an elephant. Does that make sense? [enter CUSTOMER] But you take away the things that AREN’T the story, and voila! you have the story! Ah yes, may I help you?
Mr. Grape, customer: I hope so. Isn’t there a book about a guy, and I think there is a trial, and I think one of the boys’ names is Scout...
FN: Sorry, wrong store for that, I’m afraid, I don’t think we have comic books.
AntiZion
Alma 4:6-10 provides a warning to the Church in our day. This is the easiest trap in which to fall, and most times we don't even realize it's happening.
6 And it came to pass in the eighth year of the reign of the judges, that the people of the church began to wax proud, because of their exceeding riches, and their fine silks, and their fine-twined linen, and because of their many flocks and herds, and their gold and their silver, and all manner of precious things, which they had obtained by their industry; and in all these things were they lifted up in the pride of their eyes, for they began to wear very costly apparel.
7 Now this was the cause of much affliction to Alma, yea, and to many of the people whom Alma had consecrated to be teachers, and priests, and elders over the church; yea, many of them were sorely grieved for the wickedness which they saw had begun to be among their people.
8 For they saw and beheld with great sorrow that the people of the church began to be lifted up in the pride of their eyes, and to set their hearts upon riches and upon the vain things of the world, that they began to be scornful, one towards another, and they began to persecute those that did not believe according to their own will and pleasure.
9 And thus, in this eighth year of the reign of the judges, there began to be great contentions among the people of the church; yea, there were envyings, and strife, and malice, and persecutions, and pride, even to exceed the pride of those who did not belong to the church of God.
10 And thus ended the eighth year of the reign of the judges; and the wickedness of the church was a great stumbling–block to those who did not belong to the church; and thus the church began to fail in its progress.
6 And it came to pass in the eighth year of the reign of the judges, that the people of the church began to wax proud, because of their exceeding riches, and their fine silks, and their fine-twined linen, and because of their many flocks and herds, and their gold and their silver, and all manner of precious things, which they had obtained by their industry; and in all these things were they lifted up in the pride of their eyes, for they began to wear very costly apparel.
7 Now this was the cause of much affliction to Alma, yea, and to many of the people whom Alma had consecrated to be teachers, and priests, and elders over the church; yea, many of them were sorely grieved for the wickedness which they saw had begun to be among their people.
8 For they saw and beheld with great sorrow that the people of the church began to be lifted up in the pride of their eyes, and to set their hearts upon riches and upon the vain things of the world, that they began to be scornful, one towards another, and they began to persecute those that did not believe according to their own will and pleasure.
9 And thus, in this eighth year of the reign of the judges, there began to be great contentions among the people of the church; yea, there were envyings, and strife, and malice, and persecutions, and pride, even to exceed the pride of those who did not belong to the church of God.
10 And thus ended the eighth year of the reign of the judges; and the wickedness of the church was a great stumbling–block to those who did not belong to the church; and thus the church began to fail in its progress.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Somnocratic rule
Here is my platform for my Presidential bid in 2012:
1. Defense. The country must be defended from enemies, foreign and domestic.
2. Economy. Levy use taxes, and if there must be a national income tax, let's make it a flat tax. Uncle Sam should not get more than 10%, since that's all God asks of us. Hard work should pay hard cash, and the government is not a charitable organization.
3. Education. Make teaching a lucrative profession, and the most talented, effective, and caring people will aspire to teach. Students will actually learn, well-meaning teachers won't get burned out, and perhaps high school won't be a total waste of time for someone.
4. Health care. Maybe it needs to be reformed, maybe it doesn't. One thing is for sure - anesthesiologists must be paid more. And dentists. And the lawyers who sue them. And the microbiologists who test the toothpaste that protects everyone from cavities, plaque, gingivitis, and bad breath.
Side note: Talladega Nights was hilarious. Shame on you all for not letting me know about it earlier.
Jean Girard: "You taste like America."
Ricky Bobby: "Thank you."
1. Defense. The country must be defended from enemies, foreign and domestic.
2. Economy. Levy use taxes, and if there must be a national income tax, let's make it a flat tax. Uncle Sam should not get more than 10%, since that's all God asks of us. Hard work should pay hard cash, and the government is not a charitable organization.
3. Education. Make teaching a lucrative profession, and the most talented, effective, and caring people will aspire to teach. Students will actually learn, well-meaning teachers won't get burned out, and perhaps high school won't be a total waste of time for someone.
4. Health care. Maybe it needs to be reformed, maybe it doesn't. One thing is for sure - anesthesiologists must be paid more. And dentists. And the lawyers who sue them. And the microbiologists who test the toothpaste that protects everyone from cavities, plaque, gingivitis, and bad breath.
Side note: Talladega Nights was hilarious. Shame on you all for not letting me know about it earlier.
Jean Girard: "You taste like America."
Ricky Bobby: "Thank you."
C'mon, boots!
This weekend was all about the Big D (don't mean Dallin). We were in Dallas checking out the area and looking at homes. Never did find Southfork Ranch. We did find some amazing Brazilian BBQ (Texas de Brasil) and some authentic Spanish paella (De Tapas). Oh yeah, and there were some great homes, too. We focused mainly on Allen, Plano, and Frisco, trying to keep a 30 minute commute to work. We're fairly certain at this point that we'll be moving. Stay tuned to this channel...
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