Hello everyone,
I have a question for you. But first a point of clarification; when I say you, I assume that there exists a you. I have not neglected the possibility that I am the soul audience for these scribbles, in which case my problem is already solved, but for the sake of discussion and for having an indirect object to the sentence that is writing, let's assume that there is a you.
Would you like to hear the other things I have to say?
Every day I write to myself at reasonable length. Sometimes the things I write are private, and these I probably will never share with anyone, but other times they are just observations on the various skallywaggerings, hip-happenings, and skullduggery of my day.
Currently I do not post these things; I never really wished for this blog to turn into one of those "dear diary" type affairs, but I would consider it if there were interest.
Would that be of any intriguing? I will take no offense in either of the two negative cases, that where you say "no", and that in which I receive no reply. This blog itself, and everything else I write is for practice, and I achieve that whether or not I gain an audience.
So how about it?
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Vacas Venonosas
Henry stirred awake to the slicing crows of a rooster. His blurry eyes made out the outlines of several, small dancing figures about his bed, and with a great smile he greeted his siblings good morning for what was sure to be an exciting day. Together they sprinted past the sweet smelling kitchen where their mother stood preparing breakfast, out over the rough rocks surrounding their house, through soft lanes of dirt housing newly lain seeds, and to the barn. There in the morning light stood their father, practically bouncing with pride, eyes wide open to see his young and exuberant offspring. Today, the children would learn to milk!
Looking at so many open jaws and expectant faces, the father's mind began to wander. So quickly had his little sprouts passed through infancy, and now, despite not yet having achieved full stature, the batch of them, his triplet sons, were prepared to take part in that most difficult, and most valued pursuit that his father, and his grandfather, and an entire clan before them had learned just as well. Soon they would be milking the cows together. With this thought, a cloud of doubt slank across the periphery of his consciousness. Were his little beanstalks ready yet?
Though beautiful, milking was a far cry from careless seed planting, grinding, yet predictable wheat harvests, leading mules, and all other forms of labor on the farm. Cows were unpredictable creatures, usually dormant and docile as the sweetest of dogs, at the clipping of a second they could become volatile and aggressive. If their hooves did not catch you, their nipping bite surely would, and from there it was a short trip to join his father and the rest in peaceful repose. He tremblingingly pictured his joys pail and shaking on the ground. No! They were of a good stock, they had the same wits and quick hands he possessed, and like so many before would come of age and do their part when they were good and ready, and now was that time. Mentally running over his technique and instructions as he did for each milking, he prepared this time to also share with his children, beckoning them to follow as he walked towards the sleeping herd.
A few bovines had already floundered awake with the morning sun. They hissed contentedly, and occasionally one would whisk its long graceful neck outwards, and with a slap of finality end the life of some wayward fly.
-My sons, you know of what you will soon learn. You know the risks, you know the importance, you know the reward. As your father, I impart what I know onto you, so that one day each of you will be able to care for yourselves and your own as I do now. Pay close attention and do as I teach, and you will succeed, but miss no details and be not careless, for the slightest mistake carries with it the gravest of costs.
The children, hushed now, watched their fathers gesturing hands with complete rapture. He smiled inwardly, knowing that at least today, they would learn well.
-Cow milk. The hardest fought for, rarest, and most valuable commodity of our farm. One pail will fetch a week's worth of planting wages on the market. To claim it, you must get past our friends here. They are good animals, but jealous, and be assured that if you give them the slightest margin they will take from you more than their due return for the milk. Do not allow them to bite.
He stepped forwards clenching his pale in one hand, slowing inching his other towards the first unaware cow. Sensing his approach, the creature suddenly became tense. It coiled back its meter-long neck, resting it against a massive furry, black and white body, hissed, and bared its long syringine fangs.
-Note the gougers on our friend here. One nick from these, and you will be unconscious; a good bite and I will be lost a son. Because you will be careful, and because you are my own, they will not bite you. Do as I do.
With that, the father purposefully raised his pale towards the creature. The still dewy air hung still for moments. Sighting the hated artifact, the cow uncoiled rapidly and struck. The pale, designed specifically to absorb the fanged impact, did not scratch or break, and the cow's extension give our farmer his opening. His other hand snapped forward with purposeful severity, seizing the cow across its fist sized hide. He slide his hand back along the neck now, holding it very tightly just below the venom sacks on the back of its skull. With that, he produced a rope from his satchel, gently tying the creature's dangerous striking end to one of its frontal legs, and proceeded to mutter a brief prayer, and collect the sweet juices of sustenance from its bulging udders.
-That my sons, is how it is done. Now I have a number of calves in this nearby pen. They produce only very little milk, but likewise their venom is limited. I would like you to spend the rest of the morning practicing on our smaller herd. Now go.
With rushing glee, the children grabbed buckets and rope of their own from the pile by the barn's entrance, and sprinted off towards the pen, each trying to pass the others to seize their father's eye with their strength and exuberance. They set about emulating their forebear with zeal, and he watched on approvingly. As each did just as they were instructed, the heavy morning dampness became indistinguishable from a petite spot of water clambering down their father's face. That night he slept better than in weeks.
-Wilder
(Please forgive spelling and grammar; I wrote this during lunch-break after eating a sandwich, so there wasn't much time to append things.)
Looking at so many open jaws and expectant faces, the father's mind began to wander. So quickly had his little sprouts passed through infancy, and now, despite not yet having achieved full stature, the batch of them, his triplet sons, were prepared to take part in that most difficult, and most valued pursuit that his father, and his grandfather, and an entire clan before them had learned just as well. Soon they would be milking the cows together. With this thought, a cloud of doubt slank across the periphery of his consciousness. Were his little beanstalks ready yet?
Though beautiful, milking was a far cry from careless seed planting, grinding, yet predictable wheat harvests, leading mules, and all other forms of labor on the farm. Cows were unpredictable creatures, usually dormant and docile as the sweetest of dogs, at the clipping of a second they could become volatile and aggressive. If their hooves did not catch you, their nipping bite surely would, and from there it was a short trip to join his father and the rest in peaceful repose. He tremblingingly pictured his joys pail and shaking on the ground. No! They were of a good stock, they had the same wits and quick hands he possessed, and like so many before would come of age and do their part when they were good and ready, and now was that time. Mentally running over his technique and instructions as he did for each milking, he prepared this time to also share with his children, beckoning them to follow as he walked towards the sleeping herd.
A few bovines had already floundered awake with the morning sun. They hissed contentedly, and occasionally one would whisk its long graceful neck outwards, and with a slap of finality end the life of some wayward fly.
-My sons, you know of what you will soon learn. You know the risks, you know the importance, you know the reward. As your father, I impart what I know onto you, so that one day each of you will be able to care for yourselves and your own as I do now. Pay close attention and do as I teach, and you will succeed, but miss no details and be not careless, for the slightest mistake carries with it the gravest of costs.
The children, hushed now, watched their fathers gesturing hands with complete rapture. He smiled inwardly, knowing that at least today, they would learn well.
-Cow milk. The hardest fought for, rarest, and most valuable commodity of our farm. One pail will fetch a week's worth of planting wages on the market. To claim it, you must get past our friends here. They are good animals, but jealous, and be assured that if you give them the slightest margin they will take from you more than their due return for the milk. Do not allow them to bite.
He stepped forwards clenching his pale in one hand, slowing inching his other towards the first unaware cow. Sensing his approach, the creature suddenly became tense. It coiled back its meter-long neck, resting it against a massive furry, black and white body, hissed, and bared its long syringine fangs.
-Note the gougers on our friend here. One nick from these, and you will be unconscious; a good bite and I will be lost a son. Because you will be careful, and because you are my own, they will not bite you. Do as I do.
With that, the father purposefully raised his pale towards the creature. The still dewy air hung still for moments. Sighting the hated artifact, the cow uncoiled rapidly and struck. The pale, designed specifically to absorb the fanged impact, did not scratch or break, and the cow's extension give our farmer his opening. His other hand snapped forward with purposeful severity, seizing the cow across its fist sized hide. He slide his hand back along the neck now, holding it very tightly just below the venom sacks on the back of its skull. With that, he produced a rope from his satchel, gently tying the creature's dangerous striking end to one of its frontal legs, and proceeded to mutter a brief prayer, and collect the sweet juices of sustenance from its bulging udders.
-That my sons, is how it is done. Now I have a number of calves in this nearby pen. They produce only very little milk, but likewise their venom is limited. I would like you to spend the rest of the morning practicing on our smaller herd. Now go.
With rushing glee, the children grabbed buckets and rope of their own from the pile by the barn's entrance, and sprinted off towards the pen, each trying to pass the others to seize their father's eye with their strength and exuberance. They set about emulating their forebear with zeal, and he watched on approvingly. As each did just as they were instructed, the heavy morning dampness became indistinguishable from a petite spot of water clambering down their father's face. That night he slept better than in weeks.
-Wilder
(Please forgive spelling and grammar; I wrote this during lunch-break after eating a sandwich, so there wasn't much time to append things.)
Friday, July 2, 2010
Craig's List Want Add
I thought it would be interesting to put out a Craig's List personal. Alex Kushner helped out a bit.
A Modest Proposal: 20 (Monterey)
Handsome, lost and slightly dangerous. Unintelligibly wealthy but unwilling to admit so. Confident and directive, likes long quiet walks, poetry, exercise, and listening to your feelings and lengthy stories. Will not grow tired of hearing about your buds. Expressive of my feelings, but not in a complaining way; only needs to show the torment hidden deep within spiraled eyes. Enjoys guitar, cooking elaborate meals, and saving kittens from impending disaster. Stopped a tank in Tiananmen square. Averted three international armed crises. Not afraid of bears. Unavailable. Smells like strawberries, but in a manly way. Loves children, and small furry creatures. Daily pulls a sled of orphans to a fresh source of stream water to conserve transportation and desalinization costs. Also likes orphans. Spontaneous. Aboogabooga. Working on Ulysses II. Has a nice Butt. Charismatic, sensual, persistent, caring, and loyal. Very clean pores. Modest.
A Modest Proposal: 20 (Monterey)
Handsome, lost and slightly dangerous. Unintelligibly wealthy but unwilling to admit so. Confident and directive, likes long quiet walks, poetry, exercise, and listening to your feelings and lengthy stories. Will not grow tired of hearing about your buds. Expressive of my feelings, but not in a complaining way; only needs to show the torment hidden deep within spiraled eyes. Enjoys guitar, cooking elaborate meals, and saving kittens from impending disaster. Stopped a tank in Tiananmen square. Averted three international armed crises. Not afraid of bears. Unavailable. Smells like strawberries, but in a manly way. Loves children, and small furry creatures. Daily pulls a sled of orphans to a fresh source of stream water to conserve transportation and desalinization costs. Also likes orphans. Spontaneous. Aboogabooga. Working on Ulysses II. Has a nice Butt. Charismatic, sensual, persistent, caring, and loyal. Very clean pores. Modest.
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