six and seventy

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digital rendering by veach st. glines, creative commons license 2005

seven and seventy

Don't spend money to dry clean your shirt. Instead, donate it to the Salvation Army or Goodwill. They'll clean it and put it on a hanger. The next morning, buy your shirt back for seventy-seven cents. -- Snapperhead misquoting William Coronel


digital rendering by veach st. glines, creative commons license 2005

Doggonit

I'm a Xoloitzcuintli (Xolo), a Mexican hairless dog.

Find out what kind of dog you are at Gone to the Dogs.

rhymen standard-pennant

The herder drives away and kills the wolf, for which the sheep thanks him as a liberator and the wolf denounces him as the destroyer of liberty. Clearly, sheep and wolves will never agree on a definition of liberty, but they also will never agree as to whether the herder should be canonized or damned. -- Snapperhead misquoting Abraham Lincoln

digital rendering by veach st. glines, creative commons license 2005

Pox upon Davecat!

I've seen this meme around for weeks and, of course, mentally disparaged the answers of others while thinking I'd never get the tap. Now that Davecat has (the pox) tapped me, you may disparage my answers forthwith:

You’re stuck inside Fahrenheit 451, which book do you want to be?

Fahrenheit 451. (Oh yea? Fuck you, figure out the synchronicity yourself.)

Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?

I've punched the clown while watching anime porn, which trumps a simple crush like, like, ninety.

The last book you bought is:

Jonathan Carroll's Bones of the Moon, at a used bookstore for $4.

The last book you read:

The Shifting Realities of Philip K. Dick, Selected Literary and Philosophical Writings
, edited by Lawrence Sutin (see 29 March's posting for my review).

What are you currently reading?

The Architect of Sleep, a fantasy about communication and animals, by Steven R. Boyett; and HTML Complete, 3d Edition which is a hard to chew, hard to digest nut-roll.

Five books you would take to a desert island:

Other people's answers to this one always stick in my ass. Five books, doesn't mean: collections, trilogies and libraries. If you cheat on a meme you are just cheating all us other bloggers, you pox-addled pikers!

  1. An Island to Oneself: Six Years on a Desert Island, by Tom Neale
  2. Saltwater Fishing, by Al Ristori
  3. How to Build a Wooden Boat, by David C. McIntosh and Samuel F. Manning
  4. The Ultimate Guide to Small Game and Varmint Hunting: How to Hunt Squirrels, Rabbits, Hares, Woodchucks, Coyotes, Foxes and More, by H. Lea Lawrence
  5. Trapper's Bible: Traps, Snares & Pathguards, by Dale Martin
All you who took shit to actually read for entertainment won't be voting my ass off the island any time soon.


Who are you going to pass this to, (stick to 3 persons) and why?

No one. I don't want the Pox!

Can you Canoe*


     Two people in a canoe (stop me I you’ve heard this one) paddling upstream…

     Even if you grew up on a lake, you may be unfamiliar with some of the finer points of canoeing, so I’m going to explain some things you may already know, but—this is my analogy, so move your eyes along—these specific points are important to the getting-to-my-point part of the gisty-overall-nut.

     The person in the back of the canoe (I’ll defer from going too far, but realize I do know my aft from a port in the ground) steers as well as paddles.  The person in the front paddles and navigates.  (Because the front has the best view of submerged dangers.)

     Also, the person in the back—the driver—can easily see on which side the person in the front is paddling; important for steering, because when both paddle on the same side the canoe turns in that direction, and when each paddle with the same strength on opposite sides: it travels relatively straight.

     A J-stroke (turning the blade of the paddle away from the canoe at the end of the stroke) can correct the slight turn of the canoe caused by the initial power of the stroke.

     Feathering the paddle (at the end of each stroke, turning the wrist so the blade is parallel with the water surface) insures less air resistance as the paddle is brought forward and, more importantly, if the paddle accidentally strikes the water, it smoothly slices through and doesn’t alter the canoe's course of travel.

     The front person—the navigator—can’t see how the driver is paddling or feathering.  The navigator also can’t see if the driver is using a proper J-stroke, or even if the driver is no longer paddling but is using the paddle as a rudder.  The driver, on the other hand, can always tell when the navigator is not feathering, using a J-stroke, or paying attention for submerged objects.

     An easy canoe trip is spent drifting downstream.  This permits both people to do very little hard work.  The driver can steer without much effort.  The navigator doesn't have to constantly paddle and can just look out for underwater obstacles.  A marriage or committed-relationship (eventually I get to it) of downstream drifting consists of:
  •      A downstream-navigator, watching the scenery float by, enjoying the knowledge that the driver will steer the canoe without much besides an occasional word of direction.
  •      A downstream-driver, steering haphazardly, paddling only when absolutely necessary, and rarely asking his navigator for guidance.
     The upstream marriage is very different.  Each person knows they have a hard river ahead and must decide who is best capable of steering and who is going to provide direction.  Trust is needed, even before getting in the canoe.  A knowledgeable navigator is aware a lazy driver may go unnoticed until the navigator feels the canoe losing distance.  A wary driver knows an inattentive navigator may cause damage to the canoe.

     Upstream or downstream, it’s always easy at first.  No one’s tired.  It’s a new experience!  New-navigators don’t get distracted by the passing scenery (too much) and routinely call back, amid strong strokes, “we need to go left here” and “I think we need to stay waaay right of that rock”.  At the same time, new-drivers—with strength and proficiency—constantly feather, and, when their new-navigators paddle on the right, they switch to the left; when their new-navigators get tired and switch back, the attentive new-driver is ready to switch too.

     After a while, depending on the canoe, the couple, their individual stretch of river, and whether they are struggling upstream or coasting downstream, each person can get physically tired or mentally bored.  It’s a long upstream or downstream haul.  It never stops flowing.

     When the navigator gets tired and stops paddling:  A wise driver knows how to paddle and steer alone, asking if the navigator is OK; an incompetent driver criticizes and complains about doing all the work and at times may even go so far as to gripe, “watching for hidden logs is the simple and easy job”.

     When the driver gets tired and stops paddling or just steers:  A conscientious navigator knows it’s time to kick in some extra effort and J-stroke for two; a selfish navigator looks back and complains about doing all the work.

     When the canoe hits an underwater log:  An experienced driver knows the sun on the water can blind even the most attentive navigator and begins back paddling; a foolish driver places blame and hollers directions.  This incident can be further aggravated—with an un-trusting couple—if the log was hit when the navigator was looking back at the driver to criticize about a lack of effort.  It then becomes a, “see-what-you-did, not-my-fault-you-weren’t-paddling,” back and forth.

     When paddling a marriage upstream:  Both the driver and the navigator must work together.  Both must communicate: “I need a break, can you paddle alone for a while?”  By that, I mean:
  •      If you are presently the navigator and know your driver will see when you stop paddling, so think it's redundant to mention it, you're wrong:  tell your driver anyway.
  •      If you are currently the driver and suspect your navigator won't know if you just take a quick rest, you're wrong:  tell your navigator first.
     Although there are rarely any guarantees on the river of life, there are some certainties:  the logs and rocks just under the surface are always going to be there.  Canoe partners can't see each other's face, so talking is mandatory...don’t add to the submerged dangers by failing to communicate.

     To help ensure your canoe-partner doesn’t notice your canoe trip is no longer what they envisioned at the beginning (when fresh, dry, and still on the bank of the river) a few canoe-rules:
  •      Never take your canoe-partner for granted or treat them disrespectfully.  Many canoer’s have the (vastly mistaken) impression that they'll be sharing their canoe with their partner — and will always remain in the same seat position — for their entire life!  (All that, ’til death do us part, shite.)  It shouldn’t be, but it is, an absolute shock to many canoers when they discover their partner wants to stop their canoe trip.
  •      Never act like you have attained a tenured position.  The length of time spent in the canoe seems to have a bearing on the ease (or lack thereof) of getting out of it.  The more time both canoers invest in paddling the less willing they become, to get out.  This can be the impetus for a ridiculous belief (in one or both) that the invested time itself, somehow guarantees the canoe trip's longevity.  As one mistaken idea becomes a boatload—a careless canoer then treats their partner with disdain and acts selfishly, without regard for their responsibilities as driver or navigator.
     This eventually comes to an end when someone bravely plunges into the cold water to swim to the riverbank or to another canoe.

     I’ve successfully paddled canoes with a handful of significant others (usually as the driver, but I've navigated as well).  I steered or navigated those canoes to shore when the trips were over (at times reluctantly, usually enthusiastically).  Occasionally I got my feet a little damp.  If I had to jump in to get the canoe on the bank, I got my legs soaking wet.  I say this because, I’ve done it enough to know the water is not so cold that one can’t take it for a short period.

     I’m no longer looking for someone to help me paddle a canoe.  I currently share a rowboat with the perfect person to share it with.
     Be careful!  Not everyone can manage a rowboat.  It takes agility, trust, and strong communication.  One rows facing the stern, while the other navigates facing the rower and the bow.  When switching rowers—after one gets tired—be extremely careful to prevent capsizing.  And, when the tough spots arrive (as they always do) both people have to row side-by-side:  each with an oar gripped in their hands, only able to gauge where they are headed by watching where they've been.

     * posted 2005; update/re-post 2020

Dawn Begins at Zero Dark-Thirty


          Before dawn today, I discovered a blackbird commuter byway running directly over my house.  'Dawn' begins with the full stretch of black starlight touching every rocky and forested horizon and ends with the entire sun visible.  'Sunrise' is the exact moment it crests the horizon.  This morning, I watched the entire two-and-a-half-hour process of dawn and graduated from someone who enjoys watching the sunrise, to someone who enjoys the dawn.

          The blackbirds and ravens of Arizona are a courteous flock.  They dribble high overhead, in vague wavering clots of threes and fives; barely discernible from the pitch-blue sky, were it not for their passing between starlight and eye.  Conversing in low calls and deep throated bracks — out of respect for the many below them who slumber (of whom I normally am one).  I wonder if they are headed to get a better view of the Sunrise, unobstructed by the hills to my east.

          Coyote breakfast call.  Not more than two hundred meters south of my seat, the mother's low moan is met by the anxious yip and excited yap of her hungry brood.  Her pups do not yet appreciate the morning quietude, which comes with age.  Their unchecked barks and snarls make me smile; reminding me of a letter to the editor in the local art-zine, several months back.
To the lady who wrote complaining about the incursion of wildlife and particularly the increased number of coyotes on her property, I want her to think about who is encroaching on whom.  The ever-growing human population is moving farther out into the forest and wilderness.  I’m sorry her dogs were victims.  But, it’s us who are trespassing and she and others should know better than to leave domestic pets unattended.  The coyote is only doing what comes natural and necessary for its survival.
          I wondered if Mom and her hungry ones, quiet now, were having any problems with the taste of Hartz 301 flea and tick spray on their breakfast.

          I enjoy reading reply letters to the editor, especially when I miss the initial letter.  My imagination fills in the missing complaint:
I want to know why the county isn’t doing anything about all the savage animals that are becoming an increasing threat to the safety and security of our homes and families!!  Just last night a rabid pack of coyotes took my two Hungarian pug-nosed Grendlespitz’s right out of my back yard.  I tried to do something but by the time I got my slippers and robe on all I found were empty collars on the end of their leashes.  Duchess and Sophie were members of our family.  I want the county animal control division to do something!  As a property owner, I pay your salary with my taxes and want to be able to know that my pets are safe in my yard.
          Venus pierces the southeastern sky — being brightly dragged westward by the half-waxing moon.  A meteorite zick.   North to South.  Slight burn to red, perceptible before it’s image on my retina is forgotten.

          The eastern sky is slightly lighter now.  As if a light polluting city, like New York or Brussels, was transmorpholated intact, just on the other side of the hill.  Many of the small stars — visible just minutes ago on the eastern horizon — have been tucked away, behind the lighter blue.

          I woke extremely early to see this and certainly don’t regret my decision.  Over the past months I ended my days later and rose — accordingly — progressively later.  At first, I thought doing so was because I read in my retirement manual under 'no longer needed' were regular haircuts, shaves, or alarm clocks.  But, research divulged the following:
Doctors at Duke Medical Center released a report indicating adult humans naturally require 9.25 hours of sleep every 29.1 hours.  The study, which lasted several months, was conducted by placing volunteers in a completely shielded environment and preventing the testees from any external knowledge of time.  After a period of adjustment, independent of each other or any external impetus, participants settled into a routine of ‘nights’ between nine and ten hours, and twenty hour ‘days’.
          Well, that certainly posed more questions than it explained.  Obviously, the human body is not in synch with the earth’s revolution around the sun.  Why could this be?

          The east is much whiter — now — than any city over the hill could cause.  Almost every star above me has been absorbed.  The horizon blue is no longer just cerulean.  Now, aquamarine fades to the yellow of my mother’s bathroom wall which becomes white at the far edge of the hill.  Venus and the moon share the stage alone, with Venus a dim glimmer of it's hour-ago self.

          No more blackbirds. They must have all straggled to work — even those who cut their routine to the minute.

          Four doves bank around my head in tight formation.  A large loop, they glide through another ovoid and return.  The sound of the wind over their wings over my head is sharp and wonderful.  Which is the alpha-dove, I wonder.  After another lap, they settle on a wire below where the sun will eventually make it’s debut in my small valley.

          So my body — which I forced for decades to work an unnatural 16 awake and 8 asleep (which easily became 18+ awake and 6- asleep many...or most days, depending on how truthful I feel) has found it’s natural cycle of 20 awake and 9 asleep.  This explains why a few nights ago I went to sleep at three in the morning and got up at noon.  But it doesn’t explain why man hasn’t settled to the rhythm of the earth-sun revolution in these short hundreds of thousands of years.  It should be obvious.  It isn’t.

          If I went to sleep when the sun set last night and woke when it rose: I would have gotten twelve hours of sleep. If I naturally want to sleep nine and to be awake twenty, why is the day not twenty-nine hours long?  A conundrum.  An enigma.  A puzzle.
In December, American Scientists working in conjunction with the Histore De La Provinciale Sans Guiffon in Den Hage, The Netherlands, have jointly posited that neither Darwin’s evolutionary theory nor the divine origins believed by Christianity fully explain the arrival of Homo Sapiens on Earth.  After decades of research — utilizing the Luxtablinula telemetry radio telescope in Denmark and the Hubble satellite telescope: a small terra-equivalent planet has been observed orbiting around the yellow star TJ761.
This planet — named First Earth — has a twenty hour day and a nine hour night. Theories as to the cause have ranged from a combination of First Earth's avuncular revolution around TJ761; a peanut-shaped planet with an erratic wobble-spin; and a unified land mass.  Research is presently ongoing to identify the existence of life on First Earth.  Professor R. G. Jihk, director of the First Earth research team, provided this brief comment:
“It is my firm belief that man was brought from First Earth to Earth in much the same manner, and possibly for similar reasons, as the British first utilized Australia.  This would have been over one hundred and fourteen thousand years ago.  And once we, the modern day Australians — sticking with that analogy — are advanced enough to blast the modern day Brits back to Stonehenge, as it were, I believe the First Earthians will come back and crush us like the foolish prehistoric detritus we are.”
          The sunbeams are hitting the roof of my house now.  The trees and homes on the west hillside of my valley are bright in reflected orange.  The doves returned with a fifth squad member.  They continue routine circles overhead.  I may have identified their leader.  As they all land back on the same wire, I watch.  If the leader is the one I picked, then she’ll be the first to leave.

          She was the last.  Maybe my theory is upside-back and the leader is the last one to leave, making sure her flock is off to where she sent them like a good military commander: first one in and the last one out.

          The first sun ray — broken between branches and a house on the crest of the hill above — spears me in the eyeball.  I squint.  The air smells perfect.  The warmth on my face is exhilarating. I’ve never done this before — over two hours sitting with myself, paying attention to what nature does every morning and focusing on my inner thoughts.

          I recommend it to all.  Blackbirds, coyotes, meteorites, Venus and the doves also recommend it. The First Earthians don’t, however, they sleep when it’s dark and wake when it’s light and find the concept of watching dark become light an abomination.

          Don’t be a First Earthian.  Be proud.  Wake united — set your alarm two hours earlier and watch tomorrow’s dawn with a smile in your heart.


more animal creative fiction stories:
pet hamsters and cats: Life-Mission: Possible

Oh me - oh my - oh, oh wanna-manna pee - oh

Learning something new every day about the shrieking baying fools just beyond the outside limits of the glow from my campfire.

My Mormon name is Vernal Independence St. Benjamin!
What's yours?

entranced exit

All the world's a stage and all of us merely players. We have exciting entrances and entranced exits, and each of us--in our time--play many parts. -- Snapperhead misquoting Shakespeare



digital rendering by veach st. glines, creative commons license 2005

April Foolz

My April Fools joke took a month to set up and now expose...because blog April fools jokes don't have any 'knock-knock' timing.

*Drum roll*

*Flapping of cloth as curtains part*

Scroll down. To: 2 March. The post title is: Sky Photo.

*throat clearing*

I don't have a digital camera.

Instead, it was created in Corel Photoshop using several layers of shaded blue all ending diagonally in the center, at the Phoenix cloud.

This wasn't supposed to be an AFJ on just Carmi. Originally, I thought others might take the bait.

NOW, all you all can chime in with how you allwayz knew it weren't a real sky shot and shhiiiit.

*bowing*

*curtain falls*