Chasing Svelte - Films From the mid-2000s

          Chasing is the opposite of repoussé, which is a metalworking technique in which a malleable metal is shaped by hammering from the reverse side.  The two are used in conjunction to create a finished piece.   While repoussé is used to work on the reverse of the metal to form a raised design on the front, chasing is used to refine the design on the front of the work by sinking the metal.  The term chasing is derived from the noun "chase," which refers to a groove, furrow, channel or indentation.

          Svelte is an adjective denoting something which is judged to be attractively or gracefully slim by the viewer; slender in figure, or lithe.

          But what does all this have to do with films you ask?

          Following the premise: as a small part goes, so goes the whole (used to infer—maybe, correctly—that if American banks crumble, so will our entire country) the current Climate of American Civilization And Society (CACAS) can be measured by examining a microcosm within the CACAS and I am going to examine: film.

          First, some back-story: hundreds of films are released every month.   Most are 'direct to DVD' (this includes dozens of TV series, both old and new); a small few are wide-released (in thousands of theaters); some receive a limited-release (if they make money, they may later be wide-released).   It is important to remember that all of these films employ hundreds-of-thousands (millions, world-wide) of people... from the lowly, ticket-taker at the single-screen, second-run, downtown, art-theater, to the mega-millionaire-family of Pitt-Jolie.  Yes.  We... who know films, and love them, and know the films-we-love, tend NOT to focus on business and only discuss the art, story, acting, and that ever-elusive quality, which makes good film different from bad movies.

          The makers of movie-money are 'chasing svelte' by tooling the final product (in most cases: a ninety-minute one) until they have about a ninety-second slim, attractive, excerpt.   This small preview, commonly referred to as a 'trailer' even though they have not followed the feature presentations for 50+ years, is more important than the film to money makers.

          In many cases the DVD will make more money, for the producers, studios, and film-makers, than the theatrical release; where distributors, theater franchises, and concession-providers profit most.   The trailer needs to fool people into buying tickets and also sell, or rent, the DVD (and let us not forget the video game).

          Over the past years I have seen thousands of trailers, and got sucked in by them, causing me to rent—as well as actually pay to sit in theaters and watch—many dozens of terrible movies.  My 'good-trailer-terrible-movie' radar is only a 4.9 version and needs an upgrade.

          But, thankfully, and most importantly, I saw some incredibly fantastic films.   Here are my top twelve (for the period 2005 to 2008) in alphabetical order.

          If you have not seen one or more of these, then, see them TODAY... or this weekend (and STOP watching the news . . . ).

11:14 is a 'who/why dunnit?' suspense-film that keeps you guessing and engaged.  If you are one of those people who dislikes the gimmick of showing the same few minutes of real time over and over again, just realize this is not some shit like: 'Vantage Point' (one of the many 'good-trailer-bad-movies', I fell victim to).



Across the Universe may be the best musical ever put on film.  One prerequisite:  you need to be familiar with, and not-dislike, Beatle's songs (Note: not-disliking is different than liking, in this case).  The songs weave into the plot, small snippits of Beatle-lyrics jump out of the dialogue, and the whole thing is capped off by some great cameos by Salma Hayek, Eddie Izzard, Bono, and Joe Cocker.



an inconvenient truth, a documentary by Al Gore, is the only documentary that made it to this list (and I watch quite a few).  If you want to learn some of the specific reasons scientists know the earth is warming because of things we've done and are doing, watch.  If you already know everything because FOX news tells you about all the things the bible leaves out, don't watch.



Brick is the most unusual mix of 'young love' meets 'Sam Spade'.  Joseph Gordon-Levitt can almost do no wrong in my book (and his character, here, is no exception).  The dialogue requires your complete attention; not a film to watch while anything else could distract you (a friend told me it helped when she watched it with subtitles because of the constant, fast-original, slang).



Cashback is about a sketch/painter-artist (so I may be biased to include it here).  It also contains dry 'British' humor and pretty naked women (two other things, which may cause me to give it preferential treatment).   It has a subplot that centers around a science-fictionesque ability of the main character . . . and an SF trailer can suck me in better than most.  So—with all that aside—how can this be a great film?  It just is.


Children of Men is Clive Owen at his absolute best.   If there is a better representation of the 'ever-weary-reluctant hero' character I have not seen it.  This strong futuristic-SF/road film should be at the top of your to-see list (or your to-see again list if you've watched all of these).




Hard Candy, a small-budget revenge-film that doesn't get off-message and delivers in a chilling, thrilling way, shows that Ellen Page (Juno) has always been able to pick a great role (and was always able to nail her performance).




No Country For Old Men is the best drama on the list.  If you haven't already seen this film you must not be a film-watcher; maybe you don't watch films recommended by others, or shun films that have won awards.  If so . . .there are some funny things over on U-Tube, whyn't you go check 'em out?  Right now.  Yea, now.



Old Boy will shock and enthrall those who don't mind subtitles (it's Korean).   It was released in '05, but I didn't see it until '07.   If you do any research on it, you'll have the plot-twist(s) spoiled and then it won't be a mystery, will it?   Not for squeamish viewers. Strangely, this is the only subtitled film that made this list of must-see's.  Since my taste runs heavily foreign (maybe as much as 30%) I'm surprised only one made my list.  (I do not recommend the re-make.)


Shortbus is the best quasi-porn-esque film I've ever seen. John Cameron Mitchell (Hedwig and the Angry Inch) wrote and directed this sex-story, included funny dialogue, a real plot, found good-to-OK actors and actresses, and actually got it distributed (limited release) in theaters.  If you have always hated porn films (except the parts between the fast-forward's) this is for you.   If you are homophobic, religious, or in any way put-off by sexual acts and conversation, this is not for you.


Southland Tales, one film I've, now, put on my see-again list.  Mostly, because I'm certain I'd get more out of the second viewing.  An SF-mystery-thriller that is confusing and a half-dark funny; it's the one you'll love or hate, understand or quit watching (with a "WTF did I just see?").  If you have to pee or if you are hungry when you watch this, you will lose the spider-silk-thread of plot.   Requires 10 times more concentration than Children of Men.


Wristcutters, a love story contains a funny, one-of-a-kind plot about what the ever-after holds for suicides.   This film was almost beat-out by 'Wall-E'; but because it made me laugh-out-loud, contained some sharp dialogue, and actually made me think... it stuck in my head more than the animated, cute, SF film.

          I provide this list in 2020, as a springboard for my new list of Arthouse Bizarre Convoluted Dark Films (ABCD Films).

Covid Diary - Weeks 1 thru 4

don't come in, the water's not so great...

          Friday, 24 APR.  My wife, Pam, and I suspect we are both infected with COVID19.  Unsure at this point.   Pam's symptoms began in the early morning hours (prior to 6am).  My symptoms began in the late afternoon.
         Thinking back:  last night, 23 APR, we both suffered from diarrhea but had not eaten the same food at all that day, and wondered about the coincidence.  This was our first symptom. 
          Our Temperatures, today, are both lower than 98.6 (no fevers).  The main symptom, for us both, is physical fatigue.  We feel as if we have over-exercised and now have acute or delayed-onset muscle soreness—without the burn or itch from healing muscles, just a difficulty/inability to use our arms and leg muscles.  We have both spent many hours in bed due to this extreme fatigue.
          Pam has a very-slight cough (in any other situation it would go without notice, with about one throat-clearing an hour) and she has an unusually-strong headache.  I have no cough, just a slightly itchy throat and headache.
        
          Saturday, 25 APR.  Pam's cough has increased slightly, her fatigue has decreased significantly, still no fever.  Headache the same.
          My fatigue has increased exponentially; I have not left my bed for 20 hours (what was just long-muscle fatigue is now whole-body).  My appetite is gone, but my sense of taste/smell is still present.  Increase in body temperature less than one degree (still would not consider this to qualify as a fever); headache the same.
          Thanks to all who have written best wishes.  I apologize for not writing individual responses, texting, or calling until after I am feeling better.

          Sunday, 26 APR.   Today is better than yesterday for both of us.  Body-fatigue is still present but less severe.  Neither of us have a fever over 99.5 degrees F.  Our coughs/throat issues remain slight.  We both have experienced instances of dizziness as well as rapid heart-rates after only brief exertion (climbing one flight of stairs).
          To answer those who asked why we have not been tested and what we base our assumption of contracting Covid19 on, without high fever or difficulty breathing:  Testing is limited (CDC testing criteria) and Pam is considered a Priority 3.  Since it is likely she contracted the virus last week at her "critical infrastructure job" (grocery store with three Covid-positive coworkers) the purpose of testing would be for her to return to work if Covid-negative.  Since her symptoms are not serious and she can self-quarantine, that is unnecessary.  As to our basis for assuming it is Covid, it is the most logical reason for both of us (her first and me 12 hours later) to be afflicted with such an extreme case of whole-body fatigue.  My hope, now, is that we do not experience any more symptoms and fully recover.

          Monday, 27 APR.  Body fatigue almost completely gone in both of us.  Slight headaches and throat irritations vary with time-of-day and amount of pain medication we each are taking.  If this were a "routine-normal" cold, we would consider returning to work today (85% is good enough to get back to work)—but this is not any of that.  We are contagious and will continue to self-quarantine.

          Tuesday, 28 APR.  My symptoms slightly increasing/returning, which would be considered "normal flu symptoms" (in any other situation): headaches, runny nose, congestion, itchy throat.  Very late this evening, I notice I have a slight, unusual, chest pressure which comes and goes.

          Wednesday, 29 APR.  My light chest pressure from last night is still intermittently present.  Not related to food, caffeine, exertion, or hydration.  My breathing does not feel restricted in any way; I do not think it is lung-related,.  Best guess (based on anecdotal evidence) is that I have become too focused on my own health symptoms and have caused myself to become stressed.  Time for a long walk and some deep meditation.

Week 2:  Thr, 30 APR thru Thr, 7 MAY.  Our minor symptoms for the entire week are those attributable to any infection or to seasonal allergies:  cough, sneeze, nasal blockage, fatigue, soreness in joints and headaches.

Week 3:  Thr, 7 MAY thru Thr, 14 MAY.  Symptoms almost completely gone except for one 20 hour period for me and one 10 hour period for Pam (fatigue, gastrointestinal distress, headaches, etc) returned with a huge spike.  Added minor symptom for me: sore throat.

Week 4:  Thr, 14 MAY thru Thr, 21 May.  Symptoms gone.  No headaches, no fatigue, no sore throat.  (Only a small period of seasonal allergy symptoms; runny nose, nasal drainage.)

Covid Diary - Chapter 2

lighter Covid19 notes:

Covid Kōan
coronavirus abstract art
Haiku / quarantine art (re: Logan's Run)

Re-fractured and Vibrant Echoes

          In one of Driz's (now defunct) posts at ex movere, he included his interpretation of the quote:  The disappointed man speaks: ‘I listened for an echo and I heard only praise.’  After exchanging comment volleys, I couldn't leave the thought alone.  I started picking at it and decided to expand-expound.

          What did this Nietzsche quote mean?

          My thoughts:  when one spends a quantifiable amount of anything (hours, brain-cells, words, brushstrokes, it-matters-not-what) on creating something, I think the results are the echo Nietzsche was listening for.  My drive to create has resulted in more than a few select two-dimensional echoes, or reflections of my inner self, which I proudly hang on my—and other people's—walls.

          Along this vein, I think Davecat's blog title: Shouting to hear the echoes captures this action-idea in its barest simplicity. And my vague memory of Davecat's (years ago) statement that a web log containing decades of essays is a portrait of a persons life, an accomplishment, a digital distillation or reflection of a person's gestalt ... or something like that, I don't recall his exact words and now that I think about it, I may be attributing words to Davecat that he never typed. But, anyway.

          A created object is a reflection of the author-creator-artists imagination. Although the intent of the creator was, initially, primarily and ultimately, to see what his brain could create—to translate something from his imagination to reality—once it was created, and (as Ditz has correctly pointed out) the creator has made the decision that it is finished, it immediately becomes subject to criticism. This includes self-criticism.

          I think that praise is what Nietzsche was disappointed to receive; because praise is (almost always) synonymous with apathy.

          To me, every "I like it" feels like a white-lie or an act of guest-book-signing.

          Want to see what I mean by this?   Go to any blog which averages more than 25 comments per post. About 90% of those comments are pap—each saying less than nothing; muttering their praises because if they don’t...I guess, nobody will know they were there, right? (If ANYONE knows of a blog where this is not true, where the majority of the more than two-dozen plus comments are viable, helpful, insightful and interesting, please point me there!) In a deeper ring of hell than that which broils sycophantic blog comment-ers are: micro-blog Twitter-ers and their constant desire to amass followers who will read their rarely thoughtful, mostly vacuous, and wholly innocuous tweets (and the reply-comments they spawn).

          An artist receives praise with a skeptical smile, but welcomes derision, comparative-criticism, and advice (no matter how unhelpful) with a warm embrace. In my case, viewers who tell me what they see in my digital renderings are great, because my creations are nurtured by pareidolia and are mostly-worthless to those who are unable (or unwilling) to be afflicted by the phenomenon.

You get more joy out of the giving to others, and should put a good deal of thought into the happiness you are able to give. — Eleanor Roosevelt

revised Apr 2020; original: May 2009

 

ancillary articles on art and art-critique:

examining art and thinking about what you see
critique of film critics

Uncouple Here

The summer-ease of naïve wanna be best friends along the Maumee with incessant Katydid skriitch and calling parents by their first names; accidentally broken in a foamy pile of brown glass on the concrete steps of some school.   Not forgotten as easily as our names, which lasted.

To each adult relationship strained by each—our own—lacks in temerity, willingness to question, be questioned or to even look inside—our own; intentionally left in an unread message-dross folder of some google.  Ponder unhappiness or exercise your frown-smile-muscle.  Which lasts?

How to renew your friendship with one lengthy questioning sentence written, texted, or asked—by you:  I want to improve our relationship and need your most heart-felt advice on what I can do to become a better friend.  Listen, ask for more and listen some more.  Which is lasting.

Other articles on relationships:
Can You Canoe?

when in need of a tiny giggle

          This addendum is provided because a friend told me he didn't understand the antique mirror under Avril Poisson's Mailbox; he understood the other image-elements were either supporting-the-creepy, or were included to show that April Fool could be a person (or both) but asked, "what's up with that mirror next to the trash bin?"

          It was my hope that people would look closely and recognize—in the antique picture frame—a young Rick Astley with the faint words 'never gonna give you up' above his head as an attempt at a two dimensional Rick-roll (which, for those who weren't alive fifteen years ago, was a lame internet prank from the early 2000's).  Obviously, my attempt was less than successful.

          Most of my mailbox-series artworks are attempting to tell a unique story, in a creepy way, about a single day of the year, and for April Fool's Mailbox I hoped viewers (who did not already know) would research and learn that, in France, they celebrate April Fish day instead of April Fools.  An old prank played on Poisson d'Avril was taping a paper fish on people's backs in much-the-same-manner as US children once taped paper signs.  I hoped this knowledge would, then, help explain the paper fish in the trash bin, the one paper fish on the back of a large doll behind the nearly empty "prank stand" and the sign warning against no contact pranks.

          For those in need of a tiny giggle (and sticking with the theme) I provide this from the musician Mr Anthony Vincent:

         

humorous music-related posts:

no children 

 pop culture - madeon

Saint George's Mailbox

St George's Mailbox - 23 Apr (Feast of St George)

mailbox art series:
Santa Claus' Mailbox - 25 Dec (Christmas)
AULDLANGSYNE's Mailbox - 1 Jan (New Year's Day)
Sommerzeit's Mailbox - 8 Mar (Daylight Savings Time 2020 / 'Summertime' in German)
ÔSTARA's Mailbox - 19 Mar (Vernal Equinox / first day of Spring - northern hemisphere 2020)
Avril Poisson's Mailbox - 1 Apr (April Fools Day / April Fish in French)
May IV's Mailbox - 4 May (Star Wars Day) 
Serling's Mailbox - 11 May (Twilight Zone Day)


  image portions by Jamie Wheeler and Gus Yamin

Whatz The Story Behind That? 1

          My neighbor gave me this amazingly thought provoking, rectangular, antique, rusted-metal gallon-sized can, which I currently display on my bookshelf.  It has no date, no brand, no location details (other than Vermont) and—besides the name and logo for the Vermont Maple Syrup Maker's Association—no other words besides these:

VERMONT

PURE

MAPLE SYRUP

Sealed in Accordance with Vermont Law

NATURAL  MAPLE  COLOR  and  FLAVOR

Nothing  Added  —  Nothing  Deducted

                              The maple syrup in this can was carefully

                              packed to retain the original flavor under

                              all ordinary storage conditions.

                              After seal is broken, and part of the con-

                              tents removed, refrigeration of the remainder

                              in the original can is recommended.

                              If a quantity left in a once opened can will

                              not be used for a month or more, this re-

                              mainder will be best preserved by repacking

                              in small jars and heating to a near-boiling

                              point in a water bath.

                              Mold found on stored syrup is harmless. Heat-

                              ing in a saucepan and skimming will restore

                              the syrup to a usable condition.

       
          I love the wording.

          Vermont.  The state, which has never had a building code to guide those constructing single-family residential structures towards a safety standard, allegedly* had a law governing how maple syrup should be sealed.  I don't know how long ago, but my best guess is this can is pre-1950s (there is a crudely drawn image of men pouring sap from maple trees into a large container on a sled, being drawn by a horse thru the forest).

          Today's "Refrigerate after opening" originated from within a 20-word sentence 70+ years ago.

          Today's "Best by" originated from the most convoluted 40-word sentence.  Which actually only advised not using the metal can more than a month, because the last paragraph states it never goes bad.  Not ever.

          The last paragraph is the piece de resistance.  It's statements like this which probably prompted the creation of the 1966 Labeling Act.

          *Allegedly because, to print false statements on containers was common practice a century ago.    

• Select an item from your environment.
• Provide a picture, sketch, or other form of visual presentation.
• Tell its backstory (explain what it is, why you selected it, etcetera). 

Some more very unique Vermont-isms:
Good Day to Be a Crow
Before Driving Your Smart Car to Vermont
The Lazy Witch Coffin Windows of Vermont
Before Looking for an Apartment in Vermont
Whatz The Story Behind That Series (ongoing)

Osgood and Gore Schlatter

          Osgood Schlatter is a dove; not very attractive, as doves go, because of his damaged knees and the company he keeps—and kept—and, please understand, those reasons aren't the only's.  Just the top two.  Supposedly, Gore Schlatter is a type of dove; Ok, ok, more of a pigeon.  Mostly pigeon.

          There was a pun, bandied about when Osgood started-up with her, or she attached herself to him—whichever.  It went something like: who's dumb as a rock, been a pig for eons, and behaves like a gore?

          Admittedly, the pun landed better with those who knew her prior-name had been Gore Behavre (she escaped from Quebec) and were aware she, visually, could be of rock pigeon ancestry.  And—it certainly helps understand the pun better—to know that a gore is a chunk of land, which is on the outside of every local jurisdiction, created by a surveying error.

          Many consider it impossible to mate-love with a different species; morally, physically, practically—whichever.  Well, Osgood appears to actually mate-love Gore.  That's what is important, right?  He deserves to be happy.  Today.  None should hold the service-related crimes of his past against him.  But many do.  Which is puzzle-confusing.  Relatively speaking, he never committed any of the autocracies caused by his masters.

          Did his master commit crimes?  Well, of course they did or she did—unless one ascribes to the philosophy that she/they only behave as a goddess is/are required to behave.  Generally accepted logic (among every mammal who, annually, suffer the whims and dictates of Spring) is that if there is a Goddess of Spring Moral Code, those twisted bitches constantly violate it with impunity.  When Osgood was drummed into service as one of her/their translator-protectors, in the eyes of many, he became guilty by association.

          So.  Gore is Osgood's sole associate now.  (There is a pun somewhere around-near here, probably; it would only take a small flex to create it.)

          Gore never had parents.  Instead, she was genetically created.  In a Canadian laboratory.  And somehow escaped or was intentionally released—whichever.  One trait of the lab-born is they smell wrong; Gore smells like a member of the porcine species, which can cause problems.  It is very difficult to get comfortable when anything (with a working game-nose) is constantly being screamed at by their inner voice:  fly, dumb ass, fly! some predator-pig is too close, fly!  it is going to eat you! fly...

⟪ 🐖 ⊗ 🕊 ⟫

          "Oz. You awake?"  Gore asked in her rumble-cool-quiet tone which would not wake anyone who was even lightly napping.

          "I can be.  What's shakin' me favorite bacon?"  Osgood murmured from under his wing-pit, causing a few tiny white feathers to fluff with the pop of his breath.

          Gore liked that Oz wasn't put-off by her smell and the smile in the back of her voice caused her to pause longer-than-she-intended between words, so she could prevent herself from laughing.  "I was just.  Thinking.  Maybe.  We.  Go much further south to where it is already summer.  Avoid the vernal equinox.  Otherwise.  She will be here.  In a few weeks."

          "Appreciate you thinking about me."  He replied while slowly straightening his neck and beginning to flex his angrily swollen leg-joints. "But it seems a lot, too much, for the sake of avoiding them.  You know they can't make me do anything anymore.  Right?"

          Gore swiveled her neck.  The iridescent sheen of her grey ruff shone silver-green-to-pink in the early morning sunlight.  She preened along the apex of Osgood's neck, where he always got a nasty kink and said, "Honestly, I'm more concerned about myself.  I've never been outside of a cage when she arrives.  Never been influenced by her designs or affected by those who were influenced by her.  What if she makes me do things I can't control?"

          Osgood sighed and replied, "Please Gory, we need to communicate clearly when talking about Ostara.  You and I do, that is.  Others may refer to the Triple-Goddess of Spring using the singular pronoun, but I see and hear all three.  When you use she, I think you are referring to the central mother-figure."

          "You've not wanted to discuss this with me before.  I have questions.  But, don't want to raise feathers.  Is now a good time for blunt?" Gore asked, still preening Osgood's angry-swollen knees and legs.

          "Yes.  Now is a good time."  Osgood said.

          Gore bobbed her head up and looked him in the eye.  She wanted her silence to give him an opportunity to change his mind or to indicate pessimism or show he was being untruthful about it being the right time.  Body language was more honest than word-language.  Always.  "Ok. Tell me."  She said, "I've heard others talk metaphorically about Spring.  I've heard you vaguely mention the Triple-Goddess.  That you worked for..."  Gore allowed the sentence to drawl-out in a questioning-to-quieting way, while shrugging her wing and shoulder to indicate she didn't know how to end the sentence correctly.

          "I was forced to work for them an endless season.  Years ago.  The choice was serve or die.  I chose to serve.  After summer arrived and they departed, I tried to kill myself.  Many of the slaves of spring die of exhaustion or will themselves to death, I gave myself to be eaten by a human.  Only the human wanted...  I don't know what.  It kept me in a cage with a horrible idiot-dove.  I think of her as my penance-torturer.  She would not shut the fuck up.  Bitched and moaned—dawn to dusk—for almost two years and then the human let us go.  Maybe Ostara caused the human to release me; release us.  Not everything they do results in evil, even though that seems to be their intent.  That was a month before you found me in that culvert."

          "Explain what they look like to you, Oz.  I've listened to others say they've seen a single goddess.  Still others say they have never seen a physical entity, only environmental effects."  As Gore said this, she nuzzled her chin along the back of Osgood's neck.

          Ozgood appreciated her directness and replied with a directness of his own, "I was selected because I understood their language and could translate their commands.  From Vernal Equinox until Summer Solstice, for every year of my adulthood, I have seen the Triple-Goddess as they are and not as they wish to be seen.  Or unseen, as the case may be.

          They appear to me as three human women.  The young one, referred to as The Maiden, is named Patience; she is playful, naïve, foolish, and more-than-a-little careless.  Fortitude, known as The Mother, is noticeably heavy with child, commanding in a not-to-be-trifled-with way, and is always emotionally-somewhere between low-simmer and high-boil angry.  And the elderly woman, some refer to as The Crone, goes by the name Resignation; she routinely attempts to temper, cajole, and encourage acceptance of what they do as if it were inevitable.  They have the power.  The most fantastic power.  I... I'm sorry."  Osgood's voice grew quiet.  Then he slowly turned his pink-white beak towards the side of Gore's grey beak, until they touched, and said in a whisper, "They can question anything, everything, into and out of existence."

          Gore waited to see if Osgood would continue.  She was certain he did not intend her to think he was speaking metaphorically, but she also knew things which looked like magic were, actually, explainable by human technology or microbiology or science.  And carefully worded her next question to determine if there was a logical explanation.  "Which one caused the most harm?"  She asked, not pausing between words nor emphasizing any of them.  Gore wanted to learn where Ozgood's mind was focused; if he answered with a name—then he'd interpreted her question as if she'd asked: which one caused...' and if he described an event—then his mind had heard: ...the most harm?

          "What you really want to know, Gore-me-love, but are treating me as if I'm fragile-minded—which I greatly admire, as well—is if I was a co-conspirator in a ninety-day, pan-species, mass-genocide or if I was merely tricked into tagging along with an entity who possesses a limited superpower of a..."  As Osgood spoke in his normal, somber, quiet manner, he now slightly raised his right-most claw and curled his inside talon.

          Then said, matter-of-factly, "...shape-shitting ability: either one human, three humans, or invisible..."  As he said one, three, and invisible, he nodded his head for emphasis, then curled his middle talon.

          And continued with a quizzical tone, "...a second superpower which involves a limited ability to see a short time—no more than a few days—into the entire planet's future..." then, curling the last talon on that claw.

          He finished with a increased weight to his words, "...and this entity must, then, constantly pretend to initiate the infinite rape, death, plagues, floods, droughts, and misery, which are merely the result of thermodynamics, entropy, electromagnetism, chaos and hormones.  For over two thousand straight hours.  every.  single.  year.

          "If that is what happened and happens?  Then I did not participate.  I was just one of many victim-witnesses who's real purpose was/is to tell others of the mighty Ostara.  Spreeaad the word."  Osgood breathed a somber exhale looking down at the branch in a contemplative way and then turned his neck to look close-directly: his left eye into Gore's right.

          He said matter-of-factly, "Only.  I never saw behind the curtain, so—from my perspective—it all seemed to be literally caused by them.  With my assistance."  

          "Shape shitting?"  Gore whispered, trying to add a bit of humor into the conversation.

          "What?" Osgood asked, with confused uncertainty.

          "Did you say shape shitting, as in, "the entity had such great anal sphincter power it could crank out a square sh..."

          "Rectangle.  From a rectangle shaped..."  He giggle breathed, loving her more for her attention to his verbal faux-pas and willingness to not get too dragged down by it all.

          "...Rectum."  they both said at the same time and cackled with full-on laughter.             

still more talking-animal stories:
Squirrels: trichotillomania or alopecia or scabies (oh-my) 
Space feline: Jorge with a cat - Part 1
Space feline: Part 2: Jorge with a Cat

         

Covid Kōan

  

           H. R.   Hufflepuff

           P is for plague playing card

           Fairytales R guff

           From: Fee Fye Foe Fum

           C is for Chinny chin chin

           Teeth U have granmum

           Ring-a-round rosy

           Market piggy is called pork

           Comfort able cozy

continue considering paradoxical compositions:

artwork & poem full of explained confusion 

A Song Which Describes You

Epitaph to Live by

The Lazy Witch Coffin Windows of Vermont

          Driving thru the wonderful Vermont countryside, one will invariably see the occasional house with a full-sized window shoehorned at an incongruous angle near the roof-line.  Ask a local why and here are a few explanations they may provide (yarns they may spin):

• Lazy windows are referred to, as such, because they appear to no longer "stand up straight" but instead have "tipped over on their sides" - or - because the homeowner was too lazy to hire a contractor to build a series of smaller bespoke windows. 

• Witch windows are referred to, as such, because they were purposefully built at an angle, in the attic of homes, since witches are unable to fly their brooms thru an open angled window without bumping their head.

• Coffin windows are referred to, as such, because they are the "size of a coffin" - or - because the steep stairway to the attic should rightfully be called a ladder and if someone died up there it would be impossible to get a coffin up or down the ladderway - or - because they were built as fire escapes and people climbing out of them would probably be coughin.  (I just made this one up.  If you use this to play six truths and a lie, this is the lie and all the others are real Vermont lore.)

• Vermont windows are referred to, as such, because they are almost exclusively found in the state of Vermont (with a tiny bleed-over into similarly-challenged homeowners in neighboring states).

          What do I mean challenged?
          Well, of course, I mean homeowners challenged by a window which prefers its own comfort over its duty; or who are fiscally challenged; or challenged by: low-flying witches, a lack of body-bags, or a complete and total lack of fuckin aesthetics (pick one).

         With a bit of research, I surmise the truth is somewhere in the neighborhood of:

• Prior to 1972, the Vermont Fire Code was not adapted to the US-standard.
• Back then, a homeowner who wanted to remodel their unfinished attic space into habitable living space was required to install "sufficient means of emergency egress."
• The cheapest (when considering the need to retain interior-heat in the winter) and easiest way to accomplish this: install a double-pane sliding storm window over a standard double-pane interior window above, or near, an outside roof.
• Expensive options:  build dormers; raise half of the roof and install a wall with windows; add an entire new second floor, add an exterior fire escape.

          But—why are Vermont Windows limited to this state?

          Most states have residential building codes for one and two-family dwellings.  Vermont does not (fire, electric, and plumbing codes only - no building codes).  Cutting thru several load-bearing studs in an exterior wall, to install a large cattywampus window would be anathema to anyone with an eye for design-aesthetics, as well as for every experienced construction engineer.  Normal structural settling will prevent these windows from opening a few years after installation.  Consequently, use of a Vermont window—to escape from a lazy witch (or a fire) and not end up in a coffin—will require smashing out the glass.

added articles addressing unique Vermont insights:
Good Day to Be a Crow
Before Driving Your Smart Car to Vermont
Before Looking for an Apartment in Vermont

Make a Version (Squat Over This Fire) - Day 1 - My Fav Song

          This is important.  Do Not Let News-Company-Fear-Porn Infect You to the extent that you begin to dream about the escalating numbers, the calamity, the CCP virus, and the briefings (unless you are so-very-curious about how self-induced depression or a mental breakdown might feel going-in).

          Knowing we are instinctively wired to slow down and gawk at the horrible traffic accident surrounded by emergency vehicles—while also being aware that every other motorist on this jam-packed roadway is also no longer looking where they are driving—requires you to exert control over your impulse.  Force your attention exclusively on the car in front of you.  No matter how loud the sirens.  No matter how frantic the firemen and paramedics.  No matter how bright the lights.

          This is a great time to do a version of this (again).  I re-post this thirty-day challenge of a video-a-day for you to either be entertained by (or to participate in).  Nine years ago, I did this challenge (archives for March and for April) with days 1 thru 8 in March of that year, and days 9 thru 30 in April.  Some of the videos have been eaten by google.  If you want to make your own list or just read them all-in-one-go, here is the master:  MySoLiMo - My Song List Month

Day 1 topic:  My Favorite Song

Like a Version*:  Squatting over someone else's fire

          There are some high-quality writers I eagerly look forward to reading.  Andrew Vachss, Dean Koontz (some things have changed) and Malcolm Gladwell are three one (off the tip of my temporal cortex) who've sufficiently proven themselves that I spring for their hardback.

          There are other writers who I feel the same way about.  Ginny is one.  Because she posts infrequently, I normally check monthly for new articles on her site, Praying to Darwin.  Today, I discovered she just lit a self-inflicted fire under her own ass.  The intent of Ginny's post a video-a-day for a month self-challenge, in her own words:  Who knows what kind of stuff that’ll make me write about?

          If I'd not checked on Praying to Darwin until after April Fools Day—and she was already a couple posts into this challenge (I say this because I can't completely avoid commenting on the funny flying pink elephant in the corner)—I wouldn't think about joining hands in solidarity or in emulation or in an icky meme-like fashion.  But.  This is her day one.  That's a sign.  A SIGN, I SAY.  So.  I'm in.

          I enjoy spurring myself towards discovery, research, and the crystallization of ideas (both new-to-me and new).  This was why I compiled Like a Version: My Alpha-vile Autopsy.  Creating the pics and mining for just the right words in order to identify an alphabet of things I dislike was an extremely self-informative challenge.

          Back to Ginny's Day 1 topic:  My Favorite Song.  Her's is Everlong by the Foo Fighters.  I hadn't seen the video in a decade and didn't remember it.  It contains overlapping dream sequences.

          I have an aversion to dream sequences.  It's not strong enough to call dislike, but I recognize my avoidance urge.  I'm bothered by them (which my little sister once called dream sequins and then got mad when I wouldn't tell her what I was laughing about) because when a story uses a dream to explain what a character is thinking I can't stay in the story.  Flashback's are fine; story within a story—also fine; jumps in time, yup, still fine...but when a character says, "I had this dream..."  Nope.  As I read (or watch) my mind keeps reminding: this is just a dream.

          I feel the same avoidance urge when reading fiction and the main character is a writer; or watching a TV show, play, or film about an actor; or listening to a song about music; or when the poem is about poetry; or the artwork is about the medium; or the joke is about being funny.

          There are exceptions, but most creative people don't have what it takes to craft a convincingly successful multiple reflection in a mirror.  Or a dream.

          Following in the shadow of Ginny's footprints—my favorite song...anchoring me in time.  The instrumentals of Starship Trooper by Yes are as important (if not more) than the lyrics. 

...take what I say in a different way and it's easy to see that this is all confusion...

   *  I'm always surprised when other people are "late to the pun" (because I am the KING of Never-get-it Land).  The title, in case you are also a resident of this land, is a pun on Madonna's song Like a Virgin with a wink and nudge because this is my version of someone else's list.  get it? get it? Huh? 

Day 2 - A Song You Fucking Hate