The Migration Patterns of Imaginary Birds

The prophet

2010-07-10T12:46:34-07:00

I wrote this in 2004 or 2005. It was about a man that I met about a year earlier.

He sat in a coffee shop writing a letter to a friend of his. A girl who he would have liked to have dated but never did. There was an art exhibit in the coffee shop, a small one, but people occasionally looked over him to at the wall behind him. A man sat down at the table next to him. He was small and scraggly. he looked homeless.

After waiting nervously for a while, the man leaned over and said "It's all vanity."

"What?" he replied, looking up from his letter

"Its all vanity."

"It's just a letter."

"oh" said the scraggly man, obviously having thought that the letter was some sort of work of art in progress. "All this though, is vanity."

"Yea, seems that way."

They started talking for a while. The scraggly man talked like a prophet, and seemed to know the bible rather well. The other was interested in him, but not enough to put off his return home.

As he said his goodbyes the man told him he lived out in the countryside, and invited the letter writer to go fishing with him sometime. The man said "sure" though didn't get any contact information.

The last thing the scraggly man told him was "I am a poor man, but I have walked in mansions."

They smiled, said goodbye and parted ways.

He only met this scraggly man once again, many decades later. It was the same day he found out that his wife had died.

Bizarre Bible quote of the day

2010-03-05T03:14:37-08:00

Another attempt to revive my interest in this blog, which has fallen by the wayside due to real work. The series won't be daily though, but I come across these things while working on my novel, and my girlfriend says its creepy to post it on Facebook.

But Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep.

Engaged

2010-02-18T08:35:47-08:00

I designed it, and now she's wearing it.

Good days.

The Wolves

2010-02-13T22:50:16-08:00

Written specifically for, and just rejected by, the Fairytale Review. They wrote a quite supportive rejection letter. Noting that they received 10 times their usual submissions and I was one of the last to be thrown out. Nevertheless, have no where else to publish it.

After the jump

They have fangs they have teeth

Shout the loud bells of Neath

-The Bells of Rhymney,

Idris Davies, Welsh Miner and Poet

The Wolves

He wasn’t really paying attention to what the man said. The man was the type with a fancy suit and hat. One hundred dollars if he had to say so himself. But he didn’t really know anything about these things.

The man had sharp teeth though. He always noticed people’s teeth, his wife’s dangerous smile was the first thing that attracted him to her. But of course her teeth were the whitest teeth in the area. This man looked like he mostly ate bad meat.

“Look, the Johnson’s from around the way have already sold out, and we’re in negotiations with Mr. Miller on your other side. As I said you’ll get five hundred dollars and guaranteed employment for life. Its good work, hard, but the type of stuff a strong man like you can handle. Hell, given your build and demeanor I wouldn’t be surprised if you were made foreman after six months.”

Bill looked away from the chattering man’s teeth, over towards the next mountain.

“You know how to shoot?” said Bill

The man was too smart to look intimidated. “Why sure,” he said “I’m a country boy just like you, livin’ in the city now, but you never forget how to hunt jackrabbits.”

“Come on”

Bill took the company man down the hill towards his shooting range. The range had the best view on his property, looking over the small valley where the mine would be built. The tunnel would go right under his house. Well perhaps it would go over the whole area.

Bill picked up his rifle, and shot a can off the fence.

“Now you haven’t said yes or no to my proposal yet, which I assume means you’re still thinking it over,” the company man took the rifle handed to him, and hit the next tin can on the fence. “Now we can perhaps go a little higher, but not much higher, I’m sure you know that we can go on without your cooperation.” He handed the rifle to Bill.

Bill shot a tin can and handed it back to the company man.

“I mean it would be easiest for us if we had access to your property, but we can go around it.” He took his shot, and hit. “ And of course there are legal means.” He handed the gun back to Bill.

Bill spat. He took a shot, handed it back to the man.

“We are going to build this mine sir, you can bet money on that.”

His shot missed, Bill took his six-shooter out of the back of his pants and took the can down with barely a glance.

The company man smiled. “Think about it Bill, we’ll be coming back again next week,” he patted Bill on the shoulder, chuckled to himself and walked back towards his car. Bill didn’t like the man.

The man waved as he started his car and drove back to the highway.

Bill went back up the hill and over to the house, staring at the dirt as he walked. Red was waiting at the door in a green patterned dress that made his fingers twitch.

“How’d it go,” she asked him.

“I ain’t going to be made a fool of by no city man,” he said, looking at her knees.

*******************************

Everyone knew Red was too young for him. Most credited Bills luck to good timing. She had that glint of hunger around a man ever since she turned sixteen. Twelve year older, Bill asked her to marry him not much later. A wedding her grandma said the devil ordained.

Everyone knew Bill as the town bootlegger, a profession that put him on the outs with Red’s Baptist family, and should have put him on the outs with law enforcement if him and old Sheriff Davis weren’t such good friends. When the Clemens boys thought to get into business on their own, Sheriff Davis gave them some better ideas. Davis freed the area of booze violence like some other places, as well as coming to Bill’s parties and giving the little gatherings a sense of legitimacy.

Bill was a good businessman and knew that if you kept your best customers happy you weren’t going to get many repeats of the Clemens boys fiasco. Mister Miller, Mr. Johnson, Red’s brother Jim, the boy’s friend Randy, Mr. Michaels, Mr. Franks, Sheriff Davis and a few girls to make the place look pretty, some poker, a bit of dancing, and a few bottles of moonshine. The night would usually break even with Bill selling enough hooch to pay for what he gave away, and get the men coming back in a few days for bottles to go fishing with. The guests changed a little every time round, but that was the guest list when they all gathered a few days after the company man had come visit.

Bill wasn’t in a good mood that day though, he hadn’t been in a good mood for a few days, and seeing Mr. Miller and Mr. Johnson, after the company man had spoke of them as examples of his fine salesmanship, well that wasn’t bound to make Bill feel any better.

Red turned on some music when the guests first arrived, and after a drink or two and a bit of chatter the men sat down for some cards. The girls, mostly friends of Red’s, as the wives of the older men felt out of place, sat on a nearby couch and chair gossiping, and the men would occasionally step out of the game to take a drink or ask one of the girls to dance.

“sixes and threes’” said Mr. Michaels.

“Three of a kind,” said the Sheriff.

“Motherfuck.”

“So when you leavin’?” Bill said, glancing at Mr. Johnson as he leaned back in his chair.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,”

“Ol’ company man said you and your folks sold out, assumed you’d be movin’ on,” said Bill

“Offered me a job with decent pay, better than starving off the scrabble that my Pap called land. Two cards.”

“Check,” Bill responded.

Mr. Franks, and the Sheriff bid it up to 5 dollars, Johnson folded and Bill called.

“I bet you got a good amount of money now, what you being so stingy for Johnson,” Bill said.

“Come on, calm down,” said Davis. “I’m sure he’d like to get the missus drunk when he gets home.”

“Three kings,” said Franks

Davis put his cards down

“Straight.” Bill collected the money.

Johnson walked over to the counter for a drink, and then went to bother one of the ladies for a dance. Red’s brother started dealing out the cards.

“I think a mining job wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Workin’ in a company can get you somewhere, much farther than these hills here,” Randy said with a bit more aplomb than Bill liked. Bill hated that kid.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine son,” Davis said. “These companies are always looking for capable men.”

“I don’t know sir, I think I might move to the city. Make some money and then get mama a nice place to live the last years of her life.”

The cards went around, Bill didn’t much like his hand.

“What about you Bob,” Bill said, staring at Mr. Miller. “You gonna sell out.”

“Pass,” said Mr. Miller, “Well if I lose any more of these hands I’m going to have to.” Everyone laughed except Bill.

“I’ll up it to two dollars,” Bill said. Some people dropped out, some not.

“One card,” Mr. Miller said.

“Three for me,” said Bill.

Randy had gotten up and gone to go talk to Red. Bill glanced back at them as he asked her to dance.

He fuckin’ hated that kid.

*****************************

Red was man hungry since she was 16. He remembered that every time she got drunk at one of his parties. Every time he touched her on the hip when she wore a green dress, and every time she bit him on the shoulder when they made it.

He felt her sharp teeth on his neck that night, and thought of a glint in her eye he had seen more than once before.

*****************************

The company man came back to the house a week later like he said, bringing along someone higher up from the company. Bill was in the yard chopping logs, and didn’t even look up when the two men got out of the car. Red bit her lip and went back in the house to make herself some tea.

“So it's the lumberjack then?” the boss man said to the company man.

“That’s him.”

The company man walked over to where Bill was chopping.

“Can I give it a go?” the man said.

Bill handed him the axe. The man set up a log and chopped it in one swing. The boss man had walked over by the time it hit the stump.

“So you’re the holdout,” the boss said. He spoke like he wanted to make the appointment as quick as possible, as if he had more important things to do that day. Bill didn’t answer him.

“We have eight hundred dollars with us right now. I only agree to this much because you’re our last holdout and I want to make this as painless as possible. You know as well as I do that the land isn’t worth that much, in fact it doesn’t even look like you could make a living off of it. You’ll have an open invitation to work at the mine, with room included. You can take it or leave it. I don’t feel like negotiating with you.”

Bill didn’t say anything.

“Come on Bill, the boss came all way down from Philadelphia,” said the company man.

Red opened the door to throw some water out. It was an excuse to look over at the men.

“I’m staying.”

Bill spoke quietly. With the pause after, it was almost as if nobody heard.

“Come on Bill, you know damn well that we don’t need your cooperation. This mine will be built, it will be built under where your standing, and you’re going to have to get out of its way.”

“I think you two better get going.”

“Don’t be like that Bill,” the company man said.

The boss man threw his cigarette on the ground and started walking back towards the car. “Come on Francis, I’m rather uninterested in this conversation.”

The company man took off his hat and wiped off his forehead. “I hope you know what you’re doing Bill.” He walked back to the car; both him and the boss man got in, Francis started the thing, and drove away.

Bill walked back towards the house, where Red stood in the doorway. She looked at him from the porch, and he stood below staring at her knees.

“You idiot,” she murmured.

“I won’t have no city folk making a fool out of me.”

“Do you think there’s any good way for this to end?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Why the hell not.”

Bill didn’t respond.

“I hate this mountain,” she said.

She went back inside, but Bill didn't follow. He stood thinking for a bit and then walked out to the road, and down the hill a bit to the next house. There was a fair amount of scuffling going on down in the house. He knocked on the door and waited for someone to come find him.

Mr. Miller came to the door. He didn’t look too pleased to see Bill.

“How much did they pay you?” Bill asked.

“Four hundred.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“We got some folks down near Arlington, the money should tide us over for some time, until I can find some sort of job.”

“You want to come back to our place for a drink.”

“I don’t think so Bill.”

“We can get Ann over.”

He looked back towards the house. “Ok, I’ll make it over.”

“We’ll miss you, John.”

***********************

Ann was Red’s cousin, who Mr. Miller had a bit of a thing for. It wasn’t much, but Ann didn’t mind giving him a roll in the hay now and again, and Ms. Miller wouldn’t stand within 50 feet of the woman unless she was in a house of the lord. She was the type of girl that Mr. Miller couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to, but not much else. She didn't mind though. He was a bit too old to be much but a bit of fun and a drive to town every week or two.

The two couples played music and danced all night, taking out a bottle and a half of the hard stuff between them. Mr. Miller was a friend, and Bill didn’t like it that he was leaving. The truth was, if Mr. Miller was around he knew it would be harder for the city folk, but alone Bill didn’t have much doing. He knew he was fighting a losing battle.

Around 1 AM, Red walked over to Ann and whispered something in her ear, the girl giggled, and took Mr. Miller by the hand. She led him into the spare bedroom. The room that would have been for the kid, if Red had ever gotten pregnant.

With the other couple off to bed, the room was uncomfortably quiet, and the two were forced back into reality. Red came over and laid her head on Bill’s chest. He put his arms around her, as they listened to the light talking of their friends.

“What big hands you have,” … “what a big chest you have” ... “what a big…” she stopped talking. Bill kissed Red and lightly grabbed her breast. She took his hand and led him towards the bedroom.

Five gunshots came from outside. There was a pause of surprise, then Bill ran to his room for the pistol. He ran out the door firing. The truck that the shooter was in was rounding the bend before Bill could get his third shot off.

Bill ran down the hill a bit, staying off the road so they wouldn’t be able to catch him by surprise, but when he got to the turn they had already made it far enough to be out of eyesight.

When he got back, Mr. Miller was half dressed and standing by Red in the doorway.

“Hooligans?” he part asked part said.

“Yea,” said Bill.

Mr. Miller got his clothes all back on and said his goodbyes. Ann saw him out. They acted like they would never see each other again.

**********************************

The shooters came by again a few days later, and another time a week after that. Bill sent Red to stay with her parents after the third time, but after once or twice more they didn’t come back. He did get a shot at them the last time, and he hoped that was the end of it.

Within a month of Mr. Miller leaving home there was a little town down in the valley, where most of the former mountain residents, and some people brought in from further a field slowly migrated to. The mine was being built almost right under Bill, and he imagined that he could probably hit some of the townsfolk with his rifle. You know, just thinking how close it was.

Shortly after Red came back from her parents, Bill took a trip down to the town to see if him and the company could “work in tandem” so to speak. He took two bottles of his booze, and went to go see if he could find where people gathered. The town wasn’t actually much of a town, just a bunch of wooden shacks, which the company said they would improve once the mine was up and operating. But there was something of a gathering place, where Bill saw Mr. Johnson and Mr. Franks sitting and talking outside.

He parked the car and went to join them. He had worn his best suit that day; an expensive one (for him at least) that he bought for dealing with city folk. He didn’t want to be treated like a country bumpkin, and he knew the best way to do that was to dress the part. He also carried his six-shooter with him.

“What do they have to drink around here?” Bill asked.

“Hey Bill,” said Mr. Johnson, “you finally come to your senses.”

“I’m a purveyor of fine liquor, and I plan to be until the day I die, these folks can go fuck themselves,” Bill responded.

“Hurrah,” Johnson said. “Their houses are shit, but at least the pay is regular.”

“But you never answered, how’s the liquor.”

“Ain’t you heard its prohibition,” Franks said. “Can’t be no alcohol served in the buildings of a national company.”

“You can get it, of course, they sell it more expensive than you though, and you pretty much gotta drink it at home.” Johnson added.

“You know you guys are always welcome up the hill. But you livin’ so far away and all I thought I might start a delivery service.”

“I sure hope you brought some with you, and aren’t just going to taunt us.”

Bill pulled a flask out of his back pocket.

“Well I do think something can be arranged then.”

The three men sat talking for a while, downing the flask, and were slowly joined by four or five other men interested in meeting their new neighbors, who happened to be providing free drinks. By the time they were half way through the second bottle though a group of four men walked up. One was holding a shotgun.

“Everyone clear out of here,” the man in front said.

No one moved.

“Can I ask what you are doing here,” he said.

“Just a friendly gathering,” one man threw out.

“Consumption of alcohol is illegal under U.S. law, we are giving you all a friendly warning right now, but if you don’t take it you may find yourself not only overnight in jail, but out of a job and a house.”

The crowd hesitated, but slowly people started walking off. Mr. Franks patted Bill on the shoulder and Johnson said it was nice seeing him again. Soon it was just Bill sitting there with four men with guns looking at him.

“You’re not welcome here sir,” the man in front said. “We are a law abiding town, and don’t want bootleggers doing business here. You better get going now.”

Bill didn’t like this kid. He knew he could take the guy with the shotgun before the other ones moved, and perhaps one more. The car would make good cover. He didn’t want no fucking company man talking down to him.

Bill stood up, and looked at the four men. He slowly turned back towards his car.

He got in and drove away.

When he got back home he found that Red’s family had come to visit. He hated Baptists.

********************************

Despite the scene, when word got around that there was another place up the hill that sold booze, he had a steady stream of customers, old and new, going to him for his services.

That’s when the shootings started again. After the second time he sent Red back to her family, and sat waiting at night just inside the door with his hunting rifle. He got a tire once, and that was the end of it.

It was only five days after he hit the tire though that Sheriff Davis came by. Bill met him in the doorway, but could tell as he walked up that it wasn’t a friendly visit.

“You want to come in?” Bill asked.

“I can’t, I have to get back to work.”

Bill waited for Davis to say what he came for.

“I’ve received some complaints.”

“About what?”

“You need to close down the stills Bill, it’s against the law, and now we got big companies in town. People pay attention.”

Bill didn’t respond.

“And I suggest you take whatever offer they’re willing to give you,” Davis said, under his breath.

“I think you better go,” Bill said.

“Look, I can find out where the stills are, I can also have you arrested.”

“Are you here to arrest me, Gary?”

“You’re a fucking fool Bill,” Davis turned and left without looking back.

*************************

It might have been a coincidence, or it might have been planned, but the sheriff’s men came by the same day Red got back, with her brother and mother still at the house visiting. They came through and turned the place over, supposedly looking for the stills, which were nowhere near Bill’s house.

The charges were dropped. It would have taken some effort to do otherwise – though of course not that much. The company man was waiting for Bill when he came out.

No one else was.

“We’re offering two hundred dollars now, I hope you understand, the situation being changed,” the man said with his sharp-toothed smile.

Bill walked past him.

“The offer stands whenever you want to take it,” he shouted after him.

**************************

Bill walked back to his house. He wasn’t sure what would be waiting for him, but he doubted Red’s family would have left her. There ain’t much those people had to do with their time.

Red was there; her mother and brother too.

She didn’t look him in the eye when he came back. Neither did her brother. Her mother stared straight at him.

“We’re taking her,” the old woman said.

Bill didn’t respond. He stared at Red, who didn't look back.

“The boy’s friend is coming with the truck soon. We’ll take her stuff and go.”

Bill stared at Red.

“Well ain’t you gonna say something?”

Bill glanced at the woman. He felt like he had something stuck in his teeth.

Nothing was said for a little while. When it became clear nothing was going to be said Bill walked out.

He headed up the hill a little ways towards where his stills were hidden. He scratched at the hair on his arms, slowly feeling his teeth with his tongue.

He found the clump of bushes where his stills were hidden. They both had a hole in them, enough to let about three-fourths of the contents pour out, and the stills useless for producing much more.

He didn’t think much of it. He pulled out his flask and filled it with what was left at the bottom of the still.

He walked back down shortly, finishing his flask. The truck was there. He didn’t go inside though.

He walked over to the shooting area and looked down over the hill. He picked up the rifle and shot at one of the cans on the fence. It was getting towards dusk. Cats hunt at this time.

Randy and the brother walked out carrying a piece of furniture. They glanced down at him as they were going back in.

He shot again. And again. Then while feeling for whatever he had stuck there he cut his tongue on one of his canines.

“God damn it,” he muttered. He felt at his tooth with his finger. It was sharper than he remembered.

He looked at his arms. He for a second thought it odd to see so much hair. But only for a second.

Bill walked back up to the house as Randy and the brother were loading the last of Red’s stuff. They glanced at him, dangling his rifle by his side, with a look of unease. He gripped the gun tighter in his claws. Though the expression on his face was blank.

No one looked at him as they walked out. He stared, with barely a thought in his head.

As they reached the car Red turned to look at him, his fur shining even in the dark light. She had that look in her eyes. The same one she had ever since she was sixteen.

Bill lifted his gun.

He was hungry.

The Resurrection

2010-01-15T04:28:01-08:00

I tend to write somewhat intuitively, which means sometimes I get things stuck in my head that I tend to turn into one or two stories (never fully written, because I dislike doing things I won't be paid for). My last post on this newly revived blog deals with what I've been thinking about for the past few months: The Resurrection.

The subject has a few charming spots, but the first thing I always think of is the synopsis of a short story my friend wrote in High School, about "the first man to ever live through death." I never actually read the story (perhaps fortunately), but the synopsis always fascinated me, as the existence of things in two mutually contradicting states I always found to be a stunningly beautiful concept (such as Borges' "fabulous Irish bird which exists in two places at once.")

The idea also deals with some rather bizarre concepts of time, which are complicated enough that I should probably get into them later (lived time, epic time, eternal time - which is anti-time - historical time, chronological time, etc. etc.). Generally though, with no end to life, actions obtain a completely different meaning, which stories can exploit.

The story outline I posted uses a number of typical tropes from "reincarnation" literature, which is something I ran across when I was studying Buddhism through rather untrustworthy evangelical Buddhism books. The stories read almost exactly like the "white light" near death stories from evangelical Christian literature, which I made me realize the book I was reading was untrustworthy. But the theme stuck with me, as I began to grow fonder of a certain nervous type of memory, and voila.

I think the below story would be worthwhile for a novel treatment, and I'm hoping to come back to it in the nearish future.

Poor Lazarus

2010-01-12T02:09:04-08:00

She was born in 1917. Forty-Nine days after the death of some unknown young man on the fields of Verdun. It was a textbook case of reincarnation, but she was born in some sleepy mid-western town, to parents barely conscious of what was going on in France. To people with little thought of Buddhism or mysticism.

She couldn't understand her dreams at first. She got the same feeling of horror or joy that other children her age got from dreams, but none of the people she dreamt of spoke to her in English until she turned nine years old, or thereabouts. When she was 11 she dreamt that she was talking to a boy in her class, she understood everything, and woke up feeling she had lost something irretrievable.

In high school she learned French. Unusually quickly. She was intelligent and managed to be sent to get in to a Northeastern school. She hated he home town, and her parents. Men told her she hated beautifully. Though the term always made her upset.

She lived in France for a few years shortly after graduation. She was surprised to find that she could walk the streets of Montpelier without asking for directions. She would occasionally recognize shop keepers and call them by their first names. She left angrily though in 1939. Her trip had been cut short.

She was in love with an American boy. She had met him in France, and he escaped back to the US with her. That didn't save him for long though. He was drafted by early 1942. She was angry that he left her. Their love wasn't a happy kind of love. She treated him with a sort of fixation, like he was proof of a logical argument. His existence proved to her a subject that made her tremble. Though it was not something she could ever articulate.

He survived the war, but still died before her. Around 1987. She died three years later.

When she was older, she would tell her grandchildren stories about a young man in Montpelier around the turn of the century. She would describe the city in great detail, and tell stories about every friend, marriage, describing conversations as though they had just happened. The children listened attentively, but afterward always found the stories rather pointless.

Love Letter 21: Once there was a king who lived in an odd corner of the world that no one really cared about...

2009-08-23T23:04:22-07:00

Once there was a king who lived in an odd corner of the world that no one really cared about. He tried to go to international finance meetings, but no one would listen to him, then he'd try to go to king parties, and the doorman wouldn't believe he was a king at all. So he thought about ways to increase his status, and he thought people would surely pay attention to him if he married the most beautiful princess in the world.

So he studied up a bit, discovred the most beautiful princess in the world, and then set about trying to charm the pants off her. He succeeded (he was quite dashing you see, and very nice and charming), and took her back to his Kingdom. He hadn't told her though that his Kingdom was little more than some houses in the middle of a forest. She still loved him, but she knew she couldn't live a glamourous life here. The King hoped this would be fixed by his new queen, that would bring respect to his Empire, but when it didn't he fashioned another plan. He would build his queen a might palace.

There were only trees in the Kingdom though, not enough fancy stones to build a palace, but the King was clever and fashioned the entire palace using trees as the foundation. Corridors, stairways, balconies, were all fashioned using the trees, and the top of the palace overlooked the entire forest.

The queen was ecstatic, and would spend days just wandering the hallways. And soon people from other countries came to see this wonder of architecture. Some stayed and turned the small village into a bustling metropolis, kings came and visited the Kingdom everyday. The Queen and King were so overjoyed by their castle that they didn't care about the other Kings anymore, they just wanted to run through the hallways together. When Kings insisted on an audience, they'd come angrily, being very rude to the other kings. Eventually they banned all foreign dignitaries, and spent the rest of their days together in their grand kingdom. Until the forest swallowed them once again.

Love Letter 20: One day in a world full of innocuous things, there lived two shadows

2009-08-16T23:05:52-07:00

One day in a world full of innocuous things there lived two shadows. These two shadows were the best of lovers, but, being shadows, they were only able to communicate through meaningless things.

They would meet every morning and communicate differently: for a month the girl shadow couldn't talk, and for a while the boy shadow was just communicated in hand signals. Despite these problems they developed quite a nice relationship, where each seemed to understand the signals of the other.

The problem began one day when the girl took to the habit of speaking to him in pleasantries. "good morning Mr. smith, it sure is a nice day today," he whistled back at her, as it was his only means of communication for the day. THey went through the day doing their household chores, with her occasionally saying things like "you're looking awfully nice today Mr. Smith," or "the Greenberg kids are growing up fine." While he whistled back at her like a friendly bird.

He didn't notice anything wrong with this, until she passed him in the living room and whispered into his ear. "I'm so glad you could come to my party." This triggered a memory in him, these words languorously whispered into his ear brought up images of a time long past, but he wasn't sure when, after all, he wasn't sure he had a past. This was the first he remembered it, as shadows live a day today, or streetlight to streetlight existence, think of the past as a fairy tale, if that.

So he was suspicious of these memories, but since this was his first experience of things of the type, it was enough to arouse his curiosity. From that point forward he began paying much more attention to what she said or did and would take notes on what he felt was important, and he could then study by candlelight (a candle he lit in the daytime to give him more time to work).

She asked him about this new found interest in her slightest actions, but on that day he could only answer by breathing on her face, and the next day when he tried again he was only able to run his figers through her hair. She seemed to vaguely understand and took his new hobby in stride. As he studied over the weeks and months and years (a shadow's life is very slow) he began to notice patterns and sometimes these patterns would trigger memories.

The memories didn't seem to be his though, they were those of a man, not a shadow but a real man, and a girl he met somewhere. They communicated normally, and one day they decided they were in love. He could only remember bits and pieces at a time, and as he did he'd write them down, then he would try to write stories to connect the memories together. Sometimes he write wrong, which he'd discover when a contradicting memory came up, but increasingly he wrote right.

He had noticed that her communication only slowly changes from day to day, she never changed from yelling to pleasurable talking in one day, but would slowly lover her voice over the course of two weeks, then piecing together these two weeks he'd have a vague story of an argument that would refer back to a memory immediately, but the sequences were disconnected, so they at one time had a lovers spat, and then after that sequence met for the first time.

He knew how these two met, he had seen them make love, have arguements, have children, die of old age, he slowly recreated pieces of this couple's life together, but he couldn't find out their relationship to him and his lover.

He eventually worked out a theory. Over the course of several nights he drew a portrait of the tman in the memories, then when complete he showed it to his woman. She was emotional when she saw it, and he immediately understood. She kept on repeating "you are my man," which was the only thing she could say that day, but she also grabbed him and kissed him in that all enveloping way that shadows kiss. She had recognized him, or at least who he really ways, his doppleganger, his person. Her lover for all the years of her life.

They as shadows after their owners death had to live the moments of their lives in minute details. This they had to do forever. He wanted to communicate to her all the things he found, he wanted to tell her the story of their love, but ever day she cried and screamed louder at him, and threatened to leave him, even though she made it quite clear that as a shadow she didn't mean that, they couldn't find the space to sign about their new discovery.

It wasn't long until she was gone. She was actually still there, but they couldn't see each other because at that time the people shadows weren't in each others presence. He did the work and remembered the time she left him for a long time, a lonely period in his life, that now he'd have to repeat in every day to day minute detail. But he had seen them die together and he knew she was coming back to him. It would be a long, long time, but when she got back he'd explain it to her somehow, with sign language, whispers, or tears of joy.

Bones: Watching Emily Deschanel have conversations is a great idea for a TV show

2009-08-12T04:07:20-07:00

Gah, long title... but hopefully there's enough buzzwords to draw all the people who have crushes.

On the suggestion of my girlfriend I just went through all four seasons of the TV show Bones, which was an absolutely superb idea. The TV show is basically about actress Emily Deschanel and Actor David Boreanaz pretending to be a FBI agent and a charmingly anti-social forensic anthropologist, who solve crimes with the help of their actor friends pretending to be the anthropologists assistance.

Though most reviews of the TV show might erroneously think that its a show about Forensic anthropologist Temperance Brennan, and FBI agent Seeley Booth, a (not really) close watch of the TV show makes it exceptionally clear that this is a TV show about actors. Because there are an exceptionally large number of situations where the "characters" are acting, and are all exceptionally talented at doing such. The point is really knocked home by the second to last episode in the third season, where Emily Deschanel does a great, and rather hot, rendition of 'Girls Just Want to Have Fun'

So basically the show is just a place to show off the talent of a pile of actors, and luckily Emily Deschanel is more than crush worthy. She has a wry smile that makes her look like she's up to no good (in a sexy way), she can do a great rendition of Cindi Lauper, and she's a vegan (ok, that's more a personal thing, as half the girls I ever dated were vegans).

The real kicker is when she does her "Clara Bow" impersonation. Which, though it has little to do with the real Clara Bow (its more a 1940s New Jerseyite impression), it shows three things which basically would show up in any dream woman:

1. She likes Clara Bow

2. She can make big eyes like Clara Bow

3. You can watch Clara Bow movies with her

Add to that the fact that she seems relatively intelligent and can quite definitely act, sitting around watching her have a conversation seems like a perfectly wonderful use of your time.

David Boreanaz impresses as well, though without the crush factor (unless, you know, you like guys). I never watched Buffy, or the spin-off, but the TV show seems to try really hard to accentuate the fact that he's an adult (he's called 35 in the show, whereas the actor is actually 40, but they continually refer to the character having a kid, and other "adult" stuff). He also does a fair amount of in character acting, and its always fun watching it whenever he goes into another character.

The TV show has three other things going for it, the first being a rather mature understanding of female sexuality - though I'm going to let people watch it rather than get into that prickly bag of worms here (is that a mixed metaphor?). The second is a fair amount of commitment when delving into moral issues, which I think is increasingly common for cop shows, but is a good trend which I'd like to see continue, as "moral relativity" is filled with all sorts of sloppy thinking. Last is a willingness to go into full blown pulp, and then make fun of itself for it. Though the pulp trend of the show was present as early as the first season, when they were discovering buried treasure, it really got full blown in the third season, when one of the main characters joined a cannibalistic secret society. This partners up with how the actors occasionally leave character, to make the show one of the more "playful" shows out there. More about finding little bits and pieces that charm you, like lines in a notebook, than grand plot.

Which I very much like.

Love Letter 16: When Christianity took over Europe....

2009-07-19T04:03:00-07:00

When Christianity first took over Europe, all the Greek gods sailed over the great ocean to America. They weren't heard of for a long time, but there was one interaction people know about.

Though Americans have been strongly Chrisitian people since the first European migrants, the old Gods hadn't yet retreated by the 19th century, when one Kasey Jones found out he was going to die in a train wreck. Three ladies told him this, three ladies who lived in a cave sharing one eye between them. Kasey knew they were telling the truth, or at least he was willing to believe it after seeing their countenance, and finding they knew he was a railroad conductor.

With this thought hanging over him he went to see a girl he once loved. They went drinking together, they talked about old times, and at the end of the night they made it. In bed with her he thought about his death, his cold body, this lovers warm one. He thought of his train, he thought of running from it, but saw no use. He left his lover sleeping, and called his wife, but it was too late and she didn't answer.

It wasn't many days later that his train jumped the rail and smashed him against the rocks. When he woke up in the afterlife he met Achilles and Aeneis, they talked about kingdoms and histories, but he couldn't join them, he found his voice had been replaced by the sound of a train whistle. So he just listened for as many years as he could.

Shortly after he died though his lover gave birth to a child that could be none other than his. When the child reached a certain age the lover took him on a long journey, over hills and fields, until, without knowing why, she understood there was a special purpose to the river sitting in front of her. She dipped the child head first into the river, holding on only by the heel.

In his adulthood the kid traveled the land, until a gunshot wound put an end to his long life of dreaming.