Tuesday, September 29, 2015
9.29
Thorough wandered through her mind. She didn't think positive thoughts of that woman on purpose, but stricken with a fertile mind, she planted the seed. Maybe she hated the specter of her rival, but she's not so bad crept in unbidden after all.
Monday, September 28, 2015
9.28
[Sometimes I forget that posts on here only need to be three sentences long. Let me get back into this even though I won't ever have the readerfriends I had.]
Trees are so fragile. I never imagined that; even in my nightmares trees were solid and unmoving. Still, my nightmares can't outdo this oak profundity currently flattening my Scion.
Trees are so fragile. I never imagined that; even in my nightmares trees were solid and unmoving. Still, my nightmares can't outdo this oak profundity currently flattening my Scion.
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
9.22
The cloth. Mine.
I was not born of the cloth, nor in a cloth. My mother was of the fey flock, and she gave birth in a glen far off in some warmer wood. She licked me clean because she didn't know what else to do. She gave birth alone--that is, if you do not count the constant companions of bird and tree, wind and stone. My mother had seduced a man for his saddlebags and left him insouciant in the woods. He may have died, but she can't say. She knows only that he went away with empty hands and a head full of pleasant memories.
She tried to raise me as one of my people, but even to her I was a monster. Even born with horns that grew and curved to meet my snapping smile, I still had worthless legs; my knees bent wrong for running with her through broken shale and gnarled rootwebs. As soon as I was old enough, she set me on my own. For years, I shadowed her through the woods, enchanted with her, in love with mystery. I longed for a mother and, reaching, found none. One day, I woke in a crush of rain and thunder and fell from my hiding place into a dead run to where I last saw her. She Lost me that day. I believe she meant to.
I came naked into this earth and cloth means nothing to me.
I met Sarenrae under strange circumstances. Depressed and numb, I fled what I knew and came upon a fragile man working a slight magic on a fox. The fox had been struck so its jaw was split and her teeth broken. Her hot blood was dyeing the man's robes a terrible sanguine red, but he continued patiently chanting and stitching as she twitched. He held her tightly upside down, her head between his legs and her feet wrapped and sticking straight up, so she would not drown. I watched him, quietly. He did not cease his chant, and it droned on.
I had no fear, and I stood in the open, curious and staring. The flesh of the fox knit itself as he stitched and the floss itself disappeared in a dull light, strip after strip falling away into the layers of muscle, fat, and skin. When a soft layer of hair reappeared on her throat, he pulled away the cloth on the fox's feet and released her.
Without looking up, he said in a voice like worn river rocks "Hello, wildling. What is your need?" I mouthed his words, feeling the strange shapes on my tongue. He stood and looked me straight in the eyes. One eye was a dull color and utterly nondescript, but the other: gold. From corner to corner, a dull metallic shine. I spooked.
I ran from him. I ran, but my curiosity kept me close. Using the skills I developed with my mother, I kept him in my sight. I wish I could say I was kind to him, but I harried him through the woods. I invaded his privacy and woke him in the night. I punished him for losing his watchfulness in exhaustion. I abused my knowledge of the woods to make his survival a test. In it all, he was patient. Expectant. Quiet. Finally, he found the heart of the woods--a spring of deep blue that burst from a rock. He sat at the spring, drinking his fill and, day by day, quickly running through his food. I watched. I watched for the flash of his eye. He began to starve, and yet he sat. He sank into the ground, his life force waning, his bones scraping against each other. Finally, he couldn't move even to get a drink. His horrible eye finally closed. That day, I approached. I crouched next to him and listened to him breathe, listened to the rattle and scrape of his old lungs against his dry, sandpaper ribcage. The eye opened--the unnatural foreignness of it dulled by desiccation, I did not jump back. I reached out my hand and cupped his cheek gently. How odd, the impulse of maternity that struck me then. I pulled out my bark bag and crushed a sweet leaf for him to suck on. I took his waterskin and filled it from the spring. I fed him the flesh of bitter nuts and did not fear to look at his eye. I carried him to the spring, washed the filth from him, and laid out reeds for him to lay on. I could not say I was kind or that I cared for him, because I did not know those feelings. Instead, the feeling I had was unspeakable, unknowable, primal and raw. We did not speak. For days, he ate what I broke up and pushed between his teeth. For days, he sat utterly still while I left to forage. Finally, when he had enough strength to stand, he turned to me and looked me straight in the face. Now, I could not meet his gaze, could not chance the gold.
His voice was a thin whisper. He said "I have saved you."
Disgust flared in me and I yelled "I saved you! You were the one who sat to wait for death!" The forest stillness crashed back down on the hole I had ripped with my shout, and in the ringing silence I heard him whisper again.
"I did not wait for death. I waited for you."
That man showed me the redemption I did not need to earn: the light already in me. He is long dead now, but his lessons are still with me. Sometimes, the only way to see if there is redemption in someone is to push him to watch a spectacle: a man waiting for his death. I thought again of my first meeting with Sarenrae as I stripped my armor off and strode away only in my tunic. The cloth was no longer the spotless white it had been days ago on the shore of another land. It was caked with salt spray and spotted with the bile of a city on its deathbed. The filth would wash out and I would wear the tunic again, because the cloth was mine. It made me an icon, more than my horns and beard, more than my skill and speed. The cloth was me, but I didn't care for it.
I sat there, waiting. I learned the patience I needed from my old man in the forest. I knew that with time I would stall out this man, and I was right. Without warning, he shoved a blade deep into my side and lost his grimacing smile mid-cackle. As my own blood stained the tunic a deep carmine red, I stood up, looked him deep in the eyes, and knew the words that redeemed me would not work on him. I edited them.
"I did not wait for death. It waited for you."
I was not born of the cloth, nor in a cloth. My mother was of the fey flock, and she gave birth in a glen far off in some warmer wood. She licked me clean because she didn't know what else to do. She gave birth alone--that is, if you do not count the constant companions of bird and tree, wind and stone. My mother had seduced a man for his saddlebags and left him insouciant in the woods. He may have died, but she can't say. She knows only that he went away with empty hands and a head full of pleasant memories.
She tried to raise me as one of my people, but even to her I was a monster. Even born with horns that grew and curved to meet my snapping smile, I still had worthless legs; my knees bent wrong for running with her through broken shale and gnarled rootwebs. As soon as I was old enough, she set me on my own. For years, I shadowed her through the woods, enchanted with her, in love with mystery. I longed for a mother and, reaching, found none. One day, I woke in a crush of rain and thunder and fell from my hiding place into a dead run to where I last saw her. She Lost me that day. I believe she meant to.
I came naked into this earth and cloth means nothing to me.
I met Sarenrae under strange circumstances. Depressed and numb, I fled what I knew and came upon a fragile man working a slight magic on a fox. The fox had been struck so its jaw was split and her teeth broken. Her hot blood was dyeing the man's robes a terrible sanguine red, but he continued patiently chanting and stitching as she twitched. He held her tightly upside down, her head between his legs and her feet wrapped and sticking straight up, so she would not drown. I watched him, quietly. He did not cease his chant, and it droned on.
I had no fear, and I stood in the open, curious and staring. The flesh of the fox knit itself as he stitched and the floss itself disappeared in a dull light, strip after strip falling away into the layers of muscle, fat, and skin. When a soft layer of hair reappeared on her throat, he pulled away the cloth on the fox's feet and released her.
Without looking up, he said in a voice like worn river rocks "Hello, wildling. What is your need?" I mouthed his words, feeling the strange shapes on my tongue. He stood and looked me straight in the eyes. One eye was a dull color and utterly nondescript, but the other: gold. From corner to corner, a dull metallic shine. I spooked.
I ran from him. I ran, but my curiosity kept me close. Using the skills I developed with my mother, I kept him in my sight. I wish I could say I was kind to him, but I harried him through the woods. I invaded his privacy and woke him in the night. I punished him for losing his watchfulness in exhaustion. I abused my knowledge of the woods to make his survival a test. In it all, he was patient. Expectant. Quiet. Finally, he found the heart of the woods--a spring of deep blue that burst from a rock. He sat at the spring, drinking his fill and, day by day, quickly running through his food. I watched. I watched for the flash of his eye. He began to starve, and yet he sat. He sank into the ground, his life force waning, his bones scraping against each other. Finally, he couldn't move even to get a drink. His horrible eye finally closed. That day, I approached. I crouched next to him and listened to him breathe, listened to the rattle and scrape of his old lungs against his dry, sandpaper ribcage. The eye opened--the unnatural foreignness of it dulled by desiccation, I did not jump back. I reached out my hand and cupped his cheek gently. How odd, the impulse of maternity that struck me then. I pulled out my bark bag and crushed a sweet leaf for him to suck on. I took his waterskin and filled it from the spring. I fed him the flesh of bitter nuts and did not fear to look at his eye. I carried him to the spring, washed the filth from him, and laid out reeds for him to lay on. I could not say I was kind or that I cared for him, because I did not know those feelings. Instead, the feeling I had was unspeakable, unknowable, primal and raw. We did not speak. For days, he ate what I broke up and pushed between his teeth. For days, he sat utterly still while I left to forage. Finally, when he had enough strength to stand, he turned to me and looked me straight in the face. Now, I could not meet his gaze, could not chance the gold.
His voice was a thin whisper. He said "I have saved you."
Disgust flared in me and I yelled "I saved you! You were the one who sat to wait for death!" The forest stillness crashed back down on the hole I had ripped with my shout, and in the ringing silence I heard him whisper again.
"I did not wait for death. I waited for you."
That man showed me the redemption I did not need to earn: the light already in me. He is long dead now, but his lessons are still with me. Sometimes, the only way to see if there is redemption in someone is to push him to watch a spectacle: a man waiting for his death. I thought again of my first meeting with Sarenrae as I stripped my armor off and strode away only in my tunic. The cloth was no longer the spotless white it had been days ago on the shore of another land. It was caked with salt spray and spotted with the bile of a city on its deathbed. The filth would wash out and I would wear the tunic again, because the cloth was mine. It made me an icon, more than my horns and beard, more than my skill and speed. The cloth was me, but I didn't care for it.
I sat there, waiting. I learned the patience I needed from my old man in the forest. I knew that with time I would stall out this man, and I was right. Without warning, he shoved a blade deep into my side and lost his grimacing smile mid-cackle. As my own blood stained the tunic a deep carmine red, I stood up, looked him deep in the eyes, and knew the words that redeemed me would not work on him. I edited them.
"I did not wait for death. It waited for you."
Friday, September 11, 2015
9.11
I love you the same way I garden:
I bought beans and tomatoes and peppers and basil. I was thrilled when the tomatoes started bearing. I watched the beans with fascination. I clipped a leaf from the basil just to smell it. Of course, gardening is a lot of work; I weed and water and feed the plants every day I can, and when I notice I'm falling behind, I schedule myself a few hours just to maintain the garden.
Then you blew in.
We planted little puffy purple flowers and great big yellow ones. We scattered white blooms along the beanrow and deep purple among the tomatoes. Overnight, I went from ten plants to fifty. I couldn't walk down the rows without my big feet smashing the new plants. I couldn't ignore the watering for a few days or the flowers would start to suffer. Oh! and the weeds were able to hide so much more easily now. I couldn't fix what I couldn't find.
The day we picked our flowers and made bouquets, I understood the headaches and the hard work. All I needed was the smell and the sight of flocks of blooms exploding from the vases to understand--The effort was for this.
I bought beans and tomatoes and peppers and basil. I was thrilled when the tomatoes started bearing. I watched the beans with fascination. I clipped a leaf from the basil just to smell it. Of course, gardening is a lot of work; I weed and water and feed the plants every day I can, and when I notice I'm falling behind, I schedule myself a few hours just to maintain the garden.
Then you blew in.
We planted little puffy purple flowers and great big yellow ones. We scattered white blooms along the beanrow and deep purple among the tomatoes. Overnight, I went from ten plants to fifty. I couldn't walk down the rows without my big feet smashing the new plants. I couldn't ignore the watering for a few days or the flowers would start to suffer. Oh! and the weeds were able to hide so much more easily now. I couldn't fix what I couldn't find.
The day we picked our flowers and made bouquets, I understood the headaches and the hard work. All I needed was the smell and the sight of flocks of blooms exploding from the vases to understand--The effort was for this.
Thursday, September 10, 2015
9.10
An addendum to 6.24, which highlighted the height differential of states.
At the time, I had a good idea, but not the resources to establish its relevance. Today, I come to you a completed man whose hypothesis not only bears up under scrutiny, but also TOTALLY RULES. If you will recall Nevada, whose Comstock Lode caused a thousand-meter deep hole, I thought perhaps the deepest mine in the United States would certainly change the elevation span of a state considerably. Imagine my disappointment when I found that the Combination Shaft is still 105 Ru Pauls above the state lowpoint. Devestation.
Then, I chanced to listen to a single episode of Radio Lab. You can not fathom my excitement at the fathomless depths of the Homestake mine. The advertised depth is consistent across all sites: 8000ft (2438m) straight down. I searched for a long time for the exact height and found it just as I gave up to look for the surface elevation in Lead, SD (2510m, if you're wondering). So, ladies and germs, it is my most intense pleasure to introduce to you the newest entry to the Can I Hang-Glide Your State competition:
South Dakota: Demonstrably the quietest place in the universe
Highest: Harney Peak. Lowest: God bless the Homestake Mine. 26.4 m/m. A paltry 63km from the highest point in the state, man's greed made him dig a hole so deep it literally enters the mesopelagic zone of the ocean. It costs $250,000 a month just to pump the water out. The mine is two and a half times lower than the Combination Shaft. It might be the deepest standable spot in the country, since it bottoms out 216m lower than Badwater Basin, the widely-touted lowest point. South Dakota has a better glide ratio than California, too.
Some notes about the depth of the Homestake:
They got 40,000,000 troy ounces of gold from the mine, which is $44,500,000,000. It's a cube of gold 4 meters to a side. It's 300 bathtubs full of gold. That's 1240 metric tons of gold. That's 200 elephants.
The depth it reaches beneath sea level is the current record dive (withstanding 30.95 atm, which is 1/3 Venus' air pressure at surface level).
You could fit ten Hindenburgs straight down into the mine. You could stack three Burj Khalifas in the same height. THREE.
If you fired a 9mm handgun at the bottom, the bullet wouldn't even pop out in Lead (which is an ironic name, now I'm looking at this).
If I jumped down the shaft, I would reach the bottom going 500mph or 220m/s (without air resistance, but with it's about 2/3 that). Sadly, I can't beat Felix Baumgartner, but I could watch three vines and miss the punchline of the fourth. If I practiced for a couple years, I could memorize an entire deck of cards. I could be really disappointed that I watched this. I could break Wolfram Alpha. All in all, this was a valid trade for an hour of sleep. As always, here's the data.
At the time, I had a good idea, but not the resources to establish its relevance. Today, I come to you a completed man whose hypothesis not only bears up under scrutiny, but also TOTALLY RULES. If you will recall Nevada, whose Comstock Lode caused a thousand-meter deep hole, I thought perhaps the deepest mine in the United States would certainly change the elevation span of a state considerably. Imagine my disappointment when I found that the Combination Shaft is still 105 Ru Pauls above the state lowpoint. Devestation.
Then, I chanced to listen to a single episode of Radio Lab. You can not fathom my excitement at the fathomless depths of the Homestake mine. The advertised depth is consistent across all sites: 8000ft (2438m) straight down. I searched for a long time for the exact height and found it just as I gave up to look for the surface elevation in Lead, SD (2510m, if you're wondering). So, ladies and germs, it is my most intense pleasure to introduce to you the newest entry to the Can I Hang-Glide Your State competition:
South Dakota: Demonstrably the quietest place in the universe
Highest: Harney Peak. Lowest: God bless the Homestake Mine. 26.4 m/m. A paltry 63km from the highest point in the state, man's greed made him dig a hole so deep it literally enters the mesopelagic zone of the ocean. It costs $250,000 a month just to pump the water out. The mine is two and a half times lower than the Combination Shaft. It might be the deepest standable spot in the country, since it bottoms out 216m lower than Badwater Basin, the widely-touted lowest point. South Dakota has a better glide ratio than California, too.
Some notes about the depth of the Homestake:
They got 40,000,000 troy ounces of gold from the mine, which is $44,500,000,000. It's a cube of gold 4 meters to a side. It's 300 bathtubs full of gold. That's 1240 metric tons of gold. That's 200 elephants.
The depth it reaches beneath sea level is the current record dive (withstanding 30.95 atm, which is 1/3 Venus' air pressure at surface level).
You could fit ten Hindenburgs straight down into the mine. You could stack three Burj Khalifas in the same height. THREE.
If you fired a 9mm handgun at the bottom, the bullet wouldn't even pop out in Lead (which is an ironic name, now I'm looking at this).
If I jumped down the shaft, I would reach the bottom going 500mph or 220m/s (without air resistance, but with it's about 2/3 that). Sadly, I can't beat Felix Baumgartner, but I could watch three vines and miss the punchline of the fourth. If I practiced for a couple years, I could memorize an entire deck of cards. I could be really disappointed that I watched this. I could break Wolfram Alpha. All in all, this was a valid trade for an hour of sleep. As always, here's the data.
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