#I’m surprised that my old art is sooo near to my current art. but I’m still glad I can still add in details

[zenmom]

So I went through my old art book (should’ve kept the book that my bro threw in the toilet once somewhere safe where I would not have a memory that I put it in the bin for removal. That’s awful) and I do wish I would not find my art cringy because of that childhood grudge against that character

So yeah, she is a Candy nymph and I designed her some years ago. Surprised that I got most of her details right. Yes, her is Shuka rush, a pun on Sugar Rush. Looks like I’ll do some more digging into that book. Yaaaay me!’👋🏻😒👋🏻’. Yes, her personality is sweet and bubbly like you’d describe any character with attributes to candy.

Zenmom Origins LETS GOOOO!

[nefariouscryptid]

I still have your two-part "meet the artist" image from a year ago, haha! "Trailer Trash aesthetic", horror, True Crime, Nu Metal, 90's Hip-Hop, Punks plus the books, games... Buut, why yes I wish to know more as an author figure sooo I dare you to go through all the points of "get to know your author"!

Thank you for reminding me that I gotta remake my meet the artist!

And hoooh boy here we go

1) is there a story you’re holding off on writing for some reason?

Yes I have some ideas on something new I want to work on, mainly because it’s hard to get started completely from scratch. I’ve worked on Durante for over 2 years so the idea of starting new with something else is kinda nerve wracking

2) what work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?

Most of my old art I’ve deleted cause I don’t want to look at it and I deleted one story I posted on ao3 cause I hated it lol

3) what order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

I started durante with favorite scenes first and filled in the blanks to make it work however I don’t recommend you do that.

4) favorite character you’ve written?

Ah geez, probably Peter? I also really enjoy Morgan and Brenda.

5) character you were most surprised to end up writing

Probably Jackie since I had her for so long but never thought I would actually end up using her.

6) something you would go back and change in your writing that it’s too late/complicated to change now

Anahii if I’m being honest. I wouldn’t have her exist, but it’s too late now

7) when asked, are you embarrassed or enthusiastic to tell people that you write?

Embarrassed asf lol

8) favorite genre to write

I like action, crime, and psychological horror

9) what, if anything, do you do for inspiration?

I watch shows and movies, but I mainly look at real life and experiences i or others had.

10) write in silence or with background noise? with people or alone?

For writing silence for art something’s gotta play.

11) what aspect of your writing do you think has most improved since you started writing?

Probably just general flow. I don’t write fics often enough to tell

12) your weaknesses as an author

A lot of characters personalities are the same I think

13) your strengths as an author

I’ve been told my characters feel like they genuinely exist which I’m very proud of

14) do you make playlists for your current wips?

No but I’ve made oc playlists before

15) why did you start writing?

My sophomore year of high school is when I took it seriously

16) are there any characters who haunt you?

Not that I can think of but sometimes I remember how truly horrible Ivan is.

17) if you could give your fledgling author self any advice, what would it be?

Consume more media and life, it’ll be good inspiration. Don’t be afraid to change things

18) were there any works you read that affected you so much that it influenced your writing style? what were they?

Funnily enough I can’t think of any but I know there’s some. I’ll get back to you on that.

19) when it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, ect.?

I write them in my notes or keep them on tumblr. Gotta write them down.

20) do you write in long sit-down sessions or in little spurts?

Depends.

21) what do you think when you read over your older work?

I think I’ll be proud of what I’ve made since I’m still young. I hope that If durante doesn’t take off it was a stepping stone to what will

22) are there any subjects that make you uncomfortable to write?

Nope

23) any obscure life experiences that you feel have helped your writing?

Many many, especially the people that I’ve met before. Too much to recall though

24) have you ever become an expert on something you previously knew nothing about, in order to better a scene or a story?

Yes! I’ve dug heavily into conspiracy theories and true crime stories as well as unclassified documents ect.

25) copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of

Sadly I don’t have any but here’s a decent one

“Pulling away he kissed Cassandra, running a hand through her hair gently, then kneeling down to kiss her stomach, thinking about his child, silently apologizing, hoping whatever god that may exist out there hears his near paralyzing remorse.”

[lady-plantagenet]

End of the year asks: 1, 4, 8, 5, 7, 9, 11, 17, 19 ❣️🎄🎅🏻

~Asked via ‘End of Year’ Ask Meme’: https://lady-plantagenet.tumblr.com/post/637933219260563456/end-of-the-year-asks~

1 ~ Song of the year?

I’ve pretty much gone emo over this song. It’s probably the most beautiful sound I’ve heard in my life, it’s so full of longing and sad beauty that despite how much I love it, I only play it in moments when I think I’m in the right mental state to appreciate it so it doesn’t become a background song haha. Yup, that’s the depth of my appreciation.

4 ~ Movie of the year?

I had already answered this one! :) press the ‘🍷❤️’ tag. But I’ll give another one for you that’s a bit different than the others: Midsommar. I was extremely impressed by the visuals I must say! It was true horror and scared me to bits (sidenote: I’m the type that doesn’t get spooked easily). I also found its exploration of cults quite fascinating. If you ever watch it make sure to then watch ‘How Midsommar Brainwashes You’ by ‘Accolytes of Horror’ on youtube to see what I mean! The analysis makes it even more terrifying.

5 ~ TV show of the year?

I don’t know if it counts since it’s a mini-series but definitely ‘The Shadows of the Tower’ which is this 70s show covering Henry VII’s early reign (you can find the first episodes on YouTube). It is quite possibly flawless (I obviously gritted my teeth a bit about the whole ‘Clarence had no brain’ remarks, but that’s really really minor). The acting is incredible and threater level, the dialogue a work of art not o ly in content but also in intonantion and the vibe about the whole show is so period and ominous 👀. Even if you’re not too big on Henry VII, you will fond great pleasure in the snapshot nature of the episodes eg one episode was about a lollard, the other about Sir John Kendall and the botched plot to assassinate Henry VII, another about a foreign navigator etc. If you like history you’ll love this!

7 ~ Favorite actor of the year?

yeah yeah call me basic, but if we’re talking about this year (as in contemporary actor) I must say Timothee Chalamet. The King has been criticised a lot but I feel like he really held his own there. Also loved him in Little Women, Beautiful Boy, Call Me By Your Name and Ladybird (among others). I’d love to see him become a permanent feature in movies!

8 ~ Game of the year?

Admittedly, I don’t really play any games. I occasionally go on lichess (and yes that’s way before The Queen’s Gambit came out) to play with friends, but otherwise, nothing really. I spend too much of my freetime on here already agshdj

9 ~ Best month for you this year?

You’d be surprised, but I must say: April. I don’t know why, I guess I just felt this vibe around me as I was surrounded by great historical fiction and randomly discovered sooo many new songs! Everyday was fairly peaceful as I didn’t have any assignments but just exams to study for, but as I knew the syllabus it was pretty relaxed. By that point I honestly needed a social break and lockdown gave me that without me having to invent any excuse. I also had my old flat with the lovely balcony I would go have my coffee on and it was just bliss ~

11 ~ Something you want to do again next year?

In my last answer for #11, I put continuing my WIP: A Bygone Era and staung on tumblr (which are stuff I only started this year - writing in Jan and Tumblr in February). To answer this again but with a different answer: I would like to continue with my hair care and corset experiments. I know this is very minor, but everything else from this year has already been done in other years. I’m currently still figuring out what homemade mask is best for me and it’s honestly been a trip haha (honey, olive oil + egg yolk is in the lead). With the corset training it’s satisfying to see the progress that is being made with my waist! I’ve neared down 3 inches already! (26’ -> 23’). And honestly whenever I have it on I just feel so dainty!

17 ~ Post a picture from the end of the year

This is a part of my garden back home atm. Between the red sky - green leaves contrast, and the heaps of snow... what could possibly be more Christmas vibes ey? (An especially appropriate post for today methinks)

19 ~ What’re you excited about for next year?

Most people would say an end to lockdown, but I don’t have high hopes tbf. I mean, have you seen the lack of discipline with most people nowadays? Ugh. One thing I can control (sort of) is getting into my masters next year. I’m terrified (because I might not get in) but excited (a nice change of scenery from London, and an opportunity to meet new people is always good). Not to mention, a more dissertation-based course is what I yearn for and need cause I despise exams. I’m really really excited at the prospect oml =)

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S1 Ep28: Bakura Can Still Kill Everyone If He Really Wanted To

First off--my apostrophes work again! Many thanks to the tumblr staff who helped out and will never see this post. Now I can update without looking like my computer is encrypting itself as I go.

So guys, I’m all about weird TV and weird movies. I watched the entirety of Color of Pomegranates. I just want you to know that because when I say that “wow this got weird real fast” we are going by my metrics. It’s not as weird as Color of Pomegranates, because well...it has a plot that isn’t under four layers of symbolism and esoteric Armenian poetry, but whenever we have a Bakura episode, stuff just gets UNEXPECTED.

But first, the most wonderful thing has happened:

I mean kind of a weird choice to put some of these things together, but this was about .5 seconds of screen time, I’m just special and can pause to realllllly take it in. Mm.

(Read more under the cut for EVEN MORE FOOD)

Man!

MAN!

What did I do to deserve all this good anime food in the same episode as Bakura doing something completely nuts (again)?

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and we have to go back to cards, which for some reason is still the crux of this show...I think. This is still a show about cards, right? I’m no longer completely sure.

At the start of the season, Yugi was gifted these two cards as entrance tickets to the Island of Regret where they are now hanging out. These cards are how you collect your prizes if you win. The one with money is the prize of 3 million (or is it 300 million? It’s been a while since I’ve heard the number). The blank one is the chance to beat Pegasus. I assume your soul will go in the blank one after he beats you.

Youknow, it’s really a shame we never got to see the stats on Grandpa, Mokuba, and Seto cards. I don’t think they even had any. I mean, when Bakura turned his friends into cards, at least they had stats.

Anyways, some of our contestants have suddenly remembered that they actually have no right to this contest.

But, turns out Pegasus also has an interest in anime food, so he’s done something a little extra for...some reason.

DEAR LORD. I mean it’s not a real eyeball but think about the eye grease for a moment. Firstly, I don’t even know if you have to grease up a false eyeball and I want to look it up but I am too afraid. Secondly, now my mind is thinking of every unctuous substance that may or may not grease up a false eyeball. It does not pair well with pumpkin soup.

There’s eyeballs...in the soup...

This is when you go home. This is when you say “sorry Gramps, but...I am pretty sure that guy is a cannibal, I gotta goooooo.”

I mean, again, it’s not a real eyeball but freakin A are they having a weird halloween dinner party? Why would you do this? Why would you EVER put your own eyeball facsimiles in the soup? Is it like “eat my ass” but “eat my eyes” ?

Pegasus doesn’t get many guests and I can start to see why Kaiba hated him so damn much. Can you imagine working with this guy on a daily basis as the head of a large corporation while constantly getting pranked with his weird ass eyeballs?

Does it say “I open at the close?”

Why did they do -- what?!

This was all about a stupid bracket? What the hell, Yugioh?

The boys decide to throw caution to the wind about what may or may not be in this bizarre dinner that not even Pegasus wants to eat and they fully gorge themselves and get a real good food baby belly going.

I guess Yugi didn’t really eat because he is fully alert and his empty beacon eyes are still one of the most spooky things on this show.

Yugi decides to hand off his card to Joey right in the view of Bandit Keith, and Joey only takes it when Yugi convinces him that now they’d have twice the chance to beat Pegasus. I mean, not really, actually, but it was still a nice thing to say. Yugi is a kid of sooo many good intentions.

Mai goes to bed and says this actual line from the show.

Despite the fact that she’s so acidic about...eh...75% of the time, she really is the nicest person they have met on this horrible, terrible island. In fact, everyone is ready to tuck in to the most clearly haunted murder castle as if eyeballs weren’t just hanging out in their soup. What a bizarre heartwarming round of goodnights, as if there wasn’t clearly several people out to very much kill them living in the same castle as them.

This is how Agatha Christie novels start.

This episode does not actually dive into Joey’s gigantic donut dream, which is a shame.

Because this episode, it’s time for our B-team to shine.

I love the implication here that Tristan first knocked on Bakura’s door, woke him up with this and then Bakura clearly answered along the lines of “Bollucks, Tristan, I am not doing this right now” to which, Brakura dragged him down to Tea’s door in the hope that Tea would be at all reasonable.

Which backfired him in a major way because Tea and Tristan are desperate to chase some snipes and prove themselves useful.

I honestly can’t tell if Bakura even likes these guys. I mean, I get that they’re school friends but, this guy was introduced as totally murdering them and then getting magically “cured” with the same cure that failed on Seto Kaiba. The fact that this meek little fake-british accent can get so easily snowplowed by Tea and Tristan is never clearly just an act or just him getting snowplowed.

But, apparently there’s some part of him that is still that tiny little nice-side-of-Bakura, so dutifully, he decides to babysit, since the only other psychic they got around is currently having an eyeball-soup induced dream.

Back at the dueling arena, Tea decides to stand guard/do nothing as usual.

Tristan reveals why he has a grudge against Psychics.

Tristan’s character is pretty flat. It basically revolves around mothering everyone elses problems and pining about Serenity who is barely a character on this show. I always figured that Tristan was at least smarter than Joey and Yugi, who can be kind of...dumb, but it turns out Tristan is just as empty between the ears.

He gets completely fascinated by a beam of light shining through a window. Forget looking for cameras. Forget the fact that this room was full of Pegasus’ mooks, some of which were standing right behind Kaiba. Na. He’s gonna Sherlock Holmes straight to this window.

During Bakura’s desperate pleas to get these two assholes back to bed, Yugi is getting some crazy as hell conspiracy theories from Grandpa.

Oh, so he’s like a normal grandpa then? Once my Grandma told me that the entirety of San Fransisco would fall into the ocean during an Earthquake and she was EXTREMELY concerned about my safety (despite the fact I live inland, not in San Fransisco), so this dream Yugi’s having sounds like a pretty average dinner conversation with your Grandparents.

No one expects Bakura, not even the colorist.

And then for some reason they want Tea to go first in their climb up the tower although no reasonable girl in a mini skirt would do this in front of two boys.

Isn’t she a freakin dancer? Maybe she’s not as strong as Tristan but she’s certainly the best balanced of the two and could climb way easier because she’s lighter. And Bakura is clearly the weakest but, whatever.

Back in dreamland, Yugi’s grandpa join’s up with the other cards in card hell as if they’re some sort of Grandfather, asshole son, and ghost child card hell trinity

Oh yeah, I nearly forgot I was watching an anime for a second. Nothing like devilish blue fire to make you remember oh yeah, that’s a fine anime fire choice.

But rather than dwell too much on that artistic direction of blue fire, lets see if anything at all was inside of the red herring tower.

They’ve been slipping a picture of this chick all over the place. I’m surprised it took until now, when she’s like 15 feet tall, for them to finally notice “Hey maybe there’s something up with this random chick who is clearly a dead person Pegasus was close to”

Now I gotta get a little art nerdy on you for a moment because this storyboarder is really good at sneaking in people’s reactions right near the focal point without making them the focal point. This whole framing of Bakura’s tired face happens so quickly and I just want to spend a little moment for us to appreciate our storyboarder’s sense of humor.

Now, somehow. SOMEHOW things are going to get weirder.

Because with all this dream sequence stuff happening this looks like it’s a dream but I’m going to come out and say no, this is actually happening. They have, indeed, fallen into some tomb under the castle covered in Egyptian murals and people are chanting about sacrificing souls as offerings.

This happens SO QUICKLY.

THE HELL????

Like remember when I was like “How did all these skeletons get here? what’s up with these skeletons?” I didn’t actually really want them to tie up those loose ends but here we are.

So this has been going on this entire time!? For the past 28 episodes? When Kaiba was like “man Pegasus is the worst!” He didn’t feel like bringing up the crazy killer cult that was living under the island?

And to top it off, Bakura already knows what’s going down. He knows and is quickly getting more and more urgent to get away.

Oh, and PS, The cards we’ve been using these past 28 episodes are now giant stone tablets. Bakura mentioned once that the millennium ring was supposed to work alongside Duel Monsters. And he was like “but duel monsters is like ten years old so whatever” but it turns out that was a complete lie because there’s an ancient version that uses 10 foot tall tablets instead of cards. Their decks would be like 6000 lbs.

Also you die at the end of Ancient Duel Monsters, that part is different, too.

I have so many questions.

I mean you find out when you’re a kid that Ring around the rosies was actually about people dying of the plague and go “eh that’s sad” but it’s nothing like Ring around the Rosies killed people and made serial murderers into magical evil psychics.

I mean it’s never actually said, but there’s enough evidence here that I’d like to think Yugi was sleep running all over the castle during half this episode saying “grandpaaaazzzs” while Bandit Keith was like “OMG are any of them going to go to bed so I can finally steal their stuff?”

But back to the stuff that is actually not a dream and definitely happening. Pegasus pulls back his hood and decides to give them a quick Q and A before he outright kills them.

And so, Bakura, who has been playing dumb for...I dunno, 10+ episodes, who has been doing nothing spectacular and who has been clumsy and sort of a space cadet finally reveals that “yeah, that mind wipe did literally nothing, I’m a still an evil son of a bitch”

And they have a...shine off. Or something. It’s very hard to look directly at.

Thing is, from what we’ve learned, Pegasus is super duper powerful because he’s been killing people under here for many, many years. Every time he does a murder, his power grows. Which means...Bakura should be at a loss since he’s like 12 and...how many people can a 12 year old really murder?

Says a lot about your relationship if you can’t take 2 steps forward without getting Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind-ed 4 steps right back where you started.

Welp that’s it, guys! that’s Season 1! Bakura did it! He beat Pegasus! Why Bakura decided to retcon the REAL ending of Season 1 and just put everyone (including the villain) back as if it never happened is a little weird, but hey--at least I got through it. I did it. I recapped all of Yugioh Season 1. I’m proud of me!

Bakura will go back to playing dumb probably for another 10-15 episodes until he can steal that eyeball off of Pegasus. Apparently there wasn’t a good enough opportunity for eyeball theft when he was doing the weird laser show thing.

I assume somewhere, Pegasus is also sitting on his bed in his day clothes and thinking “the hell just happened?” but rather than look at one of his zillions of security cameras is like “well, that’s psychics!”

I’d like to think that Bandit Keith saw Bakura dragging Tea and Tristan’s bodies down the hall and they just nodded at eachother like “crazy evening, amiright?”

Also, a lot of this episode would have been different if any of these people locked their own doors. Like this, for instance, wouldn’t have been able to happen.

Then five minutes later the sun rose.

I mean it’s the only explanation for all the nuts stuff that went down last night.

Next week, on Yugioh:

Will Pegasus have a splitting headache for all of tomorrow and be wearing sunglasses the whole time? Will Pharaoh reveal that in his time off he got really into All My Children? Will they seriously go the third day without washing their clothes? These kids must SMELL.

The hell just HAPPENED?

[studyari]

26 trying to become an engineer. (2nd attempt)

Hello everyone :-)

Today I’ve been feeling pretty down and thought, well, I may as well do something that might get my mind off of my mood. I thought, “hey maybe I’ll share my story on tumblr.” So, here I am spiraling.

This is not my main blog but I did notice that over the years it was hard to find blogs that were active. Somehow, I came across the ‘studyblr’ community and couldn’t believe how many people were currently using this platform in that way. I’m starting school in the fall so I thought it would be a cool idea to also make one, and maybe it would keep me motivated! We will see. I have a good feeling because there are already sooo many amazing resources and advice tips. It’s very reassuring.

I guess I should start my story off with a few details about who I am and the type of life I had before coming to this point. My name is Ari and I love learning but I never had the vision or drive to look forward into the future very much. I did not concern myself with the responsibilities of adulthood when I was in high school. During that time, I wasn’t really focused on anything in particular. I didn’t sign up for the AP Classes, I didn’t see myself going to college, and the classes I wanted to take, I never was able to get in (my school already had overcapacity classes and it was the oldest high school in my city picture the not having enough books, packed classes, and old and worn learning materials). I really wanted to get into horticulture and signed up for it 3 years straight to no avail. Even though I lacked the competitive spirit and drive, I still had high enough standards for myself to try my best in school even if I didn’t know exactly why I was doing it. I did well and my class rank, I found out was #3. I only found out because the teacher I worked for would tell me “hey you’re really close to having to give a speech” to that I was like HUH? I also was way too shy to even think about that so I just kind of brushed it off. But to this day, I wonder what I could have accomplished if I had the same goals my peers had. 

My counselor nominated me for a scholarship to which I was surprised but I applied to the school (the only school I applied to) and wrote my essay. I did this because I was honored someone actually thought of me. The school could only put up one person per scholarship per university. I’m sure she put me up because of my math scores if I’m being honest. 

By that time I had decided to go into the military, because some guy from the Navy came and talked to our class. I thought, I’m sure I could do that? I was basically doing the things I needed to do my senior year so that after I graduated I could have a job. But unexpectedly, the teacher that I worked for pulled me aside one day and asked me what my plans for the future were. I told him I’m most likely joining the military and that I applied to a university but there’s no way I could pay for it. I already had received a letter that I was denied the scholarship. He sincerely looked at me and told me that I could do anything with my life and that going into the military is great but that I could join that whenever. He told me “not everyone gets to go to college.” I shrugged because I didn’t feel like I was in control of any of that. But then he did something while I was in his computer lab and it was near the end of the school year. He had called up the university I applied to and asked them about my application…. He did that for me. And after getting off the phone with them he told me the lady said “she’ll be very happy.” Although not disclosing any details. For some reason the small gesture moved me and I’m pretty sure that was the moment that I started believing that I could actually accomplish things. I started being able to think about the things I wanted out of life. I could make the decisions of what I want to be, not some recruiter. 

It wasn’t until I got my acceptance letter stating that I had received a full ride scholarship that it all became real. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t think I would ever go to college but now I have a way?

Fast forward to my freshman year of college. I was 17. It was in a new city, I was on my own for the first time in my life, I had met a lot of new people, and I was a first year engineering student hoping to graduate in electrical engineering and I was proud of it. I had felt like I had already accomplished so much just off the fact I was accepted into that program. However, reality started to sink in quick. School was HARD, the classes were HUGE 200 students in most of my classes. I procrastinated, stayed up too late, was not understanding my homework, and failing my tests. I felt like a failure and I failed Chemistry I that year. The next semester, I hoped things would be better but in fact it was much worse. I was horrible and completely lost in my computer engineering course and couldn’t create a working program for the life of me, I couldn’t even create a FLOWCHART. Because of the class size I was deathly afraid to raise my hand and just ask a question. I just kept my mouth shut hoping for the best, for a miracle really. I struggled in Calc 2 and especially in Physics I. I didn’t fail any of the classes but with the grades I received it felt no different. I received D-’s for two of my classes and I felt hopeless. I felt dumb. I thought I need to figure something out, because my scholarship covers 4 years for me. I can’t afford to retake a class I just can’t.

And during that summer I transferred out. I told my mom about my experience and she didn’t have much sympathy for me. Just heard things like “well if it was me, I would have made an A”. I tried explaining to her how hard and difficult it was but I didn’t receive any emotional support that day. In my eyes I thought I tried my best. Honestly, that interaction just furthered my belief into thinking yeahhh it is my fault. I just can’t do it. 

I was in this space where I didn’t know what I wanted to do anymore and it scared me. I talked with an advisor and she helped me make a schedule to explore more majors. I explored art, math, and environmental tech. I ended up completely dropping Calc 3 because I was making like 20% on my first test *sigh*. But I did well enough in my gen eds. I truly thought school wasn’t for me. And keep in mind I also was working the entire time through college and it would take me an hour to walk there and an hour to walk back to my dorm. I really needed money T_T. My priorities were all mixed up back then. I also was dating someone who was very very bad for me. He was a cheater, never wanted to see me, and I would miss classes just because we were arguing. I ended up losing a lot of friends because of my terrible relationship as I was spending all my time on him and not on other aspects of my life. I broke up with him my junior year of college.

After that I found myself really focusing hard on my grades, wanting A’s, wanting to do well. I told myself the difference between an A and a B is just effort. My senior year I was working as well as taking 21 credit hours a semester just to graduate. I actually had to submit paperwork to be allowed to take that many hours per semester. I had little time to myself really and I would sleep on the benches outside in between classes. I was so tired my entire senior year but I know for the first time I was doing my absolute best to graduate. I needed to graduate AND do well.  I ended up graduating in environmental tech which is under the college of forestry at my university. So it was very different than what I started off in. I was proud for a little until I moved back home.

When I got back home I couldn’t find a job in my field. I would get interviews and I would get ‘almost’ hired but I would be rejected last minute. It’s either a hiring freeze, simple rejection, or the ‘you need a car’ to work here. But I didn’t have a car, I didn’t have job to get the car and so what I did was say Fuck IT. I got a job as a cashier making $7.25 an hour at a donut shop. I could hardly save money because my family would always ask me for some. I ended up talking to a recruiter and I was about to join the military for real as I’m from a military town and jobs that weren’t the hospital or military were virtually nonexistent. That’s what I planned to do and I remember writing on my calendar in my room to “save $400” before I left. And that was a goal looking back now, made me realize how much I was struggling in that environment. 

I left. And I joined the military. I knew that I could get a free education and housing so that’s why I did it. It wasn’t a very good reason but I’m so glad that’s what I did. I grew up so much while I was there. I earned an electronics degree while I was there. In fact we went over the same exact things I learned in computer engineering, but this time I could understand and it came easy to me.  Learned a new skill. Learned social skills. Learned how to stand up for people. Learned how to manage others and really really show them that I cared. I got my first car, got my first apartment, and I learned what it meant to live comfortably and securely, even if work itself was more stressful than anything I’ve ever known. I accomplished a lot in the four years I spent there, I met so many people that are now all over the world, I have a network, and I even met my current boyfriend.  

I am now 26. Those four years I spent in the military allowed me to think about my future and what I wanted to do. I am still trying to be an engineer. I think I gave up too easily when I was 17 and I was not in the right mindset. I didn’t think I was as smart as everyone else around me. I didn’t think I deserved to be there. But I was wrong. I did deserve to be there. Now that I’m older I understand I was going through a lot of things and had very little support and I didn’t believe in myself enough. I believe we can do anything we set our minds to, because it’s about effort. This is where my new journey begins.

I’m 26 years old and I don’t think it’s too late. I’m going to be starting my nano-engineering courses in the fall and retaking chem and physics. And I will do well no matter what it takes. I’ve been talking to someone at the university here and they say that I have a good chance at getting into their Materials Science and Engineering M.S. program. Me, someone without an engineering B.S. This is where I’d like to update my story. And hopefully someone out there can relate or share their journey as well. It’s been hard understanding that I am deserving to be here and to ask questions and actually succeed. I’m not giving up this time. No way. The things you love and are passionate about will always come back to you.

[derenyanai]

Araquu Journal Session #10- So Here’s The Plan

Time: Sometime after Session 18 Characters: Maska, Cecily, Yue, Aldrid, Navi

Posts indented like this were typed by the GM.

Posts that were not indented were typed by the player(s).

After the incident at Floradai Park, the DISC Unit discusses what to do next...

Yue was laying on a couch in whatever meeting room they be in kicking her feet in the air as she lays on her stomach hands on her chin supporting her head, "Sooo, we're out of leads then huh guys? No more relics to go after then? Is there some Small crime going on we can handle then?" she wonders out loud.

Maska is sprawled on whatever table they have in the room, head resting on the hard wood. With a laptop in front of him i guess "I could look up news article of the past few days..."

Cecily is only standing up and leaning near a corner of the room, having her arms crossed. "I could call one of the council members and see if they have any more info on relic locations," she suggests, pulling out her phone.

"Is there any thing else we should be doing aside from relic searching?” Yue asks. “I feel like that's a fun pass time searching for relics and all, but isn't there some more important other things we should do? Like finding the person actually stealing the relics, then we don't have to waste time to look for the hard to find artifacts."

"I could look up the year they were made in," Maska blows his single strand of hair of his face, "What year was it again? 18 something?" He sits up and brings the machine closer to him.

"1944," Cecily corrected.

"Ah yes, the 40s" Maska said, in a mocking old timey voice "Where showing a single ankle was like hardcore porn to men" He typed up ‘City of Araquu, 1944′ on google.  

Some furious Google searching is enough to yield some rather interesting results. You have learned the following! • 1944 is the same year that the current Emperor became, well, the Emperor, having formerly been a part of the (then) council. • Several businesses and attractions were established in that year; Café Bleu de la Lune, Yinxiu Trinkets, Floradai Park, and Shimmering Fabrics are all familiar names. Attractions at the Park of the Lady, and a few recently discovered things (exhibited at the History Museum and Museum of Modern art) are mentioned. • Several powerful mage families also emigrated into Araquu at that time. Listed are the Summers family, the Noah family, and the Meyers family. 

"Woah what?" Maska gasp, "Wendy comes from family of mages?"

"This is Araquu, most families here are families of mages, why are you so shocked by this Masky?" Yue wonders.

"Even my father's side of my family are mages," Cecily offhandly mentions.

"Yeah, but they're pleabians" He opens the Powerful Mage families emigrations on a different tab, "Says here they're crazy powerful, this I gotta see."

Which one(s) are you looking into?

"Hrm, let's start with Wendys family" He clicks on the Summers Family.

The Summers family is currently composed of: • Mikhal Summers, aged 58. An expert at tracking magic and capable of using various other assorted magics. • His son, Matthew Summers, aged 26. Rather talented in the art of plant magics. • Matthew's husband, Mark Summers, aged 25. Rather talented in the art of song magics. • Their adopted daughter, Wendy Summers, aged 10. She's too young to practice magic.

"I'd expected the current family be bigger, then again Wendy’s fathers are gay" Maska rubs his chin, "Plant Magic, Song Magic and Tracking Magic... her grandfather's magic could be useful provided he lend us a hand, what do you guys think?" He turns to Yue and Cecily.

"Well we can certainly add that to the things to consider," she cuffed her chin. "...Check to see if there's anything else worth looking into to broaden our options."

"Let me check to see if I can find a connection to the Summers Family and those darn relics," Maska searches the entirety of family to see if there’s a link.

You search the article for a while but don't manage to find anything. Apparently it's not online for everyone ever to see?

"Nothing, let's check the Meyers Family" He goes back on the site and clicks on the Meyers "Never heard of these people."

You have learned that an old lady named Geraldine Meyers is the owner of Shimmering Fabrics.

"Oh hey, it's that old lady from Upper City" Maska shows Cecily the picture of Geraldine, "The one we got the pin from."

"I recall her," Cecily said, flattening her expression. "Reminds me of something else I plan on doing later. Anyways, see what it says about the family."

"Oh right, I should actually look up the actual history of the family." Damn it Maska, anyways he reads the history of the Meyers outloud.

Geraldine lives on her own with like, 50 dogs, she has no family.

"50 dogs? Living the dream right there, good shit." He looks over Geraldine's profile once again, "For someone who comes from a powerful mage family, doesn't seem like she has magical abilities."

"So you're saying that they're nothing to note besides working at one of the locations we've been to?" Cecily asks.

The problem is, no one really knows much about her. She lives on her own and doesn't socialize that often. There's not much information available online.

"Nope, well if you count that she had the relic in her shop and having come from a prestige family" He goes back and clicks on the last family to emigrated to Araquu, "But I don't think that's a connection."

THE NOAH FAMILY, aka Councilman Noah's family, probably his parents or grandparents? That's like all you can find, the council is pretty damn secretive.

"I forgot how secretive mages were with their history, it's really fucking annoying" Maska lets out a sigh with a grimace on his face. Fucking mages.

A sigh only comes from Cecily. "Great," she says. "In terms of people that doesn't leave us with much. How about any other places that relate to the date? Some we haven't visited?"

"Give me a sec, you know you can come and look see yourself instead of trying to blend into the wallpaper" He closes the tab of TreeAncestry dot com and goes back to the google one. He clicks on the page relating to the business that open during 1944.

Before you can investigate any further, the door opens and Navi walks in. "...WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK WHY IS MY HOUSE YOUR HANGOUT!?"

"Hey boo, we just invited ourselves in hope you don't mind" Maska waves at her.

"...if it makes you feel better, I brought food over," Cecily says, pointing to some left over donuts in a box. "You can help yourself."

Navi mutters something about having sworn she locked the door before going to grab a donut. "Any luck with those last few relics we don't know about?"

"No, but I did find out that Wendy’s gonna be a powerful mage when she grows up" Maska stretches a bit, "Right now we're looking into the business that open during the 40s."

Navi takes a few bites to eat her donut, munching as Maska searches. Unfortunately there are too many Dank Memes on the interwebs right now, so he can't find anything that they don't already know.

Cecily, it suddenly dawns on you that perhaps it wasn't so much businesses that were given relics, so much as people who were entrusted to take care of them and put together something they could use to hide it. A lamp at a cafe isn't something that draws attention; nor is a hatpin at a clothing store.

"...There is a connection I do notice," Cecily thought to herself. "Perhaps it's not so much as locations, as it's actually people we should be more concerned with paying attention to. Like, people the Emperor must of knew or trusted."

"Huh- oh uh" Maska quickly closes the Bill Wurtz video he accidentally clicked on, "Right Emperor, question; how do we figure out who he knew? The guy is a well guarded secret."

"That... is the tricky part," Cecily sweatdropped. "I mean, we could ask one of the councilmen. After all, Councilmen Noah is tied to the year 1944."

"Hang on I'm gonna check this article for a hot minute" He clicks on the search result on how the current emperor became as such.

It seems to be a 'picked by the council' thing; and they usually have a sort of trial of their own design to figure out if the person trying to become Emperor is capable of the tasks that would be set before them. Also, you've found a forum where people try and theorize what kind of magic the Emperor uses.

"They do a trial to see if they're fit to be the Emperor, huh i always thought it was more of  a 'who the most powerful mage of them all' cue lightning crackling-" He pauses at what he found "Oh hey! Look, conspiracy theorist!"

Navi groans. "Maska for the love of god no, when has anything useful ever come from conspiracy theories-" boom shakalaka

"Shut up! I'm listening to crazy people!" He clicks on the link to the forum.

Cecily facepalms. "...So, Navi," Cecily says, deciding to small talk while Maska is wasting time. Maybe he'll get back on track soon. "What have you been up to while we were in the Upper City?"

Maska, you can't find any signs of intelligent life here. There are approximately thirty different theories about what kind of magic the Emperor uses, although only two of them seem to be actually trying to present any evidence. There's also a running poll and betting pool about what gender the Emperor is, which is basically neck and neck for Male/Female right now.

"Mostly been runnin' deliveries and what not for Willow. Helpin' her out. She's expectin' a new shipment in soon and wants to be careful it doesn't get stolen again."

"Hm.... I should come back and bet on this when we find out," He mutters to himself and opens both theories that are at least trying their best in their own tabs.

"Robbed?" Cecily asks. "What was stolen?"

"It happened a while ago, she said it was some or other ingredients she doesn't actually sell 'cause they're usually illegal to hang onto," Navi explains. "Said she has permission to use 'em in her own private work though. Actually, she spoke to Aldrid 'bout it, I'm surprised he hasn't told y'all this happened."

 Maska, the two primary theories are that the Emperor either uses some form of Body Manipulation Magic (that is, manipulating their own body) or that they use some form of Time Magic. The argument for Time Magic seems to have more proof - various photos of things and locations in places the Emperor has apparently been that indicate time changed somehow - although a lot of the photos and things are "I took a picture here with my mom at this point in time, and then a thing happened and now it looks like THIS" or something similar so it's hard to verify the validity of any of those; on the other hand, Body Manipulation Magic has a very strong following and many people have pointed out that surely it HAS to be that because of all the photos of the various damaged areas from the scene, or the fact that no one fucking knows what the Emperor looks like so they have to be able to change themselves at will... tough to say, really! However, based on your own investigations of these things, you're more inclined to think the Emperor is some sort of time mage; a lot of the things being argued as going under Body Manipulation can actually be viewed as time magic if looked at from the right angle, and with how secretive the council is it's really no surprise that people don't know what the Emperor looks like either; especially if he or she could just, I don't know, pause time and go where they need to go and then unpause it or something similar!

"Pft maybe Wu Hou is the Emperor, or maybe related," He re-reads the time magic theory again. Hypothetically, a egg inside of Maska’s head begins to crack, crack, crack, and hatch to reveal a chick. Maska stands up and shouts "OH MY GOD WE NEED TO FIND WU HOE" frantically.

"AAAAH, JESUS!" Cecily replies, jumping a foot into the air.

"AAAAAHHH!" Yue falls off the couch and sits up looking around. “I'm awake totally.... what happened who's yelling?"

"It makes somewhat sense" He re-reads both theories on the forum he found "Maybe we really need to find Wu Hou..."

"Huh? Why?" Yue asks standing up and brushing herself off.

Maska explains to her the theories he found and his after thoughts on how the Emperor could be using it, also he brought her up to speed on what they had found out "...So, if we do find her, not only could we find more about people that are connected to 1944, we could find out more about the Emperor themselves."

"Assuming that this Wu person would be interested in even bothering to help us. What makes you so sure we can count on her?" Yue puts a finger to chin in thinking form.

"Same goals? Cecily did mention she was trying to 'save the city.'" Maska opens up a new tab and goes to youtube. Might as well get some music in the background, the silence is the deafening, "Besides, I trust this Hou person very little but I do trust Cecily's judgement. Most of the time."

"Huh, Well, glad to see you're not taking that at face value." she smiles, "I've run into so many people that claim the same thing in this line of work that it's hard for even me to trust everything someone says. Besides how would we find someone that could travel through time, and not alert HQ?" Yue sits down cross armed, "What about talking with the council again, maybe they can help us figure something out?"

"I think that’s the point, even if the Emperor would use time magic, wouldn't their magical signature already be notified by the police?" He clicks on some random music and lets it play on low volume, "And true we could take it up with them again, but remember they can't always help us. When was the last time we even met them again in person? Still, not denying that we could go talk to them."

"Did you have a reason to meet them again in person before now?" Yue wonders leaning in.

"Beside seeing Fira again, not really" He leans back on his chair and yawns, "So we can either find the Hoe person or talk to the councilmen."

"I feel like it would be in our best interest to go after the councilmen, if we wanna continue finding the relics. I feel like we could stop this relic running round thing easier if we go after the person hunting them down first. Any ideas on who we could try and track down?"

"I don't know about them anymore, it feels like we're going on a wild goose chase." Maska scratches his head. "What would that even accomplish? We have the Relics then what?"

"I don't think we should be collecting the relics right now." Yue flat out states.

“Well, what do you suggest we do then?” Cecily turns to Yue, while rubbing the back of her own head. “I know we’re a police force that also deals with small crime too, but that still doesn’t mean there’s no sense of urgency either.”

"No no, hear me out here, why would we need to collect all of the relics? Can't we use what we have now as bait to lure out the enemy instead of gathering all the trinkets to make things easier for the opponent?" Yue smiles.

"That sounds flawed, you want to use all of the relics we have to bait out the bad man?" Maska pipes in.

"Pardon my askin'," Navi pipes up from where she's cleaning up a bit, "But have we figured out WHY these guys want th'relics?"

“Nothing concrete if that’s what you’re asking,” Cecily groans. “The only thing I could think of is someone destroy them because of that ritual hiding warehouse we came upon. The relics are tied to the city, right?”

"The relics are tied to the shield that protect the city" Maska leans back on the chair, "If you destroy one the shield weakens."

"Finding the reason as to why they wish the barrier destroyed..." Aldrid starts to say as he walks in "May be part of our primary objective."

"I didn't say use all of the relics Maska, why are you jumping to that conclusion? We would only need to use 1 of them like my hairpin." Yue is stuck on that conversation, "It would help us try and figure out why they're going after these relics and determine if we'll be falling into their plans by just taking all of the relics ourselves."

Cecily crosses her arms and only looks downward. “It could also give us the chance in catching my mother as well...”

"So, we're doing that instead?" Maska rocks himself on the chair he was already leaning on, "We're going to lure out the baddies?"

"I don't see why not, and I have an idea on how to get the word out about the bait too." Yue smiles.

"I swear to fuck if you tell me you're gonna make a god damn video about it then I'm leaving."

“You’re gonna leave your own house?” Cecily deadpans.

"WELL WHY THE FUCK NOT YOU PEOPLE HAVE TAKEN IT FOR YOURSELVES"

"You seem upset," Maska observes.

“Were the donuts not enough as an apology?” Cecily asks.

"Yeah we brought you donuts, isn't that enough?" Maska asks.

Yue goes over to Navi, "Aw, come on, So, what's your bright idea then?"

“Correction: I bought donuts,” Cecily looked at him. “You just shrugged and walked about nonchalantly.”

"Yeah, but I got her this laptop so suck it" Maska that's your own laptop.

“I’m not sure Navi wants whatever you already have stored in there,” Cecily assumes.

Aldrid just kinda stands there, awkardly, like usual.

Navi lets out a deep and clearly frustrated breath through her nose. "We're trying to keep people from panickin', ain't we? Publically announcing something to an audience that may not even include who we're looking for isn't a great idea," she points out. "Also food as a bribe only really works when I actually taste things."

“Fine, I’ll just make it up to you another way then,” she sighs. “But... Navi does have a point. We don’t want a city crisis, and given your popularity...”

Yue sighs then smiles with a thumbs up, "Do you really think that I would state something like 'This is a relic, one that holds the city barrier together. Protecting us from the outside world. Hey baddies come and get it if you dare.'" she states the script like statement in the most sarcastic tone she could muster making sure to emphasize that if this is what you guys were thinking then you're kind of dumb. “I was going to make a video about showing off this pin that could resize clothing. It's a cool parlor trick and any bad guys that seem to know exactly what each of the relics are, would know that this is a relic. Also on the point of if they would watch the video, I have a big following in the city and people do talk about my videos, so while yes it is a long shot that the opponents would hear about this, it is still worth the shot. This way no one knows about any relics that shouldn't know, also they won't know about who the baddies are or heck about the barrier. There wouldn't be a city crisis or anything like that with this idea." 

“Okay, so stating you have a relic, but not flat out saying it is one,” Cecily followed along. “And the only people who would know about and make it known, that’s how we know the bait worked.”

"Well, the word would get around, and we would probably have to make a location known of where I'm live streaming or something... and we'll know if it works if the enemy shows up either at my home or on the stream, I guess really we'd have to wait and find out if it worked." Yue nods.

Navi stares at them. "...well, it's more thought-out than I thought it was, but it still seems stupid. Where would you be broadcasting from, first of all?"

"Unless you have a place, or we could use one of our houses," Maska rocks too far back and ends up flat on his back.

"Oh, I have a place we could use." Yue grins.

"Do y'all need me along or can I opt to NOT participate in this stupidity?"

"NO! You've been gone too long!" Maska struggles to get up a bit.

"It would be nice to have you along, Navi You're our friend, but if you don't want to join I won't force you." Yue says.

“We’ll need all the friends and help we can get,” Cecily says with a reassuring smile. “Please?”

Navi's eye twitches. "All right, all right, fine! I'll tag along on this stupid idea, but only so I can bail you idiots out when it backfires."

"Yay!" Oh he finally got up, "Thanks boo"

“We’ll owe you one if you have to,” Cecily smiles warmly.

"Can I use that to request that Maska never calls me 'boo' again?"

"Fine"

Yue does a quick hug on Navi, "Thank you, Navi. You're a true pal." she lets go with a smile.

"Let go of me," Navi bluntly says.

“Well in the downtime, might as well prepare for confrontation,” Cecily says, grabbing her sword and turning to everyone. “Need anything from me before I head out?”

"Let Eiriol know what's happening, then tell Willow I won't be able to make it to work for a bit, since I don't know how long this'll take."

“Sure then,” Cecily nodded. “Anyone else?”

"Nope, I'm good in fact I need to set up! See you around everyone." Yue smiles as she waves goodbye then leaves.

[[END OF JOURNAL SESSION]]

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

OH SHIT PART TWO

TERRI AND BILL AND KEN

My wife was telling me about the intoxicating smell that came from the packaging of Barbie dolls and Barbie accessories back in the day. I related that smell to the smell of a pack of baseball cards back in my day.

My father was a smoke eater. Neither the Barbie smell nor the card smell opened his olfactory doors to any extent.

He knew as much about dolls and cards as we knew about hooks and ladders.

Fifty years ago, I was losing the urge for cards. My sister, however, was in the ‘She Loves You’ stage of her Barbie mania.

She wanted/needed a companion for her Barbie. She needed a Ken and Christmas was approaching.

My father was all over it.

Pretty sure he told my Mom “I got this”.

Christmas arrived.

The gifts were under the tree.

One of the packages was a man wrapped rectangle.

Everybody knew what that rectangle contained under the ribbons and bows.

My parents distributed the gifts. Sweaters and shirts and socks came first while anticipation for the ‘good stuff’ built to a crescendo as the packages dwindled.

The good stuff was always at the end and the best thing was the last thing.

Finally, the only package left was the rectangle.

My sister was getting warmed up for that fake cry of surprise that we gave when we got what we wanted although we knew that it was coming.

My Dad, full of confidence and good cheer handed her the rectangle.

Terri opened the package slowly, savoring the moment. All eyes were upon her.

“ oh my God…thank you Sooo much…it’s a …..”

She hesitated to make sure…..the plastic didn’t smell right.

“ a Bill!?”

“You got her a Bill, Vinnie” asked my mother in subdued shock.

“yeah”, answered my Dad. The guy at the store told me Bill was better than Ken”.

He knew he was in hot water. Even though he was used to heat, This heat grew to stifling in a matter of seconds. There were no hoses available.

My sister, to her credit, refrained from dousing the fire with tears.

I’ll never forget the way she said “it’s a Bill.”

The celebration continued although smoke was filling the room.

As I recall the moment today, I can imagine what was going through my father’s mind when he bought the Bill.

To him, a doll was a doll and the fact that one doll looked exactly like the other doll and yet cost half as much made the Bill a much better doll than the Ken.

Hands down.

No doubt.

My sister guessed the inevitable solution so she wisely underplayed her reaction.

She took the Bill upstairs to meet Barbie.

The meeting was awkward, I found out later.

Neither Bill nor Barbie knew quite what to say.

Of course, my mother knew what to do.

The next day, Bill disappeared and Ken had a great first date with Barbie.

Everybody was happy. Including my Dad.

Over the next year. he would ask Terri about Bill.

One day, he walked into her room to watch his beautiful daughter play with her Barbie and her Bill.

My father looking at Ken and mistaking him for Bill said “Bill and Barbie look happy.”

My sister agreed.

So did Ken and Barbie.

FICTION IS THE NEW TRUTH

I'm pretending to be a writer. I'm also pretending to be the narrator in an ongoing story in which I am pretending to be one of the main characters created by the writer that I am pretending to be.

And most of it is true except, of course, for the lies which I tell to the characters that I pretend to create as a fictional writer and whom I pretend are my confidantes.

In return, I realize that the characters that pretend to confide in the character that I pretend to be are also telling the truth most of the time except when they lie to me which sort of defeats the purpose of them pretending to confide in me which is quite an amusing technique for the writer who is pretending to be me and as such is pretending to write about pretending to be amused by a technique that reeks of despair and mistrust.

It all goes back a few years ago to that moment when Jeff Bridges came to town and I pretended to be sitting next to a character who was pretending to be Stingray. Stingray was pretending to agonize over the integrity of taking a picture of Jeff Bridges after he had learned from a character pretending to be a blue haired old bitch that photography of any kind was prohibited.

Very near to that moment, Stingray realized that he was in fact The Dude that Bridges had tried to portray in The Big Lebowski and therefore he was a fictional character looking at the actor who had pretended to play him.

Of course, even that fictional character was me pretending to be him.

When it all became too much for Stingray, he spotted me pretending to be Thornton Krell sitting next to him. I pretended that Sting was perceptive enough to realize that the guy who was pretending to sit next to him was also the guy who was pretending to be the writer that had got Sting into this situation in the first place and who therefore probably knew how to get him the hell out of there.

And that's where fiction started to become the new truth. Remember?

It's all there in black and white if you go back to the beginning.

Or even better

Pretend to go back to the beginning and I'll pretend to believe your lies. I'll believe you understand the back story to all of this illusionary pretension and we'll start all over again.

And that's the truth

CALL ME STINGRAY

Clearly, I’m not as stupid as I appear to be or pretend to be, that wouldn’t be possible although it might be preferable to the marginal state of bliss that I occupy now as I try life with double elephant ears for pockets,while I wander from the concrete concession stand that I call home.

No, I’m not stupid. Ya see it’s a combination of the oversight committees of my internal legislation combined with poor intelligence gathering that is responsible for the current comedy of errors that I laughingly call my so called existence. It’s not Trump’s fault nor Pelosi’s fault that keeps me from dreaming the American dream.

I'm all about the Dream.

Dude is the American dream for me.

Dude is Jeff Bridges.

Big Lebowski.

Dude is my idol.

I love the Dude, man. When I found out the Dude was coming to town, I rubbed a couple of nickels together and headed to the Dryden Theater at the George Eastman house where Mr. Kodak himself screened movies for his guests until he decided that his work was done and he shot himself in the heart at this very house. Somehow, I had another double sawbuck so I took the tour of the house, checked out the elephant head in the lobby overlooking a giant organ and an array of flowers and gingerbread houses. I strolled into the exhibition hall and looked at the photos on display taken by Jeff Bridges.  Next, I bought my ticket for the flick that Dude was going to introduce in the theater.

I’m an hour early. I walk down to the front. Figure for the money I’m paying, I might as well get as much indoor times as I can. Rochester is one cold, dark, dangerous town. So, there I am sitting safely, minding my own business when out of nowhere, a gray hair walks up to me and spying my unhidden camera says in a real snotty voice..“You can’t take pictures in here.”

Wait a minute, I think to myself. I’m in the home of the guy who popularized photograpy, the guy who made the art available to the masses as well as the messes and here’s some drainer telling me I can’t take pictures even though I’m using a Kodak camera loaded with Kodak film and I’m wanting to take a picture of a guy because HIS photographs are on display in the exhibition section of the museum. In other words, I’m a photographer in the birthplace of photography trying to take a picture of a photographer and somebody tells me “no”.

I should be more specific about the drainer. She looked a lot like Barbara Bush in Bar Bar’s days as first lady with the shocking white hair. The imitation was breathtaking. Part of the breathtaking aspect was the “perfume” she was wearing. Imagine the smell of lilacs inside a trash bin, well that was the stench that was taking my breath away. I whiffed her before I saw her and by the time I saw her, she was in my face telling me what not to do.

God I hate that.

I had paid six bucks to get in and six bucks is a whole different ballgame to me than it is to the fake Barbara Bush. Six bucks has bought me four days and four nights of winter warmth at Movies10 which costs a buck to get into the show and once you’re in, if you play your cards right, you can hide out for twelve hours. Six bucks is what I paid to get a picture of Jeff Bridges. Six bucks should entitle me to that.

BarBar stalked away leaving a trail of fetid flower stank residue. The guy sitting next to me, another  early arrival, looked astonished or alarmed or whatever you call an expression that is a combination of thunderstuck bemusement and outrage. I'm no stranger to that expression.  I get and give that kinda look quite often

I had been talking to this guy a few minutes earlier and I can tell you what kind of guy he was. He was the kind of fiftyish guy who looks like he's pretending to be someone else and the person he's pretending to be is a shorter version of a fake Donald Sutherland.

He told me his name was Ice.

I don't need notes to remember stuff like this so I never take 'em.

I would hesitate to call Ice a dude although he was too old to be a nerd, to tall to be a dweeb, too small to be a doofus, too friendly to be a dork and too well informed to be a nimrod. I guess he was just a normal guy . Still, even he didn’t know what to make of the fake BarBar.

I said to Ice, “There ain’t no signs around here that say you can’t take a picture.”

Ice reached into his pocket and pulled out one of those fancy phones.

“I didn’t see any signs either,”  he said with a ‘we’re all in this together but you’re the one who got busted by a fake Barbara Bush as if you were Al Franken on a plane’ kind of wink.

I wondered if the photographic prohibition was posted on my ticket. I looked at the ticket which didn’t look much like a ticket,just a crumpled piece of  green paper featuring a large ADMIT ONE.

Nowhere on this ticket did I see anything about not taking pictures.

I showed Ice my ticket and he pulled out HIS ticket and goes right to the fine print.His ticket cost thirty five bucks and since we were sitting right next to one another the main thing his fancy ass ticket bought him was more writing because his ticket said that photography was prohibited at the request of the artist.

Let’s see…no prohibition on my later cheaper ticket …clear prohibition on Ice’s reserved more expensive ticket.  This pretty much sums up my life. Forget about being reserved. Show up early and the cheaper you live, the more freedom you have.

So me and Ice sat there like twin particles ready to collide at the edge of a black hole. Something was about about to happen but nobody knew exactly what. I wondered if perhaps Ice's last name was Jones.

We both got out our cameras and our contradictory tickets. I’m trying to feature the Dude prohibiting photos in a situation like this and I can’t see it.

One thing we know about the Dude…he abides.

I’m tawkin’ bout the Dude who always adhered to a pretty strict drug regimen to keep his mind, ya know, limber. What kind of limberminded photographer like Jeff Bridges would bar other photographers from taking pictures of El Duderino himself.

Also, I hoped to ask Jeff a few questions. Did he do his own bowling scenes and because of the whole brevity thing did the Dude prefer being called El Duderino, Duder, His Dudeness or simply the Dude or Dude?

Decisions were soon to be made.

Making decisions without accurate intelligence is like applying mathematical theories to non-mathematical facts. It’s like grabbing a pool rack and putting the rack into sink full of swamp water in the hopes of creating a liquid triangle or a fertle delta. It don’t work. I’ve tried versions of that experiment many times if not most of my life.

And once again, at the Dryden, I found myself trying to rack up innocent water although this time I was closer to Ice than to actual water. I’ve also learned that when you subtract mathematical theory from contradiction, you eventually wind up with paradox. Ice, although heavier than water floats upon it. Paradox means you face a crossroads of two clear ,equally balanced, oppositional ideas options that are uncompromisingly win/win or lose/lose in their execution.

Sink or swim

Contradiction also abides

Then, the curtain rustled and out comes the Dude himself in the person of Jeff Bridges. Dude looks exactly like he does on screen except a whole helluvalot smaller. As I decided whether or not to take his picure, at least ten guys ran down the aisle like stealth bombers in hoodies and beards, snapped off several rounds of flashes and then ran back down the aisle, out the door, into the parking lot, into their POS cars and down East Avenue towards Wegman’s before BarBar could even get her panty hose unwadded.

Dude didn’t look like he minded the snapping. I suppose it helped that the stealth crew snapped him before he even had a chance to give two shits.

Dude, as Jeff ,started to speak about how misunderstood his father Lloyd’s career had been as Sea Hunt became a mixed blessing for the Bridges family. The money was the good part. The bad part was that the viewing audience thought that Dude Dad Lloyd actually was a skin diver, actually was Mike Nelson the role his Dad had played on the teevee show. Dude said most of his life somebody has been coming up to him all teary eyed and saying “Thanks to your father, Mike Nelson, I’ve become a skin diver and all my children want to become marine bilogists or harbor masters.”

Imagine, confusing an actor with a role that he played

One of my childhood friends had the same confusion, sort of. I guess that’s why he started calling himself “Mike” and strapping a waste basket on his back, sticking a garden hose in his mouth, putting a pair of underpants over his face and a huge pair of rubber galoshes on his feet, he would “skin dive” by crawling around on his belly in his backyard in the rain until he reached the end of his hose and crawled back before his air ran out remembering all the while to keep the crawl slow as to avoid the bends.

Good thing my friend didn’t see High Noon when he was a kid, otherwise he might have grown up either a craven coward or a “boy not a man” as Katy Jurado had called Dude’s Dad when Dude Dad bailed out upon the return of Frank Miller as the clock ticked real time towards noon.

In real time at the Dryden, Dude was five feet away and looking straight at me, I was coming to a conclusion of my own. It was the flash in his face not the photo itself that the Dude objected to and wanted to minimize with the small print on the fancy ticket. Since my disposable didn’t have a flash, all I had to do was wait until Dude looked away for a second and I could snap his picture as I felt that I had the right to do. In all likelihood, the flashless picture wouldn’t come out anyway. Dude wouldn’t know that I had taken a picture that didn’t come out and everybody would have a win. Paradox confronted and overcome. Slick as snot on a doorknob.

While I waited Dude kept rappin’ and looking right at me while he spoke.

The way he was looking at me, reminded me of the phenomena of paired neurons. You see, when we watch somebody do something that we’ve done, paired neurons fire off in our brain similar to the neurons firing off in the brain of the person who is doing something that we’ve already done. If you play the guitar and then go and watch somebody else play the guitar, you are having a whole different neurological experience than a person who doesn’t play the guitar. And the guy playing the guitar can usually recognize you in the audience because he can feel your neurons firing in synch with his which makes him play the guitar better which makes you get more into his performance and fire more neurons which makes his guitar play even better and refire etc ad infinitum.

Anyways, this is the way that Dude was looking at me.

Certainly, I was firing ‘you are the Dude" neuronic vibes to the Dude but to my amazement he was firing back 'no YOU are the Dude’ neuros back at me.

I wondered if anybody else noticed.

I took a quick look over at Ice who was trying to pair up with the vibe and cop off it but he was unable to but he was taking notes, just as I suspected.

I turned my attention from Ice back to the Dude who took my glance at Ice as a vibe breaker rather than an icebreaker. Dude looked away.

My opportunity arrived.

I snapped my camera.

The camera didn’t flash.

Dude never noticed.

The whole transaction didn’t count.

Like an at bat that takes six pitches; two fouls and four balls.

And just like that, except for reflection and analysis minus thought and regret, it was pretty much over. Dude never looked back. He finished his spiel and took a seat in the middle of the theatre to watch the screening of his Dad's old flick. He didn't take any questions from the audience. Pretty sure he snuck out early.

My job was done as well. I didn't sere any sense in keeping my seat way over to the right of the screen in front of the vacated rostrum.

I went up to the balcony and found some degree of calm along with an opportunity to reflect using my feelings rather than my thoughts to process what my intuition had gathered.

Certainly, paired neurons were firing between the Dude and me. What was he doing that I do? What was he doing that I was going to do in the future? What had I done that he had done? What did he know that  I knew that only we two knew? What did I know that he NEEDED to know and was surprised to find out that I knew it and knew that he knew that he needed to know.

Or vice versa.

First, I  felt that it was the Big Lebowski film that had brought us together but my intuition told me that the neuron firing was too intense for that shallow of a conclusion. There is a big difference between a guy in a movie and a guy who's a fan of that movie, not that Jeff wasn't a fan of the Dude. Even I know that. I recognize the difference between illusion and delusion. Movies themselves are an illusion created by light and dark. Believing that movies are real and not reel is a delusion.

Dude had been in movies, I considered my whole life to be a movie or if not a movie, at least a book and if not a book at least a story and if not my WHOLE life than at least the last three hours of it or maybe my short term life was three hours within which a story could be noted, imagined, located, decided and written by somebody else and that was the purpose of my life and after that I would disappear and exist only in words that stay or in the memories of everyone who read those words.

If this was true, then I was a fictional character.

Now, one thing a movie star knows a lot about is fictional characterization. Stars earn their money playing them. When Jeff looked at me, his realization neurons fired off this message. "the guy in front of me with the crappy camera is LIVING what I do for a living. He's a fictional character in a story and he doesn't understand that a) he's fictional b) he's in a story c) as a fictional character he's got a lot more in common with the Dude than I do and d) this whole realization/connection/ neuron firing thing (myself included) is part of the story that this guy is the only fictional character within but also the unreliable narrator of.

That's exactly the moment that Jeff ricocheted my "you are the Dude" vibes to him with an even more powerful "no dude, you Are the Dude, dude vibe back at me just before I turned away and looked at Ice and snapped my flashless photo.

With that, I realized the truth of my situation. I was fthe fictional part of a factual story.

I was part of a faction.

I was and am a factoid like Thornton Krell.

That's my story folks although I didn't write it.

Ice Rivers wrote it.

He gets the credit or the blame.

GOLF

Golf took a gigantic leap forward with the invention of the hole.

Up to that point, golf was simply a lot of people with sticks and balls walking around some very lovely terrain doing all sorts of things with their sticks and balls.

Most of the people with balls were men who were trying to get the hell outta the house because the "woman's driving me bonkers etc." I'm sure it was all very spontaneous, creative, individualistic, time consuming, non-judgemental; usually comic in its pointlessness but occasionally tragic in its masculine temperamentalism.

Then somebody dug a hole in the middle of the environmental splendor. The idea was to try and use a stick to put the ball into the hole. Since putting the ball in the hole was the final act of each hole, the stick used to put the ball in the hole came to be known as the putter which originally rhymed with footer because sometimes a golfer in frustration would just kick the ball into the hole. Eventually the stick for putting the ball in the hole took on a new rhyme. Putter began to rhyme wiith both nutter and mutter. A lot of nutters muttered about their putters until they just kicked the ball in with the foot which was counted as a put not a putt.

In another example of the beauty and simplicity of our language amidst the wonder of rhyme, the word hole rhymes with the word goal. At first there was only one hole in the whole three mile walk and players counted the number of swings it took to finally put the ball into the hole. Putting was not as essential a skill ren as it is now.

The goal of the hole, although it increased judgmentalism and decreased individuality, proved to be a such a great idea that another goal was eventually dug into the ground and then another and another and another until somebody said "Damn, how many holes we need for this game?"

With our human tendency toward excess, 175 holes were dug before the guy who was digging the holes realized that he had enough of this and decided he would just as soon go home and listen to the troubles of the wife than dig any more of these goddamned holes which were a lot bigger than the  tidy holes that we have today.

The first holes were big enough to bury an eagle in case one of them got killed during the invasion of their air space by the men with sticks. It became a short-lived superfluous tradition because no one ever killed an eagle although many smaller birds were dispatched. Dispatching a small bird was considered a good thing and came to be known as a birdie.

 Eventually the size of the hole was reduced to the height and width of three golf balls which because they were made of wood and were almost impossible to hit into the air was a lot bigger than the golf balls of today.

After playing a couple rounds of 175 hole golf, it was determined that too many goals produced a "game" strikingly similar to no goals at all because everybody quit at different time and in various degrees of rage having long lost the number of swings needewd to reach the breaking point.

It was at this juncture that Lord Ferguson Calloway, came up with his revolutionary idea. " A half dozen isn't enough," thought the good Lord "and neither is a dozen. I got it. Of course, a dozen and a half is ideal."

And thus we arrived at the first course of eighteen holes.

Par is the standard for each hole.

Par is an exemplar representing skillfull reaction to the specific problems presented by each well defined goal/hole.

As each hole developed a standard level of difficulty measured by the number of swings required to put the ball into the hole, someone else came up with the idea of adding all the standards together and coming up with a standard for the entire course.

Shortly after coming up with the standards for each hole and then the entire course, some other wizard...perhaps Lord Bellamy Foxtrot decided to record all of those standards so that each golfer at the beginning of his walk had a clear idea not only of the goals of the "game" but also of the standards of each individual goal and each individual course. Individual holes from different courses could be compared as well as courses themselves.

The longest most difficult holes required five swings of the stick to put the ball into the hole.

Shorter holes required four swings.

The shortest holes required three swings.

Since most courses contain four holes that allow five swings to meet the standard, four holes that allow three swings to meet the standard and 10 holes that require a standard number of swings to be four. Add that all up and most courses have a par of 72 swings to put the ball into eighteen holes.

A score of less than 72 on most courses is considered under par.

Under par is good because it means it took less swings to complete the course than the standard requires.

A score of 72 means, a round of golf played exactly to the standards of the course.

A score of 73 or above means over par which indicates a playing of the eighteen holes with a number of swings more than needed by better players to complete the course.

Each hole is its own measure of standards.

If the goal is achieved on each hole by taking one less swing than the standard, that effort is called a "birdie".

If it takes 4 swing to put the ball into the hole of goal that has been established as needing 4 swings to complete. that effort is known as a "par".

If it takes a swing more than the standard for putting the ball into an individual hole, that effort is known as a "bogey".

Two strokes over is a "double bogey"

Three strokes over is a "triple bogey"

Four strokes over par on a par four is known as a "snowman"

Five strokes above par has no general name but there is a name for anyone who regularly needs more than five extra shots  and there is a term. That name is "duffer" and that term is “pick up the goddamned ball and either get off the course or go on to the next hole.”

Most of us are duffers in this world.

It takes us a lot more time to finish a task than it takes other folks to finish that same task.

We keep reinventing the square wheel.

Not only does it take us more time but the task we completed is a shittier version of the task completed by people who possess what I have come to know as "talent".

This lack of talent however usually doesn't stop us from trying to achieve the impossible while ignoring the possible.

Not too long after the invention of "the hole", another great moment in golf arrived; the invention of the green. The green is the closely mowed area immediately surrounding the hole. If the hole stands for the essential goal then the green stands for the important goal, a more general place to aim. To reach the green predicts looming realization of essential pursuit.

A century or two after the invention of the green, another great moment occurred; the invention of miniature golf. Let's skip the whole driving and fairway thing. We're not as interested in the journey as we are in the destination. We read the last chapter of a mystery novel first so we know who did it all along and who cares about anything else?

Miniature golf is a concentration of essential goal with a diminishing interest in  important goals. As it turned out, many people became activated by the single minded pursuit of the essential and thus the world dicovered a new use for  miniature windmills, aquarioums filled with enamel fish and plaster dinosaurs holding fake candy canes.

Shotrly after the concept of truncated activation peaked with miniature golf, some true star invented yet another form of abbreviation namely the "driving range". This one deals with the other end of the spectrum and once again gets rid of the "hole" as history once again rhymes with itself in a colossal retreat. Here the golfer can exercise a specific strategy, while sacrificing other important activities including the essential goal.

Both of those innovations diminished the concept of "walking" which at one time (before the invention of the hole) was in fact the primary goal of the game. Unless you count the husband's goal of getting the hell out of the house and the wife's goal of getting him the hell out of the house yet keeping him away from the harlots. Everybody used to win.

Miniature golf requires some walking while the driving range requires only getting out of the car and waking to the tee, usually grabbing a beer on the way. This means that the guy gets home before either he or his wife wanted him too or he stretches it out by stopping off somewhere and sometimes with a "golf instructor"

Shortly after the appearance of driving ranges and miniature golf courses, another synthesis reared its head. This manifestation included some walking, some iron driving, an important goal  (The green) and an essential goal (the hole). This innovation became known as par three golf as the fairways were shorter and narrower and the expectation is to be able to reach the essential goal with two swings and a putt..

Even with this myriad of manifestations, golf has remained a non-essential activity. Therefore, people discover or ignore the game based on their own interest and time table. Some folks activate through miniature golf. Others activate through the driving range. Still others activate because of the par threes. It's imposible to choose betweeen the game of golf and these three activators other than for purely personal reasons including the need to go "shopping" by the wife and the need to get the hell out of here by the husband who fully realizes how much his wife cherishes her private time.

I'm going to step away from the history of golf, like a pro who hears a fart in the gallery.

I'll tell you about MY game. Since it's my game, it's my rules. This is why I prefer to play alone.

When I do play with someone else, the game is best ball. My partner and I are playing against the course by co-operating with one another.

Here's how it goes; my partner drives.

His drive is straight and true and right down the middle.

I hit my drive straight into the woods.

Together we go look for my ball.

We find it and we head to HIS ball, the Best ball...hence the name of the game.

We take our second shots.

His shot lands in the trap.

My shot lands on the green.

We retrieve his ball from the sand.

We putt from my ball on the green.

My approach putt is short. He knocks his putt in.

We have a birdie...The hole was a par four and we took three strokes to get it in.

We're pulling for each other on every shot.

Best ball.

When I play alone, I start out with a mulligan.

That means sometime during the round, I won't count a shot that I hit. That non-shot is called a mulligan.

I only allow two putts of the first green.

I'm not warmed up yet so...two's the limit.

When I hit the ball into a trap, I just pick the ball up and underhand it out of the trap.

If I hit the ball into the water, I go to the place where my ball hit BEFORE it went into the water and I hit it from there.

Every horrible shot I hit, I find solace in the reality that no matter how bizarre the shot...I've definitely hit worse.

If  the ball gets lost in the woods, I play as if it went into the water.

I never forget that I'm here to relax and now here to recover.

I usually have my camera with me and I take pictures.

I keep score in my head. If I score five on each hole that's 45 as I only play nine holes at a time.

45 is pretty good.

That night as I go to sleep, I replay all of the forty five shots in my head which usually puts me to sleep.

Sometimes, I'm out on the course all by myself with no one else in sight.

At those moments, baby I'm a rich man.

Today, I'm a richer man. I won't be alone. I'm playing a best ball threesome. Because we have three guys hitting every shot, we'll have a lower score than any of us would have had if we had played alone.

My partners are Deke and Crown.

Deke, Crown and I have done a lot together.

We did the great American road trip in my truck from the Atlantic to the Pacific. We camped out almost every night under the stars down by the river.

We visited the Ponderosa Ranch in Nevada and got drunk in  the saloon where the Cartwrights drank.

We played blackjack every day and learned to count cards only to lose everything one endless night in Lake Tahoe.

We got kicked out of Candlestick Park.

We've been to the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness and the Belmont.

We've chilled with Muhammad Ali.

We've been through births, deaths, wedding, divorces, sickness, health and every stop in between.

We've climbed mountains and worked on Horse farms.

When Crown was an MP, he arrested Jane Fonda.

Deke got married at Graceland

Deke and Crown were there the night that Pete Rose broke the record for all time hits.

Crown and I saw Secretariat win at Belmont.

Deke helped my dying father into the ambulance in which he died.

Crown had a heart attack at the Kentucky Derby and since then has had colon cancer and open heart surgery.

Nobody can plank like Deke.

One thing we had never done before is play golf.

Two years ago, it looked like Crown wasn't going to survive his illnesses.

Last year, I had my moments of doubt.

Deke is the youngest of us and still is in great shape.

He doesn't owe anybody anything. Everything is paid up. His house. His car. His college loans. His credit cards. Everything.

So we've lived this great life together but until yesterday we had never played golf together.

Deke hadn't lifted a club in 10 years.

Crown, like me, played only 27 holes last year.

I can't lift the ball out of the hole anymore which explains why I NEVER miss a five foot putt.

Crown can't get the ball out of the  hole either. At least he thought he couldn't. Yesterday on the third hole, he reached down and plucked it out.

Way to go, Johnny

Now, because Deke is still flexible enough to pick the ball up out of the hole, we had no excuse to take gimmes on any putt. That killed us as we missed one five footer after another over and over and over and over ad museum.

We played amazingly from tee to green and from a distance might have passed as younger men but when we got on the green......fuggedaboudid.

Of course we used carts as this is the reason that God invented them.

And brothers

And friends

The sky was blue, the clouds beautiful. We talked about life. We laughed. We rejoiced. We remembered. We were present with our eyes on the ball.

It was worth the wait.

Golf they say is a sample of sorrow

A walk in the park scarred by frustration

Then we hit THAT shot...come back tomorrow

For more sorrow amidst celebration.

We retain our most ironclad of grips

We visualize keeping elbow tight

We take dead aim and we let er' rip

When we lift our eyes we see ball in flight.

When we lift our head a little too soon

Too anxious to see the ball in the air,

We won't see the sky, the sun or the moon

We'll see our ball on the tee sitting there.

We promise to always keep our head low

Then we strike a beauty and on we go.

SALAMANCA FUNDAMENTALS

My former brother-in-law Tim and I were great friends before both our marriages crashed. Tim was a lumberjack, a master with ax and chain saw.

One afternoon, Tim and I were working on a case behind the cabin that he had literally carved out of the forest for himself and my first wife's sister deep in the hills of Salamanca. Somehow or other after about ten beers apiece, the subject stumbled towards golf, specifically the origin of the game, more specifically the origin of golf clubs and finally the origin of the clubs called woods/ woods called clubs.

I speculated that in its most primitive incarnation, cavemen just used the all purpose clubs they had for survival, courtship and domestic tranquility. These clubs were made of wood.

Tim liked that idea. Next thing I knew Tim had his chain saw fired up and was cutting into a log. Wood chips flew everywhere as  Tim transformed the log into an L shaped object, handed it to me and said "here's a wood."

I held the club in my hand. The "wood" weighed about seven pounds. I told Tim the club was a little too heavy. Tim fired up the chainsaw again and trimmed about two pounds off the club while shaping a bit of a handle on top and leaving most of the weight on the bottom.

He handed me the reshafted club and I took a few swings beteeen a few swigs. The club felt great but what I wondered  was what did the first golfers hit with the first club. As we worked a little deeper into the case, we began to speculate on that problem.

Once again, Tim fired up his chain saw this time transforming another piece of wood into a solid kinda round object about tthe size of a baseball. Tim handed me the object and said "here's your ball."

As I looked at the "ball" I was amazed to observe that an object with so many flat sides could resembles something round. The invention of the ball caused more casework and label laughter.

Here's where I made my only contribution. I went over to the nearby woodpile, found a sturdy splinter, handed it to Tim and said "here's our tee". Tim took out his jack knife and whittled a roundish, flattish hollow at the top of the splinter. We put the "ball" on the 'tee" and returned to the case.

At this point our wives, annoyed by prolonged absence from the cabin , burst upon the scene and were immediately aggravated by what they saw. In the midst of her rage, Tim's wife grabbed the "club" that was leaning against a tree, walked over to the "teed" up "ball" and furiously and unknowingly hit the greatest golf shot I had ever seen with the first and only swing of her life. "The "ball" flew twenty yards, bounced off a couple of rocks, rolled a few feet and disappeared from sight.

Fueled by the combination of apology, concern and amusementthat most men use to confront aggravated spouses, Tim and I went to look for the "ball" as the sisters stormed back into the cabin muttering something about "five more minuted" and "wastes of time".

The ball had somehow found its way into a “hole” dug at some time long ago by some person or something. The "hole" was almost the exact size of the "ball". Up till that point, this was the first hole in one that I had ever seen.

FACTION IS THE NEW FICTION

As our president demonstrates each and every day, alternate truths are just a click away. Trump has already presented more than a thousand versions of the truth and since our country is based and was founded on the concept of a fantasy land, we get to choose how many of these alternatives we will swallow to determine whether or not we are red or blue with white still being a wild card.

Currently, we are trying to interpret the alternate truths that have led to the "invasion" of immigrants. Red is more convinced of invasion than blue. Red folks are even more convinced of invasion by whites and they have the history to prove it which everybody kinda ignores and for which ignorance many a casino has been built and many tobacco products sold.

We don't really know who shot either Kennedy. Even Helter Skelter begins to wobble as yet another alternate reality by Vincent Bugliosi to avert attention from Hollywood. Oh and OJ was not guilty until he was.

As usual, Tarantino got ahead of the game with his altered visions of the past including the death of Hitler (Inglorious Basterds) and the once upon a time cancellation of Helter Skelter by Leo and Brad.

All of this alteration of history can be summed up in the word "faction", Faction is both more and less than fiction and non-fiction. Faction is the intentional fictionalization of non-fiction in order to tell a better story. One of the ways to achieve faction is to have the story itself written by a fictional character If the author isn't real neither is the story no matter how closely it sticks to the facts. If the author is "real" person, she/he can grab the faction mantle by the utilization of an unreliable narrator.

Holden Caulfield admits to being a liar, right off the bat.

The Girl On The Train was drunk.

So faction is reality filled with interesting, conspiratorial lies.

Faction is the new fiction as well as the new non-fiction.

All it takes is a fraction of fiction to turn non-fiction into faction

And a fraction of non-fiction to turn fiction into faction.

Then all you need is some characters and action

And ya know what else helps a lot

Some rudimentary semblance of plot.

And for a dash of innovation

Add some internal motivation.

Who cares about "truth". Truth is 'soo' two years ago and it was shakey  then.

We don't need it.

Fuggedaboudid. We got faction and I know you love it so I'm gonna give you some more.

Because I'm neither real nor reliable although, unfortunately, I'm sober.

MAGIC POISON

Meanwhile, I've been poisoning a patch of innocent pea pods just to see what would happen to the peas.

Other pods, I've left alone just to give those routine peas a chance.

Naturally I've been raising almost as many caterpillars as I've been poisoning pods.

Just to see what might happen to the moths.

Most of the caterpillars that I've raised are immune to the poison that I've been putting in the pods.

They can eat all the poison they want and live to eat more on another day.

God knows that there's enough poison to go around.

The main reason I've been poisoning the pods, besides seeing what might happen to the peas, is to see what might happen to the spiders.

Ya see eventually the caterpillars that eat the poison peas will turn into moths.

These moths will look exactly like the moths that emerge from the caterpillars who ate the unpoisoned peas.

They will look the same and maybe even taste the same but the immune caterpillars who ate the poison peas will have a different truth when they become moths then will the other batch of moths whose pea digestion was restricted to the non-poisonous peas back in their respective caterpillar days.

"Different truth, different consequence" as Aristotle might have whispered to Krell if they had ever met. Of course, the likelihood of fictional meeting non-fictional is always very poor no matter what happens to the spiders, if ya smell what I'm cooking.

And there's a lot cooking in California.

Too bad we couldn't have doused the fires of California with the floods of Katrina and called the whole thing a wash.  

But so much for wishful thinking, even thought it is my favorite defense mechanism ( especially when the perceived threat is emotional rather than physical)

Let's return to the practical and the poisoning of peas.

What will happen to the spider?

Since all the caterpillars looked exactly alike whether or not they had eaten the peas from the poisoned pods, they would eventually grow into identical moths that I could throw into spider webs just to see what the spiders would do.

Moths fly into spider webs all of the time whereas the odds of a caterpillar showing up in a spider web are roughly those of a turtle sitting on a fence post.

I had to make sure that the caterpillars weren’t gonna turn into butterflies. Butterflies are too strong for most webs. I made sure to use the fuzziest of caterpillars. Fuzzy happens to be my nickname because my last name is Fuzzier

Both the turtle and the caterpillar would need help to get to the top of the fencepost or the silk of the web and spiders are a lot smarter than fenceposts.

A fencepost ain't gonna worry about how a turtle got upon it wheras a spider might have some concern about how a caterpillar got into the web. The spider might be a little suspicious.

Since spiders are smarter than fenceposts, suspicion is a form of intelligence.

Nothing breeds suspicion like jealousy.

Nothing breeds jealousy like love.

Love always begins with attraction.

Attraction begins with notice.

On their way to delectable mothhood, two fuzzy little caterpillars noticed one another. The male caterpillar was named Yar. The female was named Asil.

Asil was the more mature of the two which meant she thought more about reproduction than did Yar who was concentrating on chewing and crawling.

How much did Asil think of reproduction?

Let's put it this way, she was jealous of fireflies.

Asil had no idea that the peas she was eating were from the poison pod patch, unlike the peas that Yar was digesting.

Yar's peas came from a totally different patch.

I know this for a fact because I'm the guy who personally poisoned the pods and I'm the guy who determined which caterpillars got the poison peas and which ones didn't.

And I kept em separated.

I'm also the guy who fed the caterpillars.

I'm the guy who bred the caterpillars.

Like most breeders, I'm a feeder.

I knew lots of things that the caterpillars didn't know.

I'm a man for God sake. Let's hope I got more brains than a caterpillar.

Here's what I knew that the caterpillars didn't know.

I knew that they were immune to the poison peas that they didn't know they were eating.

I also knew the purpose of their lives and why they were bred and fed in the first place.......

Just to see what would happen to the spider.

Although Asil was jealous of fireflies, she didn't love fire flies.

A caterpillar loving a firefly would be sick.

Asil wasn't jealous of fireflies because they could fly.  Asil knew that someday, somehow she too would be able to fly.

Asil wasn't jealous of fireflies because of their fire because Asil sensed something that almost everybody senses unless they're sitting around a campfire.

The sparks coming from a campfire are very different than the fireflies flying near the campfire.

What appears to be fire in fireflies is really a mixture of luciferin and luciferase.

The resulting mixture is not a fire.

Fires, like truth, emanate light and heat.

Firefly fire contains no heat, only light.

Sort of like compassion.

Asil wasn't interested in truth or compassion.

Asil was interested in breeding and feeding.

Asil was more developed than Yar who was interested only in feeding.

No, Asil wasn't jealous because she loved fireflies.

Asil was jealous of the way that fireflies loved fireflies.

Fireflies flash when they're hungry or when they want sex. Every flash is a semaphor of desire either to feed or breed.

In this scenario, the female waits in the weeds untl she is luciferinated for a half second by the flash of the male flying above her.

Asil had seen this seductive behavior frequently from fireflies.

She thought it was cool.

Cool as a fire without heat yet hot as a fire without light.

FUZZY’S BLUES

I've watched the caterpillars grow into moths. I've picked out the two moths that look the best. I'm gonna throw them one at a time into a spider web that I've found. In the meantime, I want to sing you folks some blues before we all find out what the spider's gonna do. Maybe I don’t have the voice or the strum of Genesee Johnny but here we go.....

Well, it looks like it's come down to the final two

Yes, it looks like it's come down to the final two

One looks at the other and says "up to me and you".

I don't know if caterpillars have names.

I don't know if caterpillars have names.

If they don't they oughta cause they both look just the same.

I've chosen the spider, I've approved her spinning.

I've chosen that spider, I'm down with her spinning

The game is sudden death, I can't see two moths winning.

Both of the pillars have grown up to be moths.

Both caterpillars have grown up to be moths.

They're gonna get all caught up in a game of webtoss.

The lady caterpillar's chock full of poison peas.

Yeah, the female pillar all fulla poisoned peas

Yet the moth she became ain't suffereing no disease.

The male caterpillar of poison peas is free

The caterpillar man of poison peas is free.

There's a load of silk underneath the apple tree.

I'll conclude my experiment when I'm done with strummin.

I'll end my experiment when I finish this strummin'

Spin on Mona, Your poison trick or treats a comin'.

I'm gonna have some rum and apple cider too

Gonna drink some rum and suck some cider too

Then we'll find out what the spider's gonna do.

EVENTUALLY

Of course, the caterpillars eventually became moths. When they took wing, Asil became Lisa and Yar became Ray.

By the time they became reacquainted, Ray's scent brushes were loaded with alkaloid. Lisa could smell that from ten feet away. Lisa was sitting on a wire perch chemically treated with poison peas. The chemical treatment lured Lisa to the wire and Lisa lured Ray.

Lisa had already lured a dozen others to her in her four days of fertility but there was something about Ray that suggested that his alkaloid package would be the package selected for warrior offspring.

Maybe it was his size. The bigger the moth, the more the alkaloid. The more the alkaloid, the more the male moth advertises his reproductive eligibility.

This is the message Ray was sending to Lisa. 'Look at all the alkaloid I'm carrying. I get this from the flowers. If you want your kids to be able to gather a lot of alkaloid from the flowers make sure that their old man brings a load of alkaloid to the bargain'.

Ray looked big and he smelled big.

Ray was a regular Mothra.

Ray hovered over the wire.

Lisa called to Ray.

Lisa called with her scent.

Although Ray was not a butterfly, he did know how to flutter by. He did just that.

His scent brushes came out when he got in range.

Once, twice, thrice, in less than a second.

Lisa was impressed.

She accepted Ray.

The rest is moth love, too private and exquisite to describe.

Even on a weekend when practically no one is looking.

Except just a few who wonder what the spider's gonna do.

Mona the spider is fastidious. She knows how to use her silk. Her silk will be far less useful if it becomes cluttered so Mona spends most of her visible time cleaning the debris from her web.

The more debris in the web, the less clear the signal becomes when something of value is caught up in the silk.

Mona can not see all of her web so she waits between spinnings and cleanings. She stays out of sight and waits for a signal.

Her web is filled with silk spun of different levels of water content. The more water in the silk, the more elastic. The most elastic silk is in the middle of her web. These are the waterworks. When prey falls into the web, they are confronted with mysterious elasticity far beyond rubber.

Caught in the center of the silk, the prey in its struggles puts very little tension on the web. Every attempt at escape only results in tighter wrapping.

Mona reads the level of tension. She has her escape routes well designed when the tension gets too high. Mona only feeds upon appropriate tension.

All the prey can do is pray.

Mona isn't looking for a fight.

Mona is looking for food.

Even on weekends, when things are so quiet elsewhere.

I know all about Mona but not yet enough.

I'm gonna use Lisa and Ray to find out what the spider is gonna do.

And Lisa will be a momma soon, if she survives the tension.

Moth tossing is a skill. I've had a lot of practice. I'm a professional. I wouldn't try this at home if I were you.

I kept the two moths that I had raised from caterpiilars and poisoned or not poisoned in two separate vials. I took the bigger of the two out first. I knew he was the male. I figured that with his strength, I would have to get him closer to the center of the web. I grabbed him by his wings and tossed him.

My hours of practice paid off. He landed right smack dab in the middle of the web.

I opened the second vial and removed the female. I wanted to get her off to the side of the web, closer to the spider. I grabbed her wings and tossed.

Perfecto.

The female landed off to the right, very close to where I knew the spider was hiding. The male flailed more then the female but the elasticity at the center was greater. He got all wrapped up in the web. His strength and struggle didn't cause much tension on the web. The elastic web was more water than fire.

The female landed on a portion of the web that was more adhesive than elastic. She would have generated more tension on the web if she weren't so tightly stuck to her spot.

I couldn't help but notice that they seemed to glance at one another intermittently as they tried to escape. Each of them had a clear look at the fate of the other. I wondered if they wondered what the spider was going to do.

I wondered if they even knew that spiders existed. I wondered if they were afraid. I wondered if they were sympathetic towards each other.The male got even more wrapped up when he realized the female was in a predicament. Was he trying to rescue her?

Of course the possibility existed that they thought this was play, perhaps even foreplay.

I know I wasn't playing.

I know there is such a thing as spiders.

I wondered what this spider was going to do.

Mona was middle aged.

She was six months old.

Every spider month is equivalent to seven years of human life. In human terms Mona was forty two. The last of her spiderlings had balooned away. Her mate died right after mating with Mona. Such is nature.

If you've seen Spiderman, you know what balooning is. The spiderling projects a single thread of silk which sticks to a nearby object. The spider then swings to that object and baloons again. Depending on how far they want to get away from their mother, the spiderling continues to baloon and baloon.

As a mother, Mona paid attention to the spider parental creed. Make sure the spiderlings get webs and wings. This creed meant that it was important for each spiderling to feel a sense of security so that they would be willing to leave the web and establish a home of their own. The stronger the sense of web the stronger the sense of wing. The more that a spiderling loved his mother's web, the further he would distance himself from it when he finally balooned. The further away he got, the less competition his web would be for the web of his momma.

Mona's spiderlings were far, far away. They had been well raised and they loved their mother.

Mona was an empty webber.

She was acutely aware of the double disturbance in her web as she sat in her den. Her experience had taught her that it was very unlikely for two disturbances to occurr so simultaneously. She figured the commotion could be traced back to one of two possibilities. The disturbances, soon to become prey, then to become liquid then to become food, must have been romantically involved. That's why they were fluttering so near to one another.

And flying blind.

Or else the Giant had delivered them.

The Giant had been feeding Mona since she was a girl, before the mating and the spiderlings and all that jazz. She had grown to trust the Giant.

Most urgent, however, was the hunger.

I should be more specific.

Mona wouldn't take a nibble. Mona would take a suck.

Before sucking, Mona would inject either Ray or Lisa or both with venom that would turn their insides into liquid.

She would go back to her den and wait for the innards of her prey to liquify. Then she would begin to suck. Sometimes, the sucking took place right out in the open. Other times, Mona would take her silk wrapped supper into her den where she could suck in private.

I've tried to imagine what it must be like to feel my insides turning into liquid. I had food poisoning once and that did some serious liquefying.

Maximum diarrhea mixed with technicolor yawning.

I have experienced emotional liquification more frequently than physical liquification over the course of my life. When I am injected with the contempt of another person, my convictions tend to liquify. Contempt is a powerful venom. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Resentment is the natural reaction to contempt.Here's the equation to avoid.

You have contempt for me, I have resentment for you. Or vice versa.

If turning someones insides into liquid can be viewed as a physical manifestation of contempt, then I suppose the prey being liquified must be pretty resentful.

Resentment resembles jealousy and jealousy is the green eyed monster that mocks the meat it feeds upon.

Contempt is an eight eyed, eight legged empty webbed widow who injects whatever she has trapped with a poison that turns their convictions into liquid so she can suck them dry and ignore their resentment.

Does contempt poison itself when it inadvertently sucks up poisoned convictions concealed within resentment?

I wondered if I would be able to pick up on any of these emotions or answer any essntial questions as I patiently sat and watched and wondered what the spider might do.

PALP FRICTION

I play the guitar a little bit.

I drink a little bit.

Sometimes I drink a little bit before I play the guitar.

Sometimes people tell me I sound better on the guitar after I've drank a little bit.

I'm pretty sure I don't sound any better but somehow when I play, I make the people who listening to me want to drink.

The more I play, the more they drink.

The more they drink, the better I sound.

So I drink even more so I can sound even better so they can drink more because I sound better which makes me want to drink more so I can sound better which will make them drink more which will make me drink more so that.......

Ya know, the usual.

I've often wished that I could drink while I was playing the guitar not just before or after. I've wondered if that would actually make my guitar playing sound even better to the folks who were listening because unlike me when I play, they are actually drinking whlle they are listening whereas I am playing under the disadvantage of not  drinking at the same instant that I am playing which puts me a little out of synch with the drunks who are listening.

I wish I had a couple of extra hands coming out of my mouth.

If I did, I could pour the beer down my throat while at the same time playing the guitar with my other two hands.

Spiders have two little hands coming out of their mouths.

Those two little hands are called palps. Spiders use those pulps to hold on to whatever they are going to sink their fangs into. Sometimes they use the palps to make changes in the thread of their webs. They grasp the thread with their palps and amend the web with thier mouths.

Spiders don't play the guitar unless of course, they happen to be Spiders from Mars.

The moths are in the web.

I've got a cold beer in my hands.

I'm sipping the beer and wondering what the spider's gonna do.

Let's remember, the moth nearest the spider was the moth who ate the poisoned peas.

I figured that the spider would go to the nearest meal. The spider would nibble on the pregnant moth with the poisoned peas. The spider would realize that something was wrong. The spider would choose one of her escape routes. She would return to her corner.

She would feel weak. She would ascertain from the vibes coming through the silk that the meal furthest away was too strong for her to overwhelm. She would wait until her queasiness subsided. Then she would return to the near meal and nibble a little bit more.

I knew something that she couldn't possibly know. The meal she was nibbling on was poisonous. Every nibble would make her weaker.

I didn't know who would die first, the poisoned spider or the moths struggling in the web.I wondered if it was the silk that killed the moth or was it the spider. If the spider died first, I would free the moths from the web.

I figured the whole deal might take a day after the first taste. This is what I thought the spider might do.

I waited to find out what the spider would actually do.

SIX YEAR DAY

Every day in the life of a moth is like six years in the life of a human.

Lisa was six days old in real time which means thirty six years old in human time.

Lisa had spent the first twenty four years of her life in heat. During those years she had rubbed plenty of abdomens while being embraced by many a clasper.

Twice she had felt threatened during a momentary mating session. Moths are pollinators not fighters. When the choice comes to fight or flight, the moth will choose flight. Lisa and her lover took off as one, the claspers coming off his abdomen holding her close even as they fluttered away, conjoined amorously, from the perceived danger.

Lisa remembered both of those occasions. They were thrilling and embarrasing at the same time. Even though they were memorable, the couplings were meaningless. Lisa and her mate were both distracted while flying away from danger and although they completed their intercourse, lack of purposeful, reproductive concentration assured that neither coupling would be fertile.

In human life, this is known as a flying fuck. Of course humans can not fly and will very often choose fight over flight when threatened. The human term "flying fuckk" refers to not paying proper attention to an endeavor due to a lack of committment in that project.

When Lisa finally met Ray, they both had a chance to concentrate. Ray was a big moth to begin with but he transferred ten percent of his body mass, in the form of spermatazoa, into Lisa.

This transfer proved to be fertile.

Lisa, in the web, was very pregnant.

And loaded with nutrients.

And poison.

Ray had struggled with liquidity and silk before. He didn't think it was such a bad thing. Ray held no resentment for that struggle. As a matter of fact, he saw his situation as another shot at renewal.

Remember, Ray had ben Yar.

Dejavu all over again.

When Yar, the poison free caterpillar, had reached his full size, he had already prepared to complete metamorphosis, the radical change in body form that turns a caterpillar into a moth.  Yar had pupated  himself to a twig.  To anchor himself to his twig, Yar had spun a button of silk from his mouthparts, then grasped the silk button with his cremaster, a clawlike structure at the end of the abdomen. Hanging from the twig, Yar had shed his skin to reveal the pupa underneath. Before becoming a pupa, Yar had spun a cocoon of silk around his body.  The silk of the past had protected Yar from predators and from drying out.

Silk was neither an enemy nor a stranger.

Within the pupa, Yar's tissues and organs had broken  down into a soupy liquid, and then reassembled into the tissues and organs of Ray. Groups of cells known as the imaginal discs remained complete, and Ray's mighty structure took shape as directed by these cells.

When Ray's development was complete, he had split the pupal shell and crawled out. Then he had unfolded his wings which pumped blood into his veins. Ray remembered spreading his wings until they dried and hardened. Ray flew away and eventually mated with Lisa.

And now he found himself in silk once again.

Ray was confident this was just another stage of maturity.

He would emerge from this silk and fly away again.

Ray thought he was turning into a bird.

He looked forward to spreading new wings.

Ray had no idea that spiders even existed so he didn't wonder at all what Mona would do.

Ray had changed a lot since the days of Yar.

Ya might say he matured. He was no longer thinking primarily about crawling and feeding, he was thinking now about flying and breeding. He suspected the web was another form of cocoon which meant it was another stage in development.

Another passage.

Another promotion.

Ray was happy that Lisa was involved in the same passage, the same struggle, the same silk at the same time in the same place.

Ray began to understand love.

He and Lisa would become birds together. They would build a nest on some distant chapparal and have babies. He would become Ayr. Lisa wpould become Sail. Together they would sail through the air until they found the acre or two of brushy teritory which would be their secret homeland.

They would be secure.

They would be mates for life. They would never wander from their nest. Their nest would be a compact cup of grass, fibers and bark bound with silk.

Each day, they would make the rounds of their territory, right up to the river. They would feed, bathe, take care of their young and fend off interlopers. Sail would be Ayr's constant companion. They would take delight in bouts of mutual preening as they took care to inspect and arrange each other's plumage. By night, they'd huddle together against the chill. They'd face in the same direction so near together that they would appear as a single ball of feathers from which tails, wings and feet protruded.

They would always be together.

They would stay out of sight.

They would be heard more than they would be seen but they wouldn't be heard very often.

They'd live in a tree fifteen feet off the ground when they weren't sailing through the air.

Ray was thinking about Ayr and Sail when Mona sank her fang into him.

Love hurts.

After the puncture, while his insides were turning to liquid and just before his final breath Ray, still expecting to become a bird, thought his final thought. This is what he thought:

It could have been worse.

Lisa, on the other hand, continued to be more mature than Ray. Lisa had moved beyond contemplations of breeding and feeding and had moved towards contemplations of death and deliverance but not in that order.

Lisa observed the death of Ray. She felt no sadness.Ray had done his job. She still needed to do hers. She needed to deliver the eggs that she and Ray had created.

She knew she was going to die.

Ray, in his immmaturity, had considered himself immortal with death merely another stage of metamorphasis.

Ray's immaturity prevented him from the fear of death.

Lisa was afraid to die.

Lisa knew that her life was incomplete.

Lisa had learned what a spider is and the part a spider can play in deathmaking.

Lisa knew she was next.

Her eggs would die with her.

It couldn't get any worse.

The spider returned and rappeled down the silk towards the moth that I had raised on poisoned peas.

Poison's a funny thing. Poison consists of chemicals. After we ingest poison, our liver uses enzymes to convert those chemicals into poisons. If we don't have the enzymes that convert the chemicals into poisons than the chemicals within the poison are of no threat to us.

The moth was missing the enzymes that would turn the chemicals from the peas into poison but the spider possessed those enzymes in spades.

If the spider ate the moth whose innards she had already liquified, there would be no problem.

If the spider ate he second moth, there would be a big problem.

Death by poison for Mona

Death by liquidity for Lisa.

Choices, decisions, consequences.

The spider was all fangs and palps.

The moth was all vulnerability except for the wild card of hidden toxicity.

The spider decided that she didn't want the moth. She backed off. She began cutting. She took the thread with her palps and put it in her mouth. She cut a perfect window in the web with her sharp fangs.

The moth fell free from the web.

The moth took flight.

The spider returned to her watch.

I found out what the spider would do.

Lisa delivered.

Spiders will do what Mona did.

They recognize poison when they sense it and hungry is better than dead, especially with delicious Ray a goner in the silk.

After the puncture, while his insides were turning to liquid and just before his final breath Ray, still expecting to become a bird, thought his final thought. This is what he thought:

It could have been worse.

Lisa, on the other hand, continued to be more mature than Ray. Lisa had moved beyond contemplations of breeding and feeding and had moved towards contemplations of death and deliverance but not in that order.

Lisa observed the death of Ray. She felt no sadness.Ray had done his job. She still needed to do hers. She needed to deliver the eggs that she and Ray had created.

She knew she was going to die.

Ray, in his immmaturity, had considered himself immortal with death merely another stage of metamorphasis.

Ray's immaturity prevented him from the fear of death.

Lisa was afraid to die.

Lisa knew that her life was incomplete.

Lisa had learned what a spider is and the part a spider can play in deathmaking.

Lisa knew she was next.

Her eggs would die with her.

It couldn't get any worse.

The spider returned and rappeled down the silk towards the moth that I had raised on poisoned peas.

Poison's a funny thing. Poison consists of chemicals. After we ingest poison, our liver uses enzymes to convert those chemicals into poisons. If we don't have the enzymes that convert the chemicals into poisons than the chemicals within the poison are of no threat to us.

The moth was missing the enzymes that would turn the chemicals from the peas into poison but the spider possessed those enzymes in spades.

If the spider ate the moth whose innards she had already liquified, there would be no problem.

If the spider ate he second moth, there would be a big problem.

Death by poison for Mona

Death by liquidity for Lisa.

Choices, decisions, consequences.

The spider was all fangs and palps.

The moth was all vulnerability except for the wild card of hidden toxicity.

The spider decided that she didn't want the moth. She backed off. She began cutting. She took the thread with her palps and put it in her mouth. She cut a perfect window in the web with her sharp fangs.

The moth fell free from the web.

The moth took flight.

The spider returned to her watch.

I found out what the spider would do.

Lisa delivered.

Spiders will do what Mona did.

They recognize poison when they sense it and hungry is better than dead, especially with delicious Ray a goner in the silk.

I felt pretty good after I found out what the spider did. I didn't know whether or not the spider would be smart enough to avoid the moth who had eaten the poisoned peas. The spider was smart enough to discern the presence of poison in her web. If we were all smart enough to know which moth is poisoned and which one ain't. If we resisted the urge to do what we can do and instead focused on doing what we should do, the world would be a much better place.

Speaking of better places, Lisa's delivery was a better begining. Her offspring, half poison and half not would never have to liquefy in silk and contempt.

As evening fell, I decided to smoke a cigar.

My work was done.

I know I shouldn't smoke but what the hell, I had just learned a great lesson.

The night was still. Fireflies were everywhere. I lit a candle. I stuck the end of my cigar into the flame of the candle. I took a couple of puffs.

I blew three perfect smoke rings.

Perfect smoke rings are possible on a windless night.

As the third smoke ring floated away, a moth flew right through the midddle of it and headed towards the candle flame.

As the moth neared the flame, I noticed threads of silk dangling from the wings of the moth.

The moth didn't get any nearer to the flame than moths always get to a flame but not too many moths are carrying a thread of silk.

It was the silk, not the moth, that kissed the candle. The flame shot right up the silk. The moth burst into fire and headed towards the smoke rings expanding in the distance.

The moth momentarily stood out amidst the fireflies.

The moth had become flying fire.

Then it disappeared from my view forever.

Peace, at last.