xenogere

Random Thought

Posted on Jan 4, 2007 by jason

Nothing so fortifies a friendship as a belief on the part of one friend that he is superior to the other.

— Honore de Balzac

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Washout Lane :: But it would never be

Posted on Jan 4, 2007 by jason

I began writing this in March 2006.  What you see below represents the finality of what developed before it fell away and suffered a loss of focus.  I wish I could tell you where it wished to go, what path it felt destined to follow.  But I cannot.  I do know it grew from an allegory, a metaphor wishing to convey something . . . something I can no longer remember.  Shameful, I know.

It never had a proper title so I have given it one that fits what little exists.

She lay quietly wrapped in my shirt cradled gently in my arms, as a father would hold a child.  Staying my own trembles required more effort than I imagined existed in all the world, yet I prevailed.  No amount of weakness borne of anguish could overcome my desire to see her tended to.  I would not fail her.

Whispers of my love danced from my lips until they fell upon her ears in quiet so profound it beckoned the universe to hush so it might hear me.  My hands moved nimbly over her fur in strokes of passion deep and heartfelt.  Beneath my soft caress her body trembled slightly, weakly, a strain against my embrace in defiance of what was to come.  I knew no creature could survive such wounds; no body could withstand such damage.  I knew she was dying.

I leaned my face close to hers in that way I often did, and I gently spoke to her, halting abruptly only to listen as she feebly whimpered.  Her weakening breath softly caressed my face.  It was like a kiss to me and engendered a tear that fell just beyond her neck and landed on the tattered cloth of a shirt I would never wear again.  Briefly, my eyes fixated on the darkness it created there, a small and insignificant spot of salt water, and I stared at it absently.

Her trembles became weaker still and I shifted my focus back to her small face.  Eyes bright as stars on a moonless night stared back at me, a loving gaze that washed over my face and seemed to push the air out of the room.  I wanted to bathe in it, to wash my whole body in that scrutiny.  And yet I feared I would never see it outside the harshly lit room in which we stood.  Too much had happened; too many pains had befallen such a small soul.

Racked by guiltless longing for what could never be, I leaned ever closer to her face and kissed her gently through my own growing sobs.  She needn’t worry for me, needn’t add my own trepidation to her own, so I struggled against the lamentations welling up within my essence and denied them voice.  It had to be her time, her moment, her wisp of the cosmos defined in a sterile room tucked away in cheap offers of peace.  I would not fail her.

So I snuggled her closely and let her waning pants lick my cheeks, my nose, my lips in vast smallness only she could define.  Their flavor slipped from me, grew increasingly distant.  I wanted to take within my own flesh all the suffering and pain she felt.  Was there no offering I could make by which to trade my own life for hers?

As she slipped away, I inhaled her final essence, the last breathing from a suddenly lifeless body, and into me I took it with force and selfishness.  I would hold my breath for the rest of my life if it meant I could keep that part of her with me always.  Streams of sorrow marched down my cheeks and fell around her halo-lit countenance.  Letting her go was not an option.  I would rend my heart upon the same shirt in which she was wrapped, cast it upon the floor holding up my feet, and all if it meant just one more moment, one more cry, one more touch from a life taken too soon.  But it would never be.

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One to look up to

Posted on Jan 3, 2007 by jason

As the alpha feline in the house, Grendel is a force to be reckoned with, yet he uses his powers for good and treats everyone with compassion and warm friendship—unless they cross the line.  He truly is someone to be looked up to and epitomizes what St. Francis of Sales said: “Nothing is so strong as gentleness; nothing so gentle as real strength.”

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Open thread

Posted on Jan 3, 2007 by jason

Tangled Bank #70 is succinct and to the point this time ’round, so check it out for some great science writing.  You’re apt to learn something, I promise.

Amba notes something in a post completely unrelated to her closing thought.  It was this final sentence that I felt noteworthy: “It also expresses that annoying insistence of some writers — I’m probably guilty of it myself — to be original in every word they ever wrote, to torture the salutation and reinvent the pleasantry.”  That refers to a missive she received from someone, yet I felt it pertinent because I wonder—perhaps too often—if I’m guilty of the same thing, of turning an ordinary e-mail into some literary expression, some anguished, over-the-top, punishing prose that leaves the reader wondering if I actually remembered who I was writing to when I wrote it.

This is cool and rather heartwarming: “A experimental electronic ‘crosswalk’ designed to keep Arizona’s animals and drivers safe will begin operating east of Payson for the first time this month. The high-tech crossing is part of an extensive system of wildlife underpasses and electrified fencing along a three-mile stretch of Arizona 260 about seven miles east of Payson. The fences funnel the creatures to places where they can cross under the road, or, to the electronic crossing. The crossing uses infrared cameras and military-grade software to set off large signs and warning lights so that drivers will be prepared for an elk, mule or another animal of significant size that may be about to cross the highway.”  I’d like to see more efforts like this—to tend to the welfare of the animals we’re displacing, harming, and ultimately killing due to our reckless hemorrhaging into their territories.

We’re hearing it more and more from those in the know, and it’s about fucking time!  “The Army general who was Joint Chiefs chairman when the Pentagon adopted its ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy on gays says he no longer opposes allowing them to serve openly. John Shalikashvili, who retired in 1997 after four years as the nation’s top military officer, had argued that allowing homosexuals to serve openly would hurt troop morale and recruitment and undermine the cohesion of combat units. He said he has changed his mind after meeting with gay servicemen. ‘These conversations showed me just how much the military has changed, and that gays and lesbians can be accepted by their peers,’ Shalikashvili wrote in an opinion piece in Tuesday’s New York Times.”  The truth is that the policy has consistently and substantially damaged our military and our nation.  Many of our country’s Arabic-speaking experts have been let go because they were or were suspected of being gay.  And now the military is scrambling because they don’t have enough Arabic experts to keep up with the state of the world.  That’s right, poppets: Our government is continually shooting itself in the foot over its own ignorant bigotry against homosexuals.  Pathetic.  Drop the goddamn policy now and let people serve this nation, protect its people, and uphold the wonderful Constitution that binds us all together.  This fucking bullshit about everything being against the gays HAS TO STOP.  I’m so sick of it.  If you don’t like gays or have a problem with them serving, find the nearest gun, put it to your temple, and insert one or more bullets into your brain.  You deserve less, but that’s the best offer I have at present.

And you want to know something else?  Go see the Israeli military to find out precisely what kind of damage openly gay soldiers cause.  NONE!  ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY NONE!  And the same is true in many other nations.  Take your hate, your hypocrisy, your brainless, witless, stupid mother fucking ass to the edge of the nearest cliff and jump if you want to argue the point.  I’ve had it with the anti-gay shit in America and around the globe—but especially in America.  I’m tired of your backwater, medieval, Inquisition-controlled ignorance.  If you don’t like us, do the world a favor and kill yourself.  That’s the best thing you could do, the most humane action you’ll ever take, the most Christian thing you could consider.  Just find the quickest way to end your life and GET THE FUCK OFF THE PLANET!

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A touch of schizophrenia

Posted on Jan 3, 2007 by jason

From Dreamdarkers:

As we stood and watched the dogs walk in water barely deep enough to cover their ankles, I wondered, Dare I speak up? Dare I ask my parents about the Dreamdarkers? If I do, at least asking them alone would provide me the most sympathetic audience. They could be my sounding board. If I say the word and they look at me as though my head split open and a sea serpent wriggled out into Kingswell Lake, at least I would know not to bring it up with the others. On the other, it would only serve to confirm I’d lost my mind and cause them to question everything I say in the future. Or am I overanalyzing all of this? It’s just a memory. Doesn’t the situation warrant some latitude for drifting between the insanity of the real world and my own personal crazies?

Dave, you’ve lost your mind. Shut the hell up already. We know the Dreamdarkers are real. Does it matter if anyone else knows? And would it help one bit to tell them if they don’t already know? They probably wouldn’t admit it if they knew and would totally freak out if they didn’t. Most likely, they’ll think they’ve lost their minds and that it’s a synaptic misfire caused by too much strain on already weary brain cells, that they knew but didn’t know, know what I mean? Let’s just leave it alone and keep it to ourselves. If it winds up being important later . . . Well, let’s cross that tightrope if we get to it.

I shook my head as though avoiding some flying insect buzzing around my ear. While that could have been true, I did it in hope of stopping the internal disagreement that increasingly worried me. I wasn’t accustomed to internal monologues mutating into internal dialogues. Having two different opinions discussed openly where only I could hear them smelled of trouble. Part of me seemed reasonable and thoughtful; the other part seemed uptight and argumentative. Had I already lost my mind without knowing it? I couldn’t be certain. I always carried on internal considerations as running monologues, yet I could never remember responding to those thoughts, especially when such responses were contradictory to the point of being quarrelsome. Even so, I increasingly felt torn between a belligerent self-assurance and a pensive introspection.

I was growing angry—or angrier. That much I knew. I felt out of control, as if the world had knocked me down and started kicking me. Such feelings could be blamed for the sudden dichotomy in my thoughts. I wanted to flee; I wanted to scream in primal defiance. Neither side understood the concept of harmony. Instead, both spoke out of turn and over each other, and both acted like the only right opinion available. Without proof I had gone off the deep end, I felt safe presuming the debate raging in my head represented nothing more serious than a man under pressure who felt torn between two extremes. The circumstances warranted a touch of schizophrenia. Or so I kept telling myself.

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