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|Thursday, May 1st, 2008|
|Tuesday, April 15th, 2008|
|Friday, December 28th, 2007|
The snake girl was named Celia, and she said that she was a nagakin who was majoring in illusion. Her fun fact was that she had a paralytic poison that could arrest breathing and she slept with her eyes opened so all we fuckers had better not get any ideas.
19: Table Conversation
“Personally, I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” Celia said. “At least if you’re a lesbian, you’ll never have to deal with some guy’s junk just sort of… hanging there… even when it’s not being used. The first time I saw a naked human, I thought he’d had some kind of hernia.”
“What, nagakin aren’t like that?” I asked.
“Our boys put their toys away when they’re done playing,” Celia said. “I never even saw my old boyfriend’s stuff. That’s fucking classy.”
66: Learning Curve
I loved, and I was loved. I belonged. I was at peace.
“The fuck happened to you?” Celia asked me as she sat down at our table, jarring me out of my reverie.
“What do you mean?” I asked. Her sudden arrival had shocked me, but I wasn’t really that surprised to see her. After Puddy had stopped eating with us, I’d kind of been half-expecting Celia to turn up again, with neither apology nor explanation. Not that she owed us either. She hadn’t been completely off the mark, after all.
“Aren’t you supposed to be full of confusion and self-loathing?” she asked.
85: Mixed Melee
“If she likes getting the shit knocked out of her, I think she’s in the right place,” Callahan said. “Though it’s kind of hard to imagine a place where she wouldn’t. Do something with her, will you? I can’t have crying kids in my class. They unbalance my fucking chi.”
Tales of MU
93: Upon Reflection
I was his girlfriend?
In your face, latent homosexuality… I had a boyfriend!
. Not for the faint of sex or time.
Which is to say, there's implicit moving to explicit sexual content and somewhere around 275,000 words of story at this time. (The rule of thumb is 500 words = 1 printed page.)
I've also heard there are swears, but I didn't notice.
Also, don't allow me to unduly sway you to Celia or Callahan. They're minor characters. The major characters are much funnier.
|Thursday, December 13th, 2007|
|Friday, October 19th, 2007|
|Monday, July 30th, 2007|
|Friday, May 18th, 2007|
There are 2 senses of this word:
*normal defined as that which is common (perhaps statistically) among a population.
*Normal defined as that which conforms to standards.
|Monday, April 23rd, 2007|
Does anyone know the origin of the phrase: ". . . it is only about things which concern us most profoundly that we lie clearly and with profound conviction."?
I've discovered it in a book, but it seems to me I've heard it before.
|Tuesday, April 17th, 2007|
|Word to the Wise
Green Tea + honey
does not compute
does not compute.
I'd avoid this combination, I found the honey the confuse the loveliness of the tea. The sweet aftertaste is not worth the opportunity cost of wasting that tea time.
|Sunday, March 25th, 2007|
|Weak =/ 1 Week, but 2
I believe I shall leave to next weak the difficulties I've perceived in Monism and Pantheism.
Well here we are again. I'll divert all the entries relating to my following Jesus by the guidance of His Spirit under the rule of His Father to here
I take it that Monism, of the Spinoza form (or any other I've encountered) runs something like this: all of us are really one. Thus our perceptions of difference are either a game or a tool designed to bring about self awareness. This answers some ethical questions-why should I trust or even like Others? But I find this position's theodicy of ignorance uncompelling. In particular, I am in the philosophical sense a realist regard evil: I think it has a positive form and end apart from good.
I don't think I've ever given Pantheism a fair shot. I take it that a basic corollary to multiple Divinity is multiple possible goods (which we commonly observe) and even multiple, possibly conflicting Bests (which in our finitude I take it that we probably could never know). This would mean one god's meat would be another god's poison. I suppose that possible world would include some more or less factual account of the existence of things, proper ends for each god proper, and separate ways to live; even diverging peoples according to each telos
. Each would seem incomprehensible and perhaps evil to one another after a time, due to observer bias relative to that which is supposed to be good. Frankly I see such problems regarding how we would know ourselves to be in this situation that I've never traveled far down this path. It seems a waste of time, even as an intellectual exercise.
Next week at http://absentthee.blogspot.com
: Mrs. Christ, or My (Mis)Understanding of John Sewell's Best Understanding of Christianity.
Next week here: _Eragon_ review, On Cheap Conflicts, An Alpha Version of Collaborative Fiction
|Monday, March 12th, 2007|
I mentioned last week the problem if "God is nonexistent, spiteful, weak, many, or stupid."
To return to the nonexistent part I suppose includes the idea that He isn't interested or is incapable of being interested in me personally. This is a pretty big tertius quid
. It's also perhaps the most revolutionary part of Christ's teaching. That He makes the sun to shine on the just and the unjust alike is evidence of mercy, not indifference or weakness.
I suppose I've only seen the edges of God's power. I've spoken to a few people who've experience spontaneous, inexplicable (if you rule out grace) healing. I've noticed in my own life that I've pretty much received everything I've asked for that didn't require a specific change of will on the part of others, and much that did. The caveat being, when I asked with pure heart, which is a moving target related to my evolving understanding of what holiness actually is.
"That love," as Kurt puts it, the burning, passionate, pure, jealous, terrible, wonderful, above all good love that I'm just starting to know, that love that more than answers this prayer:
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
that love, for the sake of which, in the hope of which
they were stoned, they were sawn asunder, were tempted, were slain with the sword: they wandered about in sheepskins and goatskins; being destitute, afflicted, tormented; (Of whom the world was not worthy:) they wandered in deserts, and in mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth.
that love that led without turning or wavering to a Garden that wasn't Eden, to a very unlikely lifting up, to a rich man's tomb, and if the writer of Hebrews is believed, to Hell itself; that's the love I can't get out of bed for. That's the love I can't remember when someone hurts me, when darkness falls over me, when exhaustion or fear or boredom make me open to all the worthless indulgence in the world. That's the love that won't leave in the self-centered unlife of the last sentence, that gives me use and opportunity, each day anew. That's the love that would make not only a son of God by fiat, but by worth.
P.S.-1)I believe I shall leave to next weak the difficulties I've perceived in Monism and Pantheism. 2)Yes I know I need an editor. It's ok if don't want to listen in on this. Now's a good time to start helping if you do but you're aggravated by the cloudiness.
|Sunday, March 4th, 2007|
|Performance =/ Presence
When I mentioned freedom last week, I probably didn't mean it.* I probably meant holiness. The Jewish idea of holiness that gave the definition to the new testament ideas of the saints of X and that we share in Christ's holiness was this: a thing was holy if it was set apart to God's use.
The old testament, or covenant, or will (the Hebrew word means the same thing), marked an invasion of a Holy, wholly Other God into natural history*. Qodesh (the word that we translate as holy) was an adjective of things, of places, and of times. National Israel was the holy people of God, his instrument whereby he displayed his righteousness. Very rarely is any given person referred to as qodesh. A related word, usually translated as clean, was the adjective applied to garments and to persons.
The new covenant speaks of those who follow Jesus together as those called to be the "holy ones," the hagios. The saints of Jerusalem, Corinth, Philippi, Ephesus, Colosse, Achaia, Rome, are those to whom Paul addresses his letters, of whom Luke writes in the Acts of the Apostles, who James, Jude, the writer of Hebrews, and John the Apostle are correcting and encouraging.
There are a couple of interesting things here. One is that hagios is inevitably plural. The corporate life is the occasion for people to become holy places or things, set apart and utterly given over to God's use.
The other is how often the Third Person of the Trinity has as his peculiar appellation "Holy." Distinct from all other spirits, He is the one of whom the word that means completely used by and useful to God singularly applies.
Of course, being completely given over to God's use will be problematical if God is nonexistent, spiteful, weak, many, or stupid. I suppose the truth of Him I first learned was his existence. After all, all other truths of God as a person must flow from that fact; one can have no relationship with a person who could never be present. (The Greek idea is of the incubus or succubus; a fond and foolish image.)
Nevertheless, the first truth I remember learning was God's wisdom. If anyone, He must know the Best. The Creator is the one who must have Creation's purpose in mind. If creation is infinite, He might be the only one to know the precise outworking of the Best; even though finite beings might be able to follow his overall structure and initial movements, the complexity of a world beyond us would be, well, eo ipso
I hope to take this up later this week. At worst I will continue Sunday, in'sh Allah.**
*Maybe I did mean freedom. I can't speak well [about almost anything] about what I might understand by this freedom.
**Is this blasphemous? I do mean "if it is the will of God," in the full humility and dependence of a creature and a student. My understanding of that will is far from the understanding I have of His will as distorted in the Koran.
Is it sacrilegious? I don't agree with a lot of the culture connoted by this language.
|Sunday, February 25th, 2007|
Today I begin to live freely.
WTot? - [Context is student to Rabbi, insei to sensei] "If discomfort level tracks personal development, we're making great progress."
H - I recent discovered I've chirpies
. It's a canarial
disease, unfortunately untweetable
The daily office is confusing. My desire is to use the Scriptures commended therein. Would today be the first day of Lent 1, Lent 2, or something else?
|Wednesday, January 24th, 2007|
When blue darks the sky, see four stars, or three;
then yestern's death has stilled his blazing heart.
And the night's release, rest to strengthen me;
for work, to crescending joy, the day's part.
I like the Hebrew notion of the day's beginning in the evening. I find it comports with how I actually live; the social treat of the evening, or study at night, does not so much cap the day as succeed it. My rest proceeds from the evening's success, and the labor of the day from last night's rest.
For my intellectual inclination to systematize, and my emotional bias to wholeness, I find the day ending with the sun's light answers well. Like many appearances matter much to me, so although midnight is the point of inflection, the cessation of glare is a better breakpoint. If for no other reason: since my hairline's grayed, I see many more sunsets than midnights. I like stars anyway. So greeting them as heralds of the new span is like kissing a chance-met well-known long-parted friend.
|Thursday, November 2nd, 2006|
So it turns out I'm doing NaNoWriMo.
This will be the rest of the Weeping Stone.
|Wednesday, November 1st, 2006|
|All Hallows Day
Memoir '44 Scoreboard 2
Results 20061031 ~1800 to ~1930
WPW / TER
3. Al:5 Ax:3
Tally: 23 / 14
I didn't lose anyone unexpectedly this year. I've made many good friends. Here's to all those who go ahead to the great mystery: Hail and farewell.
|Wednesday, October 25th, 2006|
|Memoir '44 (1)
Results 20061025 ~1830 to ~2000
1. Ax:1 Al:4
2. Al:4 Ax:3
|Tuesday, February 14th, 2006|
Very well. I acknowledge the justice of your jeers--why should you heed me, why should you read the cruft I have previously belched forth? when my content is so thin? when my updates are so very, far, apart?
So this day, St. Valentine, I vow to think about updating my journal at least once every two weeks that I use the Intertron. For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until reduced Internet access do we part.
In token whereof, I present this microfiction.
[The Weeping Stone: 1. The Withered Tree]
Morn rose from banking the fire; someone else might need this dwelling. He drank a last cup of tea, and contemplated it for a moment. He shrugged; violently he hurled the cup among the embers, raising a dance of sparks that flickered out even as he turned away.
He walked over to the sheets over sacks stuffed with hay that was his bed. He reached among the stuffing and drew forth his second best knife. Morn made to buckle the glimmerblade around himself reflexively, then paused. He tossed the weapon onto the bed, and slung his coat over his shoulder. He surveyed the shack he had lived in the last year: spacious, high, dark; it was really too big for a man by himself, he thought. He had felt out of place here.
Grabbing his gem from over the rude mantle, he strode into the yard. Heading out the gate, he stopped and turned.
“The horse,” he said under his breath.
After he had freed the horse, Morn walked off into the fog. It was a pity such a beast would probably end up the nag of some farmer—if it didn’t kill him. Still, its story was not over yet: the gelding had years coming to him, of honorable service hopefully.
Morn strode into the fog; it swallowed house and horse completely within paces. This was a fit day. It would seem as if he’d fallen from the horse, ranging wide.
He couldn’t really lose his way, really; just past the cliff was the surf, so he need only follow his ears. Morn still walked carefully. It wouldn’t do to just walk over the edge.
When he reached the cliff the view was pretty, but Morn wasn’t looking. The chill wind off the water kept the exposed height clear, so that it looked like Morn was standing on a rocky island surrounded by a sea of fog, rather than an occasional black height on a pastoral shore. Above burned a corona of gold slipped through the white of the clouds. A lone and withered elm was all that relieved the white, black, and grey accented by gold.
Morn held forth the weeping jewel, that had been in the crown of this land before Morn shattered it.
It glistened all over; an exudation that was said to be able to sustain life in the absence of food and water coated the thing wetly, by the look of it, but as he cradled it in his hand it felt cold and hard as any ordinary gem. He had never really had the nerve to taste the thing, yet it seemed to invite such contact: he felt like an infant who wanted to use his tongue as much as his hands. That was least of the mysteries Morn had found regarding the stone.
The blue at its heart was what he returned to. The green of its uncut surface, streaked with amber, the crimson layer under that, the peculiar silver glowing intermediary: all were lovely. Enchanting. Each invited appreciation; contemplating each one, one saw it clearly, as if the other layers had become translucent. Yet one could, with practice, hold two or even three layers in the eye at once. Morn had never succeeded in regarding all within the stone; he had tried it once sober and once drunk. He couldn’t sleep for four days after the first time he tried to gaze at all within at once, but it was the second time that scared him.
One evening while drinking alone, he thought of the gem. He had never considered combining these simple diversions, drink and the weeping stone, but each induced a similar set of sensations. Why not?
How amazing! Why had he not done this before now? It was time, and more than time, to peer within the stone and wrest its deepest secret free. Morn opened the carven, many-wooded box he was keeping the stone in at the time and brought it to the light. Although the gem caught and held even the faintest light, especially the third layer, it was best to have as much fire nearby as possible, to ease the passage into the jewel.
He slipped past the green easily; indeed, more easily than he had ever done so before. Likewise the red: its distractions had no hold this day. In the way between red and silver he thought he saw a curious shadow that he had never seen before. It slipped from his mind as he sped past the grey portal with a greater and greater sense of ease, even mastery. He slipped into the blue, deeper and deeper still, deeper than he ever had before. Arriving at last at a place that he felt to be the core, he glanced back. He took the silver up into blue with no sense of struggle: blue with silver was never. Red yielded at last to him, and was taken up in turn. Last time he’d tried green then red, because of how deceptive the second stage was, but that experience had not seemed to achieve anything. And on this day he thought he was on the brink of something; something big, bigger than enormous. What had begun as a game was fast becoming something more; the fight to draw up the red had turned the whole thing to something vastly more serious.
The green was a wall this time. He slammed into it with all the momentum of his incredible journey, and the jolt made the world itself waver. He nearly lost his grip altogether: the silver slipped from him and become something other, and dark. Something perilous; something with great potential to hurt. He knew he had to gentle the dark storm the third layer had become or it would fling him aside like an errant ant. It seemed to regard him, now. He had never sensed awareness in the stone before, so he threw all his might at the darkness in the silver.
When he awoke, the house was spotlessly clean. The soil of use had disappeared so that no trace of it could be found; indeed, the simple hut was probably newer looking now than it had ever been. All the things of he house were as he had left them, but scoured to an unmatched fineness.
His beard had disappeared; he was as smooth skinned as a child, as he had not been since he was a boy. He was weak; his head hurt. He drank and drank water, but his appetite returned slowly because his head had never hurt this bad. After a couple of days the pain faded so that he walk and speak, and he learned from the villagers that he had lost several days, almost a week.
The box he had held the stone in was in splinters and dust; the only dust in the house. So he hadn’t looked into the weeping stone a long time. He had done his work, drank his beer, and drifted through the last weeks.
This day he ventured into the blue as if for the first time.
|Tuesday, November 29th, 2005|
|Monday, September 5th, 2005|
|board game idea
2d6 to randomize over a six by six array; 1 d6 for one axis, the other for the other. Object and method of play uncertain at the moment.