Being A Dragon...

Contra Artem Modernam; or 'An Artist Revolts'

The artist examined the abuses of color and form that he had just applied to the canvas. "Crap," he said in reference to his work, "utter crap."  

No amount of scholarly sophistry could convince him otherwise; the various modernist movements had failed to produce anything amounting to genius.  To him, the crudities of medieval artistry had been rendered with more skill than any of these modern abortions, which needed reams of paper, covered in worthless ink by various elite art critics, to defend their supposed and specious merits, whereas the most unsophisticated country bumpkin could readily identify and extol the virtues of any work rendered with a modicum of talent and skill.  

"Modern art is all vitality and no coherence," the artist declared to himself, as the great façade of it all fell like scales from his eyes, "all feeling and no skill."  

In a rising fit of anger, he cast down his canvas and brushes to the floor, went to his closet, and removed therefrom his only suit.  Having donned the suit, the artist left to join the ranks of the more legitimately employed.

Written on behalf of the Art Renewal Center, without express consent.

The Challenge

The poetess, Steinunn, priestess of Thor and his earthly liaison, called out a challenge to the Christian bishop, Thangbrand: "Thor has demanded his right for the einvigi, for the mortal duel! Let your Christ answer this challenge--if he be man enough!"

*  *  *

Mankind yet awaits Christ's answer to this challenge, and leaves us asking:  "So, Jesus, do you have the testicular capacity to accept Thor's challenge?"

Notes 10:29 A.M.

I just imagined, that it would be awesome to have a henge made entirely of cucumbers. 'Cucumber-Henge' people would call it--till it rotted of course.

* * *

The portabello mushroom is broad enough that it could be used as a substitute for bread when making a sandwich.

Prancin'

"Man here says you been prancin', boy," said the police officer to a young man not more than 15 years of age, "You been prancin'?"

The boy looked defiantly into the officer's face, but, he couldn't lie. Dropping his head shamefully the boy replied, "Yeah, I been prancin'."

The officer smugly leaned closer to the boy, "Now, we don' go prancin' round Mr. Henley's no more, you hear, boy?"

"No, sir." replied the boy, a note of resignation tinging his answer.

"Good. Now get along home to your mama."

The boy left, and the officer turned to an old man wearing a white, soiled apron. "You all right, Mr. Henley?"

The man wearing the apron answered, "Yeah, I'll be all right. Don't know what got into that fool boy, though, prancin' 'round here like that."

The officer replied, "Yeah, that one'll be trouble, mark my words."

Both men turned, silent, and watched as the offending boy walked home.

"Trouble," the officer then added softly, a few moments later, "that one'll be trouble all right."

Band Name

For a nominal fee, I am now selling, renting and leasing any awesome band name I invent. This valuable service I offer for any band who wishes a distinctive and recognizable name, but desire an independent, objective party to come up with said name. As many bands trying to break into the big leagues knows, the naming of the band can be a stressful and dividing force, leading to hurt feelings and breakups down the line. Avoid the hassle and choose the best, with my independent name-consultation service.

This week's band name for sell or rent: 'Contra Vesuvius'.

Notes 9:59 P.M. ( Now Synchronous By Popular Demand!)

These words just appeared in my mind, I share them with you in their unadulterated form:

Lyrics to 'The Nudist Colony'

I have no idea what the significance of these words is, but doubtless they portend some grand event in mankind's struggle through the ages.

Nouveaux Riches

W.T. Effington III strolled along the pedestrian walk, peering every now and then into the shop windows which lined the street, whenever something struck his particular fancy. As could be divined by his illustrious-sounding name, he came from money. Old money. He hated 'new money'. It stank of ostentation, gaudy and vulgar.

* * *

The license plate read 'I R RICH'. "God," thought W.T., "this guy is asking for it."

* * *

A man puzzled over the neatly written letter which he had found tucked behind his car's windshield wipers. It had all the markings and generalities of a form letter, and its abbreviated contents were these: "You're vulgar display of wealth sickens me, and you should consider immediately ceasing to follow after mammon so garishly."

The man, having read the contents of the letter, tossed it into a nearby receptacle, stepped into his vehicle, and drove away.

Notes 8:14 P.M.

In addition to 'madcap' there should be the word 'sadcap', which means something like 'to behave rashly or wildly sad'.

* * *

I think everyone can agree that it would be a terribly great convenience to have two brains, one which would sleep while the other was active, and vice versa. Of course, both brains could be activated to tackle the really big problems.

* * *

I invented a high-concept fashion product. What is it, you ask? 'Frocckoli', which is a dress made from a fabric woven of broccoli.

* * *

It would be fun, I think, if there were a BYOG party; a Bring-Your-Own-God party. Most gods fit pretty easily into canning jars, so if everyone just brought their god in a jar, that would be cool.

Notes 2:58 PM

If they weren't so generally alien and disgusting, the beetle, for its delightful crunch, would be a very popular snack.

Addendum: A cereal with beetles in it could be described as 'exoskeletally delicious'.

Idea: Aphorism Machine

Imagine if you will, dear readers, a machine that is programmed to spout out aphorisms in a calm, stern voice at random intervals, several times a minute. Now imagine, that this machine cannot be turned off--ever (for whatever reason). "A stitch in time saves nine...a penny saved is a penny earned...look before you leap...measure twice, cut once...etc., etc," all day long and all night long, for as long as one lives. I imagine this device would be round, sleek, and invariably black. This box is doubtless the cure for all of society's ills, and should be implemented immediately by all powers on earth.

Notes 10:52 A.M.

Why aren't ghosts naked?

Nightmare

Some night recently passed, I found myself in a dream. In this dream I wandered through a reasonable facsimile of a state-fair, searching for one of my favorite fair foods, nachos. Everywhere I saw evidence of them. I saw trash receptacles and abandoned tables overflowing with nacho-y refuse: crumbs of yellow tortilla chips, manufactured cheese product drying in the sun; yet, nowhere could I find a hawker of my desired nachos. In the dream my frustration mounted, and I began frantically searching the fair-grounds for some nacho-monger's booth, trying at first to systematically check every booth, but soon giving in to frenzied and chaotic searching. I began to throttle fair-goers, demanding they tell me whence came the nachos, but none I threatened could reveal their hidden source. Despairing at last of ever getting some nachos, I fell to my knees, in the middle of the fair, and wept. Wretch that I was!

I awoke from my dream. In the darkness, there were no nachos awaiting my return from my unconscious reveries. I was hollow.

How I lost My Faith: A Zombie-Atheist Confesses

Some few years ago, I had just finished watching George A. Romero's (at the time) latest zombie flick, Land of the Dead, when I realized the inherent absurdity in traditional zombie cinema, as created by Romero, and embraced by him and others. Often we find in the traditional zombie genre a small group of human, non-zombies who are forced to survive a world infested with flesh-craving, undead revenants. Sometimes, this zombie infestation has been continuing for some months. Now, I can imagine at first a zombie-infestation to be a real problem; in those initial days after zombies reveal themselves to the world, many would find themselves the victims of the zombie hordes. After several weeks, however, the zombie-problem would really solve itself, for the traditional zombie is nothing more than a decaying corpse. Any mobility a zombie has, which it uses to seek out its food (humans) mindlessly, would very quickly deteriorate as the flesh decayed, or was damaged by its careless locomotion. I imagine, that after several weeks, most of the undead would be quite immobile, and no longer a danger to the remainder of humankind. This is not to say mankind would not have to be careful with its future dead, but the immediate danger would be gone.

Now, when these realizations entered into my mind, it was as if a vital part was torn from my soul. "I cannot believe!" I shouted to myself. This was for me a sharp blow indeed, which removed that part of me which had the capacity to enjoy films in the classical zombie genre. Now these things weighed heavily in my mind, and at that time, though I told some friends I had some doubts, I continued to affirm that I did in fact enjoy films where the dead walked the earth. This, I can no longer do. I can non longer lie to myself or others. I cannot suspend my disbelief any longer. When I look back on those zombie-filled hours of enjoyment in my past life, so sharply divided from my current reality, I can but lament those lost days before my ruthless logic stole from me one of my greatest joys.

The Fall of the Angels: Part 3

This is part three of my translation of the Old-English poem, based on Genesis, which describes the fall of the angels. Part one can be read here; part two here.

Angels who had once born God’s favor were barred from Heaven’s Height. They, the fiends who had had so many grievances against their Lord, lay in fire; in Hell’s midst they now suffered torment: searing waves of heat, fire, and lakes of brimstone; and too, acrid smoke, miasmic vapors and darkness, because they had disregarded their service to the Lord. Their pride had deceived them, and the arrogance of their leader; they desired not to make obeisance to the Almighty. They had had a mighty punishment, they had fallen through fire into the pit, into hot Hell, because of their folly and pride. They discovered there a different sort of country: a land deprived of light and full of flame and baleful magmas. The fiends perceived what they had exchanged for God’s might, what they had exchanged for their great pride, and most of all for their wantonness: innumerable tortures.

Then spoke the puffed-up king, who had once been the brightest, the fairest of angels in heaven, and who had been beloved of the Lord—dear to the Almighty—until his unholy host become foolish, and caused ire to grow mightily in the mind of God, and because of him, because of his pride, had cast him into that place of torment, down to a bed of death, and the Highest Lord afterwards made a name for that angel: He said that he should be named Satan, and commanded him to rule the earth, to rule black Hell, and to never again wage war against God.

Satan spoke, sorrowing, he spoke—he who would rule hell henceforth, he who would adopt this land, he who had been God’s angel once, the purest in heaven, until his heart, and (most of all) his pride had seduced him, so that he had no more desired to make praises to the Lord of Hosts.

Satan’s thoughts welled up within him, filled his heart—the Lord’s punishment had been savagely fierce, but he spoke these words:

“Is this narrow place, so terribly unlike the other which we knew before—high in the Kingdom of Heaven—over which the Lord had once given me dominion? We don’t have to have God for a Lord in order to carve out a kingdom of our own. Still, God did not act justly by casting us into this fiery abyss, into Hell’s swelter, depriving us the Kingdom of Heaven. The Lord has determined to people Heaven with mankind, to replace us. It is my greatest sorrow, that Adam, who was wrought of mere earth, shall possess my mighty throne, that he shall know bliss, when we must suffer this torment, this hellish affliction! Alas! If I but possessed the power of my hands, and was allowed freedom for but one hour, for one little hour, then I, with my army— But bands of iron coil around me, a rope of chains chokes me. My kingdom is deprived me; they have imprisoned me in hell with these cruel bonds. Above and below burn endless fires—never have I beheld a more loathsome view; the flames never shrink nor the hellish heat! A barbarous chain, a cruel concatenation of rings hinders me, deprives me the power to escape; my feet are thickly bound; my hands are shackled. My egress is blocked by the Gates of Hell, though it be impossible to escape these chains. By God’s grace, great bars of hard-forged iron are welded around my throat. By the thickness of these chains, I know that He, the Lord of Hosts, knows my mind, knows that if I were free, then Adam would, in his wickedness, agree with us concerning the Kingdom of Heaven.

Problem With a Nickname

I don't know if perhaps my ear for poetry, or rhyme rather, is a bit off, but does anyone else find vice-presidential candidate Sarah Palin's sobriquet, Sarah Barracuda, irksome for the reason that it does not properly rhyme? Of course, rhymes for 'Sarah' are few, but I've managed to find a couple: Sarah Tiara; Sarah Sahara (better were she barren); Sarah Gamara (the 'Gamara' is the second part of the Talmud); Sarah Solfatara ('solfatara' being a volcanic area which gives off sulfurous gasses and steam); Sarah Ferrara ('Ferrara' being an Italian city); Sarah Caracara (the 'caracara' being a carnivorous bird of the hawk family); Sarah Cascara ('cascara' being a type of shrub). If this is bugging anyone else, please chime in.

Subprime Loan Crisis: Averted!

The cat, sleek, black, self-confident, stared at the loan documents before him. "No thanks, he told the loan-officer," and leapt from the chair upon which he had been sitting. He may have been a cat, but he lived within his means.

The Fall of the Angels: Part 2

This is Part 2 of my translation of the Old-English poem which concerns itself with the fall of the angels as described in Christian Mythology. To read Part 1, follow this link.

When the Almighty God had heard these things, that his angel had begun to rise up in great pride against his Lord, and had foolishly spoken haughty words against Him, then the Lord knew that this angel would have to repent his deed, accept the consequences of his war, and would have to have his punishment—the greatest of all torments. Thus the fate of every man who begins to war against the sublime Lord.

Mighty God had become enraged, He, the Highest Ruler of Heaven, cast his angel from his high throne. With hate had the angel fought against the Lord, though he had lost His favor. Anger became a virtue in this angel’s heart, because he had been forced to come to the earth with its cruel hell-torments, since he had warred against Heaven’s Lord. The Lord proclaimed this angel and all his companions anathema and cast them into Hell, into its deepest dales, where His angel turned into a devil—the Archfiend.

Heaven’s angels had fallen to Hell from above, from the firmament, for three long days and three long nights, and the Lord had transformed them all into devils. Because they had not praised His words and deeds, He set those defeated angels in the twilit nether-realms of the earth—in black Hell. There, in endless gloam, every fiend experiences continuous burning, until the break of earthly day, when comes an easterly wind, which bears a scathingly cold frost; evermore would these devils have to suffer fire or mordant cold, or some other fell torment. Their life was changed! Hell had been made for them as a punishment, and for the first time Hell was filled with apostates.

Click here to continue to part 3.

The Fall of the Angels: Part 1

What follows is my translation of an Old-English poem, based on Genesis, which concerns itself with the fall of the Angels as described in Christian Mythology. Hope you enjoy.

The Almighty had established, the Holy Lord, through the might of His hands, ten orders of angel, whom He trusted well to keep their fealty—to wreak his will; for He, Holy Lord, had granted them intelligence, had shaped them with His very hands. He had made them that they might have great joy.

Of the angels He made one so strong, so mighty of thought; He allowed this angel to wield great powers, second only to the Lord’s in the Kingdom of Heaven. Him had He made so pure, that his presence, which came to him from the Lord of Hosts, was heaven’s delight; he was like the light of the stars.

This angel should have given praise to his Lord, should have esteemed his joys in Heaven, and should have thanked his Lord the remunerations He granted him on earth; then, would the Lord have let him steward His powers for eternity.

But the angel turned these gifts into curses, began to raise war against Him, against the Highest Lord of Heaven, who sits upon the Holy Throne. Dear had this angel been to the Lord, yet this love could not conceal from him that his angel had begun to become arrogant, that he had raised himself up against his Lord, that he had sown hateful speech and boasted against Him, saying that he would no more be slave to God. This angel boasted that his body was light and beautiful, white and opalescent; he said that he could no more find it in his heart to desire allegiance to God, to be a thrall to his Lord. He thought to himself that he had more might and power alone than had the Holy God and all His companions in war.

Many other arrogant words did this angel speak; he thought how, by his own strength, he might build a mightier throne than the Lord of Heaven’s. He said that his mind urged him to begin to build, in the farthest corners of Heaven, a fortress. He said that he doubted God would be able to subjugate him.

“Why should I wage war?” he said, “Because it is unnecessary at all for me to have a lord; with my own hands I can work so many wonders. I have power great enough to make a better throne than the Lord in Heaven. Why should I serve according to his grace, bow to Him, suffer such an allegiance? I can be God as He is God.

“Strong companions stand by me—brave-hearted heroes, who do not wish me to fail; they, brave men, have chosen me as their lord. With such men, such noble companions, I can dare conceive of a plan, carry it out. My friends, they are eager, they are loyal in their hearts; I can be their lord, rule in this kingdom. Thus, it doesn’t seem right to me that I need flatter God at all anymore for His good works; I wish no more to be darkened by his shadow.”

Click to continue to part 2.

References:
Whitelock, Dorothy. Sweet's Anglo Saxon Reader in Prose and Verse. 15. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002.
Bosworth, Joseph . Anglo-Saxon Dictionary. 12. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980.
Mitchell, Bruce. A Guide to Old English. 6. Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2002.

Notes 12:05 P.M.

I imagine being stabbed in the face is rather unpleasant.

LHC = Big Bucks For Me

As you may have heard (or guessed) the new LHC or Large Hadron Collider was recently fired up to the sounds of delighted scientists the world over. One of the principle things these scientists are hoping to find in their experiments using the LHC, is the elusive Higgs Boson Particle. Now, this particle is all important and stuff to science, but I personally couldn't care less about its scientific implications. No, I'm just in it for the money. It is my prediction, that seasoning salts, which contain the particle as an ingredient, will be a huge hit in very diverse markets. I can imagine the advertisement now:

A man stands at the grill, in his backyard, roasting some boring, grey-looking steaks. The man's son, looking on, seems disappointed. Then, all of a sudden, another man falls from the sky at blazing speed, and crashes to the ground, creating an impact crater in the man's backyard! The newly arrived man crawls from the crater, bearing nothing other than the Higgs Boson flavored seasoning salt! This cookout is saved! The grill-man shakes the salt on the steaks, then PRESTO! The entire backyard is transformed into a grill-party extravaganza, complete with attractively clad men and women! Then a conga-line likely forms, etc., etc.

So basically, I can't imagine the Higgs Boson Seasoning Salts not being a major hit.

BATMAN: Relaunched!

I was recently asked to invent some new foes for Batman, intended for the re-relaunch of the film franchise. They wanted villains, which in some ways pay homage to the series' roots, yet offered a fresh concept, face, and quirks. I've been permitted to leak the names of a few of the most promising nemeses, so that the studio can begin to get some initial reactions on which the viewing populace might enjoy. So, without further ado, meet the new villains of BATMAN:

The Jester; The Witticismer; The Humorous-Anecdoteler; The Jocularer; The Harlequiner; The Clowner; The Wise-Guy-er; The Wise-Cracker-er; The Funny-Man-er; The Comedianer; The Jokester; The Chuckler; The Guffawer; The Cachinnater; The Giggler; The Dave-Coulier-er; The Hilariter; The Laugherer; The Enigma-er; The Testler; The Runeler; The Puzzler; The Quizzler; The Pop-Quizzler; The Essay-Testler; The Multiple Choiceler; The True-Or-Falseler; The SAT-ler; Smart-Alecker.

Diploma

Li'l God Dreams

God's Beard

Cyclopean Vision

This Message Approved By...

When a demagogue for any religious faith presents his interpretation thereof, wouldn't it be nice, if following each sermon, the founding member of their faith, be he god or man, would then appear, saying: "This message approved by...," and then state their name and qualifications. If the founder of the faith failed to appear, then no one need bother with the bothersome, self-proclaimed mediator between heaven and earth. That would certainly clear up any misunderstandings fomented by these erring hierophants and prophets.

A Priest and A Youth

The priest tried to steer the conversation back to a more gentle volume and a more reasonable expression of ideas, but the youth sitting before him was riled and contentious.

"But consider the Immaculate Conception, dear boy," said the priest.

"More like immaculate stupid," said the know-it-all youth.

Several more exchanges like those previous passed between them, and at last, exasperation reigning on both sides, the priest and youth parted company.

"If only it were the middle-ages again," said the priest aloud, quietly, sitting in his modest office, admiring a painting opposite him that depicted the tortures of hell, "if only..."

Movie Idea

Imagine, if you will, Vince Vaughn playing his own twin in a hilarious comedy. The basic setup is simple. The twin Vinces find themselves at a sleep-away summer camp, where they meet for the first time. They have never met before, their parents having divorced when they were still infants, each parent taking one of the twins. Though at first they each detest the other, they eventually become friends. The Vinces then hatch a plot which will allow each to spend time with the parent with whom they didn't grow up. So, their plan works well, but tortured by their parents divorce, there remains nothing for them to do, but somehow get their parents back together, in which endeavor they are successful. I really can't imagine this film not working.

Fish in Suit

'Squatch-wear

Genesis of the Doodle: I was thinking to myself, "Hey, man, what if you launched a fashion line?" This doodle is the product.

Stories From The Trenches

The other day I found myself in a bizarre and awkward conversation with one of my customers. For those of my readers who don't know, I am a customer service representative for a department store, and, as such, I find it my duty to maintain a friendly, professional and polite demeanor. Those in my geographical region, unused to such genteelness, are often duly impressed. Well anyway, I was performing my duties expertly, when a customer approached my station and informed me that my manner had made her consider marrying a 'William' (this being my given, Christian name, Volker The Fiddler being merely a nom de plume). I should also amend, that not only had my manner caused her to consider marrying a 'William' (which she used as if 'William' was a particularly good brand of person, rather than a name common to a range of types, ranging from princes to paupers), but no, she had not only considered marrying a 'William' but had, in fact, married one. All this, she felt impelled by some strange logic to tell me. Anyway, she continued saying that the marriage had faired ill--they were divorcing. Apparently, he was having a 'mid-life crisis', and found her company to be unnecessary and burdensome to his new emotional plane. I didn't know what to say. Was it my fault, being a 'William' who had impressed her, that she married another, unstable 'William'? What could I say to that? I politely informed her that I was glad that she considered me to be an outstanding example of the human race, and that I was sympathetic to her marital woes. But still, that was crazy.

Jungle-Man Sad

Bill Had Been A Very Bad Doggy...

Anthropophagus: Part 1

I was sitting on a comfortable wicker chair, which was situated upon a sunlit lawn to the rear of a stately and meticulous manse, sipping a cool, sweet tea and listening to my host speak politely of various matters in a mellifluous southern drawl. I had for some time stopped paying attention to his words, merely allowing the pleasant undulating tones which his vocal apparatus produced to wash over me in soothing waves. For I know not how long, this continued until I was suddenly shocked from this reverie by a sudden and somehow jarring stillness. My host sat opposite me across a small table in a wicker chair identical to my own, and smiled. He had stopped speaking, and it was the absence of his voice which had disturbed me from my idle thoughts.

What had he asked? I asked myself. Slowly, as if trying to remember a vanishing dream, his question percolated into my conscious mind. Could I have misheard? No. I heard correctly. I apologized, claiming I hadn’t heard that last question, and he politely informed me that it was of no consequence, and he continued speaking on some other topic. But I knew I had heard correctly. Despite the warm, summer morning’s air, his casual remark—so quickly retracted—caused a shiver to course through my body, which I tried to hide by awkwardly shifting my position.

The scene, so pleasant moments before, seemed to me now tinged with sinister adumbrations. In the air, heavy and superficially sweet with the perfume of blooming honeysuckle, I detected previously hidden notes of mold; of musty decay; of rotting plant-matter. The sweet tea, which I had been enjoying, became a bitter elixir. Behind the ostensibly friendly manner of my host, I sensed something predatory, malicious. I tried to convince myself that it was merely self-delusion, some self-induced trick of perception. But despite my best efforts I could not shake these feelings of ill ease.

I Wanted To Fly My Kite...

Squareman in Triangleland

Genesis of the Doodle: I was thinking about the alienation one could feel in foreign situations or lands. The caption then occurred to me, and this doodle is the product.

Coward!

“Coward.”

“What?” Martin said.

“Coward,” Daniel repeated the word without malice. It was, by his reckoning, true.

Martin looked at Daniel, anger flaring in his eyes, which was quickly replaced by resignation. He shrugged his shoulders. He was a coward.

“Now let’s go,” said Daniel, addressing Martin again.

“Okay,” Martin said, getting up from a chair.

They left the apartment which they shared, and headed toward a park adjacent to their apartment building.

Martin asked, “Where is this story going?”

“I don’t know. I’m not the author for Chris’sakes.”

“Well, do you think he knows?”

“No.”

Martin stopped talking and appeared deep in thought.

After walking awhile in silence, Martin asked, “Do you suppose this is the last time he uses this gimmick?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well...I mean, he can’t really use this ever again. He can’t have his characters discussing him, calling him out on things. I mean, he really has no clue where this story is going. I assume this, because I continue to talk about it.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, because it isn’t polite, but, what the hell was up with that beginning? All in media res and shit. Oh, Mr. Author, you’ve got our attention now! But then to just have us babble on about the story—like we are—I mean, this is just getting plain silly. Why even put pen to paper, if this is the tripe that comes out?”

“I’m sayin’...”

Martin and Daniel continued walking. They were in the park now, passing carefree park-goers, who caught and threw Frisbees, played fetch with their dogs, or lay, reading, on blankets, in the morning sun. Daniel seemed to grow increasingly agitated, and at last couldn’t contain himself, shouting, “Hey! Just write another story, already! There’s bloody nothing going on here. You’re being a fucking ass.” He raised both middle fingers to the sky, a gesture of defiance. The other people in the park looked askance at him, but quickly turned their eyes away. After all, this was none of their affair, and it was such a nice day.

Ice Princess 2: Dark Skates Rising (Fragments)

Casey Carlyle surveyed the carnage wrought by the unfathomable might of her technomantic powers; no more would mere sorcerers rule those ice-laden fields, nor by science alone would man gain victory over his foe. For a new era was birthed from the indomitable, and figurative womb of her whom future generations would venerate as the one who ended the internecine conflict between implacable enemies: Science and Magic.

* * *

Winter’s icy chill seemed to permeate even the hyper-insulated walls of the gleaming tower city of Scientopolis as Casey Carlyle stared in sullen teenage fashion through the UV-ray filtering plastiglass of her 353rd story window. Far below, glimpses of an ice-tortured patchwork of fields revealed themselves through the restless churning of snow laden clouds. A sigh passed through Casey’s lips. It was charged with myriad emotions. It was a revelation of boredom, of longing, of hopes long forgotten, of inchoate dreams not yet realized. In her lap a holo-book lay open, the somber drone of its recorded lecture continuing unheeded by its intended pupil.

Turning from the window, Casey was confronted by the cheerful living-quarters common to Scientopolis. An assortment of white, clean-lined, functional and yet comfortable furniture was arranged around the apartment with a mechanical precision which optimized aesthetic appeal as well as addressing the concerns of space and the flow of traffic. To one side lay a kitchen, on the other were several doors leading to individual sleeping areas and one door leading to the common hallway. A mellow and soothing light issued unwaveringly forth from the semi-opaque walls, which, during the day, conducted sunlight drawn from efficient light collecting cells near the tower-city’s three mile high apogee, thereby creating a natural ambiance of comfort.

Casey frowned. The cheery glow from the walls, the constant, rhythmic and barely perceptible hum of mechanical apparatuses, the intonation of her holographic professor, lately everything seemed designed to gnaw ever so slightly on Casey’s nerves until they were raw, making the confines of the city unbearable.

Casey stood, allowing the holo-book to fall unceremoniously to the floor. As it struck the ground it snapped decisively shut, bringing Casey’s lessons to a precipitate halt. Glancing once more out the window onto the winter-shrouded landscape, she turned, and without looking back, opened the door to the common hallway and stepped through it into the passage.

Genesis

Ooh-ooh awoke one morning to a horrible realization. During the night, he had developed consciousness. What a terrible thing it was to understand one’s place in the universe! Before, he had seen every wretchedness endured in the struggle to survive as through a soiled pane of glass. Now, that soiled pane was removed, and he saw everything with painful clarity. All his actions and future actions seemed hopelessly pointless. After all, wouldn’t the sun eventually die, and expand, and swallow up the earth, leaving behind no evidence of his descendants and their works? Would the universe even shed a tear? That was a long way off, of course, but still...

While Ooh-ooh was pondering these things, Ah-ah approached him. Now, during the previous the night, Ah-ah, prompted by the prickings of his bladder, had awoken to relieve himself and too had found himself similarly possessing—from out of the blue—a consciousness. The same horrible immensities that now plagued Ooh-ooh had plagued Ah-ah too, while the rest of his furry tribe had slept. But, as he emptied his bladder in the darkness of the night, the wind began to pick up a bit, whose more vigorous force loosed from some branch a sweet and delicious fruit, which gravity and the laws of physics impelled through the unimpeding space, and into Ah-ah’s skull. That hurt.

Dizzied from the blow, and with penis still firmly in hand, Ah-ah plucked from the ground with his unoccupied hand the fallen fruit, and, searching for the path taken by this marvelous fruit, turned his gaze to the heavens. There, through a broad break in the foliage, for the first time, he truly saw the immensity of the heavens, whose star-shot expanse caused him to gape in wonderment. His new-born logic then began to buzz in his brain, and his mind-wrought horrors began to diminish. He took a bite of the sweet fruit. It was delicious, and it all made sense! Some Great Ape, unseen, dwelt in the sky, raining down fruit on all those who believed in him! Ape-kind was not alone, wretched. He was here for a purpose unknown, but able to be found out! Joy, elation flooded Ah-ah, as the universe—through nothing more than a changed perspective—became less immense and uncaring.

It was this good news that Ah-ah shared with Ooh-ooh when Ah-ah found him, apart from the others of their tribe, in deep and terrifying thought. Ah-ah’s word’s comforted Ooh-ooh, and inspired him a hope he had not thought possible mere hours before. And thus, it began.

The End

He sat up in bed, in the darkness, unable to sleep. His thoughts, uncontained, burned within him. He switched on a lamp and picked up a book. He opened the book and halfheartedly read a few lines. He set the book down, picked up another. He read a few lines and set it away. They hadn’t the power to hold his thoughts at bay. His neighbor, whom he could hear through the wall, had begun to cry a again. He went to the living room. He turned on the television. Listlessly he ran through all the channels; there was nothing on. He turned the television off. He went back to his room. He turned out the light, and reclined on his bed. His thoughts still raced: regrets, fears, dreams, ideas, necessities, irrelevancies. In quick succession, they flamed into existence and were as quickly snuffed out, only to be replaced by a new flame—a new thought. Sometime, though, as the new dawn approached, he fell asleep. As he slept, a great, arcing body raced through the heavens like the sword of some damning cherubim. It followed a celestial course which had been foreordained in the primitive aeons when no thing breathed on earth. Like some Titan’s fist, this body came, and smashed into the earth’s firmament. And fire swept the earth and choking ash followed, and there was at last peace.