Pondering the Idealized Woman of My Dreams

Continuing
in the same
4-dimensional
spatio-temporal
locus

Continuing
my frenetic
connectivity
with intense,
energy absorbing,
transient metabolic
phenomena

Continuing
a cognitive
mapping of
your genomorphic
and intrinsic
behavioral
properties

Intensifying
the continuation
of the mapping of
your genomorphic
and intrinsic
behavioral
properties

Reflecting
on self-imposed
but mutually
established
inter-personal
avoidance
semiotics

Idealizing
a concrete
point in
a future
time when
I can
compose
an extended
textual
message

Positioning
that meso-erotic
idealization
of your form
in time
in time
in time

So Amanita Might Control the Tides

Here, my dear, I have revealed the secret algorithm that the ancients used to predict the coming of ordinary tides and the strength of solar flares. There has been some discussion among paleo-algebraists about whether or not we should treat the second harmonic wavelet expression (ro-43rt4pfdkc) as a transcendental version of the Taylor series or as a simple mistake in the Babylonian scribe language’s incomplete use of active vowels. I will leave the final interpretation in your hands, just be aware that a mistake in applying the Fitzgerald tensors will bring daylight savings time to an abrupt halt in the early hours of the coming Sabbath.

Antigone Reinterpreted

"gadzarts?" he say.
"nupe. Dovel um Lorved. Enna!" she tumble.
"bah?" he spoke it.
Stand she did in rain drops of sky falling,
Down not under. "Plotze," thumb up, "ordebba eh."
An gedzarts are not gadzarts,
"you note dat? Better yet," they bark
My Greek chorus gone to dogs;
First to notice, made stable in the thought,
But she filled it with the electric water
Drop and drop, till sky be clear,
"Embo larsa Ghremo!!" she yell.
"Ogurt," he tell.
"Nevob. Tu Nevob," she fabricate.
"you see grown humans dance under luna light," they squeal.
"Rhapson," she farked, "morgen rhap, mullen rhap," she tingled,
Turning port side to touch his frenkle and drop her shielding,
Young legs naked in candle light. He gawked.
"trembo, deavaon plukket en ur gadzartz," he whisper.
"bak oph," she beseech.
Closer he came by day.
"Oh praise the eyes of Elektra," they harmonize,
My Greek chorus float like house flies,
Their dea ex machina out for rent,
"Neb! Neb!" she cry.
"Ofled," he wimper.
Night fall.
Curtain pulled.
Cast amiss.
Gun to head,
Writer expires
"unloved like Orestes," they moan,
Like Euripides they make note
Light out
Door locked
Finis.

Commentary:

This little narrative was my attempt to comment on the difficulty in translating dense writers like Euripides, whose chorus, written in the formal stage-Greek of the fifth century BCE, was hard for even his contemporaries to understand. But you will note that Antigone Reinterpreted moves from chaos to a more structured and comprehensible ending where Euripides, the writer, kills himself (a reference, of course, to Aristophanes’ The Frogs, where we have Aeschylus and a recently dead Euripides arguing, in Hades, about who is the best Greek playwright).

Oh, by the way, I know that Antigone was written by Sophocles, not Euripides!!! But that title came into my head and I just couldn’t shake it. So, figuring that the vast majority of readers couldn’t name any ancient Greek plays let along know who is the correct author of Antigone, I let it stand.

More Commentary:

I should mention that Euripides actually did write a play called Antigone, but it has been lost. I suspect it had a happier ending than the one by Sophocles (stating this is almost a tautology -- Sophocles never wrote a happy ending to anything. Hence we have Sophocles in Mathew Arnold's Dover Beach standing on the cliffs watching the ebb and flow of the dark, gloomy Aegean.)

A Descendent of the Archaeopteryx

Known to glow in the dark when exposed to the full moon, this rare Polaroid photograph
taken on a cloudless night in the San Gabriel Mountains by the last of the film photographers
in southern California, shows a Quaqualux in its male phase preening its aboriginal feathers.

 
Few native California fauna have engendered as much discussion among dinotherapod observers as the Quaqualux, a remote terrestrial descendent of the ancient Archaeopteryx line, once thought extinct since the middle of the pleo-Jurassic age but now known simply to have gone in hiding after the tribulations of the last ice age where homo Neanderthalis hunted it throughout its range finding the proto-aveboid easy pickings among the roaming herds of Ural mastodons where it not only nested but lived a quiet symbiotic life picking and eating the larvae of the scorpion-like parasites that infested the thick wooly coats of these huge lumbering beasts. Today, in the desolate cycad forests east of Pasadena and south of Burbank, a no-man’s land of scrub ferns, abandoned cell phone towers, and dwarf palms, the Quaqualux is making a come-back, living among the packs of motorcycle gangs and their nefarious dirt bikes, feeding off the clouds of lice and skin mites that swarm around these hygiene deficient adventurists and breeding in the saddle bags of unsuspecting Harley cowboys. Noting that these exceptionally rare creatures are the last living relatives of the great dinosaurs of the Mesozoic, the California Department of the Interior has put a thousand dollar bounty on them, dead or alive (preferably dead, so the posters say) fearing that, if left to the ineluctable forces of evolution, they will eventually shed their vestigial feathers and become fierce packs of neo-velociraptors, terrorizing late fifty-ninth century camp grounds and leaving the super-critical historians of that period with nothing better to do but blame the park services of past millennia for their failure to stop the onward march of natural selection while they had the chance.

 
This snippet of cryptozoological science is part of my mission to bring the undeniable truths of science and history to the average citizen as well as our uninvited guests, the aliens from Blesso IV who arrived here forty three years ago from the star system of alpha Centauri and who, as we all know, are slowly and patiently taking over the civilized world in their clever disguise as ordinary metal coat hangers.

Quaqualux drawing (c)2008 Earl Cox

The Demolished Lighthouse

The ruins of Nevohym.

The evidence of partial rebuilding places this sometime around 15,900 AUC. Note in the background, the unfinisded Operculum for agents of the Visitor. The original was destroyed (as was everything in a sixteen hundred kilometer radius) so this Operculum must have been started before any attempt to rebuild was abandoned.

Sitting on the southern edge of the North American continental shelf, Nevohym was the site of the ninth great telescope. The telescope (and the entire city) was destroyed by Vykoon Agegistes, grandson of Camoon the First Separator, during the third wave of the insurrectionists. The huge and immediate loss of human life (including Vykoon and Lyserl, chief of his traveling mistresses) when the base of the telescope was breached and the quantum field exposed made this the first and the last telescope ever attacked during all the long years of the conflict.

The war of the division spread across the cities of the world. And the forces of native humanity and the machines confronted each other according to the custom of the city and the fear of the people. Some say the war, once started, radiated out from Tuprefolle in decreasing strength, leaving the estuary and tidal cities in ruins, leaving the old European cities sundered along machine and organic lines, and plunging the southern Mediterranean basin into five centuries of chaos and isolation. Yet oddly enough, in the very cities where the war began, in Alcebedes and Rhodeza and Argonefta, the rumbles of war passed on, and life continued, machines and dwindling humans, wary yet secure, once more lived and worked together.