Thursday, December 10, 2009
Future Resolve
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Apologies
Several projects in mind, notably a string quartet and my only (so far) symphony. Illetai will join the faded manuscripts and take it's turn. Right now, I reading the Berlioz-Strauss Treatise on Orchestration, and dreaming the most wildest of dreams. I've never felt more hopeful.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
The Sundering of Illetai
Illetai is divided into many parts, though the number of parts is known and probably certain and unchanging, no rational rat worthy of that distinction can ever state that number as representative of reality. There is only one
The dream is of one reality. Reality may indeed be several dreams. The dreamers may be several.
Write the words that speak of your heart. Crouched, hunched-over within the inarticulateness of your great masquerading mind. The over-balance of Time has made a mockery of your silence. The account will be empty and dim, lost to prideful fear. The works, the res gestae, the ledger of assessment empty as my vanished vanity. The layers of the trash heap, not geologic in permanence, will fade and blend and take your grand schemes with it.
The world of Illetai is a small one, assuming that one is not a rat. It might resemble (to non-rat eyes) a large set of cages, each attached by long tubes of plastic, of varying, but festive, colors. It may seem to be, rather than floating majestically through space, but sitting, instead, upon bureaus, tables, nightstands, shelving units, chest-of-drawers, armoires, dressers, buffets, chiffoniers, cupboards, and wardrobes. It would fill several rooms, true, but it would be a small world, a tiny portion of a very large universe.
If one were a rat, however, Illetai would be all. It would be all that there is or ever would be. Illetai would be a lovely maze of separate lands, a warren of possibilities.
If one were a rat, so I'm saying, one would never think the world a limited proposition, a prescribed, many-time ambulated circuit. In short, if one were a rat, one would never imagine Illetai a cage. It is for that reason that the rat-philosophers of Illetai or, at least, those worth their chewing-sticks, are dismissive of any attempt to rigidly define external reality.
And, as harmony, a strange sort of disbelief is typical of these philosophers. Not an atheism, mind, for the gods (a former pantheon with much literature to back them up), are now silent to rat-prayer.
It is not really the rats' fault that the gods became so non-existently unresponsive. No--that honor remains a gift, exclusively, of human-kind. The fumigators and screamers, the trap-setters and crushers. The big, huge consumers of provender the gods had, in gone-by, hopelessly forgotten, ancient days, repudiated, and reserved a small portion of affection for rodent-kind. A general, objective history of human shenanigans has yet to be written. Suffice to say, their crimes are manifold, and are the reason the gods are, if not dead, than rather moribund.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
The Left=Handed Cookbook: Brats & Kraut
4 slices thick-sliced bacon, chopped
Bratwurst (2 lbs.)
1 tbl Extra-Virgin olive oil
1 large onion, sliced
32 oz jar sauerkraut
2 tbl sugar
½ cup white wine
Heat oil in large skillet over medium-high heat. Add bacon and push to one side. Arrange bratwurst on other side in concentric circles. Brown bratwurst, about 4 minutes a side, meanwhile stirring chopped bacon to crisp up. Remove bratwurst to holding plate. Add onion to skillet and sauté until soft and browned, around 8 minutes. Add sugar and stir, about 1 minute. Increase heat to high and add wine. Boil, scraping up browned bits, about 3 minutes. Stir in sauerkraut and bring to boil. Arrange bratwurst on top of kraut and cover. Reduce heat to medium and cook for 45 minutes.
Monday, October 22, 2007
The Rats of Illetai
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Humans love a mystery. Rats, on the other hand, love a good chew. Perhaps this story will be both.
The world of Illetai is a small one, assuming that one is not a rat. It might resemble (to non-rat eyes) a set of cages, each attached by long, varying but festively colored tubes of durable plastic. These cages may seem to be not floating majestically through space and ether, but sitting, rather prosaically, upon bureaus, tables, nightstands, shelving units, chest-of-drawers, dressers, chiffoniers, buffets, cabinets, armoires, cupboards, and wardrobes. It would fill several rooms (to a rat), but would be a small world, a tiny portion of a very large universe.
If one were, actually, a rat, Illetai would be all. It would be all that there ever was or ever would be. Illetai would be a lovely maze of separate lands, a warren of possibilities. There might be some strange sights, of course, but what might else be expected from a world of such wideness (all strung together) and unfamiliarity (again, all strung together)?
If one were a rat, so I'm saying, one would never think the world a limited proposition, a prescribed, many-time ambulated circuit of sameness. In short, if one were a rat, one would never imagine Illetai to be a cage.
But, at this present moment, the scene is not so much the world as perceptual knot as the world as shoebox. And, all the world is in that shoebox to one boy, a fifth grader extraordinaire, as he digs a hole, furtively scrapped out behind a clump of tansies, in which to bury that shoebox.
Shameless Introduction
A Magnificent Man
His eyes are full of kindness
His heart is made of gold
he is full of laughter and cheer
every night we sit around watching hockey.
Cheering for the Avs, moaning when they lose.
Oh the laughs we have watching corny commercials
Oh the wonderful dinners he serves us every night
He hates it when siblings fight
He loves it when they are kind
He stuck with me for 12 years
and probably will for 5 more
He is there when I'm in my time of need
He always has a friendly smile when I arrive home
Whenever I'm in need of help or struggling in school
he is always there
Who is this great man, you ask?
I blush...