Sometimes, forgetting, I remember:
I see/hear/know, as like
Nothing else -- terrible
In my freedom -- flying
Where even birds cannot go.
Sometimes, forgetting, I remember:
Falling downward, fist pistons,
Crackling through atomics, I
Can split whole worlds asunder.
Sometimes, forgetting, I remember:
Carrying, too fast for breath,
Screams unheard beyond sound.
Sometimes, forgetting, I remember.
And they seem so small when they die.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Soul Selling
(May 2007)
If I hadn't listened to Jack, none of it would have happened. There'd have been no demon, I'd never have lost my soul, he'd probably be alive somewhere bitching about how boring his life was, how he wanted something to happen. I think most people who have interesting lives spend their time wishing it wasn't, you know? Me, I'd rather be ---
right, right. What happened. All of that. Mind if I smoke? Hah! That was so good that .. you aren't laughing. Well, you will. This doesn't count as a real confession, you know. I've watch Nightcourt, and Judge Judy, and the one gay transsexual hermaphrodite judge with 3 nipples then had on Jerry Springer once. Or maybe it was Oprah during ratings week.
Anyway, Jack figured out how to summon up demons, you know? They used to do it all the time, back in the day. So why not know? He figured it had something to do with electricity and bioelectric energy or maybe something to do with not enough straight sex in the world anymore since the homosexuals had begun to corrupt the world with show tunes. Jack was kind of weird, you know? But it was the kind of weird that gets somewhere, sometimes.
He'd probably have been a genius, in another age. An Alvin Einstein, you know? .. Chipmunks? what? Look, officer, I'm trying to explain things and you're being stupid. So. Like, Jack discovered how to summon up a demon. It's actually pretty easy. You just have to want to. But most people aren't good at really wanting anything. My ex, Julie, she used to read those self help books and man, you don't want to know the shit they put her through. Religion is, like, guilt, you know? With different flavours, but the self help stuff is just wallowing in how crappy we are and there's even books about the advantages of a painful childhood, dude! Sorry, officer.
But, yeah. I did it. Figures some people can, you know? I was addicted to Evercrack, Pac Man, and lately this cool new game I found where you get a racket, right? And you have a ball tied to it and you bounce it and try and keep it on the -- oh, you've heard of it? But not Everquest? Geeze. So, the demon was -- I dunno.
It wasn't that big. It said its size depended on the maker and -- why are you smirking? You think it wasn't real, do you? It was two feet tall, and it was wide, and thin, and deep and - words don't get it. It was like a poem, you know, or syndicated TV shows. It just *was*. See, I'd sold my soul. I didn't even know I had one, but apparently you have to use energy, and I didn't have enough magical juice, so it got my soul.
I wasn't sure what it wanted it for. I mean, I feel the same without it. It get going on about a guaranteed trip to hell, after ranting about me using it as a coat rack; they don't have them, so I guess it's important to them, like how women don't have d -- uh. Never mind. Just a joke. Old joke. Uhm. Could your partner stop staring at me, sir? Thanks.
I guess she's going to keep growling?
Ah, right! Right! So, it wanted my soul, and had it, but I wanted it to do something terrible to my ex. Worse than her losing me, I mean. And the demon did so, and said it would get another price for it. That's why you found her spread out over six miles; she kept saying she wanted to be noticed, and -- uhm, now you're growling too. Geeze. Okay, okay! No need to get physical here! It wanted another price for that, being almost as greedy as Uncle Sam, and the standard contract was my first born. Son or daughter, but he said no to both.
What? Julie was uglier than a family of hillbillies. Even I knew that; I married her because ugly people don't leave you. They never run off, they're really grateful to you and -- well, they took after her. But, you know, without her -- ah, right. No hand gestures? Fine. So the demon wanted something else, but it didn't like my apartment, and apparently they invented cell phones and take pride in voice messaging, so I said I had a wii.
The demon didn't even know what that was, so I explained. And showed. And I guess it was during level 32 that the neighbours showed up. He'd been playing Ryu and -- okay, a martial arts thing, and he tore them apart. Hey! I didn't know he would, okay? At least it wasn't Grand Theft Auto. I, like, probably saved the city, you know!
So he died at level 42. The controllers not being made for claws and all, and I promised unlimited games when he gets back as my price. So, you see, I can't go to jail for stuff the demon did, because I owe him several hours of games and if he shows and I can't, he's likely be get mad all over the place. Look, it's not my fault the demon thought I was some kind of loser: shows how much demons know!
Plus, you know, if I win I could get my soul back. Go to heaven. What? That's what souls are for. God forgives everything, cuz God loves us. We just can't forgive god, you know? But if we don't have a soul, we go right to hell, so I need a game controller, some beer and -- hey, wait a minute? Where do you think you're going? I was telling the truth!
I was -- what, of course I'd swear on my mother's grave. What do you want me to say about the bit -- your partner hit me again? I demand my lawyer? You can't just leave me in here! I demand a game controller and pizza and --
but --
but he could kill everyone? Please? Come back? At least with an atari?
Trial
They were going to kill him. Jerem knew this with a certainty that stretched back centuries, the knowledge his the ancestors whispering methods of fighting, of evasion, but it did not matter.
"I did not eat the brain," he told the judge of these city people trapped between walls. "I found the child dying, aided him into his next life, and ate his body. Yes. I was hungry: eating is what we do when we are hungry - is this different in cities?"
Anger met his questions, but Jerem ignored them. The city-folk fought with words, none wishing to sully themselves in a duel (and they would lose, Jerem knew, unless they sent their past: many of the ancestors whose knowledge was also his could kill with ease). So he fund words, speaking past the certainty of his death -- so many had died, this way!
Jerem knew he should have wondered at his hesitation, asked the ancestors: but he had got lost in the storm, and the boy seemed a gift from Those Who Wait; the gods of his people, living or dead. He let the judge's words and anger wash over him, offering up no apology to their rudeness.
He only wished he could ask them to not harm his brain, to give his head to his people, when the next one came through -- but he dared not given them a need of his to use against him, not this easily. He would not harm the People for something this slight, even if his voice was lost to all who would come next.
"I am sorry," he whispered to the ancestors. Tell my son I am sorry I will not be able to watch him grow, that I will not be able to advise him, to speak with him in the sacred world after we are dead and both men. I ask that he learns from my lesson, and it told to never act from instinct."
"Plead?" he said, catching the voice of the judge. "I am not innocent of what you call a crime, and you will have me dead in any event. I offer you no plea, because it cannot matter. To make words not matter is extremely rude, you know."
They didn't understand, but he hadn't expected them to.
Death was exactly like the ancestors had said it was, and also entirely unlike.
It was very cold, and very dark. He waited for the Network to make a connection, to join the voices.
And he waited.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
First Helping: Grandpa's Other Eye
The room wasn’t dark. Grandfather always had a light on, as if he was afraid of the dark. Timmy didn’t like having to sit with grandpa, since he smelled strange and was so old he wet the bed. Timmy didn’t anymore, and didn’t understand why no one was angry grandpa did. He felt that, at the very least, it deserved a spanking. He had been spanked over it often enough, and seem mommy spank daddy with words over other things.
But grandpa was old and maybe no one spanked old people. Or maybe they went wrinkly from too much spanking; Timmy didn’t know, and people tended to think he was joking when he asked questions like that. Timmy didn’t understand how a question could be a joke; why’s were important.
“Your mother says you ask too man questions,” Grandpa said, breaking the silence of an hour in his hoarse voice, like a crow in a room of men. “Do you?”
“Mommy says you don’t talk much,” Timmy said, wary. Mommy had told him not to talk to strangers, and while Grandpa might not be one, he was weird. Which, Timmy gathered, was the same thing as strange. Which meant all strangers were weird. Daddy hadn’t agreed, and just said that Timmy was weird, which just confused things. “Why don’t you talk much?”
“Why should I?”
Timmy thought about that, gnawing on a fingernail. “Because you have to ask questions to learn stuff?” he offered.
Grandpa laughed his strange laugh mommy called a death rattle. “You don’t learn things by asking questions, boy. You learn them by finding out answers.”
Timmy switched fingernails. “That sounds stupid.”
“Do you know why the sky is blue?”
“No. Why?”
“Because I piss on the clouds every night, and the rising sun changes the colour to blue,” grandpa snapped.
“You said piss!”
“And?”
“Mommy washed my mouth out with soap for that two months ago,” Timmy said.
“The advantage of being old,” Grandpa said, “is saying whatever you want.”
“But you don’t say much.”
“The disadvantage is no one listens.”
“So you’re just like a kid. Except old.”
“Or mad. No one listens to the mad, boy, even when they are right.”
Timmy considered that with the gravity of childhood. “Like the evangelists on TV? Mommy says they are all mad and stuff. She says it’s like foaming at the mouth.”
“Heh. Madness for profit is different.” Grandpa looked over from the bed, staring at Timmy from his good eye. “Do you know how I lost my other eye, Timmy?”
“Mommy said you lost it in the war. I asked her.”
“And was the answer she told you true?”
“She thought so,” Timmy said slowly, gnawing on his lower lip. “She said granny married you because you looked dashing.”
“She did, boy. But I lied to her. I never fought in the war. Real heroes don’t fight in wars. They prevent them.”
“That sounds kinda silly. Who’d know if you stopped a war?”
“No one, most of the time. It’s not something done for glory; if you do the right thing because it is right, no matter who stands against you .... all you’ve done is the right thing. It doesn’t make you better than other people. Are you smart, Timmy?”
“Mommy think so.”
“Heh. All mothers think that. What do you think boy?”
“I get beat up at school a lot, so I guess so.”
“You guess? Are you stupid?”
“No!” Timmy stood, barely aware he’d done it.
“Sit down.” The voice was still hoarse, but somehow scary.
He did so, the command registering before he had time to think about it. “Daddy never talks like that,” he said.
“So are you smart?”
“I gu - yes.”
“Stupid! Smart and stupid aren’t opposing poles, boy. Everyone is stupid about some things, smart about others. being smarter than other people doesn’t make you better than they are. If you want to be better, boy, help them. It’s why I became a diplomat.”
“It’s not because you’re good at lying?” Timmy demanded, stung.
Grandpa laughed. “A diplomat never lies. We are just selective with the truth. And here is one for you, boy: nothing makes up for that kind of lie I told your grandmother. But it was worth it.”
Later, Mommy asked Timmy why he’d horrified grandma by asking for his false eye after he’d died, and all Timmy would tell her was that he wanted something true of someone. The answer didn’t worry her until much later.
Then he asked Mommy about sex, and all she said was lies about men and woman and not the simple, pure truth of the stork. Timmy wondered if he would make a good diplomat, and if he loved his grandfather, and if it was possible to love anyone for who they really are. It was not the kind of thought he used to have, but he had an eye in his pocket now, tough he never used it in show and tell.
But grandpa was old and maybe no one spanked old people. Or maybe they went wrinkly from too much spanking; Timmy didn’t know, and people tended to think he was joking when he asked questions like that. Timmy didn’t understand how a question could be a joke; why’s were important.
“Your mother says you ask too man questions,” Grandpa said, breaking the silence of an hour in his hoarse voice, like a crow in a room of men. “Do you?”
“Mommy says you don’t talk much,” Timmy said, wary. Mommy had told him not to talk to strangers, and while Grandpa might not be one, he was weird. Which, Timmy gathered, was the same thing as strange. Which meant all strangers were weird. Daddy hadn’t agreed, and just said that Timmy was weird, which just confused things. “Why don’t you talk much?”
“Why should I?”
Timmy thought about that, gnawing on a fingernail. “Because you have to ask questions to learn stuff?” he offered.
Grandpa laughed his strange laugh mommy called a death rattle. “You don’t learn things by asking questions, boy. You learn them by finding out answers.”
Timmy switched fingernails. “That sounds stupid.”
“Do you know why the sky is blue?”
“No. Why?”
“Because I piss on the clouds every night, and the rising sun changes the colour to blue,” grandpa snapped.
“You said piss!”
“And?”
“Mommy washed my mouth out with soap for that two months ago,” Timmy said.
“The advantage of being old,” Grandpa said, “is saying whatever you want.”
“But you don’t say much.”
“The disadvantage is no one listens.”
“So you’re just like a kid. Except old.”
“Or mad. No one listens to the mad, boy, even when they are right.”
Timmy considered that with the gravity of childhood. “Like the evangelists on TV? Mommy says they are all mad and stuff. She says it’s like foaming at the mouth.”
“Heh. Madness for profit is different.” Grandpa looked over from the bed, staring at Timmy from his good eye. “Do you know how I lost my other eye, Timmy?”
“Mommy said you lost it in the war. I asked her.”
“And was the answer she told you true?”
“She thought so,” Timmy said slowly, gnawing on his lower lip. “She said granny married you because you looked dashing.”
“She did, boy. But I lied to her. I never fought in the war. Real heroes don’t fight in wars. They prevent them.”
“That sounds kinda silly. Who’d know if you stopped a war?”
“No one, most of the time. It’s not something done for glory; if you do the right thing because it is right, no matter who stands against you .... all you’ve done is the right thing. It doesn’t make you better than other people. Are you smart, Timmy?”
“Mommy think so.”
“Heh. All mothers think that. What do you think boy?”
“I get beat up at school a lot, so I guess so.”
“You guess? Are you stupid?”
“No!” Timmy stood, barely aware he’d done it.
“Sit down.” The voice was still hoarse, but somehow scary.
He did so, the command registering before he had time to think about it. “Daddy never talks like that,” he said.
“So are you smart?”
“I gu - yes.”
“Stupid! Smart and stupid aren’t opposing poles, boy. Everyone is stupid about some things, smart about others. being smarter than other people doesn’t make you better than they are. If you want to be better, boy, help them. It’s why I became a diplomat.”
“It’s not because you’re good at lying?” Timmy demanded, stung.
Grandpa laughed. “A diplomat never lies. We are just selective with the truth. And here is one for you, boy: nothing makes up for that kind of lie I told your grandmother. But it was worth it.”
Later, Mommy asked Timmy why he’d horrified grandma by asking for his false eye after he’d died, and all Timmy would tell her was that he wanted something true of someone. The answer didn’t worry her until much later.
Then he asked Mommy about sex, and all she said was lies about men and woman and not the simple, pure truth of the stork. Timmy wondered if he would make a good diplomat, and if he loved his grandfather, and if it was possible to love anyone for who they really are. It was not the kind of thought he used to have, but he had an eye in his pocket now, tough he never used it in show and tell.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Poets Have Been Mysteriously Silent On The Subject of Urinal Cakes
Poets Have Been Mysteriously Silent On The Subject of Urinal Cakes
(December 2004)
Yesterday I baked a urinal cake
I didn't mean it (I thought I had to ----)
And I never thought they'd be worth a lot.
But everyone liked my cake and got psyched
That I'd made such food telling the truth's rude
(And would get me beat) So my weary feet
And I, in public washrooms, feeling sick
From the smells, are forced to bake more, of course.
Their hunger won't sate and so I must bake
More urinal treats, which is no mean feat
And then I pause to think: the gig needs a drink.
An idea comes, but I'm not that dumb
Or so I tell myself and yet I lie.
(December 2004)
Yesterday I baked a urinal cake
I didn't mean it (I thought I had to ----)
And I never thought they'd be worth a lot.
But everyone liked my cake and got psyched
That I'd made such food telling the truth's rude
(And would get me beat) So my weary feet
And I, in public washrooms, feeling sick
From the smells, are forced to bake more, of course.
Their hunger won't sate and so I must bake
More urinal treats, which is no mean feat
And then I pause to think: the gig needs a drink.
An idea comes, but I'm not that dumb
Or so I tell myself and yet I lie.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
A Letter
Dear Edna,
I know I haven't wrote you a letter in two years, but I must plead your indulgence. There was an uprising by the peasants, according to Ronnie, though why birds would be angry with him I have no idea. I sent you three letters last year, but I assume they did not get through since I did not get a reply. I hope everything is well with your Connie and her children. It is a shame about Cathal, but wars always use up our young.
I've been lucky, since Ronnie is In Charge and doesn't have to lead men into battle here. I commented on the loyalty of the men last night, and he made a joke about having poisoned their babies and having the only antidote - he is such a card, even with the responsibilities of Power upon him.
As I told you last time, he took over after the death of Lord Ishin and is keeping the Lord's son safe, in a Tower. I've never been in the tower, because security is very strict: I know Ronnie trust me, of course, but I worry for the poor child sometimes even if my Ronnie does have his best interests at heart. (I do hope the boy can't see the heads of the traitors Ronnie's men insist on mounting on the walls to feed the crows. I've told him it is Unhealthy, but he insists it keeps Morale up.)
Some of the other Lords don't seem to like Ronnie, because one of them tried to kill him at dinner last week! I swear, some people just can't take a joke - it's not my Ronnie would actually burn down a village and salt the earth. My son is the salt OF the earth, not the kind of person to ruin the land. I must confess, though, darling Edna, that I am worried a little.
He's been yelling at people a lot more lately, and once he even raised his voice to me! I didn't give him a smack upside the skull because he looked awfully fierce, as if he had his father's temper. Besides, it would not be good for his Image, and I do worry about him so. I know he hasn't been eating enough lately, and with all this talk about secret heirs to the throne you'd think no one believed Isin's son was up in the tower.
Sometimes I just don't understand people at all, old friend. If your Darryl is still looking for a job, we have opening with the palace staff. They keep leaving ,the Gods only know why! Ronnie has assumed me we have an excellent retirement plan and that the dungeons are soundproofed. he's so silly sometimes, trying to act all grownup around his mother.
Oh, dear. He's threatening to have his men gut one of the servants like a fish again. I swear, just because the doctor said he can't eat fish is no reason to act like a fool! A mother's work is never done.
Yours in peace,
Gayle.
I know I haven't wrote you a letter in two years, but I must plead your indulgence. There was an uprising by the peasants, according to Ronnie, though why birds would be angry with him I have no idea. I sent you three letters last year, but I assume they did not get through since I did not get a reply. I hope everything is well with your Connie and her children. It is a shame about Cathal, but wars always use up our young.
I've been lucky, since Ronnie is In Charge and doesn't have to lead men into battle here. I commented on the loyalty of the men last night, and he made a joke about having poisoned their babies and having the only antidote - he is such a card, even with the responsibilities of Power upon him.
As I told you last time, he took over after the death of Lord Ishin and is keeping the Lord's son safe, in a Tower. I've never been in the tower, because security is very strict: I know Ronnie trust me, of course, but I worry for the poor child sometimes even if my Ronnie does have his best interests at heart. (I do hope the boy can't see the heads of the traitors Ronnie's men insist on mounting on the walls to feed the crows. I've told him it is Unhealthy, but he insists it keeps Morale up.)
Some of the other Lords don't seem to like Ronnie, because one of them tried to kill him at dinner last week! I swear, some people just can't take a joke - it's not my Ronnie would actually burn down a village and salt the earth. My son is the salt OF the earth, not the kind of person to ruin the land. I must confess, though, darling Edna, that I am worried a little.
He's been yelling at people a lot more lately, and once he even raised his voice to me! I didn't give him a smack upside the skull because he looked awfully fierce, as if he had his father's temper. Besides, it would not be good for his Image, and I do worry about him so. I know he hasn't been eating enough lately, and with all this talk about secret heirs to the throne you'd think no one believed Isin's son was up in the tower.
Sometimes I just don't understand people at all, old friend. If your Darryl is still looking for a job, we have opening with the palace staff. They keep leaving ,the Gods only know why! Ronnie has assumed me we have an excellent retirement plan and that the dungeons are soundproofed. he's so silly sometimes, trying to act all grownup around his mother.
Oh, dear. He's threatening to have his men gut one of the servants like a fish again. I swear, just because the doctor said he can't eat fish is no reason to act like a fool! A mother's work is never done.
Yours in peace,
Gayle.
Monday, April 02, 2007
The Wife
They ask why I married her
Hagalena-faced, eyes that do not
Turn to stone, but can't
Both see me at once. I told them,
Saying, drunk: ugly women
Are better, when you come home.
Always waiting, ready,
Eager to please, doing anything
To keep us, terrified,
Knowing so much of loneliness
That they will never leave us.
Hagalena-faced, eyes that do not
Turn to stone, but can't
Both see me at once. I told them,
Saying, drunk: ugly women
Are better, when you come home.
Always waiting, ready,
Eager to please, doing anything
To keep us, terrified,
Knowing so much of loneliness
That they will never leave us.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Wizard's bane
“The king wants what?” The old man’s voice was filled with a terrible thunder, the very air in the room quivering.
“A resume,” the apprentice muttered. “They have mad quite a few applicants for chief wizard, master, and we are but one of them.”
“I am Mardos the magnificent! Mardos the waker of Eldrun, who broke the back of the dragon of Bishalman. My name is known across the seventeen kingdoms!”
“But, my master, we aren’t IN the seventeen kingdoms anymore.” The apprentice hesitated, then plunged forward like a lemming leaping into a sea, or a princess towards a shoe sale. “You remember? The taxes issue.”
“A wizard of my stature does not need to pay taxes. Paying taxes is for the little people.” There was a pause fraught with menace, though how this is achieved is best left to the imagination of the reader. The best comparison is the pause between the twisting of a face and the actual breaking of wind, not that a wizard would stoop to such things. “Are you snickering, Harley?”
“No, master.”
“Good. Then why does a mere king require a resume? I could provide ample evidence of my -- you ARE snickering, aren’t you?”
“Forgive me master!”
“OUT WITH IT!” There was a pause. “I did not mean, apprentice, for you to collapse on the ground laughing. Explain yourself!”
“Master, your stature has increased since we had to flee, due to the time in the cloud kingdoms and the pastries and --”
“I am aware of this,” the wizard said, his voice low and deep.
“Yes, master, well -- the king’s treasurer, master, wonders at the cost of you.”
“The cost?”
“To - feed, master. So they want a resume, for proof you are worth that, ah, cost.” Harley the apprentice shivered. “There was a famine recently, and the kingdom has not recovered.”
“I am merely plump,” the wizard said.
“I know master, but you need the resume and --”
“Do they banish plump grandmothers from their kingdom?” Madros bellowed. “I think not! A fat bearded wizard is a tradition! Even though I am not fat.”
“A resume is useful, though. You made me submit one to you, master.”
“You put down that you were not sure if your frog was your familiar or was the other way around,” the wizard noted.
“It’s still under debate,” Harley said. “But, master, you could just list such things, as I did. When did you take the vision quest for a familiar?”
“When I was six.”
“Did your familiar die?”
“No.” The wizard paced the room, not looking over.
“Then --”
“I failed.”
“Master?”
“I ended up with a rock. I cast the spell at the end of the course and came back with a rock.”
“So, you - er - you skipped the basics?” Harley said desperately.
Mardos looked over, then sighed. “Put that down, if you wish. Why do you think you do the chores with magic?”
“Because you have more important --”
“Apprentice!”
“Because you ate fat and lazy.”
“You fail as a wizard, then.”
Harley licked his lips. “How?” he managed.
“A wizard has to train himself to see the obvious. The obvious is: I do not do those spells because I cannot. Float a castle? Simple. Light up the sky? Easy. Mend a shirt? I’d need thread.”
“Oh.”
“Quite.”
“You’ve had many apprentices, then?”
The wizard chuckled. “Of course. They graduated when they guessed -- this is not an option this time. The king needs a resume,” he said, his countenance darkening from more than just constipation.
“We could lie?”
“A wizard does not lie: words are the heart of magic, language the --”
“I know.” Harley held up a hand, trying to get it to stop trembling. “I know: but I am not a wizard. I am only an apprentice.”
Mardos the magnificent was silent for several moments. “I see. Why did you want to become a wizard, boy?”
“Master?”
“You interrupted me.”
“I - yes, master. This is your price?”
“Without such, things would not have value. Every action has an equal one: this is the nature of magic and of eating beans as well. Answer.”
“The ladies like a man in robes, master. Magic has allure to it. I am not handsome master. I am not brilliant. I have a way with words, for lying, but all men have that. So I needed something to attract a woman for more than an evenings coin.”
The wizard was silent for a few moments. “You decided to learn the great Art so that you could have sex with women?” he said finally.
“Yes, master.”
“I think we will exclude this from the cover letter.”
“Master?”
“We both have things to hide now.” The wizard sat down in a chair. “We give given him our resume, with your cover letter. I want larger chairs than this, however. And we will give a demonstration of our magic - if they want it or not.”
Harley grinned. “To scare the king out of charging taxes, master?”
“A wizard must maintain dignity. And robes to accommodate that,” Mardos said mildly. “There is also the likelihood of sex, apprentice, since people are attracted to power. You do not need to write that down.
“Objective: I, Mardos the magnificent, and my apprentice Harley, seek your employ as wizards of the court,” the wizard began as the apprentice wrote quickly, separating fact from fancy and adding in fiction where needed.
After the resume was done, he added a basic charm so that no one would contact their references.
“A resume,” the apprentice muttered. “They have mad quite a few applicants for chief wizard, master, and we are but one of them.”
“I am Mardos the magnificent! Mardos the waker of Eldrun, who broke the back of the dragon of Bishalman. My name is known across the seventeen kingdoms!”
“But, my master, we aren’t IN the seventeen kingdoms anymore.” The apprentice hesitated, then plunged forward like a lemming leaping into a sea, or a princess towards a shoe sale. “You remember? The taxes issue.”
“A wizard of my stature does not need to pay taxes. Paying taxes is for the little people.” There was a pause fraught with menace, though how this is achieved is best left to the imagination of the reader. The best comparison is the pause between the twisting of a face and the actual breaking of wind, not that a wizard would stoop to such things. “Are you snickering, Harley?”
“No, master.”
“Good. Then why does a mere king require a resume? I could provide ample evidence of my -- you ARE snickering, aren’t you?”
“Forgive me master!”
“OUT WITH IT!” There was a pause. “I did not mean, apprentice, for you to collapse on the ground laughing. Explain yourself!”
“Master, your stature has increased since we had to flee, due to the time in the cloud kingdoms and the pastries and --”
“I am aware of this,” the wizard said, his voice low and deep.
“Yes, master, well -- the king’s treasurer, master, wonders at the cost of you.”
“The cost?”
“To - feed, master. So they want a resume, for proof you are worth that, ah, cost.” Harley the apprentice shivered. “There was a famine recently, and the kingdom has not recovered.”
“I am merely plump,” the wizard said.
“I know master, but you need the resume and --”
“Do they banish plump grandmothers from their kingdom?” Madros bellowed. “I think not! A fat bearded wizard is a tradition! Even though I am not fat.”
“A resume is useful, though. You made me submit one to you, master.”
“You put down that you were not sure if your frog was your familiar or was the other way around,” the wizard noted.
“It’s still under debate,” Harley said. “But, master, you could just list such things, as I did. When did you take the vision quest for a familiar?”
“When I was six.”
“Did your familiar die?”
“No.” The wizard paced the room, not looking over.
“Then --”
“I failed.”
“Master?”
“I ended up with a rock. I cast the spell at the end of the course and came back with a rock.”
“So, you - er - you skipped the basics?” Harley said desperately.
Mardos looked over, then sighed. “Put that down, if you wish. Why do you think you do the chores with magic?”
“Because you have more important --”
“Apprentice!”
“Because you ate fat and lazy.”
“You fail as a wizard, then.”
Harley licked his lips. “How?” he managed.
“A wizard has to train himself to see the obvious. The obvious is: I do not do those spells because I cannot. Float a castle? Simple. Light up the sky? Easy. Mend a shirt? I’d need thread.”
“Oh.”
“Quite.”
“You’ve had many apprentices, then?”
The wizard chuckled. “Of course. They graduated when they guessed -- this is not an option this time. The king needs a resume,” he said, his countenance darkening from more than just constipation.
“We could lie?”
“A wizard does not lie: words are the heart of magic, language the --”
“I know.” Harley held up a hand, trying to get it to stop trembling. “I know: but I am not a wizard. I am only an apprentice.”
Mardos the magnificent was silent for several moments. “I see. Why did you want to become a wizard, boy?”
“Master?”
“You interrupted me.”
“I - yes, master. This is your price?”
“Without such, things would not have value. Every action has an equal one: this is the nature of magic and of eating beans as well. Answer.”
“The ladies like a man in robes, master. Magic has allure to it. I am not handsome master. I am not brilliant. I have a way with words, for lying, but all men have that. So I needed something to attract a woman for more than an evenings coin.”
The wizard was silent for a few moments. “You decided to learn the great Art so that you could have sex with women?” he said finally.
“Yes, master.”
“I think we will exclude this from the cover letter.”
“Master?”
“We both have things to hide now.” The wizard sat down in a chair. “We give given him our resume, with your cover letter. I want larger chairs than this, however. And we will give a demonstration of our magic - if they want it or not.”
Harley grinned. “To scare the king out of charging taxes, master?”
“A wizard must maintain dignity. And robes to accommodate that,” Mardos said mildly. “There is also the likelihood of sex, apprentice, since people are attracted to power. You do not need to write that down.
“Objective: I, Mardos the magnificent, and my apprentice Harley, seek your employ as wizards of the court,” the wizard began as the apprentice wrote quickly, separating fact from fancy and adding in fiction where needed.
After the resume was done, he added a basic charm so that no one would contact their references.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Reuters headline: "Mohammed says responsible for 9/11 attacks"
<alcar> Oh, fun headline..
<alcar> "Mohammed says responsible for 9/11 attacks"
* alcar sees additional ones: "Jevovah denies responsibility. Other prophets do ritual shunning."
<OnyxFlame> lol
<OnyxFlame> "Buddha not available for comment." :P
* alcar nods. "Joseph Smith stands outside building, wondering if he is invited as a prophet or not."
<Kayara> haha
<alcar> "Angel Gabriel unavailable for comment."
<alcar> "Mohammed says responsible for 9/11 attacks"
* alcar sees additional ones: "Jevovah denies responsibility. Other prophets do ritual shunning."
<OnyxFlame> lol
<OnyxFlame> "Buddha not available for comment." :P
* alcar nods. "Joseph Smith stands outside building, wondering if he is invited as a prophet or not."
<Kayara> haha
<alcar> "Angel Gabriel unavailable for comment."
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
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