Possible Truths

"If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you."

- Theodore Bear

Bears In The Wood

Preparing for NaNoWriMo feels rather like preparing for hibernation. One must get this done, and that done, and that over there, as I will not have much attention for it in the next fourish weeks. And one will miss this luxury, or that party, or that person.

In fact, Rian finds it a ttch frightening. Not the game itself, or the word count, but the absorption. I am going to sleep, and when I wake, will the world be the same? Will Rian be forgotten? Will Rian forget Self? Will I be groggy and confused, or light and empty?

...will there be SNOW on the ground?

Hallowe'en

This All Hallow's Day Rian's Self is a lacy, smoky, spiderwebbed ghost with sharp teeth and a longing for the heat in the hollow of your throat.

One Spider

Three Ghouls

Passion

Last night, at Rian's evening All Hallow's Soiree....(truth be told, it was a jittering jabbering party in a friend's basement)....there was a very tall, very muscular, very OPERATIC vampire in red.

He wore a red satin vest beneath his tuxedo. A red fringed scarft. A red player's mask, sequined, covering eyes and nose and mouth, and a red-lined black cape. When he spoke, it was with a thick Germanic accent.

I suspect that in the daylight he was a doctor, as it was a doctor's party, full of medical professionals, but Rian did not want to know him as anything other than the Operatic Vampire.

He was tall enough to touch crown to the lip of the basement's one dim light. Rian, extremely tired and also slightly buff headed by the 'non-alcoholic punch' that was in fact 'sangria', sat curled in an overstuffed leather arm chair and stared. The light cascaded over the sequins hiding his eyes and down his nose, illuminating a full, serious mouth, and then fragmenting over the fabric of his vest and cape.

He wore a single gold signet ring on the hand the cupped sangria.

He did not speak much, but listened, head tilted, to a beavy of chattering nurses.

If Rian was less sober, or less Ghost Encumbered, Rian might have slid over and asked the fellow about the taste of blood.

Gyroscopic

Rian rode, this morning, one of these amusing toys:

http://www.segway.com/segway/

Twas terribly amusing and much fun, although I fear Rian pinkened here and there. One does not often want to get up in front of an audience and perform a hither-to unknown task. And it IS wobbly, at first, until one gets used to the slight swaying motion.

"Look in my eyes!" Roger The Demonstrator commanded. "No, no, do not look at IT."

"Easier said than done," Rian complained. "Lovely green eyes you have."

"Don't look down at IT."

"Very well. I shall close my eyes."

Truth be told, it WAS much easier to balance the thing with eyes closed. One does not try to constantly over adjust. Although generally tis a good idea to keep one's eyes open when one is driving a small machine in a tiny auditorium. Poor Rian nearly ran over an elderly woman in row B.

Tis all body shifting, of the most miniscule sort. And to turn, one gently rotates a pressure cuff on one handle.

What fun! Rian could see, as we filed out, the mental orders piling up.

I do wonder if the offroading tires work on ice...

Possible Truths

"Doubt is not the opposite of faith; it is an element of faith."

- Paul Tillich

Extra For Dusting

Hot Chocolate Cake
hands on time: 20 minutes/total time: 55 minutes/makes 8 servings

8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, plus extra for coating
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour, plus extra for dusting.
1/2 cup sugar, plus extra for dusting.
10 ounces semisweet chocolate, coarsley chopped
4 large eggs
1 large egg yolk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup mini marshmallows
2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder

Preheat oven to 375F. Generously butter, flour, and sugar eight 6-ounce coffee cups made of ovenproof stoneware. Wipe the rims clean. Place the 8 tablespoons of butter and the chocolate in a medium heatproof bowl over a pan of simmering water and melt, stirring once or twice until smooth. Remove from heat and let cool 5 minutes. Using a handheld mixer, beat the eggs, yolk, vanilla, salt and 1/2 cup sugar at the highest speed until the volume doubles and the mixture becomes foamy, about 5 minutes. Stir the tablespoons of flour into the chocolate, then gradually add it to the egg mixture, beating on low until it's fully incorporated. Ladle the batter into each cup until it's about 1/2 inch from the rim. Bake until the cakes puff and begin to crack but the centers are still a bit runny, 13 to 17 minutes. Remove from oven. Sprinkle with marshmallows, then return to oven for 2 to 4 minues, until the marshmallow tops begin to crips. Remove from oven; let cool about 5 minutes. Sift the cocoa on top.

Ohene

Rian dreampt about Joel last night. Tis odd, truly, how often he appears in Rian's dreams. Sometimes he is the epicenter, sometimes he is periphery, sometimes he weaves in and out like a snake.
Often he is straight and married. Occasionally he is gay, and blames Rian as his mother truly did - arrogant Rian! Usually, whether straight or gay, he has a child. A single child, a boy. MOST often he is happy.
Sometimes he is stalking Rian. Sometimes Rian is stalking him. Every year or so he appears in a County Fair Dream. Or a dream about the Indian Caves. Sometimes we are climbing Torrey Pines. Sometimes we are in Virginia.
Bits and pieces of childhood and the past mixing to a blur. He knew me best, I suppose. He would not know me now.
Eleven years since I have laid eyes upon him. Six since he phoned Rian, claiming he was a Wanted Man. That was the last I heard his voice.

Someone Else claims, half jokingly, that I drive creatures mad. Joel, The Boy Who Saw Aliens in London, The Man With Scissors. Ah! And Rian's father; The Man Who Talked To Lampshades.

Tis the world that drives people mad. Rian is only Fated to brush against them.

Possible Truths

"Oh the long and dreary Winter!Oh the cold and cruel Winter!"

- H. W. Longfellow

Flowers For Dr. Lorimer

From Rian's garden. Dr. Lorimer does not prefer orange mums, but one must have SOME scent, yes? And Narrisch's last Ava is in there, also, along with toad lily and painted fern and Rian's hydrangea.

Beauty In Four Dimensions

http://www.physorg.com/news7409.html

The Prince of Spokaloo

Rian met the Prince of Spokaloo this weekend at the Pumpkin Ball.

He does not actually, truth be told, LIVE in Spokane, but in Arizona. His family, however, began in Spokane, and for some odd reason continue to do much of their business here. The ties that bind, one supposes. So, yes, they flit back and forth on their family jet....their pilot Clarence on call day and night. To Las Vegas, to Arizona, Seattle, Spokane, Los Angeles. So much flying!

Rian is wandering.

I had expected cold eyes mirroring a cold heart. Great wealth does that to creatures. Or perhaps it is that that brings a creature great wealth.

He had kind, if sleepy eyes. And was rather short. A beer in hand, rather than the wine or champagne most of the guests waved about. This pleased Rian, oddly.

There were the bits of wealth one can pick out if one looks; the tuxedo vest that perfectly, identically matched the sweeping ivory brocade gown swathing his lovely wife. The understated platinum wedding band and the manicured nails. The way most of the men in the room fawned.

He is not the Prince, in truth, but the Prince in Waiting. Rian's age. Still young in the business world. But practised in the world of society. He had not even known he would attend the ball until the morning of, yes, but still the black tie was found and perfected so easily.

Why, ye might wonder, does Rian harbor such interest in this princely fellow.

Well. His name, ye see, is one rolling letter away from Fitz.

Possible Truths

"She comes out of closets every night
but then she locks herself away."

- American Girls

So Many Choices

Night Sounds

The radio woke Rian last night, and I could not go back to sleep.

So, yes, Rian staggered downstairs for hot Chai and - perhaps foolishly - took it out into the ice cold night.

Sitting on the porch steps, somewhere between the sleeping and waking worlds, I listened. I could not see past the thick cliched dark before dawn, so I listened.

There was the stern sound of a freight train complaining down the gorge. The rumble of the train coaxed one sharp bark from a dog down the street. Rian could hear a very faint rustle in the hedge alongside the Abode. Skunk? Squirrel? Rat? Wind?

Two houses over a dim light came on and a creature coughed.

Even farther down the street, four or five blocks, the sleek hiss of car tires on Lincoln were surprisingly audible. And regular. Almost every fifteen minutes. Where are people going at 4:30 in the morning? Or are they coming home from late shift labor?

A giant spotted moth swooped in to evaluate the porch light. Rian, not wanting to witness death by char, finished Chai and took numb toes back inside.

Reasons Why

ee cummings

Poetry baffles Rian. I know what I like, and I know what I do not love, but often I do not know why.

I can string a few words to tell a passable story, but engender emotion in a few stanzas - Never!

In fact, the very thought of ATTEMPTING such a marvel makes Rian's teeth chatter.

I am more than a ttch certain it is all math(s) related. Where velocity and mass are calculated with the mind, poetry is systematicall figured in the same manner, only with the soul.

This is Rian's excuse, yes? I shall forever laugh or cry or grit teeth or warm dangerously at a bit of poetry, but to attempt such an equation? Never. The rash would surely ooze.

Spider in the Night

Spider in the Day

Poor arachnid. He has a spot light for Night Frights, but Rian has not achieved Webbing.

Red and yellow,
Green and brown,
Thigh high leaves
Upon the ground.
<snickers>

-------------------------------------------------------
This message was sent from a T-Mobile wireless phone.

Thread

Rian is feeling rather empty, tonight.

Not unhappy, mind. Nor black nor particularly weary.

Simply indifferent. Empty. Waiting? For which, for what? For a week that neither excites nor depresses....

Obviously, Rian needs to sacrifice virginal timtams.

But I shall not.

Crying Wolf

Rian has a Pain. A behind the ribs Pain.

Rian would like to think it is enough to call of tonight's Risky Adventures, but I fear that is not the case.

"Too many pancakes," sighs Rian. "Too much lifting of an ancient vacuum. If only it was the Avian Flu..."

Walnuts

There is a irritable old man not far from Rian's Abode who seems to have slowly developed a dangerous preoccupation with his walnut trees.

First, yes, he painted wide white stripes around the mid trunk of the trees to keep bugs away. This is not unusual. Rian has seen it done before.

And then...tin siding. Carefully wound around the branches - a good foot and a half upwards- presumably to keep the squirrels down. This is also not TERRIBLY unusual. Although Rian often wonders what happens to the poor squirrels who attempt the climb. Slip-slip-slipslipsplat!

Finally, this troubled creature has placed speakers in his trees. Long winding electrical cords of orange and black hang from the upper tree in loops and then snake across the man's front yard, presumably to the nearest electrical outlet. The speakers are motion sensitive, and so when a bird or extremely buff squirrel try for the walnuts.....zzzzing! A high pitched whistle pierces the air, yes?

I imagine the tone is similar to a dog whistle. Rian can only faintly hear it, although it immediatly makes one's eyes smart. Aidan shrieks when he ears it.

The man has turned two trees into a frightening piece of loud modern sculpture.

So. Perhaps the ancient creature is a serious farmer. Perhaps he survives all winter long off of black walnuts. Perhaps.

But Rian rather believes he is Walnut Obsessed. Two trees do not a livlihood make. And every afternoon he stalks the strip of grass between them, a sailor manning his craft, looking for fallen fruit and glaring about with tiny angry eyes.

What was the line? "Your heart is a shriveled walnut..."?

Beware obsession, chickens. Twill come back to bite ye.

Where There's Smoke...

Rian has found evidence of fire damage behind the nasty blue paneling.

First swastikas, now smoked up walls. Will I next find bodies under the carpet?

I am beginning to fear Rian needs to go in search of a blessing. Or at least some holy water.

Reasons Why

Tiptaptapding.

Dictionary

Rian dislikes the word 'comfortable.' To Rian it means 'without any passion whatsoever.'

Envy

http://www.victorplana.com/Nav.aspx/Page=%2fpagemanager%2fdefault.aspx%3fpageid%3d1062617

Do not covet they neighbor's property. Do not covet they neighbor's property. Do not...


...Rian is coveting.

Connections

Rian, today, is mulling over the magic of nerve endings.

Ah, you laugh! You roll your eyes! But when, lately, have you stopped to wonder about the workings of the body?

This morning Rian pulled a hot broiler tray from the oven bare handed. I knew it was hot. I knew it would hurt. But I was in a hurry, yes? And I knew it would not injure the hand if I pulled the platter free and sent it sliding across the counter.

There is a moment when you poke the hot metal with one finger, yes? And then gingerly, quickly, grab and move. But for Rian time seemed to slow down.

"It will hurt," Rian thought, "not quite yet....but....now."

And so it did. A brief, flickering instant of nothing and then sharp pain. The instinct to drop. The twitch of the hand. Rian stood a moment longer - an umpteenth of a second - wondering at the sharp concentration of DANGER on the fingertips that in all actuality must have come from alarm in the brain.

And later, sitting in the sun beneath a yellow birch tree, waiting for a late appointment. The leaves summersaulting in the grass. And the light fluff of a breeze, playing with Rian's unkept hair.

"I cannot feel that," Rian marveled, watching a curl reach for the sky. "Or can I? Perhaps..."

Cinderella's Coach

October's two most popular Galas happen to be on the very same night this year.

This makes Rian Very Happy as - according to careful math(s) calculation - the doubling up of the night means I shall agree to attend only one of the two:

www.thepumpkinball.org

Rian has always had a very soft spot for children in Need.

"Perhaps I shall wear gold cufflinks - and little else - in Djinn's honour," says Rian, very bland.

Perfect Fate

"My life is brilliant.
My love is pure.
I saw an angel.
Of that I'm sure.
She smiled at me on the subway.
She was with another man.
But I won't lose no sleep on that,
'Cause I've got a plan.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw you face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.
Yeah, she caught my eye,
As we walked on by.
She could see from my face that I was,
Fucking high,
And I don't think that I'll see her again,
But we shared a moment that will last till the end.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw you face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
There must be an angel with a smile on her face,
When she thought up that I should be with you.
But it's time to face the truth,
I will never be with you."

- Blunt

Possible Truths

"If you have come to help me, you are wasting your time, but if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together."

- Lila Watson

To Be or Not To Be?

http://www.nanowrimo.org/

Sugar Fall

Ah. Rian's stomach has cast up a perfectly good breakfast simply because it is in its nature to do so.

I think, today, that I am weary of MY nature. We all have such moods, yes? Rian has been tired this week...perhaps I am only over tired.

Weary. Tired of being 'delicate', of being strong. Of being 'nervy' or wild or passionate or still or wise or foolish or wicked or amusing or serious as Kings. Tired of being parent, lover, companion, confidant, irritation, flashfire and the creature who must pause to sick up whilst painting a simple door. Weary of being Perfect and Horrible at the same time.

Perhaps it is the string of Holiday Events slowly lining up. Perhaps it is the grey weather and the endless row of things Rian must FINISH. Perhaps it is being far away from loved ones, far away unto even death.

I want, today, only to be nothing at all.

The Great Escape

Rian often wonders where the dreaming mind gets direction. Where do these visions come from?

Rian has seen violence, yes. But never truly murder. And yet Rian's mind can reproduce the sights, sounds and smells quite convincingly. But perhaps that is the media speaking.

Rian has known grief. So the stomach tearing grief of last night's smallpox episode...black pustules on Rian's dead mother's face...was not surprising.

The blank alien faces...media, again?

But the glimpse that sticks most clearly in Rian's befuddled head was the chapter at the end of last night's Epic.

A cunning escape wedged in the boot of of an alien's Honda. The lid was all but closed, Rian holding firmly with cramping fingers, a horizontal crack revealing a slice of the world outside.

Dreaming Rian knew that I would not be safe until the trees beyond the boot disappeared and the clear blue sky came back. So I lay on my back against the spare tyre and waited.

The trees coasted by. Thin, spindly brances reaching to the sun. Dogwood. Apples. Fall painted leaves. And then heavy canopies of green, the filtered light nearly grey. Arching hedges dusted with snow. Rolling, rolling, rolling past the cracked boot.

I remember fear ebbing away. And the beauty of the changing trees. And the sudden surity that the blue sky would soon appear. Safety was coming.

I have never seen such an endless carousel of trees. But twas more real, to Rian, than the bed I finally woke to.

Reasons Why

Aidan, Leaves, and the Last of The Hydrangeas

Irrational

1. lacking in reason contrary to or lacking in reason or logic

2. lacking in logic unable to think logically

Very well. If Rian will admit to the general sway of heart over severe logic, then I suppose Rian must admit to the flaw of irrationality.

This does not mean the accusation does not ache and smart. Dost thou think I love you so little that your words do not wound? Dost thou think I love mySelf so much that I will fall to rage?

No, no. I am empty but for thy face, o artiste, that rolled Rian tossing and turning through the night, kept company by the sound of the rain and raw, fleeting dreams.

False Alarm

Late last night, as Rian was nattering comfortably to Dr. Lorimer, the Abode began to shrill and speak.

"Fire. Upstairs. Smoke!" The Voice in the panel Scolded. "Fire. Upstairs. Smoke!"

Rian rolled off the chaise and rushed upstairs to see if, perhaps, Aidan had suddenly taken up cigarettes. (I will not mention his bedside lamp that HAS caught fire once before.) Someone Else sprang into action and began swearing at the Voice who would, of course, not be silent.

"Fire. Upstairs. Smoke!"

There was no sign nor scent of smoke. Aidan, in fact, sprawled across a painful looking pile of Matchbox cars, was sound asleep.

Whilst the Voice and Someone Else fought over who deserved the telephone line and the ear of the alarm company, Young Black Sheep careened up in his father's ancient Suburban. The alarm service had apparently phoned his home as the backup number. His parents were out of town.

"I was just shootin' some pool," he told Rian several times. "And, woah!"

Rian, wondering whether twas drugs or teenage hormones that dulled the child's previously sharp vocabulary, thanked him profusely for coming to our rescue.

"Sure. I was just shootin' some pool. Say, while I'm here, can I borrow a few movies?"

"Certainly," Rian said, and led the boy back into the Blue/Pink room.

"Fire. Upstairs. Smoke!"

Young Black Sheep selected Kill Bill. Someone Else threw the telephone. Rian walked our would be rescuer back out to the Suburban.

Beneath the sycamore trees Young Black Sheep said farewell by knocking his fisted knuckles against Rian's. It began to rain in sharp, restless spats. And the fire trucks pulled up, lights flashing, sirens silent.

And More Yip.

Behind the paneling lives Bad Wiring, Ancient Spiders, and Scrawled Swastikas.

Yip.

The Brave and Foolhardy Archeologists discover framework, as well as evidence that the Blue Room was once pink.

Yes.

Withought language, would Rian be infinite?

I have been thinking on language, through the night and the morning. It has not particularly occurred to Rian before, the constrictions words put upon thoughts and Self. Boxes and labels, of course.

We are born without language, and most of us do not have memories BEFORE langauge, as it is the langauge itself that begins to define stimulus.

What would we be without it? WOULD we be without it? There might be no 'time', no 'ending' and no 'beginning'. There might be no RIAN. Simply a brush of undefined nerve cells against the universe....

There would be no 'you' and no 'i'.

Consider 'yes'. How many inflections, meanings, and emotions are constricted into that one grunting agreement.

"Yes," said Rian, and meant something entirely beyond verbal conveyance.

Bright Lights...

Flamingo-esque Pumpkins.

Again For Narrisch

Curiosity piqued. The Theatre of the Absurd?

http://www2.arts.gla.ac.uk/Slavonic/Absurd.htm

If Rian were without language, would I be infinite?

Flames

Rian is crouched on the hearth tonight, dancing near motionless with the flames. Red, yellow, orange and gold behind the molten glass. Waltzing against Rian's fingertips, violin strings of fire. I have been suchly for an hour, for more, and time passes slowly in the heat.

I lure, the flames lure, a fascination returned.

Schiavo-esque

A small fret has been wiggling about between Rian's ears.

If my mother's mother's digestive track has forgotten how to digest, does that mean her end will be one of slow and reputedly painful starvation?

Spoilt

Snobbish Rian has been dancing about all day because Heartsister phoned with the news that she has booked for the two of us a Christmas Tea at one of Rian's favorite luxuries:

http://www.fourseasons.com/aviara/

I am a horrible creature.

Animal House

Rian's Adventure at the Blessing of the Animals took roughly four hours to complete successfully.

Rian, Aidan, and Freddie arrived early as we had been warned that the seats fill up very quickly. And they did, indeed. In drivels and sweeps and barking hoards, the chapel filled. Aidan and Rian and Freddie sat in the very back pew as a toddler does not generally enjoy Church services and THIS toddler had already glimpsed the donuts being set out for after the Blessing.

Freddie was provided with both crate and halter. The crate was a Good Idea. He did not mind the thirty dogs, fifteen cats, six mice, four hermit crabs, one bunny, four chickens, nor the tarantula nor guppy. He DID begin to mind the sudden crush of people. He moved from Rian's lap to the crate and hid his face in the provided crate towel.

A young Golden named Picasso sat on the pew directly in front of Rian. He was a sweet soul and his owner allowed Aidan to feed him biscuits through the service. Donuts were quickly forgotten.

When it came time for the blessing, creatures were freed from crates and bags and pillowcases and perches and walked down the aisle for the laying of hands. Freddie climbed Rian's shoulder and yowled the entire way. People started turning in pews.

"What kind of cat is that?" They asked.

Rian began to count. Twenty three "What kind of cat is that?", one (from a young boy) "That isnt' really a CAT, is it?", four "He looks like an ocelot." and one "Let me take your picture." from a random grey haired person. And one desperate offering of name and address to be passed on by Rian to Freddie's breeder.

Freddie took the laying on of hands quite well. Rian nearly stepped in a suspicious large wet puddle by the communion rail. Aidan and Rian recrated a very relieved cat and the service let out in a rush.

We stopped to admire a lovely pair of HUGE Irish Wolfhounds and as such missed out on the donuts.

Possible Truths

"If everything is nothing, then are we anything?
Is it better to be better than to be anything?"

- Monsieur Duritz

Another Reason Why

Harnessed for tomorrow's 'blessing'.