Midnight Rambles with the letters S, F, and Various Little Words

The perspective was off, the walls slanting outwards and the ceiling sloping downwards, to the back of the strange room, the ominous music permeated the air, humidity on a hot summer evening. We wished we could leave and go anywhere but here, stuck stolidly to the solid sliding floor, fixated, fascinated, salivating monstrously. The storm stopped, and the tension broke, and all the laughter came bubbling up, sour and foul, rotted with mold of kindness. Stratified, stupefied, we stood there staring, staring, at the starry starry sky behind our whetted eyes, as bulging tears laboured down down down to quaver on the tip of our silky chin. Lights, the light, frolicking flicking fraying to the ends of the salubrious space, fawning on the fickle gaze of our smooth smiling eyes. Salaciously our sound soared around the confines of feasible ability. Our faces slack with furious fallacies tumbling downward into the featureless night. Fazed and frightened we slowly stalked the sallow rows of fallow fate, finding only silent salutes. Many fox-eyed foreigners sighed silent as we passed, facing only the enviable emptiness. We found ourselves sitting finessed by slight variations in the vaporous beyond, watching the vacuous mass wither and slip slightly against the voluminous glittering glass slag that sat perpendicular to the feeble slab, fishing in the darkness for a single strand of hope finding little motes of flowing feelings, greed, lust, joy, finding scintillating stores of faith in a fading light. Lower and lower to a dim vestige of damp, cold and wet, dripping for the sake of dripping, grim and drawn, sliding to rest and the very bottom of our soul.

The Legends of King Arthur Debunked

Well I've been reading a lot of Tolkien lately and he's said one of the reasons he wrote Lord of the Rings was because England didn't have a mythology, and he wanted to create one for the land he loved. That is one of the reasons I'm writing today. The other is that I woke up with this random idea in my head and needed to tell someone about it.

England did have King Arthur. But King Arthur is not a myth. Not to say it's real, it's just a folk story that's not a myth. Besides it mostly came from the French and doesn't count as a real mythology anyway.

First of all, well maybe not first but I'm starting with it anyways, the sword in the stone. Now if I was a powerful wizard and happened to need a way to find the king and happened to have the kings sword I wouldn't just stick it in a stone and go: there that's done, whomsoever can remove this sword will be king! No no no, far too simplistic. Needs some more imagination. I would stab the sword into a dragons back and put it to sleep with my magic awesomeness in a deep dark cave until someone removed the sword. Then the dragon would wake and the King, or supposed king, would have to kill the dragon to escape the cave. That would be one way to do it.

Secondly, Sir Kay. If I were King Arthur and I grew up with this bastard of a step brother I certainly would not just let him join my round table; hell, especially after he tried to claim the kingship for himself. As soon as I became king I would have him beheaded for being a little bitch.

Thirdly, knights of the round table?!? That is an absolutely ridiculous name for the society of elite knights who defend the kingdom. Why are they called this? Because they meet at a round table. Preposterous. I would give them a name worthy of their stature. Something like, Knights of Supreme Awesomeness, or Knights of the round table: Destroyers of All who Oppose Us, Holy Armored Taskforce, Elite Knights of The King. Also it just opens them up for mockery and ridicule, hence the Monty Python song.

Fourthly, excaliber. A magic sword. Hidden in a Lake. It had to be magic otherwise it would rust. How did the lady of the lake get it? Who knows. Is it the same  as the sword in the stone? Again who knows. More importantly who has it now? A sword that makes it's owner undefeatable would be pretty handy. Again, I have to say, Who knows? This whole magic sword thing is pretty vague to say the least.

Fifthly, the holy grail. The holy grail, a special cup touched by Jesus, or some other religious malarkey. The grail the grail we must have the grail. And they go on a massive quest or something. Not really sure what it has to do with King Arthur but it was in the monty python film so it must be true. Magical and Sacred objects certainly have their place in mythology. A magic sword is fine, it's sharp and pointy, you can poke people with it. But a cup? Really? What does it do? Oh Jesus touched it. Maybe. It doesn't even endlessly fill itself with you're favorite liquid. If I had a magical cup in some mythology it would be like one of the goblets in the Norse tradition, that would always be full of mead or some other such strong alcohol, that would be pretty useful.

Lastly, well not lastly but the last thing I'm going to cover (in addition to the end note) is Merlin. Merlin the mighty wizard, who leads Arthur to Excalibur, said to be a shape shifter, able to prophesize great events. And yet he gets trapped in a tree. While I'll give points for creativity on behalf of Nimue, this doesn't paint Merlin in a very positive light, this powerful wizard getting trapped in a tree? His PR team must have had a heyday. Really Merlin, trapped in a tree, you couldn't get out, a likely excuse.

All in all the legends of King Arthur does make for a romping good tale, epic quests, brave knights etc, but it hardly qualifies as mythology. In the end I would have to agree with Tolkien and label it an extensive fable, not a mythology.

As and end note let me point out that most mythologies I know of involve Gods and Goddesses of some kind e.g. Greek mythology with Zeus Hera Aphrodite, Hades Poseidon etc. Norse mythology with Odin, Thor, Freya, Baldor, etc. Egyptian mythology with Ra, Horus, Osiris, Isis, Anubis, etc.  The Legends of King Arthur have no gods, or goddesses. The closest they come is a wizard, Merlin, and the Lady of the Lake, both of whom are not deities. While brave and powerful knights are certainly great beings they are human, not gods, not even half-gods, or demigods.

In my last post I created a to do list on a monday with nothing to do. This is video footage proof that I completed my to do list.

You know what I really hate? This guy ^above picture^! Yes I mean the sun. Beautiful weather can have a surprising way of making you feel completely useless. It's a gorgeous sunny monday and I am so blessed to not have a job or be in school and what am I doing? Sitting inside watching youtube videos. This beautiful day completely upsets the balance of my life. During the winter when the outdoors are wet and dreary, inside is such a bright and a cozy place filled with warmth. But on a beautiful warm summer day the indoors transform into dark and dreary dens (especially ones as poorly lit as mine) It's an enlightening fact that I'm probably more of a recluse than I thought. When I venture forth outside I am offended by the blinding beautiful sun and its rays of vitamin D. You feel tired in the heat and restless at the same time with nothing to do. Bad weather is almost an excuse to do nothing as you are confined to the indoors and you watch movies and play games to pass the time. Suddenly in the sun these activities become completely unfulfilling.  Today I have written a list of things I all to often start and never get around to pursuing . I shall take this rare day of oregon sunlight and flowers to accomplish accomplishments. No matter how small the summit!

 The picture above is a document I have written to lay out the objectives I have to complete, my only reward being a feeling of fulfillness. Upon this ancient parchment that I have inherited from my great great great great grandfather George Washington, (not General George Washington this was a different guy) I have documented these objectives, a to do list if you will. Today I saw an episode of "A Day in a Life" which gave me an idea. As this will be a day in MY life i shall document me accomplishing each goal as proof of my productiveness.

If you are blind, or a bat, or as blind as a bat, or a bat that is blind, or if my hand writing sucks the list contains the following in print:

1. Read a book

2. Blog a blog

3. Paint a paint

4. yellow a coat

5. book a train

6. write a wrote

7. Eat some meat

8. Run a run

                     Since this paper is like, really old, it is both legally binding and awesome.

The Shocking Truth About Authors or Why F. Scott Fitzgerald Kept A Chicken In His Hotel Room Part II: The Other Side

The "Strange Little Man" of Zelda's letter did not think himself small, (indeed where he was from he was considered fairly normal sized) and certainly not strange! He was one of the most normal people he knew, he could not fathom why he was considered strange. His name was Maluvia the Time Walker if anyone was wondering. At first he thought that coming to earth would be a simple and easy journey, perhaps even enjoyable. However he found that it was going to be frustratingly difficult. He had a hard time even communicating with the inhabitants and eventually decided to give it up and go on with his task unseen and unheard by those he was observing. His task was to follow a certain being and guide his life in such a fashion that he produce great works of art at the appropriate time.

From the moment he was told that this was to be his job he was very excited, this kind of task was only appointed to a very few and now he was one of them! He imagined that he would appear to this Fitzgerald fellow and act as a sort of muse but, after his first encounters with the humans, he decided this would be very difficult indeed and came up with another way of influencing him. He made certain that Francis came upon certain books, at certain times; made sure that certain "accidental" acquaintances were made; and most importantly planted the seeds of ideas in him while he slept. This, Maluvia the Time Walker deemed to be the best way to encourage the right books from this man, and so far it had worked. Maluvia made sure that Scott Fitzgerald's first submitted story, a little piece about detectives submitted to his school newspaper, was published, thus cementing his resolve to continue and write more stories. When he went on to Princeton, Maluvia ensured Francis's meeting with certain writerly friends. And it encouraged the Great Gatsby, which Maluvia knew would become a classic.

Maluvia continued ensuring several of Fitzgerald's encounters and writings, guided him safely through WWI, and silently encouraged him during the writing of his first novel (even placing the poem that inspired the title in Fitzgerald's reach.) He did not, however, foresee Francis's meeting with Zelda, and indeed was unable to stop their eventual wedding. He did, once they were married, attempt to break it up, and in the end he did succeed, but then Fitzgerald moved to California, which was not in any one's plan certainly not Maluvia. It lead to certain, shall we say difficulties, in his plans for Fitzgerald. How could he possibly correct this?

In his attempt to break up Fitzgerald's marriage Maluvia had made Zelda less than mentally stable. When he remembered this an inkling of a plan blossomed in his mind. He appeared to Zelda and told the most absurd tales he could think of. Fortunately in her less than healthy state of mind, she believed him and sent a letter to Francis. More appearances and more letters, until he was sure Fitzgerald would believe him when he saw him. And so, that fateful day in January Maluvia appeared to Fitzgerald and told his tale.








Authors Note: Again if you have any questions regarding Mr. Fitzgerald or his wife, please don't hesitate to comment or send us an email at threecrazyguys@gmail.com, we will do our best to respond in a timely fashion. See more anecdotes of Mr. Fitzgerald's here

The Shocking Truth About Authors or Why F. Scott Fitzgerald Kept A Chicken In His Hotel Room Part I: The First Encounter

To start off Today's post let's begin with a brief anecdote from F. Scott Fitzgerald:

Once there was a whole lot of bird seed around the room because an author had adopted a chicken. It was impossible to explain to anyone just why he had adopted the chicken but still more impossible to know why he had bought the bird seed for the chicken. The chicken was later broiled and the bird seed thrown out, but the question of whether the man was an author or a lunatic was still unsolved in the minds of the hotel servants who had to deal with the situation. The hotel servants didn’t understand it. They didn’t understand how months later the author could write a story about it but they all bought the magazine.

—F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Notebooks  Quote shamelessly stolen from Biblioklept

Although most of you undoubtedly know all about F. Scott Fitzgerald the basics, mainly for the one or two random people who happen to be clueless, are covered in the FAQAF (Frequently Asked Questions About Fitzgerald) In this handy sheet many such obvious and menial questions are answered, such as what does the F stand for? Who does this guy think he is? Where in tarnation did he live? How old should this guy be? And what, if anything, he actually accomplished (Beyond just confusing everyone with his strange choice of hotel-room pets).

Note: If you only have the vaguest idea of who he is, or know him just as the author of The Great Gatsby many things in the FAQAF are sure to surprise you.

Only recently avid Fitzgerald fans have uncovered new letters and journal entries that expand upon this anecdote and reveal the real reason behind the chickens and the birdseed. Was it really so innocent, or is it covering up something so strange, so bizarre it hasn't been revealed until now. This letter is from Francis' wife Zelda Fitzgerald, sent sometime in 1938:

                             My dear Francis,

                   I am glad to hear you have settled in and found an apartment, here things have

                  gone on pretty much as normal. Although there is one instance I feel I must inform

                  you of. It is this: some time late last week I had a visit from the most strange little 

                  man. He could not have been more than three feet tall with oddly long arms but his

                  legs were quite stumpy and short. I could hardly believed what I was seeing! Yet he 

                  spoke to me! he told stories of things so exceedingly strange I was not sure whether 

                  to be astonished or frightened. By the end of his tales I was most intrigued. I began

                  to reply to this strange little fellow when he made the most curious sound. You can

                  imagine, surely, the calls of the whippoorwill? if you add to that a low humming 

                  sound, like that of an automobile when you put your head against the side of the 

                  vehicle, or if you have heard the rumble of an aeroplane, it is something like that.

                  This curious sound rose in pitch and volume until, I confess, I had to cover my ears

                  and turn my head. When I looked back the little man was gone! I do not know what

                  to make of this singular instance and would welcome your response. I have mentioned 

                  it to several people and have gotten everything from laughs to worried looks. I will

                  close by wishing you the best of luck in your screenwriting ventures and say that i hope

                  to hear from you soon,

                  Best wishes,

                       Zelda Fitzgerald

Mr. Fitzgerald had moved to Hollywood in order to try his hand at screenwriting, for some easy money, and to try to ween himself off the bottle. He too was not sure what to make of this strange little  man his wife had seen. He sent her a comforting letter, telling her "not to worry yourself overmuch" that "providing it doesn't happen again it is most probably the result of too little sleep and an overactive imagination". However he took a very different stance in his journal entry, dated July 1938.

                  I have become increasingly worried over my poor wife's vision. She has claimed to

                  have seen a little man, who tells strange tales, then disappears with a crescendo of 

                  sound, I am not sure what to make of it, although I have told her not to worry, as it 

                  has only happened once, I fear this may become a recurring hallucination

These letters from his wife continued over the next few months, and each time included a story of the little man with the ill proportioned limbs. The stories grew so bizarre, so fantastical, that Fitzgerald began believing them himself. One day, early in 1939, Fitzgerald saw the little man himself. He was even more bizarre than his wife had described. Somehow his face was not quite right, and his walk was funny. His wife had not even mentioned his clothes, bright colors and shiny like nothing he had ever seen. Recorded in his journal that night we have found this revealing entry

                   January 17 1939, It has finally happened, as Zelda has expected it would for 

                   some time now, I have met her Little Man. He is exceedingly strange and has 

                   told me the most fantastical story. A strange tale about and extraordinary kingdom

                   and outlandish fashions, a missing prince and an evil sorcerer. I do not know quite 

                   what to make of it all, it seems too strange to be true, yet so fantastic and detailed

                   that it must be fact! I suppose all I can do is wait and see if he ever returns to me.

The little man did indeed return and with a tale so extraordinary it made Fitzgerald doubt his entire life.

Authors Note: If you have any questions regarding Mr. Fitzgerald or his wife, please don't hesitate to comment or send us an email at threecrazyguys@gmail.com, we will do our best to respond in a timely fashion. See more anecdotes of Mr. Fitzgerald's here

               

                         

Kumba the King

Motha-fuckin KING!!

Kumba was king. Kumba was king of the motherfucking apes bitches!! And anyone who disagreed, Kumba would personally beat the shit out of, just to prove them wrong. That was how he had gotten to the top, that was how he became king: beating the shit out of all the other apes. Now that he was king, someone even made this awesome badge of him with his awesome crown. He had all his subjects wear it to remind them that he was their king. After a while of being king Kumba realized it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Sure he could beat his chest, pummel anyone who disagreed with him, and bellow as loud as he wanted, but he could no longer go prancing through the jungle like he could before he was king; he could no longer dress up in silly costumes and go around singing ridiculous songs. These things were just not kingly. No self-respecting king would be caught dead in a pirate costume running around the jungle singing "I don't wanna be a chicken I don't wanna be a duck" It wasn't seemly. Eventually beating his chest and the other apes lost its glamour, lost its appeal. Kumba no longer felt very kingly, but he had to stay king because no one had beaten the shit out of him yet. Frankly, he grew bored. Day in day out he could be found, sitting in his kingly throne, staring at the wall, bored out of his mind. 

God I'm sooooo bored.

He thought about letting someone beat him up, then deliberately losing so he could romp around in funny hats singing limericks again. He even we so far as to start the fight, but then he got cought up in it all and ended up beating the shit out of the other ape anyway. Well that won't work, Kumba would have to think of something else.

Breakfast With the Good Numbers

Before work we went to breakfast. We all ambled into the small cafe, the one we knew served the best breakfast, the four of us have been going here pretty regularly for quite some time. We were seated at a square four-person table. The waiter gave us the menu, and it was all in Latin. That would have been a lot more interesting if I read Latin. All in all it was pretty confusing, I just randomly picked something that looked good. This is a sample of the menu (not the whole thing, because I forgot the rest):

-Prandium-

ovi uni, condimentum quis, interdum........................................................................89321

          cum arvina et ustilo....................................................................................48739

uni ovi frixit.....................................................................................................26375

          cum arvina et ustilo....................................................................................34648

ovi cocti unum..................................................................................................83764

          cum arvina et ustilo....................................................................................34867

duo ova, condimentum quis, interdum......................................................................73348

          cum arvina et ustilo...................................................................................67493

ovis duos frixam...............................................................................................59873

          cum arvina et ustilo...................................................................................83744

ova dua cocta..................................................................................................44985

          cum arvina et ustilo...................................................................................69873

ova Benedictus................................................................................................34527

unum subcinericius...........................................................................................65843

duo subcinericius.............................................................................................86493

trebus subcinericius..........................................................................................23984

After ordering I talked with 593029834 and 249850435 a little bit. Then I watched the street and spaced out while 759328733 told a joke. I heard bits of it.

"A giraffe.......and 985749228 said "how many...................................because he was a.........." 593029834 and 249850435 laughed so hard I came out of my reverie.

"Oh man that was funny, what did you think 392745926?"

 "Oh yeah" I said "really great."

Then the waiter came with our food. We ate. It went like this:

We held hands around the table and quietly gave thanks for our food. Then there was a bit of commotion while we all passed a bit of our dish to everyone else, and shook hands with the people immediately to our left and right. The idea was that everyone would get to try all the dishes and no one would be left out. Then there was another silence, as we meditated on the food. Then it was all hubbub and sound as we ate and talked.

The talk eventually turned to work, as it always seems to do whenever I hang out with people (friends I guess) from work. The general consensus was that we all hated it, and why not? We certainly shouldn't love our work, no-one loves work. That's how we were taught, that's how we lived.

"God I hate it," said 249850435, "All that headwork, Jerry plus George divided by the cosine of Frederick, all that over Tom Clark to the Harriet. It's like they want us to go insane."

"They do want us to go insane, why else would they put you in our department." 593029834 laughed like it was a funny joke.

"I don't know, I kind of like all those names." I said, "I mean, how can you not find those interesting?"

"Oh for Christ's sake 392745926, they're names! Names are supposed to be boring, how can you find them interesting?"

And for the first time, I came face to face with the fact that I didn't really know why it was interesting to me, the just were; I can't say I did a good job explaining it.

"Ever since I first heard about them I was interested." Wow did that sound corny. That was it, I was done. Done with the stupid talk about work, done with the coming to the same cafe every morning, done with 593029834 and 249850435 done with all of it. Just done. Actually 759328733, was alright, just so long as he felt like you agreed with him.

"You know what? I don't have to explain myself to you, you don't know me, you don't even know if I am married, so just stop, ok?"

"Woah, no need to get uppity 392745926, it was just a question."

"Fine." And I went back to my ovis duos frixam. The talk wandered around for a bit, before circling back to work.

"You know what I really hate? Is when the-"

"593029834, no one cares what you hate, for god's sake shut up about it already!" I said. They all stared at me for a good minute. Complete silence for a whole minute.





"I'm done, see you guys later." I got up and left, simple as that. They stared some more, then went right back to talking about work.

Giving it a Go, or Don't Even Bother, You'll Get Run Over in the End

Prologue
Joe the bunny had lots of fun hopping all over the place. There was nothing Joe liked to do more than hopping, not even eating carrots. The most fun Joe ever had was when he hopped while eating a carrot. Now to us that might not seem like a very fun thing to do, but to a bunny it is the epitome of excitement and thrills.

Part 1
One day Joe the bunny is hopping along and he runs into an old friend, Harry the Hare.
"Howdy Harry, long time no see! How ya been."
"Hey there Joe! yeah, haven't seen you in a long time. I'm doin' pretty good, y'know, hoppin' here hoppin' there, livin' life. What've you been up to?"
"Well, not much really, same old same old. Been hoppin' 'round the same place a little to long though I think, and y'know, it's starting to get a little boring, I see the same people everyday and do the same thing every day.  I think I need a change of scenery or something, 'cause if I keep this up much longer I think I might go crazy, y'know?"
"I know exactly what you mean. In fact, a couple years ago, the same thing happened to me. Y'know what I did? I up and left. Didn't tell no one just got up and hopped away one day. Now that I think about it, that was the best thing I ever did."
"I'd wondered where you went, you just disappeared on all of us! Well, now I know, and y'know what? I think you're right. I'm gonna leave this dump and find somewhere new!"
"Good for you Joe! I'm tellin' you, it's the best thing you'll every do, believe me. Well, it was nice talkin' to ya, but I've gotta go. Good luck on your trip!"
"Hey, thanks man, it was good talkin' to ya."
And with that Harry hopped away, he never saw his old friend Joe the Bunny again.

Part 2
Joe the bunny hopped back to his bunny hole under the tree. You know? he thought to himself Harry was right. I'm gonna hop on out of here tonight, and no one's gonna stop me! He packed a bag full of carrots and what ever else he thought he'd need and off he went.

Part 3
It started off great, he hopped full of excitement and joy at going away from it all. Finally he would be rid of all the mundanity of his, now that he thought of it, pitiful existence. Finally he would be rid of the inanity of day to day life. After a couple of hours of excited hopping he began to get tired. He realized that he did not have to hop so excitedly and his hops became shorter, and less enthusiastic. By the time it started growing dark his hops were little less than glorified steps. He was exhausted, he felt like collapsing where he stood and not ever getting up again. He almost gave up. What stopped him was the thought of Harry. What would Harry, his good old friend Harry, say if he just went back home now? Well you did your best, looks like you'll be stuck with your boring old life? I thought it would be worth a try, but looks like you proved me wrong? I thought you could do it, looks like you can't? These depressing thoughts put Joe back on his feet, put new strength in his hops, put new determination in his little bunny head that this mad dash would be worth it in the end, if just to prove the fictitious Harry-in-his-mind wrong. With renewed vigor, Joe the bunny continued his journey. He hopped a few more hops and found himself at the edge of a road. He started to cross when suddenly everything went black and he hurt all over. After enduring the most excruciating pain he had ever experienced it stopped and he knew no more.

Epilogue.
Sam woke up and looked at the clock. "Shit!" He said, out-loud, loud enough to scare the cat into digging it's claws into his leg. "Shit" he said again, it was becoming a refrain. He was late, very late. He considered not getting up, but thought about how much he loved his job and got up anyway.
"Better late than never" he tried to convince himself. It didn't really work. Now that he decided to go anyway, there was no time to lose. Not time for breakfast. No time to read the paper. No time even to make coffee. He hurriedly pulled on jeans and sprinted down the stairs and raced out the door to the car. His driving was dangerous. He was going so fast he was surprised he wasn't pulled over. He was at the really pretty part of the drive, going by all those trees, when he suddenly felt his car run over something.
"Shit" he said his refrain. But there was no time to get out of the car to investigate. All he could do was slow down and look through his rear-view mirror. He saw a bunny, well at least he thought it was a bunny. A smashed lump; fur mangled with blood, bones poking out, surprisingly white against the black of the road, tiretracks of bright red blood smeared along the road behind his car for a good six feet. "Shit" he said his refrain again, the shock of the event deserved a repetition of this refrain. He felt a little bad, poor little bunny, but then he remembered he was late for work, and sped off down the road.