The Tortoise and The Hare

Hare's funeral was held on March 13th. Tortoise was glad that he got the invitation three weeks early. At the funeral there was a great hullabaloo going up from all the gathered members of the forest community. Tortoise felt slightly out of place, but he had once been great friends with Hare, so he tucked his legs up into his shell and took a seat towards the front. He had a great view of the casket.

Animals took turns going up to the front and howling their condolences into the microphone. Bear told a story about when Hare tricked him into getting stuck in a tree. Raccoon told a story about how he and Hare used to go fishing, and Mouse recounted the hilarious episode in which he hoodwinked missus Hare into believing he was one of her young. Hare had plenty of young. They stretched out from the funeral in all directions, sniffing vaguely in the direction of Hare's lifeless body. When it was Tortoise's turn to speak he stood up and dragged his shelly ass up to the platform. His hard torso knocked against the wood of the podium. He cleared his throat.

“Many of you” Tortoise began, “have heard tell of the story in which Hare and I had a little dispute, decided to settle it with a race.”

“What was that dispute about?” Called Possum, who was known for his lapses of memory.

“Doesn't matter. Race was a bad idea.” said Tortoise. “Hare was at the finish line before my tail even left the block. I thought that would be the end of that, but Hare was a good sport and offered me another shot. I refused it, because I had realized that Hare's life would be short and there are better things to do with your time than race.” Tortoise glared at the other animals. “So you can all thank me.” He turned to the casket. “As for you, Hare, I now whole heartedly accept your offer for a rematch. Ready? Go.” And Tortoise hopped on his bicycle and rode away.

-Seth Rasmussen

Xena returns

You are not going to believe this:

Yesterday I was sitting on my balcony pondering upon myself when a strange thought struck me. "How," I say to myself sezi, "am I going to survive graduating?" Maybe you do not consider this to be a strange thought. Maybe, under similar circumstances, you yourself experienced similar ponderances. Me, I don't think about things like the future that often. What is going to happen, as they(the fates) say, will happen. The fates have decreed that I will earn a diploma from the UW. I scarcely have a choice at this point. So why do I worry about what the fates have decreed?

Because every beginning implies an end?

Because every end implies a beginning?

Because a diploma implies I have developed my craft and skill to a professional level?

Because I don't know how to do anything except learn?

Because the fates have been shown, historically, to be unsentimental?

As I sat in what Lewis Carrol might describe as "uffish thought", suddenly a huge wingspan cast a shadow across my face. It was Xena, warrior hawk princess! She landed on the branch closest to me and stared straight at me. That basically freaked the hell out of me, but I wasn't about to run inside. I sat there and stared back at Xena for a long time.

Idea: I can talk to birds.
Test: "Hey, Xena! Tell me the meaning of life!"
Result: False

Idea: Though they can't reply, birds can understand what I'm saying.
Test: "Hey, Xena! You should catch me a mouse!"
Result: False

Idea: Don't worry, just be prepared.
Test: http://seattle.craigslist.org/wri/
Results: Pending

The moment passed. I went back inside. This morning there was a dead mouse next to my balcony door.

Ada's Larvarium

*

"Je raffoule de tout ce qui rampe"
she said, as she led me into the swamp
to show me mud flies with too many legs,
certified colors, but darkly flossed.

"Qu'est-ce que vous avez, mon petit renard?"
she asked, while I protested with broken words,
"Do not compare me to the red fox," I said,
"Writers are magpies, filthy birds."

"Scusez-moi," she replied, her spine in an arch,
"mais je comprend pas de tout." Her eyes were dark.
Let me explain, the people of my trade
sift through rubbish and steal the shiny parts.

Saying "Regardez cet scarabee." she placed
an exotic beetle on my face,
stifling my breath, while she traced
her finger down its golden carapace.

"J'ai desolee. Tu n'es pas comme le renard,
et pas la pie. What is the word?
Tu es comme cet scarabee, et moi,
I'm just crazy about everything that crawls."



*I wasn't planning on putting any poetry up on here. This blog was meant to be a more prosey practicing place, but you know what? This poem is unpublishable because it is rife with blatant plagiarism. Should I give you a clue?

**There's that, and I'm not even sure is the parts in french make sense.

New-Ku

You've all heard about
haikus, the multi-purpose
casual poem.

Did you ever think
"There must be a better way
to count syllables"?

Well.
Have
I got
a new form
for you! Everyone
knows how it's done. It's natural
and fun. Let's all say "Thanks Fibonacci!" You're welcome.

The Apple Capital

As I sit here eating my apple, I am pleased to note that this delicious fruit was grown from the soil of my home state. There's a lot to love about this place, this little region of the world. But you probably know that. For example, you probably know that we are the leading producers of asparagus for the entire nation. You probably know that we can grow wine grapes and hops so delicious that even German brewers are buying them up after a bad hops year across the pond. Agriculture aside, you probably also know that giant corporations like Boeing, Amazon, Microsoft, and Starbucks are here, granting our state a tasty bonus of several ridiculously wealthy people. Additionally, a large percent of trade with Asian nations comes right through our own Puget Sound.

So here's the deal. It has been quite a long time since we heard Abraham Lincoln quip "A house divided shall fall, a house united shall stand" or what ever it was he actually said. I'm not suggesting that this is no longer true, I'm not suggesting that we should secede from the union or anything, only that we could.

Why would I bring up such a ridiculous idea? Why do you think it's ridiculous? A while back Thomas Jefferson himself reminded me that peaceful revolution is always an option. Why should we need any such thing, though? Things are just peachy as they are, right?

Truthiness

Just as a side note, I myself feel under no constraints to limit my Blog posts to the category of "Things That Actually Happened". In other words, I am going to be taking as many creative liberties I please. Just thought you ought to be aware.

Xena

There is a hawk living outside my apartment. Something about this fact is thrilling to me. What is it?

I choose to think of the hawk as a girl-hawk. I have no way of knowing for sure, I am not an ornithologist, but I have decided that Xena, for that is the name I have given her, is a mother of at least two snarling hawklings. Is it the right time of year for that thing? Do I even care? In my mind, I see her scouring the skies for fresh prey, which she locates and hunts. Having brought her prey then to a fuller understanding of mortality she tears it up by the ligaments and tucks the choices morsels away in her gullet, to be later regurgitated into the enthusiastic mouths of her young.

But, no, I do not think it is the spectacle of motherhood that draws me to hawk as a moth is drawn to, oh I don't even want to finish that cliché. Every morning I leap out onto my balcony and wait to see Xena making her morning rounds. When I do see her, not every morning, but when I do see her, I am usually only allowed a few quick glances before she spreads her broad shoulders and takes wing. These short moments are not just the coy exchanges between distant lovers, although there is a hint of that in the curve she cuts through the air as she dives. Instead, these moments are omens. If she appears from the south, with her beak open, there is a good chance of success, but it will be cut short. If she comes in from the east, with the sun, the long frame of her wingspan casts a shadow on the cars in the parking lot below. Depending on where the shadow falls, depending on which branch she chooses as her perch, the omen can change unexpectedly from good chance of love to the death of a loved one.

There are so many songs about birds.
Blackbird, Bluebird, Aluette, Birdland,
Is there no song for, Xena, Warrior Hark Princess?

Really, I think I just want to see her catch something. I know she is a bird of prey. I know she must eat. She will fly in front of me, she will poop in front of me, she will flap her wings in a most indiscreet way in front of me and she will preen in front of me, but I have yet to see her dine. I want to see her one morning, fresh carrion dripping from her talons, ripping through the red meat with her beak, which I understand is razor-sharp. Beyond that, I want to see her make the kill, diving out of sight for a moment, but returning in a moment with a still squirming rodent, who she twists into lifelessness with an efficient bite from her beak.

This is the thrill that keeps me coming back again and again. What keeps bringing her back?