"What are you doing?" The voice came out of nowhere and I jumped up in surprise.
"Holy shit, you scared me."
"Sorry, brother. What's going on?" The voice was attached to a boy who had come up the other side of the hill.
"I'm making a sacrifice to Hades. And I'm not your brother." I answered shortly. The kid had a simple look to him.
"Here? Why here?"
"Well, it's a Cypress tree isn't it?"
"So?"
"The Cypress tree is sacred to Hades. Were you born under a rock?" The kid smiled at me with a toothless grin.
"I didn't know that. Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why is it sacred to Hades?"
"It just is, you moron. Now leave me alone." I went back to my preparations. It had to be done just right or I'd end up pissing off the Great Pissed Off One.
I'd never thought much about it before. I'd heard about Hades' attachment to the Cypress tree but you can never get a straight answer from anyone about stuff like that. You try sorting out all the nonsense that people propagate when it comes to their gods. I swear that if people thought about it there'd be a god and a holiday for every good bowel movement they'd ever had. As it is, I just do what I'm told and I'd been told that if you need a favour from the crustiest of gods, you'd better make it a good sacrifice.
"What is it you want?" said the dumb kid.
"It's none of your business." I said.
"Well, it might be." he answered.
"Kid, don't you have some sheep to flock, or something?"
"No." He stood entranced by the fire I had started. I thought about giving him a good thump on the head, just for bugging me, but then I thought better of it.
"Look, kid, I need a favour from him and the priest told me to make a sacrifice under a Cypress tree. Now, fuck off and leave me alone." I blew on the kindling and the fire flared up for a second but then dwindled away again.
"I can make a fire." the kid said, still hypnotized by the small flame.
"Good for you, kid. I don't suppose you have any dryer lint on you, do you?"
The kid laughed out loud at that. I reconsidered the head-thumping business and stood up. As the blood rushed from my own head I began to feel a bit whoozy and the kid spun out of focus. I jammed a hand out and grabbed onto the tree.
"Be careful." the kid intoned in a sing-song voice as I fell to the ground and lost consciousness.
When I came to, I was lying on the floor of a stone cavern that soared more than a hundred feet above my head. I stared, stupidly, at the ceiling for a minute or two before I realized that I wasn't anywhere near the Cypress anymore.
"How do you feel, now?" I heard the kid's voice in my ear.
I jerked around and found myself staring into his vacant eyes. He was squatting about a foot away, looking intently at me. The queasy feeling in my stomach returned as I realized that this was no normal kid.
"Where am I?" I said. My voice sounded hollow and hoarse.
"Right where you wanted to be, aren't you?"
A terror I can't describe descended on me as I realized that I was looking at the Master of Doom. He needed a bath though. And then, I fainted again.
"Orpheus."
I followed the voice up from the blackness that had enveloped me and when I opened my eyes I saw her. I promptly gagged as my breath caught in my throat and I started to hack and cough violently until she had to pound on my back. Finally, I could breathe.
"Eurydice? Is it you?" I spat out.
"Of course it is, Orpheus. What the hell are you doing here?"
"I came looking for you. What's the matter? Aren't you happy to see me?"
"Of course I'm happy to see you, you boob. I mean, how did you get here? Did you die?" She helped me up into a sitting position, the love of my life and the reason I couldn't go on.
"I was making a sacrifice to Hades." I said and then I thought of something else. "Hey, did you see a weird kid here, a second ago?"
"A kid? What kid? Hades told me you'd come for me and that I was to take care of you until he returns. There's no kid here, just you and me."
"Huh." I said.
Just then a door screeched open and a regal looking man entered, only to pause, rolling his eyes, and say, "Do you think you could put some oil on that thing? Would that be too much to ask?" to the servant grovelling behind him. The servant disappeared and returned a moment later with an oil can and squeezed some onto the rusted hinges.
"Orpheus." the Lord of Dread said, "What's going on?"
"Nothing, Master." I did some grovelling then, too. It's hard not to.
"Get up. Get up." Hades sat down on a throne that appeared out of nowhere. "Now, what's all this nonsense about? I hear you've been asking around for me. What's on your mind?"
"Uh." I started.
"Whoo boy! For a writer, you sure don't use a lot of big words. Let me save you the trouble. Take her, but before you do, you have to do something for me."
"Really?" I asked, not a little suspicious.
"Sing, man. Take a look around here. I haven't seen a good show in years. Apparently dead people can't sing very well. I didn't know that. Did you know that?" He waved a hand and a lyre appeared, which he then handed to me. "Do it. Or nobody goes anywhere." he added with some very convincing malice.
I wondered what he wanted me to play and began to dig around in my alcohol soaked brain for a good old rousing 'let them go' song. I couldn't think of a single thing.
"Sing" Hades thundered, and right there I made up a song about how great Hades was and all the cool things he can do. He liked it well enough, although I think he'd have rather'd a song about girls.
"Now," he said leaning forward, "get the hell out of here. And don't bother looking back. If you do the deal's off." He turned and sat down wearily on his throne. "I'm telling you, more people wander out of here than come in, anymore. What's a God of the Dead to do?"
"I can't believe it." she said to me.
"I know. I don't believe it either, but I'm not sticking around for him to change his mind." And I gave her arm a tug. "Let's go."
Just then I spotted the half-witted kid again. I waved to him but he just stood there, not waving back. I should have punched him when I had the chance, I thought.
"Hey, is that the kid you saw?" Eurydice turned as we passed him.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Friday, January 12, 2007
So Cold
Dr. James Bedford was a psychology professor, born into the family that gives its name to Bedford, Massachusetts. Although his published work explores the ideas of youth vocational interests and studies, the reason his name is still in circulation today is that his body is as well.
Bedford is recognized as the first successfully cryonically preserved human. There were earlier attempts but none were successful.
Bedford died this day in 1967 in Glendale, California and was immediately frozen. Despite the advances in technology in the last forty years, there are still no methods known to reverse the effects of being cryonically frozen, much less to reverse the causes of his death.
Being dead and frozen, however, doesn't bring to an end the trials of life. Seventeen people were cryonically frozen between 1967 and 1973, with Bedford being the only one still waiting for science to catch up with him. In 1979 it was discovered that a number of these early human popsicles had thawed out enough, due to equipment malfunction, that re-freezing was impossible and they were removed from the program.
In 1991, Bedford was moved to a new facility and when they checked on him, all seemed to be in order. He was still frozen, still dead and still waiting for someone to do something about it.
Curiously, a paper of his, written in 1956 is entitled, "Your future job: A guide to personal and occupational orientation of youth in the atomic age." Insert your own cynically detached punch line here.
The most disheartening thought of all is that, even if we had the smarts to thaw him out, cure his ailments and re-instate his standing as a living, walking member of the human race, he likely wouldn't be too happy about being brought back to life, at this point in time. As a society, we probably have less regard for old folks now than they did in 1967. I can't imagine that Bedford went to all this trouble just to be thawed, cured and then shipped off to an old age home to spend the rest of his unnatural life being ignored, mocked and forgotten all over again. He's better off where he is now.
A note to anyone who cares: I'd rather not be frozen, if it's all the same to you. I'm only half-way down to path of my normal life expectancy and I don't understand most of what's going on around me now. And besides, I hate the cold.
Bedford is recognized as the first successfully cryonically preserved human. There were earlier attempts but none were successful.
Bedford died this day in 1967 in Glendale, California and was immediately frozen. Despite the advances in technology in the last forty years, there are still no methods known to reverse the effects of being cryonically frozen, much less to reverse the causes of his death.
Being dead and frozen, however, doesn't bring to an end the trials of life. Seventeen people were cryonically frozen between 1967 and 1973, with Bedford being the only one still waiting for science to catch up with him. In 1979 it was discovered that a number of these early human popsicles had thawed out enough, due to equipment malfunction, that re-freezing was impossible and they were removed from the program.
In 1991, Bedford was moved to a new facility and when they checked on him, all seemed to be in order. He was still frozen, still dead and still waiting for someone to do something about it.
Curiously, a paper of his, written in 1956 is entitled, "Your future job: A guide to personal and occupational orientation of youth in the atomic age." Insert your own cynically detached punch line here.
The most disheartening thought of all is that, even if we had the smarts to thaw him out, cure his ailments and re-instate his standing as a living, walking member of the human race, he likely wouldn't be too happy about being brought back to life, at this point in time. As a society, we probably have less regard for old folks now than they did in 1967. I can't imagine that Bedford went to all this trouble just to be thawed, cured and then shipped off to an old age home to spend the rest of his unnatural life being ignored, mocked and forgotten all over again. He's better off where he is now.
A note to anyone who cares: I'd rather not be frozen, if it's all the same to you. I'm only half-way down to path of my normal life expectancy and I don't understand most of what's going on around me now. And besides, I hate the cold.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
In Memory
Two years have come and now gone. When I woke this morning, I sat on the edge of my bed and I wondered how I ever made it this far. I still don't know.
Nothing will dull the ache that I feel. I don't have the words to describe it.
I do, however, have the words to describe the love I still feel. It is ever-present. With the light of each new day I remember the light of days past and with it the memories of Beth. The pictures I have can show me the smile I miss. I can remember the day it was taken, where it was taken and why. I remember what she said to me and I remember how I felt looking at her, being with her and being in love.
More vivid is the feelng of her near me. The feeling that your senses supply even when you're not looking for it. The nearness, the touch and the quiet assurance that comes from being with someone who has changed your life in profound ways. If I close my eyes I can feel her, still there, chatting about her day, laughing at my bad jokes and then, for a second and sometimes more, I can feel her slip her hand under my arm and take my hand. She's not so far away.
I got up and I made myself a cup of coffee and sat at the desk and wondered what I could say that I haven't already said. Then I realized that words aren't neccessary. That all I need to do is shut my eyes and she's there. She always was and she always will be.
Nothing will dull the ache that I feel. I don't have the words to describe it.
I do, however, have the words to describe the love I still feel. It is ever-present. With the light of each new day I remember the light of days past and with it the memories of Beth. The pictures I have can show me the smile I miss. I can remember the day it was taken, where it was taken and why. I remember what she said to me and I remember how I felt looking at her, being with her and being in love.
More vivid is the feelng of her near me. The feeling that your senses supply even when you're not looking for it. The nearness, the touch and the quiet assurance that comes from being with someone who has changed your life in profound ways. If I close my eyes I can feel her, still there, chatting about her day, laughing at my bad jokes and then, for a second and sometimes more, I can feel her slip her hand under my arm and take my hand. She's not so far away.
I got up and I made myself a cup of coffee and sat at the desk and wondered what I could say that I haven't already said. Then I realized that words aren't neccessary. That all I need to do is shut my eyes and she's there. She always was and she always will be.
Monday, January 08, 2007
My New Home
I just took possession of my first Mac computer. I feel like I've been locked out of my own house. So I'm writing this from the front porch, I guess, waiting for someone to come along and let me in.
As I was packing up the old piece of junk that has been home for the last two years, I couldn't help but feel sad. Despite the fact that the fans made more noise than the fire alarm, and that I could shower and shave in the time it took to boot, I knew that computer inside out.
I don't know that Mac users understand the comfort that comes from being able to crack open your computer to diagnose and fix anythinng that begins to malfunction. I've been told that I won't have to worry about things like that anymore. I wouldn't know where to begin with this machine, anyway.
Anthropomorphism aside, I quite like the interface of the new machine while, at the same time, I feel like I'm sitting in the audience as a magician performs his curious feats. I'm also more than a little nervous about being pressed into the Mac Army, wondering if I'm ready to shake hands and kiss babies on behalf of the other side. Please, God, don't make me preface everything I say with an "i".
My first and only concern, right now, is how to get around the Word problem. So far I can only look at the files I've transferred from the old boy. I can't even correct a simple spelling mistake on any thing I've written on the old machine. A quick look around the Internet has confirmed my suspicions about Mac's abilities with Word. Either I fork over a huge sum of money to buy Word for Mac or I figure out how to get around the problem. I have yet to find anyone inviting me to submit something in a format that Mac recognizes. Granted, I've only been looking for a day. I've got a nickle for anyone who can help.
All that aside, I'm coming to appreciate the economy of function I've found here in Mac Land. For the first hour or two I was held captive by the vibrant animation of the icons as I opened and closed applications just to watch them play around the screen. Then, once I discovered how to turn them off (seems like such a waste of resources to a PC boy, like me), I settled down to the meat and potatoes. I've got a long way to go before I'm Mac material, but there's a whole new world out there and I'll be damned if I'm going to spend anymore time with my head inside a computer case, trying to figure out how why my sound card won't do what it's supposed to do. Now let's see if I can get this thing to publish this. My new Mac seems loath to let me know why some things don't work. It just smirks at me when I ask. I may have to teach it a lesson or two about disclosure.
Mmmm. The spell check doesn't work.
As I was packing up the old piece of junk that has been home for the last two years, I couldn't help but feel sad. Despite the fact that the fans made more noise than the fire alarm, and that I could shower and shave in the time it took to boot, I knew that computer inside out.
I don't know that Mac users understand the comfort that comes from being able to crack open your computer to diagnose and fix anythinng that begins to malfunction. I've been told that I won't have to worry about things like that anymore. I wouldn't know where to begin with this machine, anyway.
Anthropomorphism aside, I quite like the interface of the new machine while, at the same time, I feel like I'm sitting in the audience as a magician performs his curious feats. I'm also more than a little nervous about being pressed into the Mac Army, wondering if I'm ready to shake hands and kiss babies on behalf of the other side. Please, God, don't make me preface everything I say with an "i".
My first and only concern, right now, is how to get around the Word problem. So far I can only look at the files I've transferred from the old boy. I can't even correct a simple spelling mistake on any thing I've written on the old machine. A quick look around the Internet has confirmed my suspicions about Mac's abilities with Word. Either I fork over a huge sum of money to buy Word for Mac or I figure out how to get around the problem. I have yet to find anyone inviting me to submit something in a format that Mac recognizes. Granted, I've only been looking for a day. I've got a nickle for anyone who can help.
All that aside, I'm coming to appreciate the economy of function I've found here in Mac Land. For the first hour or two I was held captive by the vibrant animation of the icons as I opened and closed applications just to watch them play around the screen. Then, once I discovered how to turn them off (seems like such a waste of resources to a PC boy, like me), I settled down to the meat and potatoes. I've got a long way to go before I'm Mac material, but there's a whole new world out there and I'll be damned if I'm going to spend anymore time with my head inside a computer case, trying to figure out how why my sound card won't do what it's supposed to do. Now let's see if I can get this thing to publish this. My new Mac seems loath to let me know why some things don't work. It just smirks at me when I ask. I may have to teach it a lesson or two about disclosure.
Mmmm. The spell check doesn't work.
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