Squid

Well it were about 20 years back now when me, Old Joe, Phil and Benny Moustrap decided to go out squid fishin’. We didn’t have any squid rods handy but Phil said he knew an old schooner captain’s trick (which he learned at the foot o’ his gran’pappy) where a body could take an ordinary rod and with a few quick applications o’ nails and paint fashion up the finest squid rod you e’er did see. So we hauled out a tin o’ old paint Benny had in the back o’ his shed and scrounged up a handfull o’ nails from the gutters outside Levi’s Gin Palace and before ye could say ‘Jack Whiticker’ we had a fine pair o’ rods ready to go.

Now at this point Old Joe raised the issue that there happened to be four o’ us and only two rods, which seemed quite the dilemma until Phil explained, in his usual wheezy fashion, that he never liked doin’ the catchin’ himself, and much preferred to watch, and then Benny pointed out that with him havin’ no arms or legs he wouldn’t know what to do wi’ a squid rod nobouts. So fully armed and prepared we carried ourselves down to Cap’n Bandy’s Pelagic Boat Hire to acquaint ourselves with a vessel for the catchin’ o’ squid suitable.

Now, as it happened Cap’n Bandy wasn’t around, him havin’ to rush off and take the place of another Cap’n who had made certain promises to judge the Trout contest over at Lake Chudditch and all o’ a sudden been unable to due to an outbreak of the chitlins, but his assistant Lootenant Bejtman was most helpful and led us to a fine boat o’ the sea goin’ by the name of ‘Lucky Betty’. Old Joe weren’t too keen on this at first, two o’ his wives havin’ shared the name o’ the ship and he not havin’ good memories o’ either. But we talked him round and in said process even convinced Lootenant Bejtman to give us a discount on the hire for Old Joe’s emotional pain and sufferin’, which he said was easily the best thing to come out of either set o’ nuptials. So we piled into the Betty – Benny rollin’ in off the side of the dock as was his way – and set off into the wide blue ocean in search o’ squid.

But that my friend is another story entirely.

Jerusalem

Imagine a train. A steel black, armoured train drawn by a massive behemoth of a steam engine which groans slowly into life, accelerating out of the station and onto the tracks, its whistle howling bleakly into the night. As far as the eye can see is a bleak, post-industrial landscape of broken earth, shattered buildings, and dead chimneys, pierced through by the rail line our train follows, its ever increasing speed turning the piles of collapsed bricks and bent girders into a blur with only the cold, dead hills appearing clear in the distance.

The cabin is occupied by two engineers, their forms concealed by greatcoats,  goggles, rebreathers and caps. One ceaselessly shovels mounds of coal into the roaring furnace while the other types cryptic codes into a worn keypad, frayed and dangling wires carrying his signals back to the carriages behind. A greasy printer mounted on the cabin wall coughs to life and starts outputting a list of towns – the keypad engineer ticks them off as the train hurtles through their broken remains.

A golden light appears on the horizon. As the train climbs the hills it becomes brighter, and brighter still until the engine rounds a curve and a vast industrial complex is revealed, occupying the valley below. The sky is lit by gouts of flame and great searchlights, illuminating the stacks and towers of the refineries and furnaces that stretch to the horizon. The train slows as it comes down off the hills, entering a brightly lit corridor between the stacks. The horns and bells of the complex sound out in welcome and the train whistles back – rolling through the great gates that open in the wall of the largest factory…

Got that? Good. Now listen to it.

On Spiegeltents

People will tell you that ‘spiegel’ is Dutch for ‘mirror’, and a spiegeltent is hence called because of the mirrors used to decorate it. This is untrue.

A spiegel is a cross between a spaniel and a beagle. The breed was developed in Belgium in the late 19th century and became famous for its ease of training and ability to howl in tune. Choirs of spiegels toured Europe in tents and these ‘singing dogs’ were a major attraction of the age.

Spiegel choirs fell out a favour during the rise of fascism in the 1930s, and the last of the touring companies folded at the start of the second world war. Today only the tents remain.

(Went to the Perth Fringe Festival last night with Rebecca. We ended up seeing Face the Music, which was fantastic – highly recomended. We also saw the Spiegeltent, but without the dogs we judged it not worth paying to go in…)

Keldáq and Keldáqimon

An significant aspect of Zurvár music is a form of harmony singing called keldáq (‘balance singing’). Keldáq has existed among the Zurvár for as long as their histories record and in addition to being a form of entertainment has a notable ceremonial aspect.

A full, traditional keldáqimon (‘balance singing group’) consists of five vocalists with no musical accompaniment,

1 Keldit Fodim (‘front singer’) – The fodim provides the main melody that the rest of the group follows.
1 Keldit Lârim (‘top singer’) – The lârim sings in a high falsetto, prefiguring and and echoing the lyrics sung by the fodim.
1 Keldit Burmá (anchor singer) – The burmá provides a rhythm by producing non-verbal sounds in a deep bass, interspersed with occasional echoes of the fodim‘s lyrics.
2 Keldit Nìad (back singers) – The mon nìad sing a counterpoint to the fodim and each other with a mix of echoed lyrics and non-verbal sounds. This is considered the most demanding role in the group.

A number of variations of keldáq exist. While many involve assigning additional singers to the roles, the most common is a simplified form called keldáq rèd (‘short keldáq‘), which uses only the fodim, lârim and one nìad. Use of instruments is more common in keldáq rèd than in full keldáq.

The most important ceremonial use of keldáq is on the sûln cârálân (‘day of the departed’). Held every five traditional years this is a commemoration of the community’s deceased and begins with the assembly of the population at the local cremation ground before dawn. As the sun rises a full keldáqimon perform the kelkârâ, a lengthy keldáq song sung in Old Zurvár. Properly timed, this should finish just as the sun clears the horizon. Being chosen to perform the kelkârâ is considered a major honor for a keldáqimon and in the larger settlements on Zurvár Arèáná there is fierce competition to be selected.

Keldáq is also used ceremonially at weddings and funerals, and any Zurvár party worth the name will feature some keldáq singing – if only at the hands of drunken attendees.

A Taxonomy of Gross, Creepy Nerds

Gross, creepy nerds. You know the ones I mean. Overweight and greasy, they gather in the corners of comic shops, muttering in their strange nerd language and leering discomfortingly at anyone that dares enter their vicinity. Physically unappealing and socially dysfunctional, they are doomed to a life of loneliness, both by their inability to function normally and their unwillingness to implement any positive changes in their appearance or behavior.

Among the non GCN population, those who most often come into conflict with the gross, creepy nerd are women. The GCN – as with any straight male – is naturally driven to obtain female companionship, he is just completely unable to obtain it in any normal fashion. As such, he resorts to inflicting inept social interaction on any attractive woman that catches his eye. Such interaction is uniformly unpleasant for the woman involved, which leads to the majority of those so imposed upon to regard all GCNs as exactly the same kind of filthy weirdo. I contend that this is not the case, that there are in fact several distinct types of filthy weirdo among the GCN population, and that careful examination of their behaviors and failings will lead to a system of categorisation useful to determine if the freak hitting on one can safely be ignored, or should be kicked in the crotch with alacrity.

Hence I present here my Taxonomy of the Gross, Creepy Nerd, for the delectation and education of their social and moral superiors (ie: everyone).

Group 1: The IgnorantDisturbing yet fundamentally harmless social misfits.

The Oblivious: The Oblivious GCN is a simple minded soul who simply doesn’t realise that his interactions with women are dysfunctional. Bereft of any social perception (or numbed by a lifetime of abject social failure) he finds fulfillment and joy in any interaction with females, even when they’re telling him to get lost, or reacting with obvious fear and disgust. This, for him, is perfectly normal – the way the world is and always has been – and he’s perfectly content for it to continue as such until the day he dies, old, alone and basically happy.

The Hopeful: The Hopeful GCN knows full well that his approaches towards women fail horribly, but he continues with them anyway because he honestly believes that one day – presumably through the grace of a merciful god – he’ll either stumble into social competence or meet a girl who’ll find his musky odours and fumbling attempts at seduction charming rather than disgusting. The eternal optimist, he keeps on cheerily doing the inept and off-putting things he’s always done, taking every rejection with good humour and already looking forwards to his next attempt.

Group 2: The MisogynistsHorrible examples of humanity gone awry.

The Angry: Confronted with a lifetime of rejection, the Angry GCN has decided that the problem isn’t with him, his self-centred worldview and his poor personal hygiene, it’s with women. All women. In a fumbling attempt to justify his failures he’s latched onto the idea that every woman in the world is part of a grand, evil, man-hating conspiracy, and that’s why he never gets any action. He still tries, in his own, hostile way, but meets the inevitable rejection with yelling, cursing, and loud declarations that the object of his attention is a bitch, whore, gold-digger or lesbian – all such accusations accompanied by a good deal of foaming at the mouth.

The Hunting: Like all his fellow GCNs the Hunting GCN has never had any luck with women. Unlike them however he has decided to take action. Unfortunately rather than approaching the problem in a socially competent way, he’s analysed it like an engineering problem and decided that the optimum course to female companionship is via a targeted trapping campaign. As such the hunter assiduously studies the methods of the “pick up artist” community, and practices them at every opportunity – all the while failing to realise that they require a certain level of social competence (not to mention washing) that he’s completely incapable of. The abject failure of these techniques does not dismay him, rather it provides more opportunity for testing, experimentation and loud declamation on his ‘expertise’ in understanding the female psyche. He is the great white hunter, women are the prey and the rest of the world is disgusted.

Group 3: The AbstainersSelf pitying morons.

The Hopeless: The Hopeless GCN has been utterly crushed by a lifetime of ridicule and rejection. His confidence shot into tiny fragments, he doesn’t even try any more. Women walk by and he barely even looks – he just sighs quietly, weeps a little and adds another page to his encyclopaedia of despair and self-pity. In the (admittedly unlikely) event of an attractive woman speaking to him, he won’t look her in the eye and responds in monosyllables until she leaves – what’s the point in even attempting social intercourse when rejection is inevitable? His only companion is deep, crippling depression, and to be honest he prefers it that way because at least he knows she’ll never make fun of him.

The Noble: The Noble GCN has had his confidence shattered just as badly as the Hopeless, but his ego has remained at least somewhat intact. Unwilling to subject himself to further, inevitable rejection he has constructed a face saving fantasy in which he proves himself a hero by deliberately refusing to inflict his hideous self on the females of the world. He doesn’t refuse to talk to women because he can’t face failure – no, not at all – he does so as a noble sacrifice and will go to his grave knowing that his refusal made the world a better place.

So that is my taxonomy. To quote Bugs Bunny – wadda bunch’a maroons!

On Skrillex

I actually don’t mind a bit of dubstep 🙂

I do not feel required to believe that Skrillex is a human being. My top three theories to explain the existence of such a thing are as follows…

1: Skrillex is the name of a program designed by a post-grad computer engineering student to simulate industrial workplace noise. After a night of heavy drinking said student inadvertently messed up some of the audio filters and induced a series of overlapping sound loops, then realised that the resulting cacophony might go down well at next weekend’s beer and ecstasy mixer.

2: Skrillex is an ancient fax-modem, forgotten about in a storage cupboard but still connected to the net, which has achieved sentience and a recording contract.

3: Skrillex is a member of an unknown, sapient, deep-sea dwelling species that is attempting to communicate with us by modulating its vocalisations for propagation through air rather than water. It’s not very good at it.

The History of the Ambar Dynasty

1400 – Establishment of the Royal House of Hutz-Ambar by King Eddercrumb the 1st – an indigent Pure Finder blessed with Royal Blood by a magical wizard.

1412 – King Eddercrumb constructs the Castle of Rinds

1414 – The Castle of Rinds is sacked by the evil Communards of Pikkle, sparking off a three year vendetta between the city of Rinds and the neighboring valley of Blort

1420 – King Eddercrumb is killed in Battle by the Black Knight of Blort. He assumes the throne as King Rupert the 1st and unites the people of Rinds and Blort

1423 – Something important happened but no one can remember exactly what. A pig might have been involved, but no one’s really that sure. It was a long time ago.

1424 – The son of King Rupert – Crown Prince Muntjak – ascends the throne after his father’s death during a toadstool hunt. He reigns wisely for many years, thus removing the necessity to detail them in any fashion.

1452 – King Wilbert II is sent into exile after he is discovered wearing underclothes made of two different types of yarn.

1453 – Thanks to Archbishop Mazimillian tripping over during a critical part of the coronation ceremony, King Footstool the 1st takes the throne. The eight months of his reign (the time it takes to organise a new coronation) are regarded as some of the most peaceful and prosperous in Ambarian history

1454 – Coronation of King Hutzpah Footstool-Slayer.

1458 – King Hutzpah Footstool-Slayer is killed in a crossbow-reloading accident. Speculation about how he managed to shoot himself in the spine is suppressed as treasonous slander again the late King’s shooting skills.

1459 – Crown Prince Humpty ascends the throne. He wins the loyalty of the noble houses of Runetown, Hopton, Greeblyville and Milton-Keynes in a series of high stakes poker matches.

1461 – King Humpty marries Eleanor the Gump of the House of Gump, thus gaining command of Gump, the Lesser Gump Principality and the Isles of Gump

1468 – King Humpty sets out on a fishing trip and never returns. His chamber pot is declared a holy relic.

1469 – The Year of the Twelve Emperors. No one remembers what this was about at all.

1476 – The royal line is restored with the coronation of King Hazeltine II. He ushers in an age of peace and prosperity lasting for about eight and a half minutes before the outbreak of the Metonic Uprising

1481 – The Metonic Uprising is crushed with the sacking of Palukavil. Speculation about the toiletry habits of the royal family is banned.

1484-1505 – Nothing happened.

1506 – Peasants in the imperial capital of Runetown develop a nasty, hacking cough for a few weeks. The event is recorded as the Great Plague of Ambrosius, after the most obnoxiously outspoken of said Peasants.

1509 – Scandal erupts after Queen Whitney is accused of an affair with a mysterious figure called Charles the Python. The rumours are eventually traced to a half-deaf bootblack who overheard the Queen discussing her recent visit to the Royal Menagerie.

1510 – King Ecommerse defeats a coalition of the Whigers, Tronces, Mon Keeps and Viesonbars.

1512 – King Ecommerse defeats a coalition of the Whigers, Tronces, Mon Keeps and Viesonbars, who apparently didn’t learn their lesson the first time.

1513 – The Whigers, Tronces, Mon Keeps and Viesonbars are revealed to be nothing but opium induced figments of King Ecommerse’s imagination.

1514 – Prince Larrae Emdur deposes King Ecommerse, swearing an oath to “end all this Whiger nonsense”.

1516 – King Emdur is killed by an assassin sent by the Whigers, who turn out to be real after all, ending the Ambar Dynasty.

Introducing Corvus Jyones

Introducing Corvus Jyones

I’ve recently – for my sins – become involved with a play-by-post role playing game on one of the forums I frequent. It’s a science fiction game and we had to write a passage to introduce our characters. This is mine, introducing Corvus Jyones, maverick engineer…

(Note: Contains adult language)

Corvus Jyones, recently engaged engineer of the freighter Gaunt’s Promise was finalising the post-touchdown system checks when the Captain entered the engine room.

“Corvus, have you got a minute?”

“Sure thing Cap!” Corvus sharply saluted and put down his clipboard.

The Captain awkwardly returned the salute “Look, there’s no easy way to say this. You’re a great engineer and you’ve kept the ship running like a dream, but the crew have had a meeting, and they’ve decided – well – they’ve decided that they don’t want you on the next trip. Or any trip, actually.”

“You’re firing me?”

“I’m sorry Corvus”

Jyones turned away. He picked up his clipboard, then put it back down. He picked it up again, turned it around a few times, and put it down again. He picked it up and turned back to the Captain.

“Is it the razor thing?”

“Partially…”

“I told him, don’t use it for more than two minutes straight or it’ll overheat”

“It exploded!”

“Technically they’re the same same thing…”

“It’s also the food”

“I needed parts to fix the razor”

“And they had to come from the refrigeration system?”

“Hey, who’s the engineer here? I made sure there were plenty of non-perishables…”

“Doctor Goodhealth’s Complete Nutrition Paste?”

“Nothing wrong with nutrition paste! It’s nutritious! And delicious!”

“The crew beg to differ. Look, just leave without a fuss, please?”

“At least let me get my stuff”

“Your boiler suits? They’re out on the tarmac.”

“What? How you can you treat them like that? The boiler suit is pinnacle of human sartorial development!”

“So you keep insisting…”

“So, that’s it? Six months of loyal service and all because of one minor, disfiguring explosion I’m cast adrift into an uncaring galaxy without so much as a penny to my name?”

“You were paid yesterday”

“And how do you know I haven’t spent it all on comic slates and moon pies?”

“You haven’t been off the ship yet!”

“I could have been. You don’t know everything I do!”

The Captain sighed heavily and buried his face in his hands,

“Corvus…”

“Can I at least say goodbye to the crew?”

“They’ve already said all they want to say”

“When?”

“All over your boiler suits”

Fuckers

“Just, go. Please.”

Corvus set down the clipboard.

“All right, if that’s the way it’s got to be. But I’m not going to go quietly!” He lunged for the nearby intercom panel, mashing the ‘All Channels’ button with his fist.

I’M A FARMER DADDY!! I’M A FARMER!! DADDY, I’M A FARMER!!

GIVE ME THAT YOU INSANE BASTARD!

I’M A FARMER!! I’M A- GET OFF! GET! Oh fuck it, have it your way…”

Five minutes later Corvus Jyones stood alone on the spaceport tarmac – except for a pile of soiled boiler suits. The lights of the colony beckoned, promising excitement, adventure and (hopefully) dry cleaning.

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