Here’s a dish I make about once a week. When it landed on my plate this last time, it looked so good, I decided that I had to share.
I recently experienced a thoroughly enjoyable thought process as I learned of the development of abstract thought in ancient Greece. While researching for a large project, I’d been making notes about early Greek thinkers from the 6th and 5th centuries BC. The source I’ve been working with is The Greek Philosophers: From Tales to Aristotle by W.K.C. Guthrie.
I have to be honest: up until a couple weeks ago, I’d never heard of Jeff Vandermeer. Now, however, I’m glad to have. It’s surprising, too, given that Jeff is a science-fiction author, and I have something of an interest in that genre. While I’m not sure how much I’d get into a cop story in a land of mushroom people, after having experienced his other latest work, Booklife, I’m keen to give Finch a try now too.
I love questions. I love thinking about questions; how I’d answer them, what the answers might implicate about me, about the world that I live in. I ran into a fun question recently that I really enjoyed deliberating.
Here’s the question (the origin is at the end of my meandering).
The secrets of this world are many. Who do you share them with?
a. Those who have embraced the truth.
b. Anyone who can pay the price.
c. My blood alone.
As a fairly high-energy person, this one is a staple of my existence.
A couple of books I’ve picked up recently haven’t settled well with me so I’ve been deliberating over the reasons why, and even whether, to give up on a book that I’ve started. There are so many books out there to read that sometimes it’s difficult to tell, even from a recommendation, whether any particular piece is worth the time. Not everybody reads the same way. I know some who read very quickly, scanning over certain aspects of a writer’s work that they are willing to forgive, while other readers may take their time, are very careful to examine every passage, every sentence, so certain details are important. In some cases, though, maybe there’s some mysterious element to the book that can’t exactly be pinpointed, something non-specific, but that leaves you a little dissatisfied. Do you slog through to the end, give the work its merits, and move on from a less than satisfactory experience to another hopefully better one?
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So much of my time is spent looking at clouds, wondering what I see in the figures and shapes, and what I see I feel. None of it makes any sense any more than the weather, and its affect on me is what changes me, drives me, pains me. A subtle, frightening figure watching from a distance, or sharing my desk with me.
The entire first series of Escape is now available as a single download for those interested in reading it from beginning to end. I have no plans yet to produce a second series, though I think I might. Thanks to everyone for their comments and interest on this little project.
Samara walked through the large, empty house for several minutes before she found Robert sitting on the edge of a king-sized bed in the master bedroom. He was slumped over, his elbows on his knees, with his head down. She walked in and crossed the room, standing by a massive picture-window that looked out onto the lake. “You okay?” she said.
Reaching up and grabbing a small, green rope I tugged down the garage door as I listened to a series of pops and whispered gargling noises coming from the raiment behind me. Three or four of those enormous bugs that I had seen in the apartment flew in under the door as I brought it down. They circled around the garage, then landed on the shoulders of the raiment, folded themselves up into smaller units, and disappeared in to little compartments. After another pop, the chest plating on the raiment lifted up, opening from somewhere near the crotch, and stopped at about a hundred and ten degrees when the tip of the crotch hit the ceiling of the garage. The entire front of the raiment then fell forward, revealing the top of Samara’s head, her shoulders and back, and a cable that trailed out from her upper back into the back of the raiment. She straddled the raiment, as though she were on horseback and hugging the neck, though her arms were actually tucked down inside the little arms that had fallen forward with the front of the raiment. She lifted herself out of those arms and sitting up against the back of the raiment, still straddling it, her thighs disappearing into the legs of the raiment, she reached back and unplugged the cable from her upper back. She then grabbed two handles near her hips, tapped some buttons, and another popping noise followed. The legs of the raiment expanded outward at the thigh and calf plating, and she lifted her self out of the machine and stepped onto the floor of the garage.