Archive for:March, 2007

Ghosty Boy 4 (of 5): The Blue Eye Finally Found

March 31st, 2007

Gemstone Warrior C64 Commodore

Ghost Boy watched the feast.

The Blue Eye hovered over the corpse, dropping white milk-tears. The tears corroded the flesh, souping it to a frothy gel which was easier for the green medusa to lap up.

The Medusa in turn fed the eye, coating it with the liquefied flesh. The Blue Eye soaked it up like bread soaking up vinegar.

Ghost Boy was shaking. He’d expected this of the Medusa, which he’d never trusted. Those slinky snake mouths with their winking venom-wet fangs.

But the Blue Eye — this was different. He never imagined the Blue Eye would kill and eat like this, do something so base, so visceral. Ghost Boy had thought the Blue Eye was one of the good guys. A wanderer like Ghost Boy, stuck in the forest and just trying to survive. Without a thought to eating, killing, devouring. Just another lost spirit. A friend to have, confess to and hope with. Not this. Ghost boy felt sick inside.

“How could you do this?” he suddenly yelled from his hidden copse. “How could you eat another living thing like that?”

Both creatures started, and dropped their food.

“He was dead when we found him,” said the Medusa. “And we’re hungry. Why are you so upset?”

“Blue Eye, I’ve been looking all my life for you,” cried out Ghost Boy, “and now you’re here, right before me, sucking up the flesh of the dead, feeding on flesh like a fungus, like a rot, a buzzard, a parasite. I wanted you to be something different, something better, something to help get me out of this forest, a friend for me, not a beast, a bug.”

The Blue Eye stopped dropping its acid-tears and wept real tears of sorrow. “I’m sorry,” the Blue Eye said, “I was hungry, and there was food here to eat. I never knew you were looking for me. I never knew how much I mattered to you. I can still be your friend, even if I’m not as perfect as you thought I was.”

Ghost Boy pulled out his bow.

“I don’t want your friendship anymore. Stop it now or I’ll kill you both.”

“What is it Ghost Boy,” said the Medusa, “What is it that bothers you so much? Is it that Blue Eye is eating dead flesh we came across by chance? Did you think he was a Spirit, a God, something above normal animal needs? Did you think he was insubstantial, removed from the normal objectives of living organisms? He is none of those things. He’s a simple creature like me, hungry when he’s hungry, thirsty when he’s thirsty, and if you aren’t willing to accept that, then you cannot possibly accept yourself, you who we’ve seen feasting on swine that you’ve shot and killed, roasting rabbit, and skewering sparrows on sticks.”

Ghost Boy drew an arrow in anger.

“Stop eating now, both of you,” he said, “Or I’ll kill you.”

“I’m sorry,” the Blue Eye said, continuing to eat, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted. Forgive me.”

Ghost Boy shot the Blue Eye through the pupil, and sent another arrow clean through the Medusa’s mouth. Both creatures fell in a heap, covering the corpse they had been feeding on.

He stood still for some time.

Eventually he approached the pile, shuddering, cold. He squatted down, looked around to see if anyone was watching, then began filling his mouth with great handfuls of flesh, making sure to stir it all up, eye, medusa and corpse combined.

[posted by: C Way at 6:23 PM]

[file under: ABOUT ART ||| Ekphrasis]

Ghosty Boy 3 (of 5): The Mouth

March 31st, 2007

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Ghost Boy watched as the mouth opened in the forest.

He had imagined he’d be overjoyed. At its perfect shape & stillness; its beckoning void.

Now that it was here, he worried.

He stood still for a long time, watching it.

“I once dreamt,” he thought, “about what was on the other side of the Mouth: A soft long meadow. Sunshine on my face like the lapping of sea against shore. Grass to sleep in. No weapons, no blood.”

“Now I wonder if there’s nothing behind the Mouth other than grinding jaws and gullet.”

He knelt on the forest floor. So much time wandering, wondering. Wasting his arrows on the defenseless trees. Leading the creatures of the wood astray, playing tricks, running away. And now, finally, the mouth was here. The holy mouth, the honeyed mouth, ready to suck him from this world and spit him to a place far better.

And yet he did not move.

The floating mouth suddenly spoke.

“Walk into me,” it said in a voice more felt than heard, “because your life has led up to this moment. There is no reason not to do it. Come.”

Ghost Boy felt bile curdle up in his throat.

“I’m staying,” he said, his voice not feeling like his, “because you ask me otherwise. Your need is repulsive. It makes you weak, it makes you soft. The mouth I’ve dreamed of is not these things. It doesn’t need me to enter it, and in my dreams, I enter it precisely because I am nothing to it.”

The mouth laughed. “Of course I need you,” it said. “Otherwise I wouldn’t ask for you. And I also wouldn’t have appeared here, in this glade of this forest, if you didn’t need me either, if I didn’t smell it on you like a lion smells blood. And so which is it you’re afraid of? How much I need you or how much you need me?”

Ghost Boy didn’t answer, but turned around and walked away, hearing the mouth shut behind him with a sound like a breath being taken.

[posted by: C Way at 5:18 PM]

[file under: ABOUT ART ||| Ekphrasis]

CowboySexBurger: On American Competitive Eating

March 27th, 2007

Burgers Cowboys Sex Competitive Eating ZeusBUrger

“The Zeus burger is considered the largest hamburger in the United States. This hamburger consists of a 7 pound burger and 5.5 pounds of toppings and home baked bun which has to be eaten in three hours.”

The text is taken from the hall of legendary burgers, part of the Association of Independent Competitive Eaters, a noble alliance of Hoagy Heroes committed to doing their durned best to “increase public awareness and acceptance of Competitive Eating as a sport and a form of entertainment.”

Their site even has a link devoted to the “Food Warriors.”

This reminded me of the time my friend Jason said that the U.S. should be renamed “CowboySexBurger”.I laughed, but was soon struck by how apt this was. The term seemed to sum up a good chunk of our country’s long-gathering lusts and obsessions: hypermasculinity, a reactionary over-consumption (inflamed in part by years of redstate exposure to liberal pro-veg. arguments), sex-gorging in all forms of media. Like Portnoy in a Marlboro-Man stetson hat, chewing skoal, raging on ‘roids, with his whang stuffed in a bucket full of bloody chuck.CowboySexBurger.

Adults nationwide increasingly incapable of normal sexual relations & increasingly turning to a slavering fever of manic consumption (conscious junk-eating being almost an act of power, of agency) to allay anxieties and frustrations they couldn’t gain insight into if their gravy fries depended on it.

Food Warriors.


It makes me think of guacamole gladiators, brandishing buttered short-swords, pouring catsup libations on the graves of our noble, kentuckyfried fallen, covering their eyes with thin discs of prosciutto.

So support your troops, your Competitive Eaters. Watch them salute each other before gut-battle with a fork clang, swearing oaths by laying hands on the consecrated meatball.

And our soldiers need more than just support. They need chicken wings & pepperoni sticks. Moreover, they need you to root out the enemy from within: throw tripe-scraps on any underfed commie twig-eater art-fag you see. These are people who hate America.

More importantly, these are people who hate ham.

We’ve come too far to let them stop us. Call on Zeus, call on Burgers, worship a porkchop and let the Butter Battles Begin.

[posted by: C Way at 12:05 AM]

[file under: Culinary Arts ||| non-fiction & essays]

Ghosty Boy, 2 (of 5): Maypole Dance

March 21st, 2007

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Ghost Boy isn’t walking now, he’s dreaming.

He has two types of dreams:

- Dreams where he finds the giant blue eye, but instead of shooting it and killing it, he watches it, for a long time, from behind trees, and dreams of making friends with it;

- Dreams where he meets other ghost boys and is very happy for a time but then has to leave them behind when they learn his name, or share laughter for the first time, or give him a gift.

Tonight the dream is of the purple woods, with copses clawing out into skinny paths.

It’s a good dream. He stands still for ages and friendly things come close to him, slow at first and then with confidence, circling around him as in some kind of dance:

The green medusa, the beautiful white chest, the coffin.

Ghost Boy feels a soft warmth in his chest, he could stay here forever, indisputable & unremarkable as a column, being danced around. But he has the chalice, he has the arrows, he has the potion, and he could make everything around him break if he needed to.

Ghost Boy is getting impatient: it’s time for him to dance, too. But who will then be the Maypole?

-We’ll find another Ghost Boy to circle, says the Medusa.

Ghost Boy quickens his step, practices a jig, follows the three of them into the trees.

Whoever it is must learn to stand very still.

[posted by: C Way at 1:19 AM]

[file under: ABOUT ART ||| Ekphrasis]

Ghosty Boy, 1 (of 5): Inventory

March 20th, 2007

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The little Ghost Boy in a big grey forest.

He never turns around and he never stops moving.

He has so many arrows, but no animals to shoot. So he fires into trees. The forest is everywhere quilled with his little sharp flags.

And in the morning his quiver is refilled with 20 more.

He has a purple potion of pale, milky liquid, and he’ll never, ever drink it.

And he has a little powdery skull he can crush between his fingers. He knows when he pinches it, everything will go black. His fingers never stop itching.

Lastly, his green chalice, empty. He wants to collect something in it: rain, blood. But the weather never changes here and nothing’s around to let a drop of itself. He leaves it in disgust sometimes on a tree stump, by the side of the path, sometimes behind a rock. But he always finds it days later, just as he’d left it, green-winking in the orange-halflight of the forest, and he always picks it up again.

Here’s the double doors, spreading like a fan, like a hole between eyes.

[posted by: C Way at 1:28 AM]

[file under: ABOUT ART ||| Ekphrasis]