twisted richard
Snowshoeing
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
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Everything seemed to hurt. His lungs, his legs, his feet…and especially his ass. He had walked several miles through the mid-summer heat before finally arriving at Mr. Pennington’s property, which sat high atop a hill that offered a view of a large lake. He increased his stride as he walked the length of the gravel driveway, up the marble staircase, and straight through the front door, letting it slam noisily as it hit the interior wall.
“Odieux!” he yelled, huffing and puffing. “Get your ass down here!” He paced the entrance hall like a caged animal, his eyes darting around. A boorish looking middle aged man soon appeared, wearing a black dinner jacket and carrying a glass of Blanc de Noire. The way he carried himself suggested a wealthy upbringing. So did the mansion he lived in. And when he spoke, his pretentious tone verified this. “I take it the problem has been taken care of, Lykourgos?”
“I ran into some problems," he said. “They’re still there.” Odieux looked unimpressed. “What happened?”
“I took out the first two houses with no problem but that third house…”
“What?” Odieux demanded.
“It was made of brick!! Not of straw and sticks like the other two. Now they're all holed up in that pig’s house! I mean, who woulda thunk that that third little pig, and believe me,” he said, thrusting a furry paw at Odieux, “he ain’t that little…who woulda thunk that he was a Structural Engineer? I didn’t even know they let pigs into college,” he added as an afterthought.
“We had an arrangement,” Odieux roared. “A payment has already been made.” Lykourgos stared at him unblinkingly. “I want this taken care of now. Every minute those swine are on that land I am losing money!”
"It’s taken care of," he said. "I’ve subcontract the Sparrows to peck away at the mortar of the third pig's house.” Odieux’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Lykourgos continued. “They’ll eat away at the mortar between the bricks until the house becomes structurally unsound and it comes crashing down.”
Odieux looked horrified. “How long will that take?”
“Five, six months. Tops,” he replied
“No, no no! That’s too long. I want this done now! I don’t have six months!”
“Then you do it,” Lykourgos spat. Odieux seemed to straighten up an additional few inches at this suggestion and stiffly announced, “a gentleman of my standing doesn't dirty his hands with such matters.”
Lykourgos laughed. “Then maybe a gentlemen of your standing should take a seat and wait, ‘cause this is the only way this job is gonna get done.”
Odieux stood silently as Lykourgos turned and left. He couldn’t believe that he had foolishly paid a wolf such a large sum of money to take care of a few pigs and now his fortunes depended on a scheme involving a flock of degenerate Sparrows. His glass of Blanc de Noire fell to the ground and shattered. Odieux felt sick.
Six months later…
Odieux raised a glass of Blanc de Noire to his lips and savored the taste. He felt good today. Better than he had for some time. So good in fact, that he felt no repulsion in helping his servants with their daily responsibilities. At least one, that is. He raised his glass of Blanc de Noire to his lips and savored the taste once again, as he rotated the metal spit that supported the carcasses of three pigs, suspended over a bed of hot coals. Yes, life was indeed good.
“Odieux!” he yelled, huffing and puffing. “Get your ass down here!” He paced the entrance hall like a caged animal, his eyes darting around. A boorish looking middle aged man soon appeared, wearing a black dinner jacket and carrying a glass of Blanc de Noire. The way he carried himself suggested a wealthy upbringing. So did the mansion he lived in. And when he spoke, his pretentious tone verified this. “I take it the problem has been taken care of, Lykourgos?”
“I ran into some problems," he said. “They’re still there.” Odieux looked unimpressed. “What happened?”
“I took out the first two houses with no problem but that third house…”
“What?” Odieux demanded.
“It was made of brick!! Not of straw and sticks like the other two. Now they're all holed up in that pig’s house! I mean, who woulda thunk that that third little pig, and believe me,” he said, thrusting a furry paw at Odieux, “he ain’t that little…who woulda thunk that he was a Structural Engineer? I didn’t even know they let pigs into college,” he added as an afterthought.
“We had an arrangement,” Odieux roared. “A payment has already been made.” Lykourgos stared at him unblinkingly. “I want this taken care of now. Every minute those swine are on that land I am losing money!”
"It’s taken care of," he said. "I’ve subcontract the Sparrows to peck away at the mortar of the third pig's house.” Odieux’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Lykourgos continued. “They’ll eat away at the mortar between the bricks until the house becomes structurally unsound and it comes crashing down.”
Odieux looked horrified. “How long will that take?”
“Five, six months. Tops,” he replied
“No, no no! That’s too long. I want this done now! I don’t have six months!”
“Then you do it,” Lykourgos spat. Odieux seemed to straighten up an additional few inches at this suggestion and stiffly announced, “a gentleman of my standing doesn't dirty his hands with such matters.”
Lykourgos laughed. “Then maybe a gentlemen of your standing should take a seat and wait, ‘cause this is the only way this job is gonna get done.”
Odieux stood silently as Lykourgos turned and left. He couldn’t believe that he had foolishly paid a wolf such a large sum of money to take care of a few pigs and now his fortunes depended on a scheme involving a flock of degenerate Sparrows. His glass of Blanc de Noire fell to the ground and shattered. Odieux felt sick.
Six months later…
Odieux raised a glass of Blanc de Noire to his lips and savored the taste. He felt good today. Better than he had for some time. So good in fact, that he felt no repulsion in helping his servants with their daily responsibilities. At least one, that is. He raised his glass of Blanc de Noire to his lips and savored the taste once again, as he rotated the metal spit that supported the carcasses of three pigs, suspended over a bed of hot coals. Yes, life was indeed good.
Prayer Bones
And the nights were long, weren't they? Cavernous
Things, they drew you to them, outward and away -
To the hungering fields wrecked with winter.
The nights were fathomless; the wind, the low hills
Dwindling. The unforgiving light was your own.
You fell to your knees, didn't you? Lost yourself
To the frostbitten ground. Tore at the gracelessness
Inside of you, while helplessly calling her name.
Until, as from nothing, nothing would open.
~ Ian William Douglas
Things, they drew you to them, outward and away -
To the hungering fields wrecked with winter.
The nights were fathomless; the wind, the low hills
Dwindling. The unforgiving light was your own.
You fell to your knees, didn't you? Lost yourself
To the frostbitten ground. Tore at the gracelessness
Inside of you, while helplessly calling her name.
Until, as from nothing, nothing would open.
~ Ian William Douglas
The Poet With his Face in his Hands
You want to cry aloud for your
mistakes. But to tell the truth the world
doesn't need any more of that sound.
So if you're going to do it and can't
stop yourself, if your pretty mouth can't
hold it in, at least go by yourself across
the forty fields and the forty dark inclines
of rocks and water to the place where
the falls are flinging out their white sheets
like crazy, and there is a cave behind all that
jubilaiton and water fun and you can
stand there, under it, and roar all you
want and nothing will be disturbed; you
can drip with despair all afternoon and still,
on a green branch, its wings just lightly touched
by the passing foil of water, the thrush,
puffing out its spotted breast, will sing
of the perfect, stone-hard beauty of everything.
~ Mary Oliver
mistakes. But to tell the truth the world
doesn't need any more of that sound.
So if you're going to do it and can't
stop yourself, if your pretty mouth can't
hold it in, at least go by yourself across
the forty fields and the forty dark inclines
of rocks and water to the place where
the falls are flinging out their white sheets
like crazy, and there is a cave behind all that
jubilaiton and water fun and you can
stand there, under it, and roar all you
want and nothing will be disturbed; you
can drip with despair all afternoon and still,
on a green branch, its wings just lightly touched
by the passing foil of water, the thrush,
puffing out its spotted breast, will sing
of the perfect, stone-hard beauty of everything.
~ Mary Oliver
Goodbye!
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