Pooleside

Civilizations rise and fall.  Ours too will pass.  Perhaps a million years from now there will not be a trace of "western civilization" here on earth.

That's not to say there won't be people here.  People, or other intelligent creatures.  If we could leave them- or impose on them- some message, some symbol, some warning... what would it be?

Draw something on the moon.

I don't know why this is called baseball.  I found it today on my work machine, then I added to it (the tale of Ogg and Oog).



The Odyssey becomes a story of the creation of story.  How story creates reality.  We go, "What's it about?" and we keep coming up with answers, but there isn't really "an answer" to that question, and in fact, what it's about is asking what it's about, isn't it?

The specifics of the story are irrelevent (I say this without knowing if they are).  Suppose the specific events of the story are irrelevent.  Suppose they are merely there to move the story along.  They mark the passage of time.  But more, they provide the dramatic tension necessary, the definition of character, the drive of the plot, stuff that keeps us interested.

That's the main thing- to keep us interested.  And after that, to leave us with something.

The something we are left with is who we are.

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02/07/08

So here's Ogg and Oog, sitting around the cave one day.  Every day passes much like the last, and things just sort of happen.  There is language.

Oog tends to rattle on about things, thinks Ogg.  "The fire is burning low," says Oog, and yes, it obviously is.  Oog throws another log on the fire- "I threw another log on the fire," says Oog.  Ogg yawns, falls asleep.

Winter is coming on, and like every winter, life gets a little harder.  The hunting is worse.  The daylight doesn't last as long.  Ogg and Oog get by.

One night, the usual, Ogg is drifting to sleep by the fire, Oog is rattling on.  Oog says "that brown dog just puked over by the rock."  Oog says "we have many berries in this basket."  Oog says "the sun is dying now."

Ogg's eyes come open.  Oog looks at Ogg, says "a hunter has speared the sun, and now it is dying."  Ogg knows that no hunter can spear the sun, yet this is how it seems.  Every day the sun gets weaker.

Ogo says "the black dog is eating the vomit."  Ogg drifts back to sleep.

As the cycle repeats, Oog learns what to say to keep Ogg awake.  Oog likes the attention this brings.  Ogg likes to hear these stories.  Hearing a story is like being on a hunt.  It can be exciting.

As it turns out, Gyro is the name of the most powerful computer ever built.  Gyro is intelligent, so they say.

Gyro lives in a submarine built especially for it.  It's the world's largest submarine- it's really big.  Under the sea is the only place Gyro could really be safe.

I don't know what Gyro does, or why it was built.  Maybe it thinks about stuff.  Maybe it tries to solve our problems here on dry land.

black river.

rages endlessly around an island.

flightless birds like enormous ostriches stand on the shore.

there they feed on a species of eel which are thrown up by the waves.

this scene is illuminated by a giant red sun.

the island is inhabited by a race of small hairy human-like creatures who steal the bird's eggs.

the hominoids worship a god who lives in the pile of rock at the center of the island.

the birds have language and art, and worship a sky god.

they have legends of flight and of life beyond the island.

the hominoids have little but song, and dances.

it turns out that the birds and the hominoids can mate with each other.

it is possible for each to give birth to the other's kind.

a female pregnant with the other species is driven from her group.

these cross births are often attended by creatures from the fathering species, who protect the young.

otherwise, cross-born young (or eggs) are eaten by their mothers shortly after birth.

in either case, the mother is not equipped to raise the cross-born child.

adoptlings are revered.

in other cases, cross-breeding produces one of the mother's kind.

typically, none the wiser, but these offspring generally turn out losers and outcasts.

they are also mules, meaning that they can't reproduce.

now, the island is volcanic in origin.

it is positively laced with caverns and dark passages.

the hominoids are known as Preon.

the flightless birds are the Ik.

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In our story, an Ik mule, driven from home, encounters a Preon mule in the wilderness.  Together they explore the limits of their instinctive hatred for each other, and discover the attraction which inexorably drew their parents to their fateful matings.  Can this be love?

As readers we are naturally drawn to the Ik, who are the storytellers.  Yet we identify with the Preon, who are warm and sexy- and shaped like us.

Many of the Preon songs and dances relate what seem to be stories of the two species' interactions.  In Ik lore there is no mention of the cross-breeding.

Ik lore is entirely involved with redemption stories.  There was once- flight.  There shall again be- flight.  Knowing this to be physically impossible, the Ik sing of metaphorical flight.

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graphics welcome.

Well, now there's some new characters.  The three little plungers came first- we'll call them Stewie, Chewie, and (snigger) Poohie.

Then because they needed a grownup to take care of them, along came "Unca" Plunger.

But even before these guys, the Trash Can was waiting to be born.

Now, here they all are together!