Public Reading OMFG ROFLCOPTER!
Here's the most recent copy of what I'm going to be reading tomorrow at Schenectady Library's Community of Writers event (from 2-4), though I think I'm going to have to trim it down a bit to make my time limit of 7 minutes >.< (Spelling and grammar errors may exist, I'll fix them later)
Gather ‘round gather ‘round folks- my friends, to hear peregrine stories fabricated from every end of the earth. Don’t fear to come close to an exotic traveler such as I , though my skin may be tanned from days spent walking in the sun you can suffer the benefit of my wanderings! I am no vagabond, no liar no cheat or miscreant, I am but an honest man weaving honest tales for your delight today- and also for whatever pocket change you are willing to contribute- Don’t sulk away! You haven't yet heard a sample of the tales I spin! Though I take donations you need not feel sheepish to just listen and ignore the tin as it passes, I’ll take no offense. I know it seems foolish, but for today I will gladly be a fool for you.
I have tales of wonderment and intrigue, plots thick with twists and turns, a story for everything that glows, whatever your heart’s desire I can pack it up in a story for you, wrap it in cunning humor, and finish it off with an extravagant bow. From tails of my own wandering adventures to the simplest of farables, anything you dream- What? don’t tell me you haven't yet heard of Farables.
A Farable is a device of my own fashion used to represent stories which seem like fables at first glance, but have depth and meaning more like a parable. Parables being too obese in their thickness of meaning, and fables being too anoretic, I’ve shaved the succulent fat of meaning off the first, and attached it to the second. It’s much like brunch, except without the empty calories and gnashing of teeth. These are tales neither too simple to entertain, nor too complex to understand, perfect for getting everyone in an audience on the same page.
I always find it’s better to do than to say, so I’ll start with a fine example of a farable. I found this farable in an old man on the rocky mountains in the Neota Wilderness. We had met by chance as I was passing through, and, being that I’d never traveled through the area before, I paid him to guide as I hiked towards California. In our time together we shared many a story before we departed from the land he knew so well, and I continued my travels alone. One of these stories was the Farable of the Salmon and the River:
There was once two salmon living in a riverbed who argued over how their life was led. Salvadore said he’d rather be dead than forced to move against the river to spawn. Montague’s view however, was abject submission to all of nature’s laws.
No matter how Salvadore hollered about the waste of energy, He could not addle the rocks for brains with which Montague steadily responded “It’s tradition.” A day of heated argument passed, and finally the salmon went their separate ways, Salvadore staying comfortable in the river delta, and Montague swimming up river with the rest of the school. However, as Montague swam up the river, he found it much harder than he expected, having never tried it before. He began taking his cues from the other salmon and attempted to leap out of the water to make the journey easier, but he never considered the dangers of the air-breathing world, and dove right into the waiting net of a cunning fisherman.
This might have been the end of our little farable, Sal being right, and Mon being dead, if it weren't for the lack of salmon at the delta. This didn’t bother Sal much until much later in the days, when he began to grow lonely, and the laws of nature forced themselves on him, creating a passionate need to spawn. And so Sal began his excursion up the river, but he didn’t make it far. All those days of ease and rest finally caught up with him as he pushed up the river, and his heart burst before he ever made it to the spawning area. And so, the fish spawned that year were all bright, and motivated as salmon should be.
That, my friends, is a farable. “What does it mean?” well, that’s the point of a farable, which is it’s many simple morals. To unlock the many meanings of this particular story you must first take a long hard look at the nature of salmon, as it is in that singular and plural nature that you can construe the various morals. The obvious one in this case is a simple sighting of nature, and all of the troubles it has set so that the stupid and lazy don’t breed. It’s for the best to not circumvent that, so I’ll let you toil away at the other morals contained within.
Perhaps, though, it would be better for us, and by that I mean me, if I were to change my methods a touch. Do any of you have a specific farable you want to hear? Just shout it out, no suggestion is too wild. Nothing. Well, for having learned so quickly what a farable is I have to say your lot isn’t coping very well- however, it just so happens that I have a little-known farable about that topic, nothing.
If you’ll watch my hands you’ll see that I have precisely that in them, but nothing is more than enough to work with, because as you can see these stories tend to weave themselves- Don’t be surprised folks its from neutral nothingness that the best ideas come, and also the best silks! Go ahead, pass it around, you’ll find it’s real, I got that scarf after tending to an old man near death in a farming district in Japan. I took care of him in exchange for the wisdom of his village which he imparted to me in the form of stories every night. Just before I passed on he gave me this scarf, and bid me leave him alone with the Farable I present to you now; The Farable of the Boor Prince:
There once was a loving and nurturing mother boar who bore her baby not a second before the strike of midnight on the chinese new year, blessing her new found son with being born under his own boorish star, the boar. Bearing her baby boar as only she could, though, brought her to the farthest brink her life could bare, and so she departed the world with this final decree: “No boor will my son be, he will be held above all others a shining star for all to see, he will be called Prince.” And thus with that dire breath drawn, Prince’s mother bore her spirit to heaven.
I call him that, for that was what he was known as from that point on; Prince. And all of the boars gazed upon him as a jewel, a shining example of Boardum, exalted so high that he was never even allowed to leave his pen on the farm, for fear of him getting hurt. That was alright with him though, “It doesn’t fit my stature as Prince to go running around with all these sweating hogs! I should be more suited to my naps in the shade and cool mud of my pen!”
And so boars, hogs and pigs of all statures looked upon him with marveling eyes as he grew, and grew. . .and grew. As the prince of all Boars he was destined to be big, but no one had dreamed the size he’d get to. Soon the farmer moved him to the 1st pen, right by the house, with the most amount of shade and the coolest mud. Right near the fence so that all the pigs; caged and free could hear his declarations as he made them. But many thought this an ominous sign, the pen being so close to the kitchen of the farmer.
It wasn’t long until he had grown to such an astounding girth that no boar could deny the wealth the farmer would get by the pound. However when the other boars approached him about it, he simply scoffed and ordained that “The farmer will never eat me! These days everything is about lean meats, there’s far too much cholesterol in pig fat you see, The farmer will soon be taking the most active and lean of you for his dinner, and I will be left in my dignified splendor, immune to his hungry gazes and biting knife.”
And sure enough, as if his word were law, the farmer started to strike down the healthiest, most muscled animals, and Prince was safe. So impressed was his kind that word spread ‘cross the land of his greatness, and visitors from all forests came to see the wonderful Prince. Suitors of all shapes and sizes turned up for him, and all were turned back no matter how pretty and alluring, nor how hard his heart throbbed as he saw them. “That is what cost my mother her life,” he’d say “and it would be a sin to cost you yours.”
And Prince was safe. Until one day when he was getting very late in his years, and a kinsmen asked of him how his legacy would live on without offspring to carry it for him. “Death,” the Boor said “Will eventually come for you, soon your life will be spent on nothing!” he warned.
But Prince just laughed. “You fool,” he retorted “I haven't spent any of my life, I hoard it all with the wonderful princely girth of my birth. Death will never come for me, he fears my weight too much,” And Prince was safe. That giant boar is still living his ages long life now, safely full of empty calories.
You see, that’s why you should do as much as you can with your life, so you earn the death coming to you. That stupid pig will have to live with himself forever now! Of course I, I’ve done more than enough with my life to earn death. I’ve traveled the world 8 times over by foot setting out when I was spry and young, and while now I’m gifted with the beauty of my youth from my travels, I’m as experienced as any old codger, more so than most even! I’ve traveled so far, seen so much, and experienced such strange things that scarcely anybody would believe me- and still the world grows every day!
That leads me to yet another farable, one I picked up while crossing the Sahara desert- not an easy feat for feet at all. In the days where the sand scorched my soles and the sun rent my mind I had a traveling companion. We, being of the same mold, set out across the desert with all the zeal and candor befitting two young earthwise travelers. That journey has lent me the use of his tale, The Farable of the Spotted Hind:
There once lived, in the Great Forest no hunter could find, 2 hinds of great beauty. The first was a lovely Tanned Hind, tall and graceful, with narrow and delicate features, silver eyes, and a beautiful sheening sheer coat. She was youthful and exuberant, full of life. The second hind was of slightly shorter stock, with more rounded features, however she was gifted with the most beauteous, soft, tawny flecked coat in all of the forest. Her pied beauty drew all the animals attention, far and wide whenever she passed, and, gracious as she was, she allowed all who asked to stroke the silken surface of her skin.
The two hinds traveled together all across the Great Forest, inseparable as siamese twins. The first lead the way, as the second dawdled behind with her followers, groupies, and entourage, exploring the bounties of the forest. Never were the animals happier, as every day the limits of the Forest grew by their exploration, and the Spotted Hind was praised and glorified.
This attention stung the Tanned Hind. She should be the one being praised and glorified by all the animals. So she tried harder, moving faster and rushing the Spotted Hind on with her as quickly as possible, attempting to loose the slow moving entourage and find greater groves of the Great Forest. And it worked, until they were forced to stop and rest. By the time they awoke the entourage had caught back up, singing the Spotted Hind’s praises for the bountiful exploration of the previous day, and so the Tanned Hind sped away again with haste to loose them.
This continued for days, the entourage always catching up and singing greater praises until, finally, on the morning of the 7th day, the Spotted Hind was made King of the animals for her tireless exploration of the Great Forest. There was great celebration as the Tanned Hind sulked away to weep bitterly. The Spotted Hind was once again bathed in unjust glory. It was in this ruefulness that an idea of such vile cunning struck the Tanned Hind.
So in the earliest hours of the next morning, when all the entourage was caught in peaceful slumber the tanned hind awoke the new King of the forest. “Come quickly!” she hissed with urgency to her drowsy liege, leading her deep within the unknown bowels of the forest, “I have found the edge of the great forest, and we are in great danger! There is a hunter making his way in!” This unfortunate news brought some senses back to the newfound King.
“Where does this hunter come?” the King asked, and the tanned hind indicated an area beyond a great bush they had just reached. The King moved to look beyond the bush, and that is when the Tanned Hind struck. The glorious King was felled gorily and the Tanned Hind stole her spots. None of the animals ever found out, and whence they’d all been slaughtered no hunter was ever praised by man for their unearthly cunning as she.
I find it amusing how good a hunter the tanned hind made. Of course, hinds being what they are, they should all have some skill at it, hindsight, after all, always being 20/20- Ah! I see my tin has reached everybody. Then I guess it’s time for a little change. I’ll gladly step down and give my silver tongue and eyes a rest- unless, that is, any of you hold farables for me to take.
Gather ‘round gather ‘round folks- my friends, to hear peregrine stories fabricated from every end of the earth. Don’t fear to come close to an exotic traveler such as I , though my skin may be tanned from days spent walking in the sun you can suffer the benefit of my wanderings! I am no vagabond, no liar no cheat or miscreant, I am but an honest man weaving honest tales for your delight today- and also for whatever pocket change you are willing to contribute- Don’t sulk away! You haven't yet heard a sample of the tales I spin! Though I take donations you need not feel sheepish to just listen and ignore the tin as it passes, I’ll take no offense. I know it seems foolish, but for today I will gladly be a fool for you.
I have tales of wonderment and intrigue, plots thick with twists and turns, a story for everything that glows, whatever your heart’s desire I can pack it up in a story for you, wrap it in cunning humor, and finish it off with an extravagant bow. From tails of my own wandering adventures to the simplest of farables, anything you dream- What? don’t tell me you haven't yet heard of Farables.
A Farable is a device of my own fashion used to represent stories which seem like fables at first glance, but have depth and meaning more like a parable. Parables being too obese in their thickness of meaning, and fables being too anoretic, I’ve shaved the succulent fat of meaning off the first, and attached it to the second. It’s much like brunch, except without the empty calories and gnashing of teeth. These are tales neither too simple to entertain, nor too complex to understand, perfect for getting everyone in an audience on the same page.
I always find it’s better to do than to say, so I’ll start with a fine example of a farable. I found this farable in an old man on the rocky mountains in the Neota Wilderness. We had met by chance as I was passing through, and, being that I’d never traveled through the area before, I paid him to guide as I hiked towards California. In our time together we shared many a story before we departed from the land he knew so well, and I continued my travels alone. One of these stories was the Farable of the Salmon and the River:
There was once two salmon living in a riverbed who argued over how their life was led. Salvadore said he’d rather be dead than forced to move against the river to spawn. Montague’s view however, was abject submission to all of nature’s laws.
No matter how Salvadore hollered about the waste of energy, He could not addle the rocks for brains with which Montague steadily responded “It’s tradition.” A day of heated argument passed, and finally the salmon went their separate ways, Salvadore staying comfortable in the river delta, and Montague swimming up river with the rest of the school. However, as Montague swam up the river, he found it much harder than he expected, having never tried it before. He began taking his cues from the other salmon and attempted to leap out of the water to make the journey easier, but he never considered the dangers of the air-breathing world, and dove right into the waiting net of a cunning fisherman.
This might have been the end of our little farable, Sal being right, and Mon being dead, if it weren't for the lack of salmon at the delta. This didn’t bother Sal much until much later in the days, when he began to grow lonely, and the laws of nature forced themselves on him, creating a passionate need to spawn. And so Sal began his excursion up the river, but he didn’t make it far. All those days of ease and rest finally caught up with him as he pushed up the river, and his heart burst before he ever made it to the spawning area. And so, the fish spawned that year were all bright, and motivated as salmon should be.
That, my friends, is a farable. “What does it mean?” well, that’s the point of a farable, which is it’s many simple morals. To unlock the many meanings of this particular story you must first take a long hard look at the nature of salmon, as it is in that singular and plural nature that you can construe the various morals. The obvious one in this case is a simple sighting of nature, and all of the troubles it has set so that the stupid and lazy don’t breed. It’s for the best to not circumvent that, so I’ll let you toil away at the other morals contained within.
Perhaps, though, it would be better for us, and by that I mean me, if I were to change my methods a touch. Do any of you have a specific farable you want to hear? Just shout it out, no suggestion is too wild. Nothing. Well, for having learned so quickly what a farable is I have to say your lot isn’t coping very well- however, it just so happens that I have a little-known farable about that topic, nothing.
If you’ll watch my hands you’ll see that I have precisely that in them, but nothing is more than enough to work with, because as you can see these stories tend to weave themselves- Don’t be surprised folks its from neutral nothingness that the best ideas come, and also the best silks! Go ahead, pass it around, you’ll find it’s real, I got that scarf after tending to an old man near death in a farming district in Japan. I took care of him in exchange for the wisdom of his village which he imparted to me in the form of stories every night. Just before I passed on he gave me this scarf, and bid me leave him alone with the Farable I present to you now; The Farable of the Boor Prince:
There once was a loving and nurturing mother boar who bore her baby not a second before the strike of midnight on the chinese new year, blessing her new found son with being born under his own boorish star, the boar. Bearing her baby boar as only she could, though, brought her to the farthest brink her life could bare, and so she departed the world with this final decree: “No boor will my son be, he will be held above all others a shining star for all to see, he will be called Prince.” And thus with that dire breath drawn, Prince’s mother bore her spirit to heaven.
I call him that, for that was what he was known as from that point on; Prince. And all of the boars gazed upon him as a jewel, a shining example of Boardum, exalted so high that he was never even allowed to leave his pen on the farm, for fear of him getting hurt. That was alright with him though, “It doesn’t fit my stature as Prince to go running around with all these sweating hogs! I should be more suited to my naps in the shade and cool mud of my pen!”
And so boars, hogs and pigs of all statures looked upon him with marveling eyes as he grew, and grew. . .and grew. As the prince of all Boars he was destined to be big, but no one had dreamed the size he’d get to. Soon the farmer moved him to the 1st pen, right by the house, with the most amount of shade and the coolest mud. Right near the fence so that all the pigs; caged and free could hear his declarations as he made them. But many thought this an ominous sign, the pen being so close to the kitchen of the farmer.
It wasn’t long until he had grown to such an astounding girth that no boar could deny the wealth the farmer would get by the pound. However when the other boars approached him about it, he simply scoffed and ordained that “The farmer will never eat me! These days everything is about lean meats, there’s far too much cholesterol in pig fat you see, The farmer will soon be taking the most active and lean of you for his dinner, and I will be left in my dignified splendor, immune to his hungry gazes and biting knife.”
And sure enough, as if his word were law, the farmer started to strike down the healthiest, most muscled animals, and Prince was safe. So impressed was his kind that word spread ‘cross the land of his greatness, and visitors from all forests came to see the wonderful Prince. Suitors of all shapes and sizes turned up for him, and all were turned back no matter how pretty and alluring, nor how hard his heart throbbed as he saw them. “That is what cost my mother her life,” he’d say “and it would be a sin to cost you yours.”
And Prince was safe. Until one day when he was getting very late in his years, and a kinsmen asked of him how his legacy would live on without offspring to carry it for him. “Death,” the Boor said “Will eventually come for you, soon your life will be spent on nothing!” he warned.
But Prince just laughed. “You fool,” he retorted “I haven't spent any of my life, I hoard it all with the wonderful princely girth of my birth. Death will never come for me, he fears my weight too much,” And Prince was safe. That giant boar is still living his ages long life now, safely full of empty calories.
You see, that’s why you should do as much as you can with your life, so you earn the death coming to you. That stupid pig will have to live with himself forever now! Of course I, I’ve done more than enough with my life to earn death. I’ve traveled the world 8 times over by foot setting out when I was spry and young, and while now I’m gifted with the beauty of my youth from my travels, I’m as experienced as any old codger, more so than most even! I’ve traveled so far, seen so much, and experienced such strange things that scarcely anybody would believe me- and still the world grows every day!
That leads me to yet another farable, one I picked up while crossing the Sahara desert- not an easy feat for feet at all. In the days where the sand scorched my soles and the sun rent my mind I had a traveling companion. We, being of the same mold, set out across the desert with all the zeal and candor befitting two young earthwise travelers. That journey has lent me the use of his tale, The Farable of the Spotted Hind:
There once lived, in the Great Forest no hunter could find, 2 hinds of great beauty. The first was a lovely Tanned Hind, tall and graceful, with narrow and delicate features, silver eyes, and a beautiful sheening sheer coat. She was youthful and exuberant, full of life. The second hind was of slightly shorter stock, with more rounded features, however she was gifted with the most beauteous, soft, tawny flecked coat in all of the forest. Her pied beauty drew all the animals attention, far and wide whenever she passed, and, gracious as she was, she allowed all who asked to stroke the silken surface of her skin.
The two hinds traveled together all across the Great Forest, inseparable as siamese twins. The first lead the way, as the second dawdled behind with her followers, groupies, and entourage, exploring the bounties of the forest. Never were the animals happier, as every day the limits of the Forest grew by their exploration, and the Spotted Hind was praised and glorified.
This attention stung the Tanned Hind. She should be the one being praised and glorified by all the animals. So she tried harder, moving faster and rushing the Spotted Hind on with her as quickly as possible, attempting to loose the slow moving entourage and find greater groves of the Great Forest. And it worked, until they were forced to stop and rest. By the time they awoke the entourage had caught back up, singing the Spotted Hind’s praises for the bountiful exploration of the previous day, and so the Tanned Hind sped away again with haste to loose them.
This continued for days, the entourage always catching up and singing greater praises until, finally, on the morning of the 7th day, the Spotted Hind was made King of the animals for her tireless exploration of the Great Forest. There was great celebration as the Tanned Hind sulked away to weep bitterly. The Spotted Hind was once again bathed in unjust glory. It was in this ruefulness that an idea of such vile cunning struck the Tanned Hind.
So in the earliest hours of the next morning, when all the entourage was caught in peaceful slumber the tanned hind awoke the new King of the forest. “Come quickly!” she hissed with urgency to her drowsy liege, leading her deep within the unknown bowels of the forest, “I have found the edge of the great forest, and we are in great danger! There is a hunter making his way in!” This unfortunate news brought some senses back to the newfound King.
“Where does this hunter come?” the King asked, and the tanned hind indicated an area beyond a great bush they had just reached. The King moved to look beyond the bush, and that is when the Tanned Hind struck. The glorious King was felled gorily and the Tanned Hind stole her spots. None of the animals ever found out, and whence they’d all been slaughtered no hunter was ever praised by man for their unearthly cunning as she.
I find it amusing how good a hunter the tanned hind made. Of course, hinds being what they are, they should all have some skill at it, hindsight, after all, always being 20/20- Ah! I see my tin has reached everybody. Then I guess it’s time for a little change. I’ll gladly step down and give my silver tongue and eyes a rest- unless, that is, any of you hold farables for me to take.