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Monday, 07 April
Windows On A World

I oversee a magical realm.

(Don't look so surprised. I do have a treacherous, magical homunculus, after all.)

Courtyardia. Often do I stare out my window and survey my lush--albeit small--dominion; it soothes me to do so, and to view the lesser forms of life that reside there, and their small, charming habits. They (not counting the plants, of course) are three in number.

There is the tiny princess. She is very beautiful, and loves to cavort in Courtyardia, free in those precious moments when she has escaped the grasp of her wicked parents, the Bylding Managyrs, dark entities with whom I do battle too regularly; monthly it sometimes seems. Not physical battle, of course; mystical beings such as myself do not sully ourselves with crass, fleshly touch, but rather on a more mystical plane; what some call the Phiscal Levelle. I am, sadly, no doughty warrior here nor even there. I lose every battle, and they sap my essence, feasting like ghouls, denying me the pleasures I could otherwise achieve with this Phiscal Currencie: expensive meals at the ale-house, perhaps, or even a motor-bicycle. Alas.

So it remains puzzling how such a dark, twisted couple could have produced such a fine little tow-headed lass, who skips around Courtyardia, tra-la-la, feet kissing the ground, and often her face as well. "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" sings the princess on her many trips to the ground, and it tickles me to see such carefree play. "YAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Over and over she does it, the pretty thing! How she loves to greet the earth so intimately, with all of her face.

The princess has a companion, a mighty protector in the form of a dog. But what a dog! A champion without question, he runs by her side at all times, save when distracted by a bug, or a mail-man, or a cloud, or his own heroic ass, but at all other times he is very much mostly wholly vigilant to his charge. The mighty beast, in aspect, is a fair four-pound or so, with fearsome bug-eyes and a sharp, pointed face that all who are knowledgable recognize as of the Chijua-jua breed. And when danger approaches (or, truly, anything at all, for it must be confessed that the dog is blind), all quiver to hear his throaty cries: "erk! erk! erk!" It curdles the milk of the soul to hear the sound; and I hear it every day. But small price to pay for the spectacle of the lovely princess, once again embracing the ground. "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" And the dog, perceiving something, or possibly nothing, joins the chorus: "erk! erk! erk!"

Such is the music of Courtyardia.

Only one other makes his way in the verdancy of the land, and that is the proud cat. The cat is older than both the princess and the dog, and remembers the Long Days, back in time when he roamed Courtyardia alone; seeming master of the place. The cat is older now, and probably grateful for the company, though he keeps his own counsel, and spends much time relaxing atop the picnick table, viewing the goings-on of the princess and the dog. I am sure that he welcomes the pleasing din of the child and her companion, though some foolish souls find his gaze murderous and cold. I do not see it; what lonely beast would not welcome such frolicsome sights, such joyously piercing noise! I prefer to think of him as perhaps in the grips of some digestive malady; and if he cuffs the dog roughly from time to time, or bites him viciously, or leaps on him savagely as he would a blind, idiot, ratlike thing--well, that is just play, I suppose, and the dog participates enthusiastically, howling with a mad panic that comes across as quite authentic.

These are the three players on my little stage, but alas, I see far too few of these springtime hi-jinx. Too quickly, too quickly by half, the princess always attracts the ire of the Bylding Managyrs, and her faceplay is quickly halted. They race out-of-doors (they hate the light) and scoop up the princess and the dog and scold her with fierce words. "Time to come inside," they hiss, and the princess resists futilely. Summoning inner reserves of strength, her body goes rigid, arms and legs sticking straight out, and she experiments with incantations. "NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!" Well, I allow, only one incantation thus far, but she is a young lass, and will learn. "erk! erk! erk!" cries the dog in protest, or pain, or mere confusion with the tilting world.

Daytime starts to leave Courtyardia, and only the cat is left, lonely and no doubt sad once again at the departure of the Songs. But the cat does not easily betray his feelings; he masks the sadness with a kind of relaxed enjoyment, and feigns as always a satisfaction with his solitude, and wanders the darkening Courtyardia, a king without subjects.

I turn from the window, my vigil over for the eve.

I know I shall hear it again tomorrow, though, and that gives me small comfort. Perhaps if I am lucky, I shall hear them sooner than that, in my dreams: "erk! erk! erk! "YAAAAAAAAH!" And might I smile as I sleep? I might. Or I might not.

Note: Comments are closed on old entries.


two in a row.

Comment number: 000599   Posted by: beigy on April 8, 2003 12:42 AM from IP:


Comment number: 000600   Posted by: avogadro on April 8, 2003 10:33 AM from IP:


Comment number: 000601   Posted by: claxy on April 8, 2003 10:54 AM from IP:

I think it's fabulous that something like two-thirds of my site comments are totally mystifying to all but a couple dozen people.

For those not in the know: it's secret code. We are planning a junta in Myanmar.

Comment number: 000602   Posted by: Skot on April 8, 2003 11:01 AM from IP:

*kills skot*

I'm sorry. The Cabal™ decreed it.

Comment number: 000603   Posted by: claxy on April 8, 2003 11:12 AM from IP:


Comment number: 000604   Posted by: Nate on April 8, 2003 11:36 AM from IP:

that's good to know. the code was keeping me from commenting, lest i inadvertently trigger some sort of "nucular" meltdown when simply trying to say "yay skot".

so, uh, yay skot. this blog consistently rules.

Comment number: 000605   Posted by: crinkle on April 8, 2003 11:49 AM from IP:

Thank you, Crinkle. And don't let any of these schmoes deter you in the future. They can't read anyway.

Comment number: 000606   Posted by: Skot on April 8, 2003 12:25 PM from IP:

this post was absolutely delyttfull.

Comment number: 000607   Posted by: abby on April 8, 2003 12:40 PM from IP:

A friend has this place linked to her blog. You need to write a book, and then you need to e-mail me and tell me where to buy it.

Comment number: 000626   Posted by: Tim on April 9, 2003 11:07 PM from IP:

yaaaaaaah! seriously, i hurt myself laughing so hard. very nice.

Comment number: 000677   Posted by: swede on April 14, 2003 07:56 PM from IP:

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