Do like the beasts do and
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Showing posts with label beast. Show all posts
Showing posts with label beast. Show all posts
11 February 2019
12 November 2018
05 April 2018
haiku 5 Apr 2018
Ruts through frozen mud
Shoots budding into Springtime’s thaw
Birds and beasts return
[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]
Shoots budding into Springtime’s thaw
Birds and beasts return
[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]
30 March 2018
haiku 29 Mar 2018
Tiny beast herders
Fermenters of chewed plant pulp
Small yet quite weighty
[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]
Fermenters of chewed plant pulp
Small yet quite weighty
[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]
23 December 2016
on crushing ants
Him lumbering beast paused on his way across the sunken meadow, turning to see why his packmates barked. Ants were attacking their legs and paws, tiny things that stung hard. For years, the beasts had stood by while the ants multiplied - in hopes that the tiny threats would attack anything the beasts didn’t like. Now, though, the insects were latched onto the beasts’ own sensitive bits, tearing out skin, digging into orifices.
A juvenile beast went down, her pelt a carpet of stinging mandibles. In moments, she was dead. Outraged, the other beasts vowed to destroy the ants once and for all. Normally, the ants kept to themselves, but him lumbering beast had been stirring around in the stand of bushes were the crawling biters lived. Incensed at his audacity and upset that he had crushed many of their mates whilst in the throes of his stirrings, the miniscule moving mouths had decided to fight back.
“This is an outrage,” the beast bellowed, his voice hoarse and choking. “Cease this assault on my brethren!” He raised up on his hind legs, his broad back bathed in the light of a setting sun.
“You brought it upon yourself,” the ants cried back in unison. “You came to our lands and destroyed our cities, crushing the weak and the defenseless. You are reaping what you sowed - death, violence, and pain. We have too long stood by as you made your stirrings amongst the other insects, the weaker ones that could not or would not fight back.”
“But I was just trying to help my pack, to make the bushes easier for us to harvest!” the lumberer roared.
“You help no one by messing in our affairs, by crushing our people with every step. Enough is enough!”
With a sordid squeak, the ants launched a thousand and one assaults.
The beasts bled. And died.
Yet him lumbering beast - he who lead the entire pack - pledged he would continue to intervene where he saw fit. “I am exceptional, and this world needs me to show the way forward. So long as no one proves badder than me, it is my destiny to ignore the lessons of history and keep repeating the same mistakes with insane abandon. No one but my friends and I deserve to live well. Behold my terrible power, and shudder.”
© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥
A juvenile beast went down, her pelt a carpet of stinging mandibles. In moments, she was dead. Outraged, the other beasts vowed to destroy the ants once and for all. Normally, the ants kept to themselves, but him lumbering beast had been stirring around in the stand of bushes were the crawling biters lived. Incensed at his audacity and upset that he had crushed many of their mates whilst in the throes of his stirrings, the miniscule moving mouths had decided to fight back.
“This is an outrage,” the beast bellowed, his voice hoarse and choking. “Cease this assault on my brethren!” He raised up on his hind legs, his broad back bathed in the light of a setting sun.
“You brought it upon yourself,” the ants cried back in unison. “You came to our lands and destroyed our cities, crushing the weak and the defenseless. You are reaping what you sowed - death, violence, and pain. We have too long stood by as you made your stirrings amongst the other insects, the weaker ones that could not or would not fight back.”
“But I was just trying to help my pack, to make the bushes easier for us to harvest!” the lumberer roared.
“You help no one by messing in our affairs, by crushing our people with every step. Enough is enough!”
With a sordid squeak, the ants launched a thousand and one assaults.
The beasts bled. And died.
Yet him lumbering beast - he who lead the entire pack - pledged he would continue to intervene where he saw fit. “I am exceptional, and this world needs me to show the way forward. So long as no one proves badder than me, it is my destiny to ignore the lessons of history and keep repeating the same mistakes with insane abandon. No one but my friends and I deserve to live well. Behold my terrible power, and shudder.”
© JPR / whorphan / americanifesto / 場黑麥
23 December 2013
Grigovian coat armor - 19 DEC 2013
02 January 2013
Shuiryiff Rovend, legendary weaver
(Grigovian fairy-tales 2)
Shuiryiff Rovend was a weaver of renown. When not mending clothes for her own or the neighbors' children, she wove rugs and throws, blankets and draperies, things both beautiful and durable. Of all the animal wools and plant fibers she had spun into yarn and woven into works of utilitarian art, however, she had not ever used the pelt of the yip-yipt-yend, an elusive, nearly mythical beast.
To celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of her country's self-liberation from Austro-Hungarian rule, Queen Pylta Pyltandyennd invited all Grigovians to showcase their artistry and ingenuity at the inauguration of Independence Square, a vast swath of green in central Grig.
'This is my chance to honor my grandparents, who died fighting for our freedom,' Shuiryiff said to her husband, upon hearing the news.
'My love, your ancestors and mine died in that war, but my skills do not extend beyond the engineering of bridges,' Wu-Zsi Rovend replied to his wife. 'Please weave a beautiful rug, or garment, and make both our families proud. My cousins are Yaelong; they live where the yip-yipt-yend live. Go to them and fetch your wool.'
After many days of travel, Shuiryiff finally tracked down her husband's cousins. Although they had never met her before, they took her in, fed her, and made her up a bed, promising to bring her to the yip-yipt-yend in the morning. Exhausted from her trip up into the high, wind-swept valleys, Mrs. Rovend soon fell asleep.
True to their word, the next morning a band of Yaelong stood ready to track down one of the elusive beasts. They were armed with net, prong, and snare.
'I do not wish to bring the animals to harm,' Shuiryiff said, eying the men's tools warily.
'It is unlikely we will even be able to find the animal's tracks, let alone catch one,' said one of the tribesmen, a young, bright-eyed boy. 'But your concern pleases us and Weuilou, the spirit of this region.'
The group saw only one yip-yipt-yend, from too far away to catch but close enough that one of the men unslung his rifle and was making ready to fire.
Shuiryiff, however, begged him to halt. 'Please, do not kill it,' she said pleadingly.
Because of her clemency and kindness, the Yaelong gave her two large bags full of the mythical beast's wool, their entire collection of the valuable threads. They had gathered it over many years and on countless roaming patrols, pulling it from high branches or teasing it out of the thick underbrush.
Upon her return home, Shuiryiff kissed her husband, hugged her children, and bent to the task of weaving the strands into a simple, functional garment designed to protect the wearer from the elements. She had just enough to make a single cloak, with a hood. As the day of the inauguration approached, the weaver traveled to the capital with her children. She chose a spot in the park and hung her cloak from a portable rack, a simple structure made of birch wood.
Soon enough, Queen Pylta came along. She was gracious with her words, praising and calling out happily as she perused the many works of fine art. When she came to the cloak, however, she fell silent, and approached it with grave awe.
'I am sorry, my queen, for bringing such a simple cloak,' said Shuiryiff. 'This glorious day called for better, but my skills are lacking, my fingers too stiff, my loom too rickety.'
Turning to face the gathering crowds, Her Somewhat Royal Majesty Pylta Pyltandyennd said: 'Look ye upon the winner of our competition. This woman wove the wool of a mythical beast into a cloak. The pattern is one from Grigovia's past, a pattern we had long thought lost, and the style of manufacture is one steeped in this nation's and proud long traditions. This woman, my dear friends and assembled fellow country-persons, is a prime example of the strength and ingenuity of the Grigovian people. To be just, I shall lay eyes upon the rest of the exhibits before we all retire to the tables near the fountain, for a modest snack.'
mentiri factorem fecit © 場黑麥
Shuiryiff Rovend was a weaver of renown. When not mending clothes for her own or the neighbors' children, she wove rugs and throws, blankets and draperies, things both beautiful and durable. Of all the animal wools and plant fibers she had spun into yarn and woven into works of utilitarian art, however, she had not ever used the pelt of the yip-yipt-yend, an elusive, nearly mythical beast.
To celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of her country's self-liberation from Austro-Hungarian rule, Queen Pylta Pyltandyennd invited all Grigovians to showcase their artistry and ingenuity at the inauguration of Independence Square, a vast swath of green in central Grig.
'This is my chance to honor my grandparents, who died fighting for our freedom,' Shuiryiff said to her husband, upon hearing the news.
'My love, your ancestors and mine died in that war, but my skills do not extend beyond the engineering of bridges,' Wu-Zsi Rovend replied to his wife. 'Please weave a beautiful rug, or garment, and make both our families proud. My cousins are Yaelong; they live where the yip-yipt-yend live. Go to them and fetch your wool.'
After many days of travel, Shuiryiff finally tracked down her husband's cousins. Although they had never met her before, they took her in, fed her, and made her up a bed, promising to bring her to the yip-yipt-yend in the morning. Exhausted from her trip up into the high, wind-swept valleys, Mrs. Rovend soon fell asleep.
True to their word, the next morning a band of Yaelong stood ready to track down one of the elusive beasts. They were armed with net, prong, and snare.
'I do not wish to bring the animals to harm,' Shuiryiff said, eying the men's tools warily.
'It is unlikely we will even be able to find the animal's tracks, let alone catch one,' said one of the tribesmen, a young, bright-eyed boy. 'But your concern pleases us and Weuilou, the spirit of this region.'
The group saw only one yip-yipt-yend, from too far away to catch but close enough that one of the men unslung his rifle and was making ready to fire.
Shuiryiff, however, begged him to halt. 'Please, do not kill it,' she said pleadingly.
Because of her clemency and kindness, the Yaelong gave her two large bags full of the mythical beast's wool, their entire collection of the valuable threads. They had gathered it over many years and on countless roaming patrols, pulling it from high branches or teasing it out of the thick underbrush.
Upon her return home, Shuiryiff kissed her husband, hugged her children, and bent to the task of weaving the strands into a simple, functional garment designed to protect the wearer from the elements. She had just enough to make a single cloak, with a hood. As the day of the inauguration approached, the weaver traveled to the capital with her children. She chose a spot in the park and hung her cloak from a portable rack, a simple structure made of birch wood.
Soon enough, Queen Pylta came along. She was gracious with her words, praising and calling out happily as she perused the many works of fine art. When she came to the cloak, however, she fell silent, and approached it with grave awe.
'I am sorry, my queen, for bringing such a simple cloak,' said Shuiryiff. 'This glorious day called for better, but my skills are lacking, my fingers too stiff, my loom too rickety.'
Turning to face the gathering crowds, Her Somewhat Royal Majesty Pylta Pyltandyennd said: 'Look ye upon the winner of our competition. This woman wove the wool of a mythical beast into a cloak. The pattern is one from Grigovia's past, a pattern we had long thought lost, and the style of manufacture is one steeped in this nation's and proud long traditions. This woman, my dear friends and assembled fellow country-persons, is a prime example of the strength and ingenuity of the Grigovian people. To be just, I shall lay eyes upon the rest of the exhibits before we all retire to the tables near the fountain, for a modest snack.'
mentiri factorem fecit © 場黑麥
06 July 2012
fly escapes
For days it toiled, dashing itself against every available transparent surface, smashing head and body into anything that might have been a Way Back Outside. For days it wandered among the bodies of its fallen brethren, searching for who-knows-what, picking perhaps a bit of sustenance from their parched bodies, dry and dessicated corpses that litter the various sills haphazardly. Occasionally, it would harass the bipedal organism that was the only other large, hirsute beast moving around inside the space where it had become trapped, landing upon the large thing's hairy bits and causing it to swipe about blindly with one or both of its five-fingered claws. Only too infrequently was the fly seen to exit a trash can or to rise from an uncovered dish of food, places where it might have had occasion to feed, leading the large thing to believe that the fly lived on dust alone.
And then – what joy! – the fly happened to follow the hirsute beast toward one particular transparent rectangular surface, which the large thing then caused to open, making a Way Back Outside and allowing our hero to escape. Such was its excitement, and such was its relief, that it flew about for some time not looking where it was going, and, since while trapped it had not been hounded by birds or chased by larger insects, it had all but forgotten about the perils ubiquitous to Nature, flying directly into the web of sister spider, who promptly bound it up in tight turns of her silken threads, and ate it.
場黑麥 mentiri manufactorem fecit
And then – what joy! – the fly happened to follow the hirsute beast toward one particular transparent rectangular surface, which the large thing then caused to open, making a Way Back Outside and allowing our hero to escape. Such was its excitement, and such was its relief, that it flew about for some time not looking where it was going, and, since while trapped it had not been hounded by birds or chased by larger insects, it had all but forgotten about the perils ubiquitous to Nature, flying directly into the web of sister spider, who promptly bound it up in tight turns of her silken threads, and ate it.
場黑麥 mentiri manufactorem fecit
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