Published April 14, 2012
Ala , Animal Matters , Oddbins
Here in the Manor, we are devoted to, among other things, Science. This includes the natural sciences.
That is, we study Creatures. And those creatures include ants.
Who are kind of hard to miss here. For they are involved in a Project. And they don’t care who knows it.
From the very moment of occupancy of the Manor, I have observed a steady stream of ants proceeding up and down the front wall, from the ground to somewhere Inside The House. They are always there. Always in motion. Doing whatever it is that they’re doing.
They are like the Post Office. Neither rain nor snow nor sleet nor gloom of night nor knuckledragging GOoPers who want to kill them, stay these beings from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.
The difference is, I know what the Post Office is up to. Its mission is to tote mail to and from Ala. But as for these ants, I have no clue, what they may be about.
On the ground, I have traced their trail out nearly to the street, where they go subterranean ‘neath the lip of the concrete walkway. Above, as the photos over the “furthur” illustrate, they disappear under the eaves. Into what I presume is the attic. For there is an attic here. But I have not been up there. And consider it unwise to go there, anytime soon. Or maybe ever. For reasons which shall be discussed presently.
I tried to do my best, here in the Manor, to get with the season, in re Passover and Easter.
It’s true that I didn’t splash any lamb’s blood on my door.
But I did purchase and place a new doormat. Upon which Jesus could wipe the blood off his feet, if he happened to drop by.
Not that I expected him. Because I happened to know that Jesus last weekend was wallowing in roll-away-the-stone passion with a Minnesota siren, there in her abode of toast the savior warm, bouncing the bedsprings with thee.
Certainly there is nothing that I could offer him, that she was not then delivering.
I did bake some lamb’s blood. Oozing outta ground lamb, the essential ingredient in kofta, born of the Egyptians—the Passover connection, there—but these days most often munched by mountain-dwelling Afghans, a little sustenance before they commence to race down the hill to scream and shoot at dull-domed Americans, trying to convince them to get the hey out of their “country.”
You can find the recipe for this wonderment, as well as various assorted other Judeo-Christian heresies, beyond the “furthur.”
Published April 14, 2012
Animal Matters , Outer Limits , Wyrds
“There’s no difference,” Natasha was saying, “between belief in a ‘supreme intelligence’ and the faddish interest in aliens from other galaxies.”
Someone protested. “Statistically there has to be life in other galaxies.”
“But they’re not visiting us,” Natasha said.
“How would we know?” It was Kolya; who else? “If they have achieved intergalactic flight, then they certainly have the ability to disguise themselves.”
“Why would they come to visit us?” she demanded.
“To see scientific socialism in action,” Kolya said, and drew some approving murmurs around the cafeteria, though to Arkady the idea was the equivalent of walking around the world to see an anthill.
—Martin Cruz Smith, Polar Star