“Man,” said Mordel, “possessed a basically incomprehensible nature. I can illustrate it, though: he did not know measurement.”
“I did not say that he could not measure,” said Mordel, “but that he did not know measurement, which is a different thing altogether.”
Mordel drove a shaft of metal downward into the snow.
He retracted it, raised it, held up a piece of ice.
“Regard this piece of ice, mighty Frost. You can tell me its composition, dimensions, weight, temperature. A man could not look at it and do that. A man could make tools which would tell him these things, but he still would not know measurement as you know it. What he would know of it, though, is a thing that you cannot know.”
“What is that?”
“That it is cold,” said Mordel, and tossed it away.
—Roger Zelazny, “For A Breath I Tarry”
Last night there was to be a double execution—YEEHAW!—in Oklahoma.
A by-god two-fer!
Guaranteed to get them old shriveled wrinkled flaccid done-long-gone-retired white-boy little-itty-bitty rods, a-rectin’! Like they ain’t been since them good ol’ days when any old good ol’ boy could just go out and rope, castrate, and hang hisself a Negro.
Oklahoma is the fetid stinking infected butthole of the United States.
Wherever you are, in this country, if you are not in Oklahoma: you are better off.
Oklahoma is such an irredeemable Hellpit that once, there in the early 19th Century, the white people grasped firmly hold of the eastern sections of the country, they shipped the non-dead-from-smallpox-blankets Indians there, to Oklahoma, along the Trail Of Tears.
The place considered such a dead-end station, such a trash heap, that only the remnants of Indians, were fit to live there.
Later in the 19th Century, of course, the white people ran utterly wild, and commanded that their seed spread across all the lands of the North American continent—in places all and every.
And so the Indians were butt-kicked out of Oklahoma, so that paleface cornholing banjo-playing incest-ravenous droolers who had never touched the monolith could settle there in their stead.
I have been to Oklahoma. And there I learned, first-hand, that the state is most notable for two things. Sand. And fucking your sister. Or, failing that, your mother.