There was a landowner in ancient times who lived on the absolute edge of the civilized world. A man who was on the border between wilderness and the outer limits of the territory that the king was capable of controlling. This man's plot of land, at the furthest reaches of the empire, was nothing more than a few small buildings and a road that went off into the distance where grass would regularly grow over the wagon tracks so the few travelers who were headed out into the land beyond had trouble finding their way.
The king would periodically dispatch his tax collectors into the kingdom and after all the rounds had been made and all the reaches of the kingdom collected, the tax collector would ride to this land on the edge of the kingdom to get the king's money from the landowner. When the tax collector would ride into this land he would always look to the forest beyond with a certain level of sadness, as if perhaps there were more taxes to be collected out there in the wild. The tax collector would sit there staring at the forest, thinking of home many miles away, and the landowner would walk out of his house to meet the tax collector at the road. There the landowner would give the tax collector the king's gold with absolutely no ceremony. Then the tax collector would leave.
The landowner, troubled a few times a year to throw some gold to a horseman, knew little to nothing about the king. In fact, all the man knew of the king was his name. The king, a man of great power, had ruled for many years. The king had defeated many great adversaries. The landowner knew none of these things. The landowner made all his own decisions, kept his land as he saw fit, and protected it occasionally from wolves and bandits. The king had little more than a drop of influence on the landowner's life. The landowner payed taxes simply because that is what he had always done, give his money to a man on a fine horse, who collected it for another man in a fine castle.
Then one day, the man on the horse didn't come. There was always a horse's gallop heard over the meadow at this time of year, the sign that the tax collector was making his rounds. This year, at this time, there was no gallop heard over the meadow. The landowner noticed this, thought it odd, and wondered briefly where the man could have gotten to. The landowner did not let this trouble him for long. He set about his chores and placed the money intended for the horseman on the table. After that day, every time the landowner felt it was the right time of year, he would walk to the edge of the road and look for the tax collector. Every time, the horseman did not come. Every time, the landowner would place the gold on the table.
Years passed, and when the landowner began to forget the meaning of the sound, the landowner heard a horse's gallop. However, this was not the time of year for the king's tax collector, so the landowner rose out of curiosity, despite his old age, and walked to the edge of the road. To the landowner's mild surprise, a different man rode into town. This man's skin was a strange color and he spoke with a strange accent. This man was dressed very finely and when he stopped his horse a few yards from the landowner he looked around, curled his lips partially in disgust, and withdrew a large parchment. The strange man then declared that the landowner had a new king, a king who came from another land to defeat the landowner's old king, who was corrupt and evil. In exchange for the new king's protection, so that the new king may prevent men like the old king from becoming king, the landowner must pay the new king a small tax.
At this the landowner nodded, went into his house, grabbed the gold meant for the old king, and gave it to the man whose job it was to deliver this gold to the new king. The strange man declared the landowner a loyal subject of the new king, and blessed the landowner's land on the king's behalf. After this display the man left much like the old tax collector and rode out of town.
The landowner followed the strange man down the road for a moment, then went about his business much in the usual fashion. Only after the sun began to set and the tax collector was many miles away did the landowner realize the tax collector never even told him the new king's name.
8/16/10
8/2/10
Waking up upside down.
The other night I had to sleep on my couch. This was a voluntary thing, not some weird spousal issue. I don't even have a spouse. As a result, anytime I sleep on my couch, it is because I decided to.
Last Friday night I had some friends in town. These were more friends-of-a-friend, they were traveling through town on a road trip musical tour. The type of thing I have always wanted to do but I utterly lack musical talent. It is the type of trip I would plan though, and seeing myself in their endeavors, I found it easy to be generous. I carted myself out to Nampa, Idaho which is a rather unremarkable place that some very misguided but hard-working suburbanites have tried to gussie up into some sort of retarded cousin to Bend, Oregon. There is a shop downtown that sells v-neck t-shirts. There is a restaurant call Louie's or Lou's and it has a really, really nice bar. Lou's was closed at 8pm on a Friday night. This is why I say these suburbanites actions are misguided. There seems to absolutely no enthusiasm for Louie's or v-neck t-shirts outside of the small group of people who decided to open these shops.
Also in Nampa there's an old auto shop that has been converted into a coffee house. The brew isn't bad and they sell little gifts that people who wear v-neck t-shirts like to give each other for their birthdays. Really tacky vintage-looking shit made out of plastic that comes from a factory in China. They'll pay like $50 for a lunch box because it has Bette Davis on it. Like I said, the brew isn't bad and the atmosphere for the unplugged concert my new friend put on was kind of nice, so it was easy to soak in and listen to her relaxed and melancholy songs about lost love. Not usually my cup of tea, but I exercised patience and ended up thoroughly enjoying the show. We skipped out a bit early, halfway through the headliners set. It was some guy and a girl with a guitar and a fiddle and I'm pretty sure the guy was wearing non-prescription horn-rimmed glasses "just for the look of it." He probably got them at Urban Outfitters, which is just a 5,000 square foot version on the gift store in the coffee shop I was about to depart with my friends to go have dinner.
At dinner the conversation revolved around religion and its various intricacies. Mainly, how one defines what a "Christian" is. There were many good points thrown around, and ultimately everyone very politely agreed to disagree and also agreed that the wine was phenomenal. It was a Petit Syrah from Lodi, a winery called Windmill. It was cheap and tasted like brown sugar and kicked ass with the thick burger I put down.
After dinner it was decided that the girls would sleep at my house. I had the luck and clairvoyance to give my room a thorough cleaning and to put on fresh sheets, which I only do maybe once a month. I politely volunteered to take the couch and let them soak up the joys of what I will readily admit is the most comfortable bed I have owned in my entire life.
In the middle of the night I woke up so disoriented that I jumped off the couch in alarm. I'm not sure what about it was so unnerving, but not only did I not recognize the room I was in, I scarcely recognized I was in a room at all. I felt disembodied. After a few paces and a tall glass of sink water, I went back to the couch and have been utterly disoriented ever since.
Maybe it was the music. Check it out. www.sharayamikael.com
Last Friday night I had some friends in town. These were more friends-of-a-friend, they were traveling through town on a road trip musical tour. The type of thing I have always wanted to do but I utterly lack musical talent. It is the type of trip I would plan though, and seeing myself in their endeavors, I found it easy to be generous. I carted myself out to Nampa, Idaho which is a rather unremarkable place that some very misguided but hard-working suburbanites have tried to gussie up into some sort of retarded cousin to Bend, Oregon. There is a shop downtown that sells v-neck t-shirts. There is a restaurant call Louie's or Lou's and it has a really, really nice bar. Lou's was closed at 8pm on a Friday night. This is why I say these suburbanites actions are misguided. There seems to absolutely no enthusiasm for Louie's or v-neck t-shirts outside of the small group of people who decided to open these shops.
Also in Nampa there's an old auto shop that has been converted into a coffee house. The brew isn't bad and they sell little gifts that people who wear v-neck t-shirts like to give each other for their birthdays. Really tacky vintage-looking shit made out of plastic that comes from a factory in China. They'll pay like $50 for a lunch box because it has Bette Davis on it. Like I said, the brew isn't bad and the atmosphere for the unplugged concert my new friend put on was kind of nice, so it was easy to soak in and listen to her relaxed and melancholy songs about lost love. Not usually my cup of tea, but I exercised patience and ended up thoroughly enjoying the show. We skipped out a bit early, halfway through the headliners set. It was some guy and a girl with a guitar and a fiddle and I'm pretty sure the guy was wearing non-prescription horn-rimmed glasses "just for the look of it." He probably got them at Urban Outfitters, which is just a 5,000 square foot version on the gift store in the coffee shop I was about to depart with my friends to go have dinner.
At dinner the conversation revolved around religion and its various intricacies. Mainly, how one defines what a "Christian" is. There were many good points thrown around, and ultimately everyone very politely agreed to disagree and also agreed that the wine was phenomenal. It was a Petit Syrah from Lodi, a winery called Windmill. It was cheap and tasted like brown sugar and kicked ass with the thick burger I put down.
After dinner it was decided that the girls would sleep at my house. I had the luck and clairvoyance to give my room a thorough cleaning and to put on fresh sheets, which I only do maybe once a month. I politely volunteered to take the couch and let them soak up the joys of what I will readily admit is the most comfortable bed I have owned in my entire life.
In the middle of the night I woke up so disoriented that I jumped off the couch in alarm. I'm not sure what about it was so unnerving, but not only did I not recognize the room I was in, I scarcely recognized I was in a room at all. I felt disembodied. After a few paces and a tall glass of sink water, I went back to the couch and have been utterly disoriented ever since.
Maybe it was the music. Check it out. www.sharayamikael.com
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