Horror silvae

1.
The ocean roar and leaves
And dappled shade, damp air
Trees, unspoiled
And bristling

2.
Step over step, gently, on damp needles
Under close twigs
Offended by the graceless crunching
Of shoes on lignin
Darting eyes, clever prey, elusive
That's why they call it
Mushroom hunting

--A hermit

Less than Apt

the holidays. pressure.
tis the season
to convey my affection. adoration. appreciation.
into an object?

as i understand them
gifts demand to be gifted
upon discovery
they have revealed themselves
to the giver
not to be wrapped and hidden again
[PAH]
but to be transferred ASAP.


-An Unapologetic Random Gift Giving Hermit

Of Reaping Snails and Suchlike.

Radiant plastic whistles
cleaving 8-toothed smiles

into a darkened chamber,
that warehouse--you recall.

Still I here dream, these whistles
to little--no--avail;
that massive pressure at my back
eyes flashing salmon-bright.

Not a poet, nor a child
chew the meal and
reap the tail.

--An 8 o'clock shadow hermit (with the help of her cat, who was instrumental in determining the placement of line breaks by the inspired, intrepid manner in which he pawed the return-key of the word-processing instrument at hand)

Some Further Important Words

Here's a translation of Saint Ubaldino from fake Italian into fake derogatory Italian-English:

Fromazzioni spighali almono, la grazza di trumbio glaffazzio.
Fromazio, spin the almonds! The grasses of trumbobby glaze a zero.

Brumo il palmodori ghira puollo.
Brumo the pomodoro eats chickens.

Ni bare di troffo lettrafruosco.
No truffle bears leave a fruit.

Frangeli etroppo proghatti giulemio, e la grassa cranesca diulogi esta duona!
For the angels, eat kittens dutifully, and the oily cranberry doodie is good!

Il luoso duinare gloppo di passala spalghassa esta di marenare buonona e gruella.
The loose dinner glop of pasta (salt pasta) is of goodly and grueling sauce.

--A truthful hermit

Some Important Words

Here are some fascinating and significant words by Saint Ubaldino, from his text "Il uffizio di spaldini frucoso marenare!":

"Fromazzioni spighali almono, la grazza di trumbio glaffazzio. Brumo il palmodori ghira puollo. Ni bare di troffo lettrafruosco. Frangeli etroppo proghatti giulemio, e la grassa cranesca diulogi esta duona! Il luoso duinare gloppo di passala spalghassa esta di marenare buonona e gruella."


Furthermore, in the spirit of Christmas, let us heed the tender words of the renowned Franz Schmitterlittzen, founder of the Spratz Glessterlingensternzen:

"Geswürzter alles mennsturn neintrein, für die sprachentreinzerstiegelzinnegräfter elben stiegelfraßte und das kleberwenenstreber ichnist trinzelfür; die kleibe graztelmeister und der straßeburger diedlen gleiftürmeiste kleber trünnerglaße!"

-A Quotational Hermit

Words for a Festive Occasion

"I FUCKING LOVE THE DUSTERN HERMIT," he said. She nodded to indicate indifferent agreement*.


*There was clearly some sort of weird power dynamic at play here, but we won't go into that today, of all days.

--An X-Massing Hermit.

The Founder of our Order

http://www.whitepages.com/name/Dustern-R-Nichols/Miami-FL/3788p16

Itemized outline

I've decided to tweak my thesis topic a bit. Here's a preview:

"Commodity Prices in Emerging Markets, 2013 Prospectus: Agriculture, Brushes, Relics, Nuts, Hearts, and Eggs"

Table of Contents

1. agriculture

1.1. industrial

1.2. peasant

1.2.1. deranged ["deranged peasant agriculture"]

2. brushes

2.1. tooth

2.1.1. boar-hair

2.1.2. synthetic

2.1.2.1. secret

2.1.2.1.1. aerial

3. Relics

3.1. Plastic

3.1.1. Genuine

3.1.2. Ersatz

4. nuts

4.1. pine

4.2. mushroom

4.2.1. genuine

4.2.2. ersatz

4.3. cardboard

4.3.1. corrugated

4.3.1.1. soggy

5. hearts

5.1. boar

5.1.1. ersatz

5.2. bleeding

5.2.1. liberal

5.3. Sacred

6. eggs

6.1. poached

6.1.1. artisan

6.2. artisan

6.2.1. boiled
6.2.1.1. artisan
6.3. mispronounced

6.3.1. artisan
6.4. spider
6.4.1. artisan
6.4.2. sub-cutaneous
6.4.2.1. artisan

--An enterprising Hermit

Bright morning, bring me your promises!

Doorknobs coated in a waxy residue remind me of handlebars rubbed glossy with sticky resin.
Only a few things remind me that they are not, in fact, the same thing.
(first thoughts upon waking up from desperate, torrential dreams.)

What are the first and last things on YOUR minds, dear all? Yes, YOU. I'm looking at, yes, you, with knuckleless white-gloved index finger outstretched. Call 1-800-YOU-RSVP for a chance to enter the sweepstakes, open to residents of the U.S. and adjacent territories from now until January 13th!

--An Advertitious Hermit.

Beast Coast

We vacation at break-neck speed.
I have not yet been in one place for more than 36 hours
Since my arrival midnight Tuesday.

Wednesday: Wake up. Help around the house. Lunch with friends. Help around the house. Light dinner. Out to the bar. Turns into high/middle/elementary school reunion. In bed at 3am.

Thursday: Wake up. Help around the house. Compromise with mom. Pack the car. Drive to New Jersey. Get fed. Ride train to New York. East Flo Reunion. Board games and wine. In bed at 2am.

Friday: Wake up. Get back in bed. Get up. Brunch. Thrift stores. Movie. Rush. Introductions. Pack. Goodbyes. Train back to New Jersey. Wait in the cold. Family reunion. In bed at 12am.

Saturday: Wake up. Pack. Drive to Massachusetts. Flurries. Go Christmas shopping. Drive to airport. Reunion-Complete Family Edition. Italian dinner. Relax by the fire.

In bed soon.


--A Holidaying Hermit

Skulking return; more is said by unblinking eyes and neural electronic hum than by black serif-topped columns and stakes. Staggering in the bleached plain, a sweaty ovoid hermit turns up nothing, at least worth upending oneself over.

The tumbler that he is looking for is three-fifths full of an imaginary substance that laps languidly against the metal lip, obscenely aware of its purity. Like a fresh wound on a flaccid old orange (or pomegranate or lemon, according to the prevailing taste) reluctantly releasing sour rivulets of juice, inner juices so wanly protected for a long-overdue appointment. Whoever said that purity was the special property of virginity, was clearly a middle-aged male with disappointed dreams of becoming a firefighter, with a displeasingly mottled son who was the accidental product of a half-hearted tryst with a wife who has since that unfortunate incident decided to become frigid (toward her husband, at least, I have good authority that she once manhandled the milkman into a state of near-feral agitation) in a most resolute manner--just to keep up appearances for their suburban neighbors, comprendo?

Pomegranates taste like that stuff they sell in the supermarket, they really do.

--A Recently-Rediscovered Hermit.

Semiology

I found the following verse scratched onto a strip of silver foil, gleaming in a bed of moss:

latal na 'apti ta

kabd' esartane

enag rupa tse'a

sebderitamne

An approximate translation:

Travel fun

I've mastered the ways of sitting
How to think about nothing
How to sleep on my fist
Standing is the trouble--

"Your passport please"
"No, not the passport"
"Your ticket sir?"
"Your passport sir, for verification"
"Keep your shoes on!"
"Lift up your foot"
"Your other foot"
"Use the machines, not the line"
"Use the line"
"Wrong line. See stations 501-507"
"Are you carrying weapons?"

Nothing like a sidelong glance--
abrupt
discharge, to lodge itself in timid tissue
--flint, the better to winnow its way.

Nothing like a sidelong glance
to make one feel stark brazen.
Like a woman in a monastery.

--A Monastic Hermetress.

Bunsen Burner + Large Pot + Cheese n' Bread + Ben + Danielle + Derek + LiHe =
                           Fondue.

(Examples include: sleepy, angry, melancholy, manic, decadent, awkward, incompetent, pensive, nauseated, neurotic, brutal, cute, stupid, ostentatious, flippant... etc.)

--A Sated Hermit.

No Footholds.

There is no way to step without stepping on my stuff.
Unless you are me. I leap.
Sparing the strewn shoes,
The overflowing basket,
The still-packed suitcase
From the discomfort of stepping steps.


--A Bounding Hermit.

Some objects that seem lonely

A tree illuminated halide orange beside a train station

Chairs in a house whose inhabitants are far away

The city in darkness moving by at great speed

The golden summit of a hill in the cloudless sky

A piece of glass reflecting a youthful face

Willow trees

--A Red Hermit

The Only Happy Boy in the World

Once upon a time there was a truly happy boy. He was the only truly happy person in the world. One day, however, he had an epiphany regarding his own mortality and consequently, the mortality of true happiness itself. He realized that after he was gone, the world would go on. His own world of happiness would end, but the world itself would continue with all of its fear and suffering, just the same as if he had never been. This filled him with great sadness.

A Content Hermit

A Problem with Spiders

I modified the map of the first floor of the Bing Wing Library

https://library.stanford.edu/depts/green/where/floor_plans/bing_floor1.html

Work to be Discussed.

The following is the beginning of an entry. A foray into the world of Wikipedia publishing. We want it to look its best, so please. Any constructive criticism, any additional adages - please include in the comments section.

ZA FRUIT PICNIC

jallo. We are having za fruit picnic.

We are in za darkness. CLOSE ALL ZEWINDOWS.

Babble.

A fruit picnic is a gathering of friends and/or discerning strangers. That's what the bottle said, anyway. The ritual begins with the breaking of the watermelon. By the beautiful principle of watermelon shatter the full fruit will break into equal hemispheres. The first hemisphere is known as the hard apple. The second hemisphere is the sweet apple. DUH. The person sitting nearest to the tree providing shade asks to be handed the hard apple. He then proceeds to identify the national origins of the gathered fruit. If the sweet apple is from Burgundy, the pick-eye (the guy by the tree who presides over the fruit picnic), rechristens the hard apple the “cold apple.”  

Zen Koans for the Radico-Practical Soul

Koan I: What is the smell of over-washed clothes and under-washed bodies in an enclosed space?

Koan II: What is the fastest way to get from New York to London?
Koan II (i): What is the fastest and most comfortable way to get from New York to London?

Koan III: What's in a name (e.g. Jackson)?

--A Meditative Hermit

Flying-octopus Mountain

I haven't slept a wink
And I haven't got a plan

Since I crashed our red stealth zeppelin

On flying-octopus mountain

At night I fend off tentacles

By day I search for food

Too bad there isn’t any

On flying-octopus mountain

My comrades have been eaten

No, I didn't do it

It was the flying-octopuses

On flying-octopus mountain

I should have known that mollusks

Are dirty bourgeois kulaks
Who spurn the Revolution
On flying-octopus mountain

I’m out of cabbage soup

My sickle's getting dull

I won’t survive another night

On flying-octopus mountain

--A Stranded Hermit

Tremo

Memory unbidden embraces

Presses bay leaves to the nose

Hangs tender boughs stirs the wind

And early dawn stands ready

But being quakes in wonder

And in reflection one can hear

The suggestion of a hymn

--A Pious Hermit

Déjà vu et pas vu

Today I met a blind man in the hall. I had seen this blind man many times previously. I met him immediately upon turning the corner, ambling in the other direction. I greeted him, wondering if he would know my voice. He reciprocated as we passed. No more than a half-hour later, I turned the very same corner and met him again in exactly the same spot, ambling toward the corner just as before. This time I said nothing. As I walked down the hall, I was overwhelmed by a feeling that he had recognized me and was wondering about my failure to greet him a second time.

A Recurring Hermit

Thirteen Calendars

Here is a system of Calendars.
[As a familiar sample for the format:

Week (WEAK)
The Calendar of Work; 7 days]

--------------

Re (RAY)

The Calendar of Corn; 50 days

Rebe (ray-BAY)

The Calendar of Corn Cobs; 62 days

Berebebebe (bay-RAY-bay-BAY-bay)

The Calendar of Corn Cob Husk; 93 days

Salgnog (SALG-nog)

The Calendar of Rain; 2 days

Justonot (JUST-oh-naught)

The Calendar of Justice; 9 days

Lodibarroby (LOH-dee-bar-ROH-bee)

The Calendar of Golden Teeth; 544 days

Ugomarthomarartho (oo-goh-MAR-thoh-ma-RAR-thoh)

The Calendar of Lechery; 1 day

Lammy (LAM(B)-mee)

The Calendar of Sweet Meats; 129 days

Uro (sam-BAM-ba-TIK-tog)*

The Calendar of Long Pig; 368 days; *also pronounced (in the savage dialect) as “cahn-BAHL”

Calarthon (ka-LAND-ra-THON)

The Calendar of Time; 47 days

Borgnotron (BORG-no-tron)

The Calendar of the BORGNOTRON; 4322 days

Imdinoradudi (SAD-sack)

The Calendar of Fools; 19 days

Dumumamimatadi (du-mu-mah-MEE-mah-tah-DEE)

The Calendar of Cleansing; 98 days

----------

Important festival days occur at the coincidence of various days on the various calendars (like “Friday the 13^th,” on the fifth day of WEEK and the 13^th days of MONTH):

Festival of Fun: on the 3^rd day of Justonot and the 9^th day of Borgnotron

Occurs every 38,898 days

Festival of Mourning: on the 1^st day of Ugomarthomarartho and the 1^st and 2^nd days of Salgnog

Occurs every day

Festival of Plenty: on the 49^th day of Re and the 61^st day of Rebe and the 91^st day of Berebebebe

Has never occurred

Festival of the Great Together: on the 1^st day of all of the calendars other than Re, Rebe, and Berebebebe (aka “The Corn Calendars”).

Has only occurred once before, but was accidentally ignored; predicted to next occur tomorrow

--A Sousinculous Hermit

Wrath

Withered cherries are flung down
adoringly, meet the rapid approach of earth
with nothing to lose; flown
like the aging Hestia to her dead hearth.

--A Fruitless Hermit.

Civic Duty

There are 25 chances to win a hot pink card
at the Circuit Court of Prince George's County. 
These are your tax dollars at work
so thank your tax dollars for the cushions on your seats. 
Don't try to trade your card just because your neighbor is more excited about jury duty than you. 
If you're not happy, get happy. 
Enjoy your flight
and Happy Monday.




--A Recently Returned Hermit

Ruminations on the Composition of the Self.

The smell of acrylic.
The feel of plastic in my hair.
Reminds me that I'm not myself.
Without paint.








-A Pollock'd Hermit.

The First Cave.

I came across a cave guarded by trees, exhaling cool breath. It was dusk; illuminated by the fading light of my tired day, a pile of rocks stood at the entrance. Who gathered them? Why? What can I make of it, what meaning can I bestow?
The idle pastime of another traveler--a child's make-believe fort?
A marker for lost companions; a signal, a warning?
A monument to the dead. Perhaps the rocks commemorate the victims of a monstrous conflagration.
A ritual pyre?

--A Dustern Hermit.