Rasputin may have just given me the starting point for a new novel. This is a good thing, but I feel the tides of weirdness pulling strongly. I am not sure where this is going but it sounds like a lot of fun.
Joan loved her cats. She had six, unless one counted the three mostly wild cats who came to the patio in her garden apartment for food on a moderately regular basis. It was one of these cats, probably the yellow tom she called "Scrapper" who brought the fleas which were to transform her life.
To The Mc Millian Literary Agency:
I know this sounds crazy, and my therapist is concerned too if that is of any consolation to you, but please read on. It all started when one of "my" cats (I use the quotes because you can not really posses a cat - if anything it is the reverse) came home with what I initially called an infestation of fleas. Again, I know this sounds crazy, but these fleas are the direct descendants of a flea who inhabited Jesus' beard, and they have a truly lost Gospel which they want me to share.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Chapter 5 -completed.
The giant cargo plane was filled with seedlings - phragmities. loosestrife, kudzu, and rambler rose. One large section was curtained off. Rasputin, on whom the
flight suit was several sizes too big, sat on a jumpseat behind the pilot who was trying to find Farmville on his charts.
The second officer, a woman who had clearly seen her share of government issue strangeness, offered Rasputin some ear protectors which clearly would not work for him, and shrugged when he passed them back to her. "The parachute is the bigger problematic for you anyway."
Rasputin who had never heard that word used as a noun wondered if pointing out a grammatical oddity would enhance his chances of survival.
As the crew member called the "drop officer" explained the procedure, Rasputin regretted the clause in his will that specified that his ashes be dispersed from a plane. It seemed redundant, but before he could call his lawyer the big door in the back of the plane opened and large bundles of loose strife were being positioned for the first run. Looking out the window he saw the just plowed fields of Farmville .
"Remember it's not the falling that hurts, it's the sudden stop," Those words shouted over the roar of the passing slipstream did little to help Rasputin keep calm. He wished the plastic surgeon had enhanced his ears, enough that they would provide lift and enable him to glide to earth. He figured they would need be seven feet long, then a strong large hand gripped him. "What about the parachute," he shouted?
The drop master shouted, " we don't have one in your size. The good news is we're flying at fifty feet so the plants will take, just stay in the moment."
An instant later Rasputin was very much in the moment as he was launched with a large bale of rambler rose.
In his autobiography Rasputin thanks Tolle for giving him the presence of mind to realize that this was in actuality, a briar patch. In the four seconds before impact he wormed his way into the center of the bush and grabbed his foot for luck.
While plummeting to earth, as he grabbed his lucky rabbits foot, the left hind one, Rasputin was struck with the notion that this might be his last opportunity to kiss his ass goodbye. There was no time to think this through, the rambler rose struck a muddy patch and in an instant Rasputin was ejected and slid for
fifty yards ending up in a shallow pond as other plants landed around him.
This was not the dignified return Rasputin had fantasied and planned. In some ways it fit though, his farewell speech had been, "I've been thrown out of better places than this..."
The immersion in the pond cleaned most of the mud off, so when he emerged to find a small crowd assembled, he was able to feel presentable.
The residents of farmville were not happy at the rain of invasive species, but as they muttered, the giant plane made a second pass this time releasing the cargo which had been hidden behind the curtain.
In an instant farmville became the largest pot farm outside of Northern California and Rasputin realized that they might have to rework the score 76 Trombones would become 76 lead guitars. The goofy uniforms would work though.
Rasputin, back in a new stoned version of farmville, sent word back to his invasion force, "bring munchies." As a young rabbit he had sent some time on the fields of the USMA at West Point and knew that it was an innovative commander, able to make use of unexpected turns, who was often victorious. The only problem was that the fields of ganja planted were of exceptionally high quality.
The resistance, a small band of feral chickens who had escaped the knights of columbus bbq, was trying to burn the fields with predictable results. But the plumes of smoke which wafted in were enough to make him want to defer decisions and watch cartoons.
Unfortunately for Rasputin grass was a gateway drug. Will the rabbit revert to his junkie ways, hock the band instruments, and forsake the revolution?
Posted a link to The Velvet Underground - Heroin (song only) www.youtube.com
"Never, never buy drugs from a goat." Rasputin screamed, as he realized he'd been burned. He kicked himself with both feet, once for being so stupid to buy talcum powder in a little plastic bag, and again for having come so close to forgoing his destiny and nodding out when he should have been leading the revolution.... He consoled himself with the thought that goat stew would be served at his inaugural ball.
Rasputin set up his command post in the abandoned grain elevator at the edge of town. Unfortunately some of the left over wheat in one of the bins had developed a fungus which when inhaled had an effect similar to LSD.
When you add messianic to megalomaniac, you get an ego about the size of Massachusetts, and this mi...ght have been a hindrance were it not for Rasputin's sense of timing.
As the sun rose Rasputin stepped out onto the top of the grain elevator where, backlit by the sun, he proclaimed himself Lapin of God and in possession of a revised set of commandments.
The residents of farmville, still stoned from the brownies eaten the night before, had a "FAR OUT" moment.
After descending from his hallucinogenic heights, Rasputin knew he had promised more than he could deliver especially because he had only a piece of cardboard
and a worn out magic marker that left streaks. A revised set of commandments was going to take a bit more than that. He'd asked his friends for suggestions and
gotten none.
As he started his research he found there were conflicting versions of the commandments in the Bible. "It's about time someone fixed this," he said. "This time
I'll keep it simple."
"Not so fast!" the voice loud, deep and booming startled... him so that he fell off his chair.
Could the Acid be rebounding, he wondered? Or was he, as he had always suspected, the anointed rabbit?
"God, is that you?" Rasputin asked, not sure he wanted an answer either way.
"Not the Easter Bunny," came the response, and Rasputin whose Higher Power was known for being enigmatic as well as having a sense of humor, was glad. Hearing
from God was better than hallucinations coming from what his therapist called his tw...isted inner rabbit.
And he figured so long as God was not communicating via lightning bolts or heart attacks he was doing ok.
"Don't take this personally my little lapin, but rewriting the scriptures is not the job I had in mind for you."
Again Rasputin was glad..., the project had been daunting even to his megalomaniacal side and he had been worried about the pressure various special interest
groups would bring to bear.
"However, I agree that Farmville needs a bit of revision. Before I bring forth a new flood, (this time it will be electrons) you will go forth as my emissary.
You will be given visions. Try not to warp them to fit with your own desires." With that there was a slight click as God disconnected, but behind was left an
enormous towering cloud in the exact image of Rasputin brilliant and alone in an otherwise clear sky.
Rasputin considered his ego to be a God given asset. This logic allowed him to feed it steroids and otherwise expand it. It was what allowed him to proclaim
his divine inspiration and mandate. This, in turn, got the attention of a busload of pilgrims who were on their way to a shrine dedicated to Our Lady of
Miraculous Bargains in a discount mall in the country next to Farmville, Shopper City.
Their affection was short lived when the pilgrims discovered Rasputin could not produce the discount coupons they craved. They pummeled him with their shopping
bags, which fortunately were empty and shouted "charlatan" as he fled into a marshy field beside the road.
Having escaped the band of pilgrims Rasputin was standing in a field considering he next move when he heard a diminutive chorus which shouted, "yea" this was
followed by a single voice, "I've got behind the ears." and in a second our hero could truly speak in the plural as he was invaded by a gang of fleas who were
waring little leather vests on which was embroidered the words "Plagues R us"
Rasputin, who knew from bitter experience there was no negotiating with fleas, was preparing to throw himself in a swiftly flowing river in the desperate hope
this infestation had left their water wings at home when the flea who had taken station behind his ears said, "This revolution thing, we've got some
suggestions."
Rasputin, who had never met a flea he hadn't scratched, was disturbed on several accounts, not the least of which was having to share the spoils of victory
with a species that reproduced faster than he could.
Massive doses of anti-histamines kept the itching under control and Rasputin would have slept a lot were it not for the fact that his fleas had choral
ambitions. Their repertoire ranged from Mozart to spirituals. They had a version of Jesus loves me with a verse which made reference to their ancestors who had
lived in His beard. The theological implications of this gave Rasputin a headache.
The congregation of fleas with a direct linage to the sainted flea who had lived in Jesus' beard had a version of the Gospel which had not been included in the
familiar texts. They had, they told Rasputin, decided that they were willing to reveal its secrets and asked Rasputin to get them an agent.
Rasputin, whose experiences with literary agents had consisted almost entirely of rejections, was reluctant to make any promises, but agreed to write query
letters the minute he got to an internet cafe. "Unforutnately," he said, "I've got this invasion of Farmville to orchestrate."
flight suit was several sizes too big, sat on a jumpseat behind the pilot who was trying to find Farmville on his charts.
The second officer, a woman who had clearly seen her share of government issue strangeness, offered Rasputin some ear protectors which clearly would not work for him, and shrugged when he passed them back to her. "The parachute is the bigger problematic for you anyway."
Rasputin who had never heard that word used as a noun wondered if pointing out a grammatical oddity would enhance his chances of survival.
As the crew member called the "drop officer" explained the procedure, Rasputin regretted the clause in his will that specified that his ashes be dispersed from a plane. It seemed redundant, but before he could call his lawyer the big door in the back of the plane opened and large bundles of loose strife were being positioned for the first run. Looking out the window he saw the just plowed fields of Farmville .
"Remember it's not the falling that hurts, it's the sudden stop," Those words shouted over the roar of the passing slipstream did little to help Rasputin keep calm. He wished the plastic surgeon had enhanced his ears, enough that they would provide lift and enable him to glide to earth. He figured they would need be seven feet long, then a strong large hand gripped him. "What about the parachute," he shouted?
The drop master shouted, " we don't have one in your size. The good news is we're flying at fifty feet so the plants will take, just stay in the moment."
An instant later Rasputin was very much in the moment as he was launched with a large bale of rambler rose.
In his autobiography Rasputin thanks Tolle for giving him the presence of mind to realize that this was in actuality, a briar patch. In the four seconds before impact he wormed his way into the center of the bush and grabbed his foot for luck.
While plummeting to earth, as he grabbed his lucky rabbits foot, the left hind one, Rasputin was struck with the notion that this might be his last opportunity to kiss his ass goodbye. There was no time to think this through, the rambler rose struck a muddy patch and in an instant Rasputin was ejected and slid for
fifty yards ending up in a shallow pond as other plants landed around him.
This was not the dignified return Rasputin had fantasied and planned. In some ways it fit though, his farewell speech had been, "I've been thrown out of better places than this..."
The immersion in the pond cleaned most of the mud off, so when he emerged to find a small crowd assembled, he was able to feel presentable.
The residents of farmville were not happy at the rain of invasive species, but as they muttered, the giant plane made a second pass this time releasing the cargo which had been hidden behind the curtain.
In an instant farmville became the largest pot farm outside of Northern California and Rasputin realized that they might have to rework the score 76 Trombones would become 76 lead guitars. The goofy uniforms would work though.
Rasputin, back in a new stoned version of farmville, sent word back to his invasion force, "bring munchies." As a young rabbit he had sent some time on the fields of the USMA at West Point and knew that it was an innovative commander, able to make use of unexpected turns, who was often victorious. The only problem was that the fields of ganja planted were of exceptionally high quality.
The resistance, a small band of feral chickens who had escaped the knights of columbus bbq, was trying to burn the fields with predictable results. But the plumes of smoke which wafted in were enough to make him want to defer decisions and watch cartoons.
Unfortunately for Rasputin grass was a gateway drug. Will the rabbit revert to his junkie ways, hock the band instruments, and forsake the revolution?
Posted a link to The Velvet Underground - Heroin (song only) www.youtube.com
"Never, never buy drugs from a goat." Rasputin screamed, as he realized he'd been burned. He kicked himself with both feet, once for being so stupid to buy talcum powder in a little plastic bag, and again for having come so close to forgoing his destiny and nodding out when he should have been leading the revolution.... He consoled himself with the thought that goat stew would be served at his inaugural ball.
Rasputin set up his command post in the abandoned grain elevator at the edge of town. Unfortunately some of the left over wheat in one of the bins had developed a fungus which when inhaled had an effect similar to LSD.
When you add messianic to megalomaniac, you get an ego about the size of Massachusetts, and this mi...ght have been a hindrance were it not for Rasputin's sense of timing.
As the sun rose Rasputin stepped out onto the top of the grain elevator where, backlit by the sun, he proclaimed himself Lapin of God and in possession of a revised set of commandments.
The residents of farmville, still stoned from the brownies eaten the night before, had a "FAR OUT" moment.
After descending from his hallucinogenic heights, Rasputin knew he had promised more than he could deliver especially because he had only a piece of cardboard
and a worn out magic marker that left streaks. A revised set of commandments was going to take a bit more than that. He'd asked his friends for suggestions and
gotten none.
As he started his research he found there were conflicting versions of the commandments in the Bible. "It's about time someone fixed this," he said. "This time
I'll keep it simple."
"Not so fast!" the voice loud, deep and booming startled... him so that he fell off his chair.
Could the Acid be rebounding, he wondered? Or was he, as he had always suspected, the anointed rabbit?
"God, is that you?" Rasputin asked, not sure he wanted an answer either way.
"Not the Easter Bunny," came the response, and Rasputin whose Higher Power was known for being enigmatic as well as having a sense of humor, was glad. Hearing
from God was better than hallucinations coming from what his therapist called his tw...isted inner rabbit.
And he figured so long as God was not communicating via lightning bolts or heart attacks he was doing ok.
"Don't take this personally my little lapin, but rewriting the scriptures is not the job I had in mind for you."
Again Rasputin was glad..., the project had been daunting even to his megalomaniacal side and he had been worried about the pressure various special interest
groups would bring to bear.
"However, I agree that Farmville needs a bit of revision. Before I bring forth a new flood, (this time it will be electrons) you will go forth as my emissary.
You will be given visions. Try not to warp them to fit with your own desires." With that there was a slight click as God disconnected, but behind was left an
enormous towering cloud in the exact image of Rasputin brilliant and alone in an otherwise clear sky.
Rasputin considered his ego to be a God given asset. This logic allowed him to feed it steroids and otherwise expand it. It was what allowed him to proclaim
his divine inspiration and mandate. This, in turn, got the attention of a busload of pilgrims who were on their way to a shrine dedicated to Our Lady of
Miraculous Bargains in a discount mall in the country next to Farmville, Shopper City.
Their affection was short lived when the pilgrims discovered Rasputin could not produce the discount coupons they craved. They pummeled him with their shopping
bags, which fortunately were empty and shouted "charlatan" as he fled into a marshy field beside the road.
Having escaped the band of pilgrims Rasputin was standing in a field considering he next move when he heard a diminutive chorus which shouted, "yea" this was
followed by a single voice, "I've got behind the ears." and in a second our hero could truly speak in the plural as he was invaded by a gang of fleas who were
waring little leather vests on which was embroidered the words "Plagues R us"
Rasputin, who knew from bitter experience there was no negotiating with fleas, was preparing to throw himself in a swiftly flowing river in the desperate hope
this infestation had left their water wings at home when the flea who had taken station behind his ears said, "This revolution thing, we've got some
suggestions."
Rasputin, who had never met a flea he hadn't scratched, was disturbed on several accounts, not the least of which was having to share the spoils of victory
with a species that reproduced faster than he could.
Massive doses of anti-histamines kept the itching under control and Rasputin would have slept a lot were it not for the fact that his fleas had choral
ambitions. Their repertoire ranged from Mozart to spirituals. They had a version of Jesus loves me with a verse which made reference to their ancestors who had
lived in His beard. The theological implications of this gave Rasputin a headache.
The congregation of fleas with a direct linage to the sainted flea who had lived in Jesus' beard had a version of the Gospel which had not been included in the
familiar texts. They had, they told Rasputin, decided that they were willing to reveal its secrets and asked Rasputin to get them an agent.
Rasputin, whose experiences with literary agents had consisted almost entirely of rejections, was reluctant to make any promises, but agreed to write query
letters the minute he got to an internet cafe. "Unforutnately," he said, "I've got this invasion of Farmville to orchestrate."
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