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About ogresan

Richard Parks' stories have have appeared in Asimov's SF, Realms of Fantasy, Fantasy Magazine, Weird Tales, and numerous anthologies, including several Year's Bests. His first story collection, THE OGRE'S WIFE, was a finalist for the World Fantasy Award. He is the author of the Yamada Monogatari series from Prime Books.

Meditation on a Louse

Missed it by a few hours, but better late….

Meditation on “To A Louse, On Seeing One on a Lady’s Bonnet at Church

He: (watching a documentary on politics) ”O wad some Pow’r the giftie gie us To see oursels as ithers see us!”

She: Burns had it wrong.

He: Which part?

She: Pretty much all of it. That wouldn’t be a gift. It would be a curse.

He: I’m thinking both Bobby Burns and the Louse might disagree.

She (Shrugs): Burns, maybe. But the Louse is free to roam and feed and live its lousy life only so long as its host remains blissfully unaware of its presence. As soon as the “gift” arrives, the jig is up.

He: Well…

She (attempting to nip that bud): If you’re about to mansplain what Burns meant about the potential difference in the poor woman’s attitude if she is humbled before her peers by hosting a common louse, spare me.

He: You can’t deny it would puncture her pretensions, and by extension, everyone else’s under the same circumstances.

She: You’re making my point. What is she pretending, except to be what her society expects from a proper woman of the time? Take that away from her, and what does she have left?

He: Herself?

She: Rubbish. Every one of us, and that includes you, build our identities from the ground up, and that perspective would amount to what Tarot calls “a Tower moment,” when everything comes crashing down. No one could survive it with their sense of self intact. That leads to madness…perhaps literally.

He: That old “we become what we pretend to be” saw? Maybe we become what we’re supposed to be.

She: Now you’re excluding free will. Are you claiming our choices are preordained?

He: Maybe, and what’s that got to do with it?

She: Everything. There’s choice involved where building a sense of self.  Not always good ones, but that’s the tragedy of free will. Maybe the “proper woman” motif is a bad choice, an unsustainable choice despite society’s expectations. But it’s hers. Does she deserve to lose it just because an observer sees what she does not?

He: Sorry, I just got a flash of the lady in church as a metaphor for Schrodinger’s cat. Alive or dead, proper or ridiculous, all depending on the observer.

She: For once you may not be too far wrong. Now. Do you really want your own fragile—and I say that because we are all fragile—identity and sense of self dependent on the kindness of strangers?

He: From a poet to a playwright. You’re mixing your argumentative metaphors.

She: Say rather I’m expanding my examples. If you always snort the same way when you choke back a laugh, do you really want or need to know that it sounds like a sow in heat?

He: It does?

She: That’s not the point. Assuming there’s nothing you can do about it, would you want to know?

He: I guess not…so, does it?

She: Of course not. It’s just an example.

He: As long as I don’t have to depend on the kindness of strangers.

©2021 Richard Parks

To Dine, Perchance to Scream

Fairy Tale Flash: Fractured Fables Old and New

This might go in the eventual Master & Apprentice flash series. For right now, I’ll put it here.

To Dine, Perchance to Scream

Master was already awake and up. This wasn’t unusual. Try as I might, I could never quite manage to rise before he did. That wasn’t the odd part.

Master simply sat at the table, smoking his ancient pipe and blowing smoke rings. Even then I wasn’t especially concerned, that is until I realized he was deep in thought.

That was never a good sign.

He finally looked at me. “We have a problem. Morea is hungry.”

“The dryad? I thought she didn’t need to eat.”

“Technically she is a maliades, not a dryad, since her tree is a mulberry, not an oak…I wouldn’t mention that to her if I were you.”

“Believe me, I won’t.”

“We’re having a dry spell. Now it’s come to my attention Morea is refusing to feed so that her tree can take in what water there is. Sunshine alone isn’t enough, and we can’t have the poor lass starving.”

I was beginning to see the issue. “Well, she can eat human food, right? The problem would be getting her to accept it.”

“Exactly.”

Morea, as I well knew, was a prickly and prideful creature. She would not accept charity from a human. Now I knew the reason for Master’s deep contemplation. Yet I’d had several run-ins with the nymph which Master had been wise enough to avoid. It wasn’t anything like a relationship, but it was something approaching an understanding. That is, I thought I understood her. Now was my chance to see if I was right.

“Master, I have an idea.”

“Pleased to hear it. Frankly, I’m at a loss.”

#

By noon I had reached the meadow carrying a heavy basket and doing my best to appear nonchalant. It was sunny and warm, though the trees ringing the meadow were resting in shadow.

“Lovely day for a picnic,” I said aloud, and to no one in particular.

I judged the distance and placed my basket just inside the shade of Morea’s mulberry tree. “I do need some wild onion. I saw some growing near the brook.”

Of course, no sooner had I taken a few steps I heard Morea’s laughter. I turned, and of course she had the basket.

“That’s mine,” I said.

“Anything in the shadow of my mulberry belongs to me, and don’t think I’ve forgotten the time you put your filthy hands on my tree. I think I still owe you something for that. Now watch.”

And I did, looking sullen, as she ate everything in the basket and drank the small jug of cider besides. I had wondered about the cider, but considering it was mostly water, I didn’t think it would hurt her. It did bring a bit of a blush to her already rosy cheeks.

“May I at least have the basket back?”

“Sure,” she said, and threw it at me. “One more thing…”

“Yes?” I asked.

“You’re a terrible actor. Thank you,” she said, and disappeared.

Maybe I didn’t know her as well as I thought.

©2021 Richard Parks

Test Pattern

There should be a proper post here, but right now I’m kinda tied up. First Reader just got out of the hospital after knee replacement surgery (fragile joints seem to run in her family). So, as the only fully ambulatory (at the moment) member of this partnership, I’ve been kind of busy.

Regardless, she’s fine and making good progress, but my duties will keep this from being any more than what it is. I hope to be more on schedule by next week.

I hope to see ya’ll then.

Much Ado About Nothing

Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger on Pexels.com

‘Nothing’ is a difficult concept.

Seriously. Think about it. What exactly is ‘nothing’? Does it even exist? And if it did, how would we know? Aside from what, how about where?

Have you ever been looking for something lost, and somebody says, “Have you checked the closet?” And you say, “I did. It’s not there.”  Or, sometimes, “There’s nothing there.”

That statement is false. There’s certainly something there, if only cobwebs or a stray dust bunny, or air, or maybe a lost button. Possibly even clothes. Those are all somethings, to belabor the obvious, just not the something you were looking for. It’s easy to find something because it’s impossible not to do so. Finding nothing? As in the example, people claim to have found nothing all the time: Data scientists when they can’t find a correlation, or detectives looking for clues, or a child looking for fairies. They found nothing, they say. They’re always either lying or being very imprecise in their word usage. Say rather you didn’t find the specific something you were looking for. That’s fair. Say you found nothing? Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Which would certainly be something.

Quantum Mechanics says that something can be two things at the same time, like a qubit that can simultaneously be on and off or somewhere in between. Nothing may be less amorphous by comparison, but it has to be somewhere. Good luck finding it. Don’t bother looking in the closet, though. I already checked. How about deep space? It certainly looks like a vast bit of black nothing, only we know it isn’t. Even when there are no other stars, planets, or moons, there are always hydrogen atoms humming to themselves and perhaps wondering, if capable and inclined, what all the fuss is about.

Scientists theorize that there is a phenomenon called “Unruh radiation” produced by quantum fluctuations in the “nothing” of the vacuum of space which could, properly accelerated by, say, a massive black hole, produce heat and light. Yep. Light from “nothing.” Still only a theory and way above my cognitive pay grade. We’ll let the experts sort that one out.

Current cosmological theory says the universe is expanding. Into what? Nothing, say the cosmologists. The universe is its own thing, and there’s nothing else. So, logically, nothing exists, but does so beyond our physical universe. Which we cannot see except in the sense that if we could see to the end of the observable universe, we would see only the boundary beyond which nothing exists.

You’re way ahead of me. Yes, I pointed out the flaw in my own argument in the first line. ‘Nothing’ is a concept, not a physical something. In fact, it only exists in reference to and dependent on something. We define the absence of the desired something with its antonym—nothing. It’s just that the analogy doesn’t hold so far as I’m concerned. If something is capable of being both concept and the embodiment of that concept, why not ‘nothing’? Hardly seems fair. Worse, it’s limited thinking and it feels wrong. After all, there’s a balance and symmetry to nature that this sort of uneven pairing violates. Nothing has to be something, or there’s no something.

There may be a flaw or two in the reasoning. I should work on that.

After all, I have nothing to lose.

©2021 Richard Parks

All Things

What is probably/maybe/I’m not really sure next to last Yamada story, “The Fox’s Daughter,” will go live at Beneath Ceaseless Skies on December 2nd. At which time this link which now points to issue #343 will show the first December issue which is #344. There is one more Yamada already written after this one, but I’m saving it for the eventual new Yamada collection which I am tentatively scheduling for December of next year.

“So whatsamaddawidyou? Can’t you just keep writing Yamada stories if you want to?”

It doesn’t work that way, at least not for me. The Yamada series always had a story arc, completed with The Emperor in Shadow. Frankly, the last few Yamada stories in BCS were a surprise to me. In hindsight, I was tidying up. That, I believe, is done now.

And, yes, I’ve been wrong before.

I’m not happy about it, but I do believe it’s the right thing to do, and will hold this truth come what may.

Unless another Yamada story kicks me in the butt. Never say never.