1 comments/ 1265 views/ 0 favorites Legend of the Spidery Things Ch. 01 By: cometotimmy It is true a hefty body of folks tend to refrain - guess they inherited the leaning in refraining from voicing many reasons to favor this time of year. The winds born have not infrequently known the darkness of neglect when they were but whips with innocent beginnings but come into the world knowing not the gentle caresses of love but only to sling wicked stingers when they blow and they recruit germs which compose colds that invade homes of good families and heads become stuffy and tissues get icky and fingers can't engage with the beautiful world in nature's naked way. But even with all the reasons to despise this time of year, optimism just can't give up clinging to that rugged root of hope so the blessings deserve attention too - such as this is also a fine time for good neighbors to gather around a table few wouldn't be too busy with a life deep in bustle to recognize as a table for fine dining unless they included what wasn't all so fancy and digging in a hearty stew supper like the stew supper of wild game cooked up by the loving hand of my Maggie and then to sip after-supper hot hard ciders while my Maggie and her helper gals tend to the work in the kitchen and then coming here to gather round the old potbelly. Oh I know we'd all love to be able to do what we can't like wander outside in Bermudas and Hawaiian shirts and throw fleshy chicken thighs or beefy ground patties on a grill and lounge around cracking cold brews - now that heat coming off this dear potbelly - buddy talk about stories, this old potbelly could tell us all - had my great-great grandpappy not fallen on those lean years I'm sure he'd picked out the potbelly given story-spinning gifts - but I'd also say just sitting here silent and being the bringer of warmth to so many bones and helping so many hearts feel the love that comes when sitting deep upon an affectionate uncle's lap - what I'm getting to I reckon is I'll wager that's some sweet heat if any such thing like sweet waves of hearty heat is - so we do what we can do and my but it just feels righteous to settle in a cozy rocker, fetch up the whetstone and swirl a blade against it, swirl, swirl, swirl, oh it's like a - what's the term? Hypnotic? Meditative? In that territory. Yeah just sit and swirl a little blade like this pocketknife blade and reflect on this and that; maybe someone could throw a hunk in the potbelly - try a cherry - yeah those four or five in a pyramid style pile off to the side - those are the cherry chunks - yeah that's it, just one good hunk is all we need. Coax a toasty aroma to bless our senses. Beg pardon? Oh that? Goodness how rambunctious are the curiosities. The Legend of the Titanium Spidery Things? Really wanting to hear that one? Yeah it was promised but when Maggie's fine wild game stew was melting in my mouth and if you ask me it's a bit unfair a time to ask a man to promise what he'll regret later if Maggie's meaty wild game morsels are melting in his mouth. But a promise is a promise and commendations are noted for persistence and passion. Best way I know to begin what we've always known as The Legend of the Titanium Spidery Things is to give generous notice to what I don't know what else to call but the precursors or the harbingers or if I dare use the word Prophet then maybe we're looking at the prophetic prologue or the section that proclaims the way the tale shall fare once arising from the baptism. Whatever it is the important beginning point begins with a massive band of particles - more technical tomes used molecules and it's hard to raise an objection to using molecules but this old crotchety brain just can't seem to let loose of particles so that's what we'll go by and by gum anyone is free to exchange particle for molecule as they feel comfy - so these particles - particles of precipitation specifically - some have used the word armada and others use fleet - I just always used armada because I like the word, so this armada of precipitation particles were floating and they floated for a purpose and these purposeful precipitation particles happened to be native to the Arctic Circle - well they were not the neighborly kind of precipitation particles - not the soft falling rain like we get when the summer rolls around; not the kind of waters you'd dunk your head in after a hot day of roping calves or cutting down timber or plugging the woman; not the kind of waters you don't mind hanging around a little while to watch roll off the roof or pour out the gutters. No these were much more snappy or snippy - ruffians I reckon you'd call them - ruffians who never had much use for trying to earn honest livings - so they had departed their Arctic Circle coastal town for the purpose of a southward rampage - not even to bring back booty but to simply go and annoy civilizations that might not expect a blast of precipitation particles to pour out freezing rains and stinging snow pellets just for their own sadistic enjoyment. It should be stressed that these precipitation particles of the Arctic Circle did not represent the majority of the precipitation particle tribes native to the Arctic Circle coasts as most coastal Arctic Circle particles were as peaceable of particles precipitous or sandy or ashy as you could ask for. Well along the way this precipitation particle armada of the Arctic Circle ran into pressures that did not wish to be too kind to these particles and they thus came to a standstill and the standstill lasted longer than many a standstill lasted and dang sure longer than most of the younger particles remembered because they'd never experienced this long a standstill and took unkindly pressures personally - see, they'd never learned to entertain themselves so they got bored really fast and their boredom caused their moods to deteriorate to the point that some of the particles began to whisper amongst themselves they draw up a petition pointing them in a return to their homelands. Didn't take long for the Most Decorated Particle to catch wind of the mutinous mumbles and took less of a long time for this Most Decorated Particle to reply that if the mutinous mumbles continued, they could expect punitive recourse in the form of eternal banishment to the dimension where the sun always shined and the land never froze and they'd surely melt away into the warmth of nothingness; this they could bank on should they bring up the subject again or should the Most Decorated Particle dare hear of them bringing up the subject again. Enough of a majority obeyed and quit the mutinous mumbles though a smattering of the particles grumbled just a little but not enough to concern the Most Decorated Particle because the said majority of the particles let go of their petition and returned to their atmospheric duties. Well they shortly were reminded why this particle was the Most Decorated Particle because a particle doesn't become a Most Decorated Particle by getting intimate with impatience; as true back then as it is today true; because the crow's-nest particle covering that shift's lookout duties caught sight of a strange segment in the distance and called the Most Decorated Particle's attention to that segment in the distance and segment identifiers identified that distant segment as an independent departure from a parental kind of air stream which appeared to be moving aimlessly if its activity could be called movement. They were partly correct about the aimlessness of the wandering air stream segment. This was a stream that had heard about redheads of legend in Iceland and had a great desire to quit dreaming and to actually go on a journey to check out the redheads of legend in Iceland and became aware there was a stream they called Gulf back then that had a route that went in that vicinity so this stream segment wanted to see about joining up or entering or grafting options, pretty much anything to facilitate the pesky dream of checking out the redheads of legend in Iceland. But it was the finding of a stream long celebrated global elements called The Gulf that was driving this air stream damn near nuts. Knew a wrong turn had been made somewhere around Norway if not Finland but had just a few minutes before sorted the tangled bearings so it wasn't so much aimlessness as being out of sorts that got sorted but just when it looked all sorted and the directions became clear, that's about the time the Arctic Circle particles of precipitation surrounded this air stream and took charge saying they needed its powers for a while and thus the Arctic Circle precipitation particles boldly boarded this air stream segment who was coerced to cease its idea about hooking up with Gulf and checking out the redheads of legend in Iceland or to at least suspend the dream of hooking with Gulf and checking out the redheads of legend in Iceland for as long as it would take to do the bidding of the Arctic Circle precipitation particle fleet and deliver them to a city set at a latitude they didn't often explore but thought they were overdue to look into ways to mount an offense designed to bring bitter harassment to the humans who inhabited that city set at that latitude. The Arctic Circle precipitation particles signaled the stream to descend where the clouded covers were the most gray as the navigation crew sent word those clouded covers of gray meant the coordinates the commanders wanted, so the stream had no choice but was glad to get it over with, and waited until all the Arctic Circle precipitation particles poured from it and cursed its fate while squeezing in a prayer that asked it please not land in Reykjavik too late to get to checking out the redheads of legend in Iceland. Anyway, the Arctic Circle precipitation particles knew their orders and thus went right away in the tactical enactment of a frontal assault - softening? these particles? oh no they did not observe the softening tactics - softening tactics belonged - the Antarctic particles, they were the softening experts back then, down there, and I don't see no reason they still would not be - and there was a reason the good lord set these two so far apart because they saw the world completely different than each other and - frigid worlds? that may be so. But buddy you better believe that's the only thing they had in common, and well, that's a whole other bunch of legends and tales - no these Arctic Circle particles meant to get right into the messy but serious business of annoying humans in the most impolite manner as possible; in this frontal assault the crewmembers trained to exert offensive manners set up in the shortest order weaponry designed to agitate the humans and began to propel blasts of really cold flecks and beads that were not snow nor were the flecks or beads outright ice, arguably occupying a blurred land falling oh so shy of full-blown frozen pellets - but they were definitely really cold beads. So these volleys of really cold beads were blown from the Arctic Circle particle weaponry so they flew so fast they turned all but in an instant to sleet and the spraying sleet needles spat at faces that had come to the city's downtown unprepared or most were unprepared so they contorted their faces into masks bespeaking displeasure but some were better prepared for they'd come with heavier hoods but whoever they were the majority of the humans gladdened the Arctic Circle particle commanders not only by the way they contorted their faces into masks bespeaking displeasure but that this mere first wave caused the prepared and the unprepared alike to do all they could to protect their precious faces and ears from the wet bitter winds containing precipitation particles born for this one purpose, long ago, and far away, in the Arctic Circle. But the Arctic Circle precipitation particle assault did not enjoy uniform success. This truth did not come to the commanders right away but waited until they whooped from the easy victory and traded high fives. This truth had to do with a report that made a major's orange phone go buzz-buzz-buzz and the major's orange phone was for one of the biggest company leaders who'd led its company's spearhead team through one of many an undefended sleeve straight to borders of the city's breadbasket and they wasted no time in creating frosty frays and freezing frenzies and that leader leading his really big company carried within it the ability to make direct contact with the rearward echelon's major and his orange phone thanks to a special device and a secret code that when effected caused this major's orange phone to do the buzz-buzz-buzz like his orange phone that went buzz-buzz-buzz was buzz-buzz-buzzing just now and his orange phone going buzz-buzz-buzz had him hold his horses in the victory whooping because this wasn't a major who ever let himself whoop until certain he could sign his name to a mission accomplished statement; so this major kept himself from whooping like the others and held off on his high five and instead fetched the orange phone and then learned there was one human who seemed unaffected by the Arctic Circle particle precipitation assault. This single human who seemed unaffected by all the wet cold particles openly attacking all they could attack, was a man named Eugene and there was nothing seemly about what the Arctic Circle particle commanders noticed but a most nude truth certifying that this Eugene showed zero reaction at the sleet in the wind that tried to make him contort his face into a pinch of displeasure as all the others had pinched theirs in displeasure. Well the commanding elements of this precipitous particle armada from the Arctic Circle were unversed in the language of the land they came to annoy. Had these particles from the Arctic Circle thought to bring along a linguistics team they could see the lettering on the building from which the human Eugene had just escaped and they'd gain a grain of insight as to the possible reason their efforts fell impotent on this one human they could not know had the name of Eugene. They did attempt an analytical exercise which shortly devolved - how did their analytical exercise dialogue pan out? Oh that's - don't know if I can quote word for word and I worry I'll butcher the original so as to call on the spirits of the speakers to come and deal out some restitutions. But you're right about the relevance. Hm. Looks like I'll have to do what I generally dislike doing - well because I like to try and do it without the texts. You're correct about that too. Oh I got the texts. Passed down from ages ago. Maybe someone will go run to the kitchen and ask my Maggie to fetch it. Just tell her we're telling the Legend of the Titanium Spidery Things. She ought to know the volume, as she's read it enough times to the grandchildren and nieces and nephews and all she needs do is run upstairs and - lord no I don't mind admitting her voice is much more magical than mine. Oh there we go. Let me fold up this pocketknife and someone set this old whetstone up on the mantle - lord but I reckon I got that blade sharp enough. Too bad it ain't tomato season. Just to slice one open. Yep. Just to slice one open. Let's wipe a bit of the dust off. Let's see. Should be around page.... not that one, not that one - dum-de-dum-de-dum-de-dum-hm. Forgot it was this far back - oh that's a good one - well they're all good - depends on what the mood wants - okay here we go... the Legend of the Titanium Spidery Things... already did the prologue, already mentioned the redheads of legend in Iceland. Here we go: the dialogue between and concerning some of the commanding officers attached to the Arctic Circle Precipitous Particle Invasion. Ahem: At that time a voice meeker than most voices of that place, for it was a voice belonging to a lowly messenger particle, this voice meeker than most began to speak haltingly for being meekly it worried about taboos in speaking to superior particles, or worrying about taboos when speaking to superior particles led to the meekness in voice; but once it began to speak it just could not stop until unloading its entire backlogged blurt, so saying, "that white leafy-looking object bunched in that creature's claws. I wonder - it - it may be a significant - a significant item." And the lowly messenger particle was made to see it worried for good reason because the nearest particle officer to hear that backlogged blurt was a stuffy snobby rule-crippled clump of ice flecks and a clump of ice flecks drunken too many poisons for too many years brewed from too many rules turned to the lowly messenger particle and spared not a prick from its needle cache when it sleeted an extra stern reply, "do the protocols of addressing your superiors elude you, oh underling particle?" The lowly messenger particle then fell back into the familiar fear-prickled voice, and replied as though reply was the last thing it wished to do, replying, "I do beg for your pardon oh wise and stern clump of ice flecks. It's just that I noticed - and I - I meant no propriety infraction, but to only do what I can in service to our mission reason, oh my lord clump of ice flecks." And that lordly clump of ice flecks would've rubbed the lowly messenger particle's nose in its mess had the Most Decorated Particle and the Most Decorated Particle's personal aide and clerk, a kindly-looking, harmless-seeming, particle adorned with two frosty bars, not entered the room just then and asked what was going on between these two. Upon learning of the exchange, the Most Decorated Particle demonstrated why he was a a Most Decorated Particle beloved by all the particles except those few nursing grudges because they'd had to let go of their petitions and instead of castigating the lowly messenger particle castigated the clump of ice flecks - dismissing it with a headshake and a reminder of why they embarked on these missions and that was not to practice nonsense codes of etiquette but because of the joy of playing with so many weapons and tools and watching humans slip on ice or pull hoods around their faces or hold their heads not up but down. "That is why we do this. That is the only reason. No please take yourself into a brace of wind that will deliver you to the most rearward ranks and practice folding your snowy pajamas all you like and leave we who are assigned to enjoy ourselves in peace." "If I may sir, I think I do see what the messenger particle tried to tell about - I mean the leaf which resembles the whiteness that often floats in our frigid seas off our coastal lands except crumpled or the lack of crumple meaning ours are never crumpled though they do sometimes crunch and crack which is completely unlike the crumple of the white leaf bunched in only one claw - white leaves are very rare and I am in agreement about the significance - how I wish we could rewind events and see how many of the humans we were able to so easily annoy were clutching white crumpled leaves in their claws." "Hm yes it does resemble our world in that way - the leaf - your fast hand with allegorical connections never ceases to stun me if I can say it so - well I can't help but wonder if that white leaf - astute there too you are that a white leaf is a very rare thing - that white leaf bunched in the creature-human's claws - or the creature-human's one claw or one claw of the creature-human - I'm wanting to say it must possess a power greater than all our barrels are able to deliver - maybe it acts as a protective force field." "Sir, we could apply further harassment to other creature-humans. Or resort to the Icicle Howitzers. And we do have the blizzard blaster." He who spoke of the blizzard blaster meant those mighty vessels who floated far behind their front lines who bore the bulk of maneuvers. Then the Most Decorated Particle lowered his slim cylindrical instrument which from afar could be mistaken for a clarinet but was hardly that for within it existed a lens capable of reaching distances no known particle eye could nakedly espy. And with his authoritative yet calm manner the Most Decorated Particle turned to the one who'd suggested icicle howitzers and blizzard blasters. The Most Decorated Particle then said to him, "in my professional estimation, to bust out the icicle howitzers for just one single sitting duck - the tactical style a.... shall we say a hotter commander may go for as many a hot young Arctic Circle Particle commander finds irresistible the glorious show those howitzers put on - and compared to the blizzard blasters the icicle howitzers are as average peppercorns are to habaneros. No we should not pull out an icicle howitzer much less call up such big equipment as the blizzard blaster just to see if their powers will sufficiently annoy this one human." Legend of the Spidery Things Ch. 01 The Most Decorated Particle then in the middle of a flickering intermission in his instructive speech, happened to see the captain particle who'd suggested they employ an icicle howitzer if not a full-blown blizzard blaster, that the captain particle struggled to conceal great disheartenment, for it was not often this captain particle braved an offering in the form of a tactical opinion. But this Most Decorated Particle felt pity on his captain particle and wishing to keep the captain's spirits confident, said, "but your idea about diverting or dispersing some of our forces for the harassment of the humans we've already noted are openly vulnerable - I have to say your tactical opinion impresses me. We can do that - and yes perhaps we can sneak in an icicle howitzer team for them - it is only out of these years of experience that I say we shall leave the sitting duck be - for now. Keep an eye on it. We must remember we are not assigned to bury the humans - annoyance - annoyance - enormous annoyance - that should be enough." The Most Decorated Particle then noticed the captain particle nod that everything was okay now but detected yet the pulsation of a sour attitude beneath the captain particle's nodding, agreeable, exterior, and put to work intuition powers able to seek and ascertain subtleties and so the Most Decorated Particle ascertained this captain particle's nod that he was okay lacked a conviction amiable to plausibility. The Most Decorated Particle then added, hoping to portray himself as a genial authority, "be not so glum. I love using the blizzard blasters as much as any amongst us. Oh yes when I passed through Particle Cadet Training and they showed us the blizzard blasters, I could never return to a life where I may not hear the sweet crack that meant the cock of a blizzard blaster nor feel my soul swell with overwhelming pleasure at the boom of the blast from the blizzard blaster - we always forgot we were merely doing exercises - and then to really apply the blizzard blaster on humans - to bury their carts and later their cars and their huts and later their houses. But we learned that the best way to enjoy the blizzard blaster is to know when to not use it. Now in our case, here in this city at this latitude, we do plan to pull out the blizzard blasters - but only when it is clear the blizzard blaster is to - we want them to know they are dealing with a real blizzard blaster." "And the icicle howitzers? Do you really favor the blizzard blaster over icicle howitzers?" "Oh the icicle howitzers. Favor the blizzard blaster over icicle howitzers? My dear and faithful captain, some evil ideas have invaded what I knew as a valiant variant of joy as a roving particle or a particle working with a fleet of roving particles. The icicle howitzers enjoy their special place amongst all the classic climate annoyance equipments and so they always will and I will include the self-propelled icicle launchers - all the things icicles can do - oh they can deal tremendous annoyance to so much of the world. They... they... Oh. Oh I see. I see there more to your story." The captain particle averted his eyes and so they gazed almost glazed across the gray clouds where they'd staked their headquarters; actually they gazed through a small rubber-framed hole humans would call a window, and then turned to the flaps at the front of the tent like the only proper recourse was to flee through those flaps. "I - I cannot say what it is - it will bring to me a mountain of shame." "My captain particle. You know you must tell me." "Very well. Very well, Most Decorated Particle. It was always my dream to man an icicle howitzer. I thought - I hoped - when that scandal sent many icicle howitzer crews into forced demotions, well yes, I hoped I might be chosen to replace them. Oh the blizzard blasters, I could settle for that training, becoming a blizzard blaster, but there is a difference in the crews. I feel in another speck of life I could be happier, much happier, as a blizzard blaster than what I am here in this - oh but to man an icicle howitzer. I fear it shall remain forever the one fantasy I shall most long for but shall never have fulfilled." "Why did you never tell me this?" "I knew all the particles always considered me as an office particle. Particle fit for the soft world of clerking. I know I've not the rugged build of many of those who command those big weapons - who get to point those frosty muzzles and call the order to fire - or not even those who command but just to be one who gets to get right down there in the ice.... plus I feared I'd become another toy for the counselors." "Captain! You are the most valuable captain clerk who's ever clerked for me. I would never turn you over to the counselors for them to merely toy with you. I wish you'd spoken of this fantasy of yours. I can tell you in vivid detail what life is like for the icicle howitzer and the blizzard blaster crews. And I can tell you: you might regret the reality." "Yes! I might regret the reality! May not any of us regret any reality!" Ahem. Well maybe that wasn't as crucial as it seemed at the time. The dialogue goes on quite a few pages but if you don't mind I think we can skip it and set aside this volume so impressively thick - well they go on like this like they intended to make an example of a gross tangent, or illustrate a kamikaze kind of nosedive into some sideline legends that haven't much to do with The Legend of the Titanium Spidery Things or they return to the theme but - well we'd be here until spring. Well for example there's a section that goes for nigh on three hundred pages on the Legend of the Blizzard Blasting Clerk that introduces a touch of the magical and the captain clerk particle gets put on the field with the blizzard blasters and .... well it gets a bit racy in places and I suggest we leave be this tome for now including this weighty chapter about the Arctic Circle Armada's exploits and how they ended up laying a dang tight stranglehold on that city. Legend of the Spidery Things Ch. 02 Oh the stranglehold the Arctic Circle Armada put around that city was not near as troubling as the plague sweeping across the world in those days although we might say in some ways the Arctic Circle stranglehold dribbled a dose of molasses to that city - not so much for the sweetness but for the slowdown effect; slowing down the advancing plague and the progress plague-bearers achieved - and the records are mostly in harmony in the view the cold front coming upon them brought a blessing disguised in bitterness and annoyance and avalanches except this was not a hilly city - yep it was a pretty plain city meaning a city fairly flatly set - so the avalanches could not bury anyone in the literal sense. But the annoyances could sure the dickens pile high in the minds of those dear city citizens down there back then. That's the way to see. Men may reside in the physical way on a hill or in the plains or in a city or in the country. But inside their heads may be all kinds of mountainous glaciers or mountains no glacier would dare set foot on; or they might enjoy an easy view across a kind of eternal harmony of field or prairie and a sky painted mellow blue and streaks with virginal cotton. We could be here until next time the reindeer come and clatter on our tin roofs and defecate on our hardening lawns. To get back to The Legend of the Titanium Spidery Things; we talk about how texts try to bless and the blessing the text handed down to our clan attempts to sneak in under the escalating suspense - has to sneak because of knowing there is no way to compete with all the suspense we've built already - well that would be in the way the sweeping plague did not so swiftly bring the horrors it brought to cities the Arctic Circle invaders almost never ventured to. Arctic Circle invaders almost never went much more southerly than latitudes knowing four separate seasons. The Arctic Circle invaders came to annoy for a spell and then move on or head on back to their frigid quiet coastal towns. The plague on the march around that globe, eating everything - you beat me to it - lord maybe you'd like to tell the thing?- eating everything like locusts eat everything but locusts don't have much choice because the good lord invented the locusts to teach us about humility - this plague we speak of came from demonic bowels and had no neighborliness within them or such schoolyard intentions as to cause a spell of annoyance and move on. No. They intended to establish eternal presences. You raise a worthy point. As annoying as an Arctic Circle onset onslaught can be - designed to be - once the first wave eases or settles, well, folks see - just like we said when we first sat in this cozy den and supped this potbelly warmth - folks see things they can do - drag out the sleds and sleighs and slap together a few harmless snowball battles. Or do like we learn to do as we put a few seasons in our diaries. See it as nature's invitation to cook up hearty stews. Snuggle up with your sweetie or sweeties underneath a thick blanket rich in down of the goose. And we could - ahem - no need to go into too many details on that path right now, seeing as we have listeners who should be thinking about turning in for the night right soon. There are sections later on where - well I'll be mighty glad the lights are dim in this den because they get - maybe Maggie and the gals will be done with their nighttime chores by then and one of them can handle those passages. But to get back to what we're trying to get to. Per the point you raised, about the contrast, explains many things - see the powers behind the plague on the march of conquest around the globe back then down there, well, they were pretty much intent on wiping out all the ways the regular folks went about trying to enjoy themselves. They'd tried a number of times but failed to take into account how regional climates had a say in how easy or complicated they'd have it in trying to carry out their fanatical missions. So the plague's basic purpose being to eradicate pretty much all things folks do for fun found fewer obstacles where the lands were less clearly divided into the four seasons, meaning lands knowing the temperate warmth more than air streams we'd call chilly. What made the plague-pushers so dang diabolical, besides an inability to let go of their goal and basically live like the regular folks they despised - oh I expect some vestiges - particles I guess they'd be - still roam the galaxies but most all intelligent forms of life had to learn the painful way about the darkness they brought to all they gained communal prestige over - but like I was saying the extra-spicy diabolical nature of the plague-carriers had to do with how they eventually learned to approach the various climates or the folks in those climates. For instance, since people in the warmer climates were less averse to folks exposing their flesh and girl-gazing simply composed normality for most, these plague bearers could not barge in covered in their thick sweaters and sweatshirts like they did in the more northern latitudes; so they went and shed some pounds or let their locks grow long like the traditions we recaptured showed favor for and toned down the whines that squealed from the literatures; eventually seeped - slowly - but seep they did - seeped into the edges of those worlds and - well we threaten spoilage here or hopping from the primary tree to another where the branches will take us too far from our base and I fear all presently tuned in will succumb to the sandman long before we get to know the one we ought be getting to know, and that someone is the one the Arctic Circle invaders failed to get a reaction out of. So let's set this hefty sucker full of all these wondrous tales on the floor for now; might want to call on it later on; and maybe someone could stick another cherry chunk in the potbelly, that's it, now damp it down a bit, that's it, oh that roar, never shall I weary of that hot potbelly roar. Might also see if Maggie or one of the helper gals will bring us hot hard ciders for what follows will try our sobriety and I just can't imagine a soul so strong they could travel through these lands that became so full of illness without wanting to reach for a whiskey or few or if you can get your gal to heat that hard cider - ah here we go - yeah just set it on our homey potbelly or by our homey potbelly. Now that we've ingested these intoxicating lubricants we know fill our minds so healthily, and of origins and spirits we can't really find anywhere except from the raw products we can endlessly exploit from our lady of a planet - and here we do worse than give thanks to the good lord for showing us how to cultivate and nurture the apple tree orchard and for granting us the land to grow them and prune them and then to bring teachers to teach us how to turn our harvests into these delicious hot intoxicants - so now that we've done this I reckon we can move on to the nuts and the bolts and morsels and sections we should find the deeper we penetrate The Legend of The Titanium Spidery Things. Well now the obvious might by now spread a mighty wide pair of wings but I hoped to build up to what the tale is most about - it is hard for us to put ourselves in the position they who wrote this tale found themselves in as they had to do it in secret thus couldn't come out and give a name to the true evil that plagued the world in those times. We left a forlorn man the books named Eugene alone on a bench not far from a building whose spotless facade and empty blinded windows said as well as the words chiseled over the columns that genuine or spontaneous emotive capacities had been depleted. The forlorn Eugene did not seem aware much less care about the frosty frenzies and freezing frays that blanketed the city and it's possible even Eugene didn't feel how forlorn he really was, that something so saturated him he couldn't feel his saturation because he lost what dryness was; thus no surprise his apparent imperviousness to the handiwork those particles from the Arctic Circle proudly sponsored and already whooped to high heaven for how their surprise swoop so easily put the city out of kilter. Except they'd not thrown Eugene out of his kilter. Someone had beat them to him. Even up in the lookout - that's what I like to call it - lookout - I think the texts use a technical term like Misty Perch On a Pole - so up in the Misty Perch on a Pole, an officer particle - if I recollect right it was a petty officer - so a petty officer smoking what was the best particles could come to our blessed tobacco, smoking his fine smoke up in the lookout tent - got a sudden bright idea to see if a few frosted flakes might get a reaction out of the creature-human we know as Eugene. The smoke he smoked offering the same kind of calm nutrients our smoking tobaccos are so rightly adored for, supplied the mellow confidence to approach the Most Decorated Particle while the Most Decorated Particle occupied that same lookout tent. But the Most Decorated Particle had replied, "I appreciate your persistence in the search for a solution for this one. I was once like you. Yes I was once like you. I'd want to try the frosted flakes on such a creature-human. But I think we may as well let this one go as there is not much we can do that it looks like hasn't already been done - or worse - yes it appears something worse than anything we could throw at that creature-human, an even worse ailment ails it. See there, coming off that transport that fouls the landscape with unclean screeches. A whole herd of them. Why not empty a few rounds of frosted flakes on them?" The officer particle then said okay it would do that and hopped to the panel of particle lights and flipped the telecommunication-particle device and ordered a squad of frosted flake specialists to divert their momentum away from that creature-human and blow all those frosted flakes on that batch of creature-humans who'd dared to come in the open. So they did so. Beg pardon? The tale threatens a whimsical traipse into the unbelievable? It would be and is unbelievable. But since it's been brought up and since it ain't that late I imagine we can look into this idea of things being unbelievable. Unbelievable or hearing the word or the claim a thing or event is unbelievable activates those lazy parlors in this old noggin and I can't help but think of someone like barber Lee Roy Lawrence. You'd have to be a corpse or the freshest immigrant to our shores if you don't know who barber Lee Roy Lawrence is. And if you know barber Lee Roy Lawrence then I don't have to explain how when barber Lee Roy Lawrence tells his hunting stories and those days he went on and on about a family of fanged cottontails dressed in coats they peeled off snowy white minks - his encounters with animals we didn't want to believe in; then how he told about having to grab his head to hold his mind in one piece but still doubling over because of insults hurled from the albino crew of crows versed in at least ten languages. He tells or told them stories and we all nod or nodded since his trusty hands wielded the scissors and clippers and that razor that made us pray a little harder than we tend to do whenever he'd set that edge on our necks - shake your head all you want but ain't nobody here got a cause to be the tough guy and deny they never prayed a touch harder than they tended when barber Lee Roy Lawrence pressed that razor's edge against our creamed necks, telling us them tales while only half done with our heads and figured he was putting on a fine show and prayed he'd not think of going into show business because if he'd go into show business our town would lose the finest barber, in barber Lee Roy Lawrence, ever to get into barbering in the honorable supply and demand lifestyle and do so in a small town so humble as ours. Oh but what happens but old Jeffrey Conrad Jurgensen decides not to open his used tire enterprise one nondescript midweek afternoon, because of an itch to mosey down to the river, pretending he's a fisherman, but old Jeffrey Conrad Jurgensen comes back with his eyes wider than our provincial delta widens in the spring and his lips crusted with blood and clumps of fur and his fisherman trousers torn in the worst places a fisherman - even a man pretending to be a fisherman - can have his fisherman trousers torn - and he's crying and privately shows us mighty suspicious contusions that could not come from anything but a fanged cottontail so now we know when we wander to the river to keep an eye out for a fanged cottontail. Well we could find ourselves in a land far away from the land The Legend of the Titanium Spidery Things beckons us to explore. So let's get back to our forlorn Eugene. We call him forlorn. I call him forlorn. From reading the texts I know he was forlorn. The precipitous particles coming from the Arctic Circle, they were the beings in the dark about Eugene being a forlorn man. Many have agreed the best way to encapsulate his condition within a sustainable environment shorn of predatory organisms was to say his was the kind of mental condition that also affects the spirit so all of the afflicted - by all meaning the totality, the all in this case Eugene, meaning Eugene was that deeply afflicted man - so Eugene's condition was that kind of being neck-deep in the state of stun; so deep was Eugene stuck neck-deep in the state of stun that in these moments long on brute agony he felt nothing but the tidal power of the words that were already lodged inside. Well that's what I was about to get to. The white leaf the lowly particle noted and the Most Decorated Particle's beloved Captain Clerk noted. They called it a leaf because they didn't have paper in their world - I'm not saying whose world was more advanced - we can suppose they never put their female particles in charge of too many things except for the basic well-being of their male particles and as far as we can guess that's how they've kept their social systems together so we don't have to worry about things like our world's climate getting out of whack - so guess we'd want to know if they ever developed paper or if they used more spiritual-based mediums - oh they likely didn't have too many trees and likely still don't; but to get back to our track to the tale, it's pretty easy to guess in Eugene's world Eugene clutched what we in our world what rightly recognize as a sheet of paper - probably stood out extra stark if he was clothed in clothing the colorists in those days pigmented darkly. Won't dare venture too deep into specifics there but best I can discern from the text, it sounds like he wore a navy blue windbreaker and we have no idea what style or color of shirt he had on under his navy blue windbreaker. So it seems clear to my humble mind that's what should be looked into - not what kind of shirt Eugene wore under what we believe was a navy blue windbreaker but the paper in his hand he had to stare at but didn't want to stare at; and turns out the particles including Captain Clerk had some high-test intuition juices running in them because the paper or the text printed on the paper did indeed have just about sole responsibility for the state of mind - the sunk neck-deep in stun Eugene sat in on that bench while the world around him became colder and colder and precipitous particles flung faster and faster. And they'd not yet drug out, or called from the rearward positions, a single blizzard blaster. First time offender. That was the bullet busting his bone or the hammer ringing his bells. Offender. First time offender. That's what Eugene was. What he became. All but overnight. Hm. Like a sudden death? Well that might be an apt association. Maybe not so quick but about on that order of shock - the style of shock able to make a man sit neck-deep in the state of stun. If sudden death is a helicopter falling on you soon as you step out your door, I reckon Eugene's case would be like hopping on a bus and waking up the next morning to find yourself waking up on a picnic table in a town you don't know, hungover and tattered. A man who'd once been recognized as among the nicest of men to have for a neighbor or a friend or the kind of easy-going guy who could bring a brightness to the soul deep down in the dumps and do it like a magical thing with one wave of his hand. That had been Eugene. Oh but now. No more. Offender. Eugene the Offender. First Time Offender. First time offenders were not taken from society but they were required to go to meetings and report to probation officers. Oh these powers fueling the worldwide plague were mighty big about meetings. Some have posited this fetish for meetings fertilized dormant seeds and others contend the seeds were the meetings themselves. Oh I don't know. Fairly unfathomable way to exist to me too; meeting minutes; recitation of what happened when metal chairs calmed their squeaks on waxed floors and forms of life choosing to attend a meeting and reading minutes from past meetings instead of cozying up to an old potbelly like we cozy up to this old potbelly. Or to go and grab a gal winnowing wheat and hauling her to a grassy glade and partaking of her goodness. Or to just cogitate on a porch and remember times when we were spry enough to chase them gals and latch their garments and feel their slick and sweaty legs as we'd push them apart; so on and so forth. But that's what the world had become back then. I imagine had it not become what it became then we'd have no Legend of the Titanium Spidery Things to tell while we sip hot hard ciders by this old potbelly while our gals tend to kitchen chores. Activities would be monitored more closely than actions of those who'd not become offenders. First time offenders could expect surprise visits from officers and the surprising officer may not necessarily be the offender's probation officer and it wouldn't matter because whichever officer would come to the door and however large or small the surprise, the offender was required to allow that officer into the offender's place of residence without an explanation going past because the officer said so and the officer could take as much time investigating the offender's home and person or persons as the officer deemed appropriate. The paper described in language we more personable folks might consider on the soulless side, the specific statute he'd violated (complete with parenthetical number and date the statute became a statute); the punitive-prescriptive state of affairs for violating the statute that Eugene had no choice now in choosing to abide by or not abide by; options for ignorance on the offender's behalf did not exist unless that first time offender would become a second time offender and then risk judiciary ire in finding out how offenders fared in the hands of disciplinary officers when offending the third time and only in a fiction existed fourth offenses. If you'll pardon my tongue, the gist the offender was to take most to heart - offenders were not to fuck with officers. Ink for the print spared no bold or black for the declaration that attendance required of the first time offender to meetings could never be mistaken for a laughing matter nor should the offender think just because he could walk the streets without a special status patch sewn to his shirt that he was very free, because many categories of behavior would be monitored by monitors trained to go by the books and quick to mark down demerits; for instance, the punctuality or tardiness of the offending attendee. These women were also recruiting more volunteers by the day who'd be positioned strategically so the first time offender wouldn't go far from his residence without raising the chances one of these women volunteers could spy on him and report suspicious activity to the local women authorities. Legend of the Spidery Things Ch. 02 Even though Eugene had sat on the nearest empty bench he could find when he was in the open after exiting that cold structure the new powers had purged emotion from when they transformed it into the municipal house for judicial proceedings, and even though the sleet hit harder as the thrust of the winds were turned up - even the stray frosted flakes that found him and buzzed around his ears, he still felt dizzy from what he'd endured while inside that building he never wanted to go back to; so he reached his hand out to hold the back of the bench like to steady himself, like the bench was a raft and he was out on a stormy sea, and sickness hovered over him ready to envelope him any second. On another day or in a time not so historical he might kick himself back on this or a similar bench and heck maybe revel in the precipitation or join his fellow regular guys in finding a cozy drinking establishment to flee to and chug a couple high-strength whiskeys; barring such fanciness dear Eugene would surely take notice of the passage of pedestrians or the sound of the trolley dinging to a short stop across the street. The old days he certainly did. The old days he was a carefree kind of regular guy who tried to avail himself of any small joy like a sparkly bauble that came along. The days the new powers took their seats and their decrees rang across what was now their virginal domain - well he still let himself take notice of the world around him; didn't really think they'd go through with it. Had no idea the sophistication of enforcement that accompanied their ensconcing. But just because he didn't react to what he'd normally react to like the wind and sleet that pelted his face, the sleet which seemed to sweep in from nowhere and like intent on pelting only Eugene, was pelting the paper in his hand so he folded it to slip it in his back pocket but he couldn't just fold it like he wanted to - for one thing the wind whipped it like it was weaker than the paper it was and for the other thing it was like he wanted to forget it existed. Didn't want to look at it once more. But he had to. Had to look at it. Once more. Held it so the wind didn't push the top half over the text. A few of the frosted flakes saw what the wind was trying and rushed in for one more shot at penetrating Eugene's bubble by littering the leaf he meant to look at. But he just brushed those final few frosted flakes off the white leaf, wishing he could brush away the leaf itself as easy as he brushed away those last few frosted flakes. Maybe he wished those frosted flakes came from a world beyond the one he felt was his and maybe he'd not believed in life existing in other places but now he wished he'd been wrong and they were coming to teach him but to also forgive him. We don't know for sure. Doubt it. What I personally do not doubt is had it been true or something like friendly frosted flakes being real, he'd been the happiest instead of the most forlorn man on that planet if those frosted flakes really could be genuine alien beings and could goggle up that paper from which the darkest sentences glowered at no one but Eugene - shivered at the memory of the basset in the thick specs that typed it all out and did peer over her thick specs at him as he'd stood there in shock, trying to keep from scratching the itch between his shoulder blades; trying to wish away the reality that had come to be his eternal shadow. His name. His numbers. His... crime. First time offender. Probation officer. Name and rank of his probation officer. Eugene had a probation officer. Eugene had no more autonomy. Lost his freedom. Got a taste of the woman in charge of his loss of liberty or more accurately got a good feel of her personality once they apprehended and then detained him - processing, pre-processing, whatever they called it back then; subjected him to humiliations no man or regular guy ought to go through, especially not for such a crime that should've never been made a crime but they did make it a crime and when done with processing and giving him no recourse to appeal the charge because they had the minimum number of eyewitness including the victim - that was another - not only was Eugene an offender but a victimizer - his offense: victimizing a woman who happened to be born with highly attractive facial features and the ample bosom the good lord intended to inspire a regular guy to look into the nearest heroic feat he could find to throw himself into. See, Eugene's probation officer exuded an innate set of chemicals that reach into a man's deepest treasure room. It is true these women had learned ways to minimize these emanations. Hoped to someday eradicate them. But at least in this one case, the case of Eugene's probation officer; even with her compliance with what were prescriptive wardrobe measures like to dress in what they called a unisexual - well that's the term they had - you think that's a horrid one they had worse - try gender-neutral - oh they did expend ink for that term. Oh what did I do? Sure wasn't meaning to make my listeners ill. Well don't do it here - outside, close the door, in the bushes. Maggie or a helper gal can decide on the foulness. Well while we can all I wanted to get to was no matter how gender-neutral Eugene's probation officer tried to present herself, she still could not convince Eugene it was such an evil thing to feel licentious ideas about her and the debate lived a long time regarding the degree Eugene lucked out or if such a probation officer fated him to travel that forbidden highway that had an eternal midnight for its sole destination. Wanted to verify she was as pretty, get a taste of her, taste his probation officer, try to find the optimism in the hell he'd entered, that at least his probation officer was pretty, like she had a touch of immigrant darkness and Eugene had always had a weakness for women exuding touches of immigrant darkness; apply what had always been a legendary charm to get her to explain just what caused a woman to allow herself to take the road least conducive to goodly womanhood; something within Eugene had to believe - had to cling to that rugged root of hope - that just behind those empty windows of eyes - eyes that should be far along being eyes for the bedroom - such a woman just could not really want this world but was only pawn they'd lured and then trapped and maybe threatened her with fates worse than they threatened regular guys with if she didn't cooperatively conform and Eugene wanted to get the word to her that he understood and maybe together they could work something out - they could act out what the Plague of Enlightened Women demanded but be designing ways to stir subversion. And this became a sorrowful lesson for Eugene to learn. Indeed, his probation officer had no intention of working with an offender in subverting or reversing the Plague of Enlightened Women.