The Portrait of Zool

Yeah, that's it.

Guffaw!

Excellent example Master P! Indeed, were one to jump off the handle with incomplete knowledge, disaster is a near certainty - but by taking the time to take in the situation, with a desire to understand, a reality is discovered. Of course, few can resist juicy gossip - just one of many possible motivations for grasping at incomplete perception. Alas, the truth is too often just not what we want to see...

The truth. So many consider it a window to look through, but really it is a rock to be climbed - and it is steep! Best of luck.

Happy happy!

Alive; That would be the Dalai Lama, with Robin Williams a close second. Dead; That would prolly have to be Jesus, with Gautama Buddha a close second. I'm sure I could learn SOMETHING from them...

Deep, deep in the Pen, is a secret room. There are many secret rooms in the Pen, and this is one of them. It is secret because nobody knows about it - that is why it is secret. In fact, one might say that what makes a room secret is the fact that no one else may possess knowledge of it's existance, thus knowledge of it's existance is not to be possessed by anyone - in fact the secret of this room is actually restricted by law - it is 'Secret™'. But I digress. The secret™ room was different because unlike the rest of the secret (just 'secret') rooms... something was different, NO, really, something had just changed, shattering with a miniscule movement the centuries old dust and dark stillness. There it went again - a rattle - a rustle - a shudder in the dark... And then the two torchiers on the walls suddenly burst into flame, lighting the space. Fairly roomy but not overly large, ringed by sweeping arches at the domed ceilling, it was sparsely furnished except for a table, a large stuffed chair next to the fireplace, a writing desk, and many, many bookshelves filled with books. After all, what else would be in a secret™ room in the Pen? Oh, and there was one other thing. Hung ponderously above the dark cold fireplace was the rectangular shape of a huge painting. Draped over it was a large black cloth. Something in one of the book cases rattled - a thick volume bound in red leather. It shuddered again, seemingly pulling itself out of it's centuries old resting place with each vibration, dust billowing resentfully. Then with a 'POP' the great tome flew off the shelf, went through the air and landed open on the writing desk. Pages flipped crazily as a red wisp jetted out like a stream. It flew around the room like a cyclone, parrying only momentarily in front of the shrouded painting, and then again over a crumpled dust covered orange shape lain over the back of the writing desk chair, before swooshing toward the bricked-in doorway, through which not a soul had journeyed for untold eons - until this moment... * * * * * * * * * * Ambling through the cabaret room was the oddest assemblage of costuming seen since madame Quixotic's arrival - though of course no one could rival her flair for color. He walked as bold and careless as a person could going 'Clang! - Clunk - Clang! - Clunk...' The left shoe was an iron boot from the dungeon, the right foot was in a bucket. His pants and shirt were part burlap, part bedsheet, part tunic, and several other odd cloth and leather scraps thrown in. His shoulders and arms were obscured by a large blanket wrapped up to the top of his head, which was further covered by a large floppy grass garden hat. No sign of skin was detectable in the mishapen bundle walking through the room. 'Clang! - Clunk - Clang! - Clunk.' He stopped short at Madame Quixotic's sign-up parchment. Reaching out a gauntletted fist, he clumsily grasped the handy quill and signed in a flourishing scrawl that spanned several of the lines. Returning the quill, he spun around on his iron boot, and headed back the way he had come. 'Clang! - Clunk - Clang! - Clunk...' Wyvern, having watched the entire bizarre affair, rushed over to the parchment to examine the fresh ink laid thereon. "ZOOL!" cried out Wyvern with such volume as to cause the costumed character to pause his course. He turned around uncertainly just as Wyvern rushed him in a bear hug. "Oof!" said Wyvern with obvious joy in his crushing hug, "Zool, you feel so..." Actually, he wasn't sure what Zool felt like. If he didn't know better, he would have thought he was hugging a sack of laundry. Wyvern backed out of the hug, Zool's arms unwrapping like snakes. He didn't appear to actually have elbows... "...good grief... Good! You look, err.." ended Wyvern unsteadily as he looked down at what looked like a very mishapen Zool, which quickly filled out again with a pulsing undulation. "Uh, where have you been? It seems like ages since we've seen you..." continued Wyvern, rubbing his eyes and blinking several times. "Uuuuh... Secret™..." said Zool. "Egads man, what is wrong with your voice!? it sounds so hollow and distant! Are you okay?" Just then Peredhil, Guido, Nuncio, and Rune, having overheard Wyvern's cry and rushed to the scene, pounced on the figure Wyvern was talking to. Zool went down in the ensuing hug storm. For a moment everyone was surprised to find themselves on the floor, but was even more surprised as they tried to disentangle themselves from the seemingly endless pile of cloth, blankets, sheets, and odd clothing. "Ouch!" said Nuncio, "What's dis iron boot doin' heah?" Unnoticed in the flurry of hugs and swaddling toggery a red vapor skirted the mayhem, threaded the legs of the growing crowd and headed back out into the Pen castle. As he disapeared down the great hall, he thought,I'll have to be in better shape for my appointment, this simply won't do at all - not at all. And so Zool set about finding a way to find his way back to corporeality...

Ack! Late again! Hope it was a happy one.

Jeff Lynne wrote and performed some wonderful songs in the '70s, one of which was called 'One Summer Dream'. I love that title, that mood, that refrain. The trick would be to take all that, and have the Beatles (in their 1967 period, with me there as well, of course) do something with it. Interestingly, Jeff Lynne was heavily influenced by the Beatles, who in turn claim they owe their success entirely to their creative teamwork. I could only imagine that amplifying sinewaves of synergistic creative energy would abound. In a question of such 'me-ness' though, it could only have a title of 'The Zool song' or some such. The result would prolly be pretty unpredictable, a distillation of creative immediacy from the germ idea into wherever they were at the moment - but then that's life. :wizzie:

Sounds like an adventure doomed from the start - but I wonder, will wisdom or might prevail!?

Happy B-day dude! Hope you were as lucky as me, and got a gift certificate to Borders! Da best!

Thanks.

Nappy B-day!

LOL! Thanks all - you're the tops! As I reach the big 4-O it begins to dawn on me how lucky I've been to have known you all. It's been a real trip, but then, that's what it's all about. Thanks again!

Sleep: Low (4 hours) Sensitivity: Dull Intellect: Narrow Body: Cramped Mood: Purple I awoke from a dream at 2:30 AM of investigating the death of a man. His arm was rotten, but his wound hardly showed until he fell apart. Actually, this was the background of the dream. What the dream was actually about was the extraordinary quality of the jacket the dead man was found wearing. I didn't know the man. I am excited by the prospect of finally getting a decent computer. Well, the start of one anyway. Luke bought twenty HP workstations on ebay for about $40 each. They include case, power supply, motherboard, graphics card, cd & floppy, and one VRM. The motherboards have two Slot 1 CPU sockets, for 733 Mhz to 1 Ghz PIIIs. Luke agreed to sell me one for a $10 mark-up. Foremost on my mind though is the upcoming hearing for the custody of the boys. I have a lot of confidence in the outcome, and nothing but dread for the process. I told my attorney I had called CPS twice about their mother. He wanted to know if they found any wrongdoing. I said no. His immediate response was that that was immaterial. In his experience, CPS often found wrongdoing where there was none, and no wrongdoing where it was actually blatant. I agreed that that was my experience as well, there in that small town, and then marvelled at his smoothness, at his conviction. What if I had said yes, they had found wrongdoing, would their reputation suddenly swell? I am paying him for one thing, to get my case to the judge - and he doesn't come cheap. He is very good at what he does. I know that for the judge to decide in our favor he needs to have real reasons to base that on, but that discussion leaves me swimming in a sticky pool of relativistic self-justification/self-doubt. I wonder how many people live within their own rationales. I wonder just how many people believe their own lawyers. I wonder how many people live their lives like one court case after another, dizzily moving from one self-justification to another as a means to their own ends. I think human law is rarely about reality. Conviction. There's a word for you: Conviction.

Excellent! Reads like a combination story outline and setting background for a gripping novel, though the ending ties it all together as a complete vignette.

What can I say dude? I'm just glad to enjoy another year with you around. Happy B-day.

Yes, Happy Birthday! Haven't been around much in a while, but I've noticed how sunny you make the place. Best birthday wishes.

Happy Birthday Canid!

Very well done! I see you don't play by the rules - of course, neither do I. Best two out of three?

Happy Birthday!

I accept your challenge, Aardvark. Once upon a time there was a guild called the Legion of the Trite Prose. They were a great bunch of guys, but their leader, Pendrick, was an ambitious sheet of paper who dreamed of one day being covered with reams of praise for his honour, valour, and any other words he could possibly stick a 'u' into. Of course, you can't do that if there are no 'u's in them, so first he knew he had to establish 'u'ism throughout the land. "When I am the biggest sheet in the land, then everyone will HAVE to nonsensically spell words with 'u's!" He waged many campaigns, collecting many pledges to spell words with as many extra 'u's as possible, even if they didn't actually have a 'u' to begin with. He expanded his area more and more. Overall, he was very satisfied, but for some reason it always seemed there was more work to do. Then one day a stranger came to the castle of the Legion. His poise and equipment showed he was obviously a knight of high birth. When asked what his business at the castle was he said that he had come to pledge his allegiance to 'u's, guys. Even the guards of the Legion of the Trite Prose groaned at that one, but when Pendrick heard he ordered that he be let in immediately. When the knight was before him, he asked him his mission again. "I have come to offer my allegiance IF... you can beat me at a duel!" Both men leaped up, simultaneously drawing their steel. "Look, over there!" shouted Pendrick. The knight looked over curiously and was immediately slugged below the belt so hard it distorted the fabric of space/time - but not too much. Even the court of the Legion of the Trite Prose winced at that one. "Okay, you win, you win," squeaked the knight from where he lay curled on the ground. "But I must warn you, another challenger will come... another challenger is right behind me!" (Go easy on poor ole Pendrick now, ya' hear! )

We really are a hopeless bunch. Seriously, in the 'bad old days' of Archmage, if someone wanted to duel, it was a matter of posting first, and asking questions later. It was up to the challenged to blast the challenger with his style, kill him with his wit, smear him with his similes... You get the picture. The highest expression of this art was nothing personal - it was simply skill against skill. Still, we discourage it for social reasons - we like to think we all 'write well' with others here at the Pen. Just as much fun without the malevelolance of one-on-one literary combat is the 'King of the stage' type writing contests such as the Legion of the White Rose occasionally holds - just about the best thing that guild ever did, IMO. That might be fun to try sometime too.

LOL!

You are so wicked Aard. Nice moment Wren. Novels have been built around such pretty vignettes.