Word: Beastie

beastie

/ˈbi sti/

noun

1. Chiefly Literary. a small animal, especially one toward which affection is felt.

2. Facetious. an insect; bug.

3. Canadian Slang (chiefly Alberta) . construction worker.

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                 John looked at the animal through the scope of the small pellet gun.  His tiny hands trembled.  Even though the rabbit was facing away from him, he somehow knew it was aware of him.  And yet, it stayed where it was, nibbling at the grass.  John lowered the weapon.

                “I can’t do it, dad.” He said quietly.  “I just can’t.”

                “Why not?” His father asked.

                “I just can’t is all.”

                “Now son, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.  That rabbit’s going to be our dinner tonight you know.”

                “It is?”

                His father nodded.  John mulled that thought over.  He came to one single conclusion:  He did not want to eat that rabbit.  How could he eat something that might be related to the rabbits his teacher kept in the classroom?  He really liked those rabbits.  And the only difference his young eyes could see between those and the one in front of him was that those in the classroom were white, grey and black, and the one in the field was brown. 

                “I don’t wanna.” John said again.  “I don’t wanna eat a rabbit.”

                “Why not?  It tastes just like a lot of the other things you eat.”

                “I don’t wanna eat something that was alive.”

                His father sighed.  He wondered why his son had said that.  He had never had that problem when he was John’s age.

                “There’s nothing wrong with eating an animal, son.  We do it all the time?”

                “No we don’t.” John replied.

                “Yes we do.  Lots of the things you eat came from an animal.  Hot dogs come from animals.  So do hamburgers.”

                The child’s eyes opened wide.  He did not know that.  He also began to worry what else might have come from an animal.

                “Does pizza come from animals?”

                “No.  But pepperoni does.”

                How could that be?  John loved pepperoni pizza and hot dogs and hamburgers.  He had no idea they came from animals though. 

                “Does it really?”

                “Mm hm.  Pepperoni and hot dogs come from pigs and hamburgers come from cows.”

                John had never seen any of those animals before.  He had seen pictures online and read about them in school, but never in person.  But he could see the rabbit.  He thought about the rabbit being made into a hamburger instead of a cow.  He did not like that thought. 

He even started to wonder why anyone would want to eat something that came from another animal.  It did not make sense to him.  Nobody could be that mean.  But, then again, it was his father saying it.  His father knew everything. His father was never wrong.  That meant it had to be true.  Tears started welling up in his eyes.

“I…I don’t…I don’t wanna eat anything.” He whined.  “I don’t wanna eat animals.”

His father felt a pit form in his stomach.  The family tradition was supposed to teach the boy how to be self-sufficient, and about the food chain and the like.  While it would not make a true hunter, it was certainly supposed to teach the value of eating meat by showing him where it came from.  Instead, it had turned him into a vegetarian.

                The rabbit heard John’s cry and ran off.  The boy’s father sighed. It would take way too long for them to find another one.  And even then, John might not want to shoot and eat it. 

                “Okay, fine.  Let’s go back to the camp and we’ll take about it with your mother, okay?”

                “Okay.” John said, wiping away a few tears. 

                The boy followed his father back to the camp site.  John was thinking about all of the animals he had eaten.  He promised himself that no more would be killed for his sake.    

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Let it be known that I am neither a vegetarian nor a vegan.  I have a diet that definitely includes the consumption of animals.  And I, for one, am not ashamed of it.

Word: Procrustean

Procrustean

[proh-kruhs-tee-uh n]

adjective

1. pertaining to or suggestive of Procrustes.

2. (often lowercase) tending to produce conformity by violent or arbitrary means.

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The man walked down the street, listening to the sound of the almost perfectly synchronized footsteps of the other citizens around him.  It was almost relaxing, knowing that everyone was walking at the same pace as he was. 

                Another sound reached his ears.  A small, tiny clicking noise from just over his left shoulder.  He knew what it was from.  It was his personal eye.  The tiny floating camera recorded everything around it, and the clicking said it was talking to all the other personal eyes that were attached to every other person on the street.  One of them must have seen something noteworthy, and was transmitting the information.  The man did not even pause to look at the tiny devise.  If he did, it might disrupt the rhythm of the morning walk to Work.

                He rounded the corner as he always did, expecting everything to be the same as it always was.  And it was, with one exception.  On the street stood a Cooperation Enforcer.  Normally, the law keeper stood there, dressed in heavy armor with the large gun and capture equipment strapped to it.  Now though, he was not.  The Enforcer was still there, of course, but was currently housed in a large Enforcement exo-suit.  The large mechanical suit was laced with far more sensory equipment and peace keeping armaments and capture devises than one man could ever hold.  The officer had gotten an upgrade.  Well, it was no wonder.  The community had grown in recent years, so the Enforcers had to scale up to keep everyone in order.

                The man saw the Enforcer, but did not stop, or even slow down.  It was just part of the background.  Something for his eye to see, record, and transmit.  The eye started clicking again.  This time, the man could not help but see what was causing the interest.  It was coming down the street in the opposite direction.  A flash of color that was not supposed to be there.

                It belonged to a teenage girl.  She had painted her eye.  She had painted it pink, of all colors.  The man wondered at that.  How had she gotten pink paint?  That color was no longer manufactured.  And why would she use it on her eye?  It made no sense.  Besides, the standard colors of black, white, and grey were more than sufficient. 

                The man was, of course, not the only one to notice the bright color.  The Enforcer did to.  The fact that his exo-suit was capable of tapping into eye feeds helped with that.  The top of the suit opened and a large flashing light popped out.  Everyone stopped moving.  The Enforcer raised one of the suit’s large arms and fired.  A bright light shot out of it and stopped over the head of the girl with the pink eye.  Sheets of light shot out and formed a neat box around the offending girl.  It rose a small distance into the air and sped the criminal towards the Enforcer.  The man did his job with perfect efficiency, binding the girl and sending a signal for criminal pickup.

                Once that was all done, the walk resumed.  The man did not even turn his head to watch the fate of the girl.  Hers was a minor crime, after all.  She would likely just be sent for minor reconditioning, given a new eye, and then released.  It was quite appropriate, really.  After all, such deviations were just unacceptable for such a perfectly ordered society.

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After you've read the above story, read this story.  This one was not written by me, but I feel it appropriate and topical given the nature of the story that I did write.

Word: Bonzer

bonzer

/ˈbɒn zər/

adjective, Australian.

1. remarkable; wonderful.

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                Life was good.  Very good, in fact.  Wonderful, really.  What could be bad?  He was in paradise.  He was surrounded by very beautiful women, all wearing one type of swimsuit or another, and all devoted to him.  The private beach was calm and the rhythmic sound of the waves was pleasant.  Everything was perfect, really.

                Well, there was that odd sound coming from somewhere off in the distance, but he could mostly ignore that.  The light music mostly covered it anyway.

                One of the women offered him a plate of fruit.  The slices were fresh, juicy, and sweet.  They did have an oddly sterile aftertaste, but it was nothing to worry about.  Everything around had that same flavor, so he had gotten used to it.  It was the same with the beeping.  It was always there, so he had learned to enjoy it.  Neither the sterile aftertaste nor the beeping were enough to detract from how wonderful the place was.

                A woman came and served him a tall, cold beer once he was done with the fruit.  The brew reminded him of one he had many years ago.  It good stuff.  Full bodied and flavorful.  Nothing wrong with that glass.  It did remind him of something though.  He could not quite put his finger on what it was, but definitely something.  Something about a car maybe?  It was odd because he did not need to drive anywhere on the beach. 

                The women looked adoringly at him as he drank.  They were waiting for him to say something.  He obliged by telling them a joke he had made.  It was a truly remarkable bit of comedy, if he did say so himself.  The women ate it up, laughing heartily once he was finished.  Nobody else appreciated his humor, so it was a fine thing to know someone out there shared his sense of humor.

                One of the women wanted to show her appreciation for the laugh by offering him a massage.  He knew this one.  He liked this one, especially her idea of a massage.  She used neither her hands nor her feet for that.  She dipped her entire body in the water and used one of his favorite parts of the female anatomy to rub him up and down, massaging his entire body.  A faint scent of something not unlike strong soap wafted over him as her very soft body wound its way across his torso.  It was an odd perfume she wore, but, like all things, it was not enough to detract from the experience.

                When the massage was done, another woman dried him off.  The towel she used was small, and felt a bit rougher than it looked.  He could hardly argue with the service though, so he did not complain. 

                Once dry, he lay back and relaxed, letting the sun warm him and the music sooth him.  The beeping was only a mild annoyance to the otherwise wonderful experience.  A sound like a woman crying reached his ears.  It was louder than the ever present beeping, but still far off.  Whoever it was sounded familiar, like a loved one he could not quite remember.  It was not one of the swim suit clad beauties though, so he put it out of his mind.

                The day passed in idle bliss.  The women gave him good food and drink, listened to his jokes, and made his stay more than pleasant.  But the sun was setting now, and the darkness of night was starting to encroach on his vision.  He felt like he should get up off his beach chair and find a proper bed.  After all, while the chair was hardly uncomfortable, it was not exactly the best either.  But, when he tried to move, one of the adoring women clasped his hand down, holding it against the chair.  The women wanted him to stay.  That was fine.  He settled into the chair and closed his eyes.

                It was a wonderful place to finally go to sleep.

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Pretty much every man's fantasy, really, with a few changes according to the individual.  Although...one has to wonder what this fellow went through to get it so good.  Hmmmmmmm..........

Word: Ataraxia

ataraxia

/ˌæt əˈræk si ə/

noun

1. a state of freedom from emotional disturbance and anxiety; tranquillity.

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                My mind is blank.  Empty.  A still, clear pond.  Oh geeze, my leg’s asleep.

                Whack!

                Damn it!  How does he know?  Seriously, is he some kind of mind reader?  If I do this, will I be able to read minds too?  Oh man how awesome—

                Whack!

                God…dang it, that hurts. 

                “Do you really have to hit me?”

                “Yes.” 

                Seriously?  That’s it?

                “Can I ask why?”

                “It seems you can.”

                I hate it when he does that. 

                “Okay, why do you have to hit me?”

                “Your mind wanders.  I am merely pointing this out.”

                “Does it have to be painful?”

                And now he goes silent.  Of course he does.  Okay, let’s try this again.  No thought.  Complete tranquility.  Free of any emotion and thought…I have to pee.

                Whack!

                “Seriously!  Do you have to hit me that hard?  I mean, wouldn’t a gentle tap be good enough?”

                “No.”

                “But why not?”

                “A gentle tap would be an annoyance.  It would cause your mind to wander more.  Hitting you as I am disrupts your thoughts.  It interrupts you and makes you aware that you are thinking.  That your mind is wandering.  Without this method, you would never achieve your goal.”

                I guess it makes sense.  Kind of. 

                “Okay, fine.  Doesn’t mean I have to like it though.”

                “Of course not.  But the only way to get me to stop is to succeed.  Free your mind of all impurities.  Seek the freedom of empty thought.  The pure tranquility that comes from emptiness.”

                How many times have I heard that?  Must be at least a dozen now.  Well, I’m not going to get anywhere like this. Might as well keep going.  What’s that word that shows up in all the shows and movies?  Oh right, Ohm.  No idea what it means, but hey, it’s a start, right?

                Ohm.  Funny word.  No idea how people can repeat that over and over without—

                Whack!

                “I almost had it!”

                “No, no you did not.”

                “How do you know?  It’s not like you can read my mind.” God I hope he can’t.  Somehow it wouldn’t surprise me if he could though.

                “I do not need to.  It is obvious that your mind is unfocused.  Any novice can tell.”

                “So, what, you’re looking at body language?  Eye movements?”

                “If it will make you feel better, then yes, that is what I am doing.”

                Damn it, he’s not using my body language.  Okay, yeah, that was a stupid thought anyway.  I’m sitting down and not moving much.  And my eyes are closed when I try and do this tranquility thing.  He can’t be using that.  So what is he using?

                   “Do not think about how I know about your wandering mind.  Do not let it bother you.  Let go of such frustrations.  They will only hinder your progress.”

                “You know, maybe if we changed spots for a bit it’d help.  You know, let me see a master at work.”

                “Perhaps it will.  Very well.”

                Hah!  Yes!  Now I get to do the hitting!  Huh.  This thing’s a lot lighter than I thought it’d be.  With how much it hurts, I thought it’d be at least two or three pounds, but I don’t think it’s even one.  What’s it made out of?  Probably bamboo.  They make everything out of that here.  Doesn’t look like bamboo though.  I’ll ask later.  For now, take this!

                Did…did he just?  Yup, he blocked it.  How did he block it?  He can’t see me swing, so how?  Maybe he heard it?  Yeah, he probably heard it.  Let me try and be quiet.  Maybe not a full swing hit, but something smaller.  A nice light poke. 

                He did it again.  How did he do it again?  I didn’t make a sound.  And yet, he stopped it dead.  What’s going on here?

                “Do you see now?  Do you see why inner tranquility and silence of the mind is so important?”

                “Uh, not really, no.  How’d you do that anyway?  I mean, I get the first swing made noise and stuff, but the second one didn’t.  So what’s the deal?”

                “The deal is exactly what I’ve been telling you to do.  My mind was clear and still, and so your movements were visible to my mind, even if my eyes and ears could not detect your actions.”

                “Huh?”
                “You will understand when you have succeeded.  Now, try again.”

                Okay, let’s see what I can do.  Mind is blank.  Peaceful.  Still pond…

                Whack!

                Damn it!

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Do you hear the sound of the universe breathing?  What is the sound of one hand clapping?  If a tree falls in the forest, does a bear s*** in the woods?