I'm Sure I Saw The Raven Too

RIP

Fin

The Lorax said nothing. Just gave me a glance... just gave me a very sad, sad backward glance... as he lifted himself by the seat of his pants. And I'll never forget the grim look on his face when he heisted himself and took leave of this place, through a hole in the smog, without leaving a trace. (Seuss again.)

For the Raven

The Raven Was Raptured

I’d just learned of the raven’s unusual post-op grogginess when I entered the mummy’s tomb. A neatly wrapped infant and a pair of feet brought to mind correct burial practice for bird-friends. Perhaps the raven’s cousin, many years ago, was face up at the foot of an oak or maple, and perhaps I did a not too bad job with powerful herbs and careful binding very high into the old fellow’s healthier limbs; the raven certainly approved… I was about to describe this to X/5 when an object of interest called more loudly.

The raven and I go way back, breakfast companions of nearly fourteen years. We often walked together remarking on lovely groundcovers or strange turns of wind. You might have heard the raven sneezing from a picnic table in northern Wisconsin or screaming at the sight of an ungodly umbrella.

Two hours after the mummies, I was reading about James and the Jerusalem Church when the raven’s passing was announced. It followed seizures and medication and cardiac arrest and CPR, and it escaped explanation. But the raven told me weeks ago that “life doesn’t last” and winked one moonlit eye. During our quiet chat prior to the surgery, I had chosen to suppress my certainty and call it fear rather than alarm the raven or any other of our neighbors, but the raven threw a telling kiss in spite of my impressive restraint. Rigor mortis occurred within two minutes rather than the usual twenty or so – a great mystery for some perhaps, but to quote the raven, “gotta go.” A city man with jewelry so bright as to obscure both sidewalks ordered me to celebrate this good news. Through the long night which passed between that day and this, I held the raven to my heart until full flight was possible.

And More

"What's more," snapped the Lorax. (His dander was up.)
"Let me say a few words about Gluppity-Glupp.
Your machinery chugs on, day and night without stop
making Gluppity-Glupp. Also Schloppity-Schlopp.
And what do you do with this leftover goo?...
I'll show you. You dirty old Once-ler man, you!
You're glumping the pond where the Humming-Fish hummed!
No more can they hum, for their gills are all gummed.
So I'm sending them off. Oh, their future is dreary.
They'll walk on their fins and get woefully weary
in search of some water that isn't so smeary."

More

"I am the Lorax," he coughed and he whiffed.
He sneezed and he snuffled. He snarggled. He sniffed.
"Once-ler!" he cried with a cruffulous croak.
"Once-ler! You're making such smogulous smoke!
My poor Swomee-Swans, why, they can't sing a note!
No one can sing who has smog in his throat.
And so," said the Lorax, "-please pardon my cough-
they cannot live here. So I'm sending them off.
Where will they go?... I don't hopefully know.
They may have to fly for a month... or a year...
To escape from the smog you've smogged-up around here."

Trust Me on This

While I'll admit there's a striking similarity between Mothman hanging off a bridge and Mel Gibson in any pose during any century, I'm telling you, crazy as it sounds, the dude is real. Moth is an amateur by comparison, even at his most melodramatic: check the movies.

Quoth the Raven's Buddy

"Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
Cannot bear very much reality.
Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present."
-TS Eliot

Listen

"They loved living here.
But I can't let them stay.
They'll have to find food.
And I hope that they may.
Good luck, boys," he cried.
And he sent them away.

Deal With It

My evidence is better, stronger, bigger, smarter, and cooler than yours, Ness. There is no Mel Gibson, just Mothie goofin.

Historical Evidence

Naysayers, take that! And that! Mel was spotted around these parts back in the 13th century, and there's talk of him having roamed the Middle East in even earlier days. You should listen to the sea creature!

Further Muse-ings

He snapped, "I'm the Lorax who speaks for trees which you seem to be chopping as fast as you please. But I'm also in charge of the Brown Bar-ba-loots who played in the shade in their Bar-ba-loot suits and happily lived, eating Truffula Fruits.

"Now...thanks to your hacking my trees to the ground, there's not enough Truffula Fruit to go 'round. And my poor Bar-ba-loots are all getting the crummies because they have gas, and no food, in their tummies!

"They loved living here. But I can't let them stay. They'll have to find food. And I hope that they may. Good luck, boys," he cried. And he sent them away.

(Theodor S. Geisel and Audrey S. Geisel, 1971)

A Friendly Reminder

"I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees. I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues. And I'm asking you, sir, at the top of my lungs" - he was very upset as he shouted and puffed - "What's that THING you've made out of my Truffula tuft?" - as channeled by Theodor S. Geisel and Audrey S. Geisel in 1971.

Cheese Has a Friend

Oh bless the stars over sweet Wisconsin! Hug the cool winds, my darlings! Thank the gods of fermentation, Streptococci and Lactobacilli! Sing adulation as only Wallace and Gromit can! I have one true ally in this lonely lonely forest - the single human being who voted for cheese. (My nails weren't quite dry.)

I Will Very Much Miss Wintering Here

It seems a good time for the family to choose a new Winter Holiday spot, what with the government of Malaysia dedicated to our capture. I KNEW I shouldn't have gone out for more bananas and coconuts, but they are delightful with Bailey's. Also considering a switch to antiperspirant and a new hang for late summer.