The Telltale Helmet (after Poe)

TRUE! --spacy --very, very dreadfully spacy I had been and am; but why will you say that I am spaced OUT? The helmet had sharpened my senses --not destroyed --not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth, thanks to that clear, porcelean bubble of Earth .... Yes! I heard many things - things never heard - even in the interplanetaries. It was no doubt the gasses, then, NOT the helmet, that moved me, as you will hear ...How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how stealthily --how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

From the moment our respective worlds had awarded us the study grants to explore that strange, cometlike asteroid, the alien had never given me insult. As we spent more and more time together OUTSIDE the base, however (and as my helmet adjusted its gasses to match my perturbations), I began to suspect something seriously amiss in our relationship. 

For his vaguely avian feet and claws I felt no revulsion, no dread ....

 

I think it was its eyes! yes, it was these! He had the eyes of an ancient, 1950's automobile ( ... and were they in very deed asymmetrical? I leave THAT for you to judge...) -- pale golden polythene-filmed eyes.  As a long-extinct gecko's, each orb was individually operated, as it were, from SOMEWHERE inside that benign being's skull (that skull! tipped with that  pointed, Krellian steel cockscomb ...!).

 The ultimate insult, I decided, was that the eyes were each "equipped" with a nacelle ... was The Creator mocking me? Wasn't it bad ENOUGH that my beloved/beknighted HELMET resembled an ancient, analog radio tube from the very same, anteNASAlian ERA??

Whenever one of those hideous eyes fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by sub-celsian degrees --very gradually --I made up my mind to take the life of the alien, and thus rid myself of the eyes forever ...

Now this is the point. You fancy me spaced OUT, you Earthmen - breathing free atmospheres - you  know nothing. have you heard the gasses' mingling within the clear confines of a HELMET?
But you should have seen me. You should have HEARD me - (as by now you must know *I* heard) how wisely I proceeded --with what scientific method --with what fiendish foresight --with what perfect actor's skill I went to work!

 

 

I was never kinder to the alien than during the whole week before I killed it. Phase by interminable phase, I would 'willingly' forsake my own important experiments to accompany it as it puttered about, hideous eyes akimbo. We would tiptoe, as it were, across the rugged, ragged landscape of that forlorn rock as two young Jovian deer might gambol in a primeaval, Holographic synth. The doomed thing seemed to welcome my company, helmeted though I was, our primitive communications by hand signal or mathematicks serving to distract it somewhat..
Upon the eighth Phase I was more than usually cautious in accompanying it; for you see, during each previous phase I had begun subtly dropping behind the glare of those ambidextroid headlights (pardon the ancient Earthian allusion!): those awful orbs. You see, upon the sixth Phase I had begun carrying my butcher knife, er, SAMPLE/SPECIMEN EXTRACTOR - - in its sheath, of course, so as not to arouse whatever might pass for SUSPICION in the hapless monster's mind ...

I call to mind the moments prior to the Doing of the Deed:
A Martian fly in a Klein bottle moves more quickly than did my knife hand. Never before that Phase had I felt the extent of my own powers --of my Selenite sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was, dropping behind it, little by little, Phase by interminable Phase, and it? not even to dream (?) of the deeds or thoughts floating in my HELMET. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps it heard me; for it slowed, one eye rotated , as if startled.
 

    Now you may think that I drew back --but no. The eternal sky was, as always, as black as ink with  thick darkness (If you MUST know, we two were light years from any 'natural' light source - any so-called 'civilization' whatever, for that matter.). Too, having secretly discerned the extent of its vision (O! clever ploys! O! practical jokes!) I knew that the thing could not now see the stretching out of my LEFT hand, and I kept drawing my sharp sharp Krellian steel blade - steadily, steadily ... from its ceramic sheath ...

The beast seemed now to freeze in its tracks. I tell you it did NOT turn around; you MUST believe me!  I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole half Phase, it seemed, neither of us moved a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear those eyes revert. The eyes, on the other hand, were roving, were straining to see what, owing to the position in which I poised and for which I I had so carefully trained, they COULD NOT SEE!

    Presently my helmet picked up a new sound. It's like
the groan of mortal terror. It's not terrestrial,
 this groan of pain  or of grief --oh, no! --its the low, stifled sound that arises from the bottom of a *soul* when overcharged with awe. You know that
 sound well. Many a night, as A YOU must know,
at Zero
 Dark Thirty,
 when all your  world sleeps,

it has welled up from your
 own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distract you ...

 I say you know it ...

 well. You do invery deed know what the alien felt; do you pity it? Not in my helmet you wouldn't!

...

and I remained

 absolutely

still: knife poised, silver-gloved hand outstretched, buoyed by the pitiful atmosphere of that tiny satellite of terror. A *soul*! BAH! The eyes are the windows of the soul. What would I have read through the gasses -through the crystal clarity of my protective headgear had the thing managed to turn upon me, unarmed and helpless as it was? What would YOU have read in those poly-glossy-eyes? This soulless, slimy serpent must DIE ...

The alien's hour had come! With a loud yell, I  leaped upon it. It shrieked once --once only. The shriek and my yell mingled well in my helmet! Oh, let me tell you,
THAT was a sound for the Unvierse!
In an instant I dragged him to the tarmac, and stabbed, and stabbed, and stabbed. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done.

It shrieked once -- once only.

(to be concluded)

I define "haiku"

HAIKU – 272 words

Haiku poems originated in Japan over a thousand years ago, and remain a perennially popular medium of written expression for poTets and everyday peepholes of all nations and ages.

The poem as a standard (there are variations) consists of seventeen syllables – always arranged in three line totaling seventeen syllables: five on the first line; seven on the second line; five on the third line.

The haiku typically describe a scene in nature, and allow the writer freedom withing the form to express himself creatively in bringing the emotions to his reader in a subtle way which he experienced while writing or actually living the haiku moment himself. He may choose an experience that insured him in the Great Outdoors and his challenge is to reduce it to seventeen syllables in three lines.

Most Haiku avoid what I call “sentimentalism”, “editorializing”, or ‘’passing judgment’’ on the creatures, objects or happenings described in the scene. Thus, a writer may express sentiment by simply avoiding descriptive words like adverbs and adjectives, per se, and thereby allow his readers the free reign of their own imaginations.

Think of your favorite coloring book. Its simple black lines on white paper evoke feelings without color, and urge you to fill in the scene your own way.

By keeping in the simple, yet profound format of five-seven-five, the haiku creator joins his peers in fulfilling creative outlets in simple, yet profound ways. It is a fascinating art form.

Here is a haiku from my neighborhood yesterday on the way to work and school with my wife:

                                Dark frosty morning

                                On our street a deer a car

                                Narrowly missing

EDIT – 96 words

A haiku is a kind of Japanese nature poem in seventeen syllables on three lines:

Five-seven-five. The poet intends to express himself minimally and without judgment, thereby allowing his audience to supply the passion in the reading. Most Haiku thus avoid sentiment or editorializing.

Think of a haiku as a page from a coloring book you love. The artist supplies an outline; you fill it in with your own colors and styles.

STUDIED INDIFFERENCE

Yes, I DO love school.

 I love the idea of going to school, since I have gone to school for close to thirty of my sixty eight years.
Here's  a bit of writ by one of my former, favorite authors, as gently modded by Yours Truly to resurrect, reflect and genuflect to the idea of elevated education:

University. 21  Sept  1826

Dear Friends,

The whole Junior college has been put in great consternation by the prospect of an examination — There is to be a general one on the first of December, which will occupy the time of the students 'til the fifteenth — the time for breaking up —

It has not yet been determined whether there will be any diploma, certificate or doctor’s degree given — but I should hardly think there will be any such thing, as this is only a two- year institution & in other colleges three and four years are required in order to take a degree — that is, that time is supposed to be necessary — altho they sometimes confer them before — if the applicants are qualified —

Tho’ it will hardly be fair to examine those who have only been here one session, with those who have been here two — and some of whom have come from other colleges — still I suppose I shall have to stand my examination with the rest —

I have been studying a great deal in order to be prepared, and dare say I shall come off as well as the rest of them, that is — if I don‘t get frightened — Perhaps you will have some business up here about that time, and then you can judge for yourself — [page 2:]

They have nearly finished the Rotunda — The pillars of the Portico are completed and it greatly improves the appearance of the whole — The books are removed into the library — and we have a very fine collection[[.]]

We have had a great many fights up here lately — The faculty expelled Wickliffe last night for general bad conduct — but more especially for biting one of the student’s arms with whom he was fighting — I saw the whole affair — it took place before my door — Wickliffe was much the strongest but not content with that — after getting the other completely in his power, he began to bite — I saw the arm afterwards — and it was really a serious matter — It was bitten from the shoulder to the elbow — and it is likely that pieces of flesh as large as my hand will be obliged to be cut out — He is from Kentucky — the same one that was in suspension when you were up here some time ago — Give my love to Ma and Miss Nancy — I remain,

Your’s affectionatly [[sic]]
Edgar A Poe

FOREWARMED is FOREARMED

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(I MIGHT HAVE KNOWN!)

''  Doubt, of whatever kind, can be ended by action alone.''

 - Thomas Carlyle

 ...and an old friend's wife is a  “Crone” ...

Oceanic Magnificence

THE WHALER ESSEX and her Destroyer are the subject of the newest effort by - dare I breathe it - Ronny Howard!  - to join a very small fraternity of sound, soulful film makers: The Epic Seafarers:
http://www.imdb.com/list/4DYZK11DjhY/
'
TO WHICH I ADD:
MUTINY ON THE BOUNTY by Frank Lloyd and Lewis Milestone;
WHITE SQUALL by Ridley Scott; MOBY DICK by John Huston;

THE LONG VOYAGE HOME by mssrs Ford, O'Neill and Toland;
CAPTAINS COURAGEOUS by Victor Fleming;
VICTORY AT SEA by Mssrs Adams, Hanser and Salomon  ...


'(Apologies for this following hack to  to Christine Spines)

There are hero stories and then there are epic, true tales of death and life eponymously deified under the Divine Umbrella. In The Heart of the Sea, Nathaniel Philbrick’s winningly researched account of the sinking of the nineteenth-century whale ship Essex falls squarely and singularly into the latter. It’s a riveting case study of Providence in action, as it plays out among the crew members of the Essex, which sank in the South Pacific after being rammed, Moby Dick-like, by a sperm whale. Not just ANY sperm whale, it turns out... this ramming may well, along with other stories of MOCHA DICK have inspired Melville’s novel, which only became a masterpiece after all the whaling hoopla, slaughter and oily losses died down at the beginning of the 20th Century ...
The story of the ESSEX was a disaster on an Acts 27 scale:
http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Acts+27&version=KJV
Relatively little was known in our century until Philbrick netted enough original source material to assemble his 2001 National Book Nonfiction Award winner.
'
NOW we MAY get a movie, or a Ron Howard con?
... will it best Thor Heyerdahl's classic, KON TIKI?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rUnmjQJHRP4

HELL on Earth Will Never Be

http://toysoldiersforever.blogspot.com/2008/08/aaaaaecenwx7rbvyzbas400imga5514.html
'
I am stunned into reverent silence at the post by fellow toy soldier enthusiast, Mannie Gentile.

I am moved to sanctified indignation by the humanist rants of this same man, stripped to his atheist soul out of a perfectly-tailored National Park Service Ranger's uniform ...

HELVETIC STRUCTURE: The Art of Cribbing))

How to structure a novel:
Steinbeck was Ray Bradbury's skeleton. He copied Grapes of Wrath in a martian setting!!
Screenplays can be easily cribbed, if you fill in the blanks.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PF3uZf4G3Lo&feature=related
"It's YOUR ideas that count! Let them (authors) radiate upon you!"
 ~ Ray!