December 24th, 2004

rudisuhli_demon of love

Semen of Satan!

There is buttermilk in the house. I wish things such as this wouldn't happen. Every once in a while, my dad has my sister fetch a carton of the stuff. I innocently open the refrigerator, and there it is. Buttermilk. I am compelled to drink some. Once I drink some, I am compelled to drink more. It is like certain snack foods (though, unlike buttermilk, they are actually pleasant to ingest): there is no stopping once you have begun, unless by a massive effort of will. The flavor of this substance I find vile, and the texture revolting. Nevertheless, I must drink it. Buttermilk is like that monster in your dreams, the hideous visage you must turn and see. It is like the horrible, grisly accident from which you cannot turn away, once it has caught your eye. Buttermilk is the nightmare train wreck of beverages! It is there in the other room now, calling me to return. "One more sip," it says, "just a little taste. You KNOW you want it!" Oh, unspeakable, viscous liquid! I refuse! You will not sicken me more! Oh, may I have the strength to resist this perverse longing! This must be what it is like to desire a vampire.

I think maybe I need some tea.

Anyway. The bright moon has at last settled into the western woods, removing the harsh contrasts which had lingered most of the night. Softened, the houses now blend with their surroundings, and the world grows pleasantly vague for a while. Breezes have wakened the pine needles, filling the air with whispers. Very soon, the brief dark that follows moonset will pass, and then the colors of morning will emerge to vibrate on the horizon. I must go out to say goodnight to Orion before he fades. I will avoid the kitchen and its lurking, sour (yet so seductive) threat.
laszlo moholy-nagy_chx


The rooftop traps are all set. Wish me luck. If all goes well, it's going to be stuffed miniature reindeer for Christmas dinner! Yum!

(Yes, it will be Elf stuffing, with chestnuts and raisins.)

Very early this morning, I thought it was going to be a foggy day. It came blowing down from the mountains, filling the air with the smell of dampness. There were tendrils of it drifting by, wreathing the trees and dimming the last stars, and the pale premonition of dawn was like lavender milk seeping over the horizon. But the day cleared, and by the time I woke, there was only mundane California winter again, the shivering pines drenched in golden light. Everything is winter-sharp now, like the calls of the blue jays and crows, and their pointy beaks, the clatter of woodpeckers drilling, the stark pine needles, the sunlight, the shadows, the stabbing air. We could have used some fog to take the edge off.

I've been looking at the ads from the chain drug stores. One of them is now selling a 3.2 Megapixel Vivitar camera for eighty bucks, after rebate. Just last year, they were about $200.00. The prices are dropping faster than Colin Farrell's pants. There's no point in me buying one, though, since Sluggo has no USB port. Besides, if I wait, I'm sure that McDonald's will be giving them out with happy meals by next summer.

Time to pre-heat the oven, I think. What side dishes go best with reindeer?