Of Barbarbians and Safes

"Not all men seek rest and peace; some are born with the storm in their blood" - Robert E. Howard.

M. Howard from whom I shamelessly steal the above quote was the man who "created" Conan the Barbarian. It was a very long time ago, and many of us have only accessed Conan through the films starring the former governor of California. Giving the books a read, or a listen in this digital age is worth your time. After all, sexting your boss at 3 a.m. is starting to get old, and you have to try to better yourself as a human being right? 

There is a school of thought that rest and peace will allow you do that. I mean hours of study and self-reflection, if properly done, will advance your knowledge (if you study the "right" stuff), and make you more fun to talk to at parties that you probably don't want to attend. Reflecting upon the mysteries of life, and using the right 'detectives' to help you unlock them is a grand undertaking. Aristotle, Plato, all the Greeks will help, but don't forget the Philip Marlowes of the world. The allegory of the cave is a wonderful thing, and there is a lot of life lessons in it to be learned, but The Big Sleep has a lot of more gritty life lessons that you will need to learn as well, especially if you want to get your hands a little dirty. Peace is also a wonderful thing, we all want peace right? Civil unrest, and disorder start to strain the seams of society. However don't forget "the Romans create a wasteland and call it peace."  Peace can be a tricky thing, and no all men are made for it. Hindenburg and Ludendorff were pretty necessary for Germany in World War I, and they were not men of peace. Conan is not a man of peace, he is a man of action, and a lot of people think that peace is not an action it is the lack of action.

A nice warm study with a volume of Voltaire is not for the men of Conan's ilk. They can solve the mysteries of the universe if they want, but Conan is out in the universe. Discovering its mysteries by running amok in it. Most men will spend their lives in quiet desperation, reading about the adventures of Conan, and men like him pondering what they would do if they had the balls to do what Conan does. Some might try to "arm chair quarterback" Conan, and point out his 'mistakes' and what they would have done differently to get the girl and the treasure rather than sacrificing one to save the other. That is easy to do with a glass of fine brandy in one hand, and your cock in the other. Any damn fool can point out the errors of others, it takes a different kind of fool to realize that many times those mistakes make the story.  These 'men of peace' aren't going to risk anything more than tripping over the cat on the way to the bathroom, and certainly are going to go barrelling around the world in a loincloth with a sword looking for dragons to slay, and women to 'rescue' (whether they need it or not).  Perhaps, if they think about it enough these fellows will understand the fact that the warm study, the glass of brandy, and even the cat exist for them because of men like Conan. Maybe they are hyper-aware of the situation of the world, and maybe they appreciate Conan and his kind. Probably they don't, that is why the term barbarian gets stuck to him. They look down their long noses at his savagery, and tut tut his actions as the actions of an uncivilized boor. However, they overlook the fact that without boors like Conan, they probably would have been gored to death by a boar a long time ago.

Take some time to think about the circle of people you loosely call your friends, is there a man or woman (this is the 21st century after all. I for one, wouldn't be upset at being rescued by a 'storm blooded woman') among them? Would they consider you to be that person? Are you all men of peace? Are you all men at peace? Of peace and at peace are very, very different things. Men like Conan may have moments in their lives where they are 'at peace' they are probably never 'of peace'. The storm in their blood doesn't work that way, and it shouldn't. The storm in the blood is there since birth or at least it develops at a very young age. Conan (since his is fictional) is lucky he lives in the Hyborian Age that gives him ample chance to unleash the storm in his blood, and plenty of dragons, snakes, and other monsters to slay (even the human kind). Being more 'civilized' we are unlikely to take up sword and loincloth and go racing to the 'rescue' of the damsels in our lives. Most of us would look shockingly bad in a loincloth, and probably couldn't lift a sword over our head for the life of us, and more than likely the damsels don't really need rescuing in the first place. Polite society, or at least the idea of it, can be rather boring for men with the storm in their blood.

That is the unique thing about this storm, it might can probably be suppressed if you struggle hard enough. That struggle is hard (as a proper struggle should be), and you're never to know if suppression is the 'right' decision. You have to realize that once unleashed the storm is not going to be "put back in the bottle." You unleash the Kraken that is the storm, and you are no longer a man of peace. Storms like that aren't like punk ass bitches of hurricanes that lash a coastal area for a couple of days, pouring rain down on poor citizens, and flooding them out of whatever hovel they call home, and then disappearing inland to go out with a whimper. No this storm is not a novelty, it is not something that you can control any longer. It is the surge in your blood that is going to put you on Conan's path. It is, in some ways, a declaration of independence. A way to tell the world that you aren't going to be bullied anymore. It is also probably going to cost you. Maybe it will cost you the job that you pretend is a career. It might cost you the girl that you are pretending is the 'one'. It might cost you the hovel you are pretending is a home.  It might cost you that circle of friends that you are pretending are your best mates.

 

 But in counter weight to all those losses are the potential gains. Don't be confused and fall for the trap of thinking that Conan doesn't have moments of mind numbing terror, he does. Don't think that Conan always get the treasure and the girl, he doesn't. Don't think Conan lives the high life, he spends a lot of nights "sleeping rough" without a copper to his name. He doesn't sleep in a lot of soft comfy beds. He sleeps where he can, and shitty inns with vermin infested beds and kitchens are the norm rather than the exception.  Don't think that just because he has the balls (so to speak) to run around in a loincloth that Conan doesn't have his own doubts, he does. He just doesn't let them control him, they may occasionally slow him down, but they don't stop him. Don't think that just slashing the monster's throat always solves the problem it doesn't. The monsters outnumber you on a staggering scale, and those so called men of peace are creating more monsters daily. You, and your kind, will always be outnumbered. The siren's call of the 'storm in your blood' life can also be a dirge. A dirge to the comfy beds, the steady pay, the decent food, and the steady, uncomplicated relationships (yeah right) that make up your placid life. It is a decision that one would think must needs to be made, but in reality indecision can be just as much of a decision as an active unleashing of the storm. You may 'choose' to suppress the storm, and/or not act upon its call. Not choosing it is just as hard of a decision to make. It creates a duality in you that is not always going to be pleasant, and is probably never going to go fully away, or be fully resolved to your (or anyone else's) satisfaction. 

 

Perhaps Howard had the storm in his blood, but living the in the early 20th century, he realized the chances to chuck it all over, and go slay dragons were very limited, so he created Conan. I doubt Conan was his alter ego, and I am not familiar enough with Howard's works to attempt that kind of deep analysis, I am just stealing a quote from him, and fashioning a stupid blog post around it (that also doesn't need any deep seated analysis). Maybe Conan gets a lot of the girls because Howard only ever had one girlfriend in his life, and that didn't end well. Neither did Howard's life, at around the age of 30, distraught over his mother's slipping into a coma from which he was told she would never awaken, he walked out of the hospital, and blew his brains out with a pistol. Not the happiest of ending for a man who created a legend, but all stories can't end with the half naked girl wrapping herself around you while you look over the carnage you've created with your broadsword. The storm exacts its own price, and you just have to be willing to pay it, no matter how high of a price it might be. It takes courage, but sometimes the game has to be worth the candle. I wish you luck. 

 

 

 

Of Wheels and their Wagons

 He staggered in at a little past 2 a.m., and given that it was what he likes to call "a school night" I knew something must have gone terribly wrong. He was listing like a Spanish galleon, and looked a little worse for the wear, and I decided to try to handle him the best I could before he caused too much of a scene. I didn't need a 2:30 a.m. visit from Felix and his boys.  I met him close to the door, and boomed "GI so glad to see you gracing my fine establishment. What brings you down here to the docks to drink among the peasants at such a late hour?" He trained his bleary eyes on me "piss off with the fancy talk Sully, you know why I'm here, at least you should if you have a calendar handy, and posses the ability to read it. Which I actually somehow doubt, men like you are only worried about the 1st of the month when all the money you are owed comes due, and you have to figure out how many legs you need to order to be broken." I took a step back, "that seems a bit harsh GI, even for you. You know I run a honest business, and abhor violence. I am a man of peace." That brought a harsh laugh from him "sure thing Gandhi, now peacefully let me find a place to sit down, and then peacefully bring me a turbo, and then bugger off and let me drink in peace, man of peace my arse." 

I lead him to the booth in the back, the one nearest the restroom figuring that he would need to be close to it when all the booze he'd clearly had caught up to him, and it was also the one I could just fold him into and let him sleep it off with the least amount of trouble, it wouldn't be the first time he'd done it. "Certainly GI, might I recommend the booth near the facilities?" Again he laughed "you mean the one closest to the shitter in case I have to puke? And the one I can sleep in without too my fuss? Lead on Sully there are beers that are dying to be drunk, and before you ask" here he pulled a wad of bills from his coat pocket and waved them around "I've got the coin to pay for them." I considered this to be good news, usually the bastard was piss drunk, and piss poor. I didn't bother to ask where or how he'd gotten the money, that wasn't my business. I figured the less I knew, the less I'd have to tell anyone who asked, and I didn't fancy a night out 'dancing' with Felix and his goons. I'm too old, and have robbed too many banks for that shit. "Well, this is an even greater pleasure then GI, your company, and the money to make it bearable!"

"Just get out of my way Sully, I can find the booth myself, and get me a damn drink. I'd rather die of drink than of thirst." I moved out of his way, and made my own way to the bar. I waved the bartender over, "Tomas, pour GI one of his turbos, and make him a cup of coffee, he will be needed one or the other if not both. I'll take them over myself, no wait that will make him suspicious, or rather more suspicious. Betsy (not her real name, or at least I don't think it is, but good help is hard to find) GI likes you well enough, for a blonde, be a good lass and take these drinks over to his table. Whatever you do, don't make eye contact with him, or you'll be stuck there the rest of the damn night, or morning or whatever you call this time of day/night. If he's doing anything particularly stupid let me know, and I'll come over and sort him. It wouldn't be the first time I've had to." Betsy nodded, and took the tray of drinks over to his table without incident, came back to the bar and said "he's just sitting there talking to himself, or at least there's no one with him, but he seems to be carrying on quite the conversation." I nodded "thanks Betsy. He's known to get lost in his own head from time to time, and when he's tight it has a tendency to spill out verbally. It's most gibberish, and makes sense only to him, but every now and then he says shit he shouldn't." 

I snapped my fingers, "Tomas you know what to do, go over there quite like and sit your ass down in the booth behind him and listen. No wait" I looked at Tomas' considerable girth. "That would be like asking him to miss a mountain, and I don't think he's quite drunk enough for that yet. Go get one of the kitchen boys, the smallest one if you can manage it, and bring him to me." Tomas nodded and soon returned with a small, rather dirty lad that fit the bill perfectly. I looked at him, nodded my approval and sent Tomas back to the bar. He would find out the full story tomorrow without me telling him, Tomas is like that, he learns all sorts of shit that he probably shouldn't and one day it's probably going to get him killed. "Okay lad, I need you to wander slowly over to that booth" here I pointed to the one behind GI "and sit your ass down nurse this beer, and listen to what he says. Can you read and write boy?' He nodded, "good here's pencil and paper, if you can write it all down, and bring it back to me. Don't be obvious, and don't make in sudden moves. The man might look drunk, and he is, and he might look harmless, but he's not. So be careful, and do a good job, and there will be a little extra in your pay packet come Friday."

I didn't tell the damn fool that I had noticed the obvious bulge in GI's left coat pocket, and had sussed out what that meant. I didn't feel the need to scare him that badly. Besides it was my hope that I was mistaken and it was just another wad of cash carelessly wadded up and stuffed in the most accessible pocket. A few minutes passed, and I kept one eye trained in GI's direction. The boy seemed to have settled in behind GI without notice, and was busy scribbling what looked to be his life's history, as GI's arms moved about a bit in time with his head moving. Clearly he was have an animated discussion with someone that only he could see. I hoped it wasn't anything too serious, crazy, or worse something that he was supposed to be saying out loud. Betsy soon came by on her rounds to report that he was downing the beer like it was mother's milk, but hadn't touched the coffee. I had expected that, he wasn't blurry enough to not care what was in front of him yet. "Bring him another round of both, raise the turbo level on the beer just a touch, it will be the last one we give him. Or at least one that isn't a small beer."

Betsy did as I requested, came back and said "Umm, there's a revolver on the table, and he's still talking to himself. Should we do something?"  I sighed, my guess had been right. "Tomas, go fetch Roscoe for me, and then recall our little "listening post." I need to read what he's heard so far. Tomas nodded came back with Roscoe, and I slid him into my coat pocket just to be safe. A dangerous drunk with a gun wasn't something that I needed on a random Thursday night. The boy made his way back handed me his "homework" and said "he seems to be telling some crazy story about two people named Rome, and Readel I can't make any sense of it, but it seems important to him." I nodded as I begin to read what he had written, nothing in it made a whole lot of sense if you didn't know GI, but I knew him and despite the boy's poor spelling and dodgy grammar, I made enough sense of it to be slightly alarmed, and a mental note to educate the boy a little better.  "Here Betsy let me take him another round over to him, just the beer though the coffee is useless at this point." I walked over to him he was muttered about horses or some shit, I knew what that meant as well. "Don't you think you're taking this if people are horse bullshit just a little too far?" He glanced up, smiled and said "well Sully we will see, I mean not every bet is a winning bet. You just have to make sure you don't bet more than you can lose." I looked down at him, go to the men's room you daft cunt, you've spilled beer on yourself." He looked down starting to disagree when I poured just about a fourth of the pint I had brought him onto his coat. "Whoops clumsy of me. You know we don't have a fucking back door, so don't try to bounce on the tab, clean up and come back and I'll top this one off for you on the house." He reached down for his revolver, "leave it, ain't no one in here to steal it, and no one is going to try to kill you in the damn toilet" I patted my own coat pocket "and I've got me own iron." 

He nodded, I was thankful he had enough sauce in him not to argue, and toddled off to the bathroom. Both of us knew what I was doing, but at least he had the sense to do it. I grabbed his revolver, emptied it, and placed it back on the table, he gave me ample time to do it before he came back to the booth. Nodding his thanks for the beer (wink, wink), he picked up his pistol, hefted it, nodded knowingly to me, and said "well, I guess I need to be heading home." Grabbing the coffee and drinking it down in one long gulp he said "thanks for the beer Sully, here's your coin, minus of course the cost of the bullets you just took off of me." Grinning I replied "you're welcome GI, now get the fuck out of here, and make your bosses proud by showing up on time tomorrow like a good boy." "The last thing my bosses think of me is as a good boy Sully, but I'll do my best. See you next Thursday."

 

 

Heureuse

 We (the non royal we that is) are going to try a little something different in this post. It will probably fall to shit somewhere in the middle, like the majority of the things we write, but at least it will be a different kind of shit. Sometimes you have to try new things in order to realize the old thing was better for a reason. 

We are going to leave behind, for the nonce, the seedy little world that GI has been trying to navigate himself, and by extension ourselves, through without getting himself killed, or giving away too much of the actual truth. Today we leave behind Serge and his apples (that aren't really apples), Sully and his bar that sounds a real palace, Felix and his fanaticism, and any other "characters" that GI has, or might introduce us to that will make us wonder about his poor taste in relationships. They will return to foul the internet soon, but for now let's us talk about you, and the elusive idea of happiness. This is going to be difficult, so bear with me dear reader(s).

If you've been rotating on this planet, and by extension revolving around the class M star that is our Sun, for any length of time, more than likely someone, somewhere has told you something along the lines of "I just want you to be happy." If you are lucky they actually meant it, for some of us it was generally said as the person was making us decidedly unhappy, but that isn't the point of this ramble. I will try to stay focused. Happy is, from what we hear, a lovely thing to be. Birds sing louder and more melodiously, the sun is a little brighter, but not as hot, and grass is a lot greener, and doesn't make us break out into hives when we are happy. Things just taste, feel, smell, and look better when we are happy. They (whomever they are) tell us that happiness is contagious like the clap, though most of "them" don't use that analogy.  One other problem that "they" leave out when they make that statement is they don't tell you how to achieve this happiness that they seem to desperately want you to be. If you are a little chubby, there are loads of people both willing and able to help you with ideas about how to become less thick and more fit. If you have less than acute fashion sense, many people will give you "helpful" advice on how "not to dress like a homeless person." Many of life's problems are just a helpful agony column away from being solved, but happy, well happy is a tougher nut to crack. It involves a lot of variables that are quite beyond your control, or so you would think, and it depends on whether you think it is the type of feeling you have in the here and now, or the type that thinks it concerns your overall life quality.

Before we delve into that last idea, we have to take a bit of a detour, you were warned dear reader that things might fall to shit, and this might be where it happens. We need to discuss you for a minute. You, whoever you are, have probably been told that you are a unique, one of a kind, individual, and that it makes you "special" (the good kind of special not the sad kind of special), well we hate to break it to you, but that probably isn't true. You are one of around 7 billion people on the planet, and the idea that you are unique on the planet is unlikely. Depending on where you live, there are probably a lot of people in your city, county, state, province, region, or country. Then we start to talk continents, lots of people live on at least 6 of them. There are probably one or two of "yous" running amok in your country, probably 3 or 4 "yous" on the planet, and then we start to expand our horizons, I mean that's what horizons are for. 

We start with the easy expansion, science is pretty sure that Earth is the only planet with a "you" on it in this particular solar system. That's good, no version of you is rotting away in a prison on Mercury, or dying of radiation poisoning on Jupiter, sadly this also means that no "you" is emperor of a large chunk of Saturn. We continue our expansion to the Milky Way the barred spiral shaped galaxy which all the version of you inhabit. It's a monster to us, but fairly mundane in the universe of 'galaxies'. It contains about 100-400 billion stars, and about an equal number of planets. It is about 170,000 light years wide whatever the hell that means. A group of people way smarter than any version of you knows, have estimated that there are at least 30 "active, intelligent, communicating civilizations" in the Milky Way, we just can't figure out where exactly they are, and how to communicate with them, maybe they can't either, or have made contact with us, saw how shitty we run this planet and decided to bugger off without talking to us (can't says that we blame them). There are a whole lot of other mind boggling numbers that we could toss out here about the Milky Way that would make you feel even more small and insignificant, but we aren't here to do that, this is about happy. We leave our loving "little" Milky Way, and expand further to the universe. That monster of a Milky Way is but one galaxy in the universe which contains somewhere around 2 trillion galaxies, of which about 500 billion would be "Milky Ways." Ponder that for a second (we will wait), and think of the implications it has to "you" and your uniqueness.

If those clever people are correct and there are 30 "active, intelligent, communicating civilizations" in our Milky Way, then if all things are equal (and of course we've no idea if they are or not) multiple 500 billion by 30, and in theory at least that would give you a working number of how many "active, intelligent, communicating civilizations" that are pinging around in the universe. Of course, all of this is in theory, and certainly some of those civilizations probably are Klignons or Ewoks, making them unlikely to contain a 'you'. A Klignon you isn't just quite the same, and you can feel safe in the idea that in relation to Klignons you are unique by comparison. Also in theory, some of those civilizations might be less advanced than we are. Maybe they haven't reached the walking upright stage yet, therefore rendering you unique in comparison to them as well. We can eliminate a certain amount of those civilizations as not quite good enough (in your theory, we are sure) to contain a 'you'. That is the good news, the bad news is that even if we err on the side of 'you' and eliminate 65% of those civilizations, well we still have 35% left, and by our exacting standards and well reasoned research that leaves a virtual fuck ton (which has to be an actual unit of measurement somewhere in the universe) of potential 'yous' populating a whole lot of other places.

Process that for a second, or longer if you need to, it is a sobering thought in many ways, and then begin to ponder what that means to 'you'. You've just been knocked off a very high perch, one that the rest of the world has put 'you' and themselves on since time immemorial. It is an idea sanctioned by usage and consecrated by time. That idea is that you are unique like a snowflake (not the political sissy type, but actual snow), and that the world would at least be different without you in it. Maybe not better, hopefully not worse, but at least different. Let's not break our arm patting ourselves on the back, the idea that the world would be worse off without you is hubris, which is also a long held idea by a lot of people but that need not detain us here.  More than likely, any of the 'yous' wandering around scratching their respective asses in the universe(s) aren't in any position of power that would make their respective demises world altering events, but I guess you never know. Maybe you are the head of some far reaching, world crushing empire, and when you gasp your last breath the entire trajectory of that world will change. I suppose that is both a depressing, and comforting thought. Depressing in the fact that it isn't the 'you' you know about and sort of makes this version of 'you' seem a bit of a failure, comforting in the fact that at least one version of 'you' has achieved the world domination that you are pretty sure all versions of 'you' have planned since birth.

However, those versions, however likely, are unconfirmed and probably never will be confirmed to your satisfaction.  World domination aside, this version of 'you' has goals even if you don't exactly realize it. A goal can be as highbrow as writing the great American novel, or as simple as getting through the day without strangling someone to death. Goals can be defined very broadly. Not committing homicide is a good goal to achieve, and if you manage it, you should buy yourself a beverage of your choice to celebrate. If you are generous you could buy the person who came the closest to having you fail in that homicidal goal a drink as well, and just merely talk about how'd you almost murdered them today. Maybe you can tell them of your desire to write the great American novel about your plan/desire to murder them as a plot device, and they find it funny or flattering, or perhaps they run screaming from the bar, and you never see them again. Thus, removing the problem of potential homicide from your life without you having to solve the pesky problem of how to get rid of a dead body. 

All of this of this rambling shitshow of a post has been written in the aid of making this version of 'you' happy. I suspect it has failed in that task, but then again happy is, for the most part, an undiscovered county or a bridge too far for a lot of people. The point is that even if there are 30 or more other versions of 'you' flailing about in the void, or picking their nose in the next county over, you are this version. The version that has been dealt these cards at this moment, in this place, and you have to play them. Certainly they may not be the royal flush you were hoping for, and they may (more than likely do) suck, but they are 'your' cards. You are the one that must needs play them. For better or for worse they are all you've got. Bluff if you have to, bet wisely, but don't fold them, they are the only cards you can be certain you'll get. And if those cards lead you down the path of curing cancer great, but if they have you turning in to a serial killer (which isn't so great) at least be the best at it you can be. 'You' won't be dealt a new set of cards, or at least if 'you' are it won't be anytime soon. I wish 'you' luck.