Frigid Musings

I think, that one of my pet peeves would be pessimism (for reference, view this) and ambivalence.

The delicious irony being those two nouns also happen to be my favourite traits.

A quip before I leave.

"Sure, they will accuse me of having a monotone wardrobe. But will they find a first year who has shirts as well ironed as mine?"

~Tarrant, to self as he irons.

Bulletin.

Who needs to wash their face when the wind outside performs exfoliation for you? But I digress (not that I don't wash my face).

I also happened to see a rather bizarre sight today. Imagine, Lassie on a BMX being pedalled by a white teen. I had my hands (and face) full with a souvlaki at the time so I was unable to record the... conglomeration of things as it passed me by.

That's all for now.
Toodles.

Oh Cassandra... you moron.

[01:00] cass: ...one day...i'll try it...once i overcome the oven fear!
[01:00] -Subpoena'ed- Winter and Grain: ...

The conversation continues...

[01:07] -Subpoena'ed- Winter and Grain: I cannot believe you are afraid of a temperamental oven.
[01:07] cass: I AM NOT AFRAID!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
[01:08] -Subpoena'ed- Winter and Grain: Then?
[01:09] -Subpoena'ed- Winter and Grain: someone was going on about oven fear several replies back.
[01:09] cass: ...if only the thermostats works!!
[01:09] cass: hahaha yeah!!
[01:09] cass: so pressurised
[01:09] cass: aiyo
[01:10] cass: ...but it doesn't mean that i'm admitting that i'm scared of oven!!!
[01:10] -Subpoena'ed- Winter and Grain: did you just contradict yourself twice?
[01:11] cass: i dont think so.............did i???
[

More Recipes!

Improv Ribs
Serves 1 ravenous Uni student

1 small rack pork ribs
3 tablespoons hak yau
1/2 teaspoon char siew sauce
1 1/2 tablespoons curry powder
1 teaspoon Worcestershire Sauce
1 garlic clove, smashed and chopped
1 slice ginger, sliced
1/2 an onion, finely ringed
Hot water
Salt and Pepper

In a small bowl, combine hak yau, curry powder, char siew sauce, Worcestershire sauce, garlic, ginger, and just enough hot water to turn the combination into a thick sauce. Let sit at least 30 minutes.

Prepare the ribs by rubbing some salt and pepper, and some curry powder into it. Let rest 10 minutes.

Heat oven on fan bake to 200 degrees celsius, place ribs meat side down in a shallow baking dish, put into oven for 15 minutes.

After 15 minutes, remove, turn, place onions on top, and pour sauce all over ribs. Return ribs to oven, turn temperature down to 175.

After 20 minutes, check on the ribs, to see if they are cooked through. Remove, transfer to serving dish, serve with finely mashed potatoes. The ribs are best eaten with hands.

Author's Note: The quantities for the sauce listed was enough for a 6 rib rack, plus sauce for the mash. Might want to tweak with the quantities a little based on the size of the ribs. Also I don't recommend thinning out the sauce, just prepare a big batch of sauce and working off that instead of deglazing and simmering it down. It is that good.

My head hurts.

Diagnosis

She writhes in her isolation
Trapped in her paranoia
No amount of conversation
Can alleviate this hysteria.

She speaks in sentences broken
And it is a rather bleak prognosis
With her veiled intents unspoken
Her walls helping no catharsis.

Laid hands are thought as knives
To stab her with a soft smiling sigh
She wonders of what of our lives
Like a surgery gone horribly awry.

I writhe inside, knowing I only hurt
She needed empathy, I did smite
Truths, sharp , succinct and curt
All in her drawn tears I did write.

But truths are truths, cushion or none
That which we have faith in is useless
And what we revile is but common
A cosmic travesty, one must confess.

A game where one can win, unlike others.

There are pawns, and then there are the pawns of those pawns.

It is ignorance, that makes the Pawn give himself up for his Knights, and the Rook to kill in the name of his King. The pawn is slowed by his blindness, and the Rook has tunnel vision in which to focus his manipulated zeal.

It is fealty, that drives the Knight to slaughter those who oppose his King, as he knows just a little more to know what to fight for.

It is cunning that gives the Queen her lethality, touching all of those who dare cross her. But in her schemes lies her undoing, a victim of over-reaching.

The Bishop too makes plans, conspiring with his opposite counterpart, side stepping the masses, discreetly removing recidivists, and facilitating the expansion of their tithe regions.

All the while the King, like Azathoth, mills around in his compound, almost harmless, lulled into a false sense of security by his walls of pawns. Unlike Azathoth however, he is impotent, dulled by the years of decadence, watching his morbid games play out until it is far too late.

And when Pawns become veterans, the King welcomes them with open arms, oblivious to the fact that these new Queens scheme as hard as their mistress.

This chequered battlefield is consumed in plans and counter-plans, locked in a battle of wits in which the only escape is capture and a swift execution.

Generosity.

When a braising ceases to be simple, does it become a stew?
Or does it stay a braised meat?

Maybe it's Osso Bucco. Maybe it's just another mundane dish.
But by the supernatural entities I owe fealty to, is it good.

And since it tastes that good, I will share it with you.

_______

Tarrant's Braise
Serves 1 ravenous Uni student.

Thing's you'll need:
1 deep frying pan with lid
1 small sauce pan with lid
Several hours to burn.
No fire alarm.

Ingredients:
1 beef shank (cut perpendicular to the bone)
1 large carrot, cubed.
1 large onion, halved and quartered.
2 small potatoes, quartered.
2 large cloves of garlic, smashed and roughly chopped.
2 tomatoes, halved.
500ml beef broth
1 stick of butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon whole peppercorns
2 tablespoons tomato paste (NOT ketchup)
1 tablespoon finely diced basil
1 tablespoon finely diced parsely
Salt and Pepper

Instructions:

1. Using a fork, stab the meat of the shank on both sides so that it is now covered in holes. Then rub salt and pepper onto the shank and let rest for 10-20 minutes. In the meantime heat the broth with half a tablespoon of whole peppercorns in it.

2. In the pan, heat up the butter and olive oil together until combined and bubbling. On a high fire, sauté the garlic, onions, carrots and potatoes until the onions demonstrate some browning. Add the shank and sauté until both sides of the shank are nice and brown. If it starts to smoke a little, just keep going.

3. Add enough broth to the pan so that the liquid covers 1/2 to 3/4 of the side of the shank. Might want to scrape any brown bits that go stuck on the pan during the sautéing and incorporate it into the liquid. Add the other half of the whole peppercorns to the deep pan.

4. Turn heat to low (or better still move it to a medium sized burner and set that to low), and let simmer for 1 hour with lid on.

5. Check on the steak after the hour and turn it. Close the lid and let braise another 1 hour. If the liquid level is too low, top it up.

6. Now, turn the steak again and add the tomatoes. Also stir in the tomato paste, basil and parsley to the liquid. Replenish the liquid again. Let simmer another 1 hour.

7. Now, you have two options. You can let it simmer another hour with the lid still on, OR you can let it simmer for half an hour more, but the during the last 15 minutes, remove the lid. I personally prefer the latter as it thickens up the liquid and turns it very rich.

8. Remove from heat, let rest 5 minutes, transfer to serving dish. Serve with rice and greens, or have it with some good bakery bread.

Author's Notes:
The reason I chose this particular cut is because of the marrow in the bone. During the braising, some of the marrow will seep into braising liquid and give it a wonderful flavour. If you're lucky enough, by the end of the braising a good deal of marrow will still be left on the bone, jelly like and succulent. Extract, spread on bread, and enjoy. Also, the meat will slough off the bone and become extremely tender due to the long cooking time. Wonderful meal for a miserable day if you ask me.

As for scaling the recipe, if you're planning on serving several people, it might be prudent to use an oven and substitute the pan for a deep dish. Also, cooking time will differ depending on the temperature used, which comes down to eyeballing the done-ness of the meat.

Also, like any stew-ish type dish, it gets better the next day due to flavours seeping into the meat and veggies. Keeps for 3-ish days in a fridge.

A Bulletin of sorts.

Find Mars on your campus today!

People in my outer circle of acquaintances have contracted H1N1.
Australia's H1N1 rate is set to breach the 2000 mark.
H1N1 also happens to be a pandemic, not that the word bears any increased threat to me.
I'm perfectly fine and not set to succumb to any goddamned flu.

My system however, runs off Mother at the moment. Soon, I will be like Bane. Not that I mind.
On to other news.
Photographing star trails here in Australia is not a pleasant affair. The results on the other hand are quite something.
Picture this:

I'm in the middle of a golf course north of Deakin University. The ground is wet and I'm in pants I do not wish to muddy. My white loafers are completely ruined. The black scarf keeps the cold air from settling into my coat, which does it's job in keeping out the chill and the wind. The leggings underneath my pants serve less efficiently, but they serve nonetheless. The gloves dn't stop the cold creeping through my fingers. I turn towards the camera.

The air is cold and I can see my breath in the torchlight. It's 7pm and it is pitch black, save for the stars that hang overhead. The torchlight strapped to my head illuminates my meagre set up, involving an aluminium tripod, Noreen the D90, and a remote release cable.

The 18-105mm lens is at wide angle. Its lens hood is on so that the pin pricks of light from Deakin's admin block doesn't smother my image in orange pea soup (to quote Norman Chuo). The watch on my wrist has the countdown timer set at 40 minutes.

I set the lens aperture to f/4.0, and the exposure to bulb. The flashlight goes off. I set the timer to 6 seconds. I reassess the positioning of the lens, hoping to catch Polaris in the frame. Satisfied, I lock in the remote release, and wait for the shutter to open.

There is a swift clack of the mirror flipping up, and my countdown begins. 40 minutes in the cold is a long long time to the idler, who also happens to be engulfed in pitch black surroundings. I call a friend and she and I catch up for a while, but she requires dinner and leaves. The iPod battery fails me halfway through the exposure, and my legs slowly feel less attached, as do my fingers.

Patience is a virtue they say. Here, patience determines your success. Here, the impatient or the undetermined pack up halfway through the exposure and complain of the harshness of the art. Here the half hearted take two full exposures and give up when both yield unsatisfactory results. Here, a person learns to wait. Here, there is no leaving (unless you want your set-up stolen, but thats your call). Here, you can witness wonders.

I saw two shooting stars while waiting. More for me I guess.

The timer counts 30 seconds remaining. I approach the tripod. I slowly grasp the remote release, mentally counting down the seconds. 0 seconds. I click the release off. The mirror clacks back into place, and I turn my flashlight on to inspect the camera.

Condensation covered the lens and camera. If you were nearby, you would probably have heard a loud stream of expletives echoing through the night. It was too late to do anything, except to keep shooting and to keep wiping off the condensation with each exposure.

I took 6 long exposures and 4 short exposures during that frigid night. By the time I got back, I could barely feel my fingers. But it was all worth it.

A descriptor of today.

"I can't feel my face. But I have ham."

~Tarrant, on biking in the morning for groceries.

A perchance to dream.

Spins.

I awoke today to the Moirae in my room
constantly spinning threads on their loom
I asked them what they wanted of me
of a man, jaded, broken never free.

They spoke in unison, none behind
Speaking in a tongue alien to mind
But I could gather what was spoken
Of ruin, despair, and backs broken.

I shudder, cringe and weep
For me, the truths pierce deep
And I am cast into the spotlight
Reliving crimes as others might.

'Tis a horrible way to dream
That I am washed with steam
and bound by my own string silk
That I may be scrubbed by Guilt.

I scream, hoarse in my mental agony
That it may stop, for fear of sanity
And they ask me again in unison,
For others, would you make that decision?

There is a pause, a pregnant silence
As I bow my head, rid of defiance
I ask them a final question,
That which I fear, becomes my obsession?

The crones laugh, a guttural giggle
and so spoke the crone in the middle
That which you cannot comprehend
Will haunt you till your very end.

I awoke this time to my empty room
No crones, no strings, no deathly loom.
All I can feel are the scars of the strings
And the ominous feeling of future stings.

I have a letter but the stamps are burning

Some days the words don't make sense.
It's all a disjointed jumble of phrases.
So alien, so grotesque, so uninviting.
Days like these I yearn for simplicity in life.
Days like these I search for something called peace.

Do I ever find it?

Not when my mind continues to pour a torrent of chaos into my consciousness, as if my sub-conscious is allergic to the unconscious knowledge it has absorbed. Concepts, theories rush by me as I am engulfed in information, both within and without. I want to stop the flow, I want to not think.

The best I can do is stop and not sort the chaos, and drown. In a sense it is the same thing - but unbidden thoughts are tenacious worms - that burrow their way into my asphyxiated mental state. Possibilities, are dangerous in that they change the final probability of your actions with every new possibility. Is it better to know every agonising alternative than be shackled to a path blissfully ignorant of the road less travelled? Sometimes, I wish I was - but I know that egotistical inertia makes budging a person from their single path takes massive effort. The marginal profit in trying to change someone's life course makes it uneconomical. Yet we all try. I is illogical, it is insane, it is generous.

If there is something that redeems the majority of our species, it is that we understand charity. Not some greater good or pack loyalty, but actual goodwill. However, humans are also questionable beings. Our motives make no sense to economic and emperical analsis.

Volunteer workers, the redshirt army of charity organisations - do they do it for the work or do they do it for the glory, or do they do it for the sheer fact they want to help? Does the man flip a coin to the hobo wearing the ushanka out of pity, conditioning by school, or out of his own goodwill? Our subjectivity makes us oblique.

Is that our AT field?

Musing me 36 hours awake.

Sometimes I stop in the middle of doing an important ritual of life (of which there are so many), and exclaim (out loud or internally) WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING?

I proceed to mull the rhetorical question for a few minutes, and forget completely about what I was doing originally.

Never actually get to answer myself you know. It's such a layered question. Am I referring to my ritual? Am I referring to me doing it at 3am in the morning in a freezing laundry room? Am I referring to me having to interrupt my session of Cortex Command (which is a totally awesome game to begin with) to perform said ritual? Or am I actually trying to comprehend the gravity of my entire enrolment in Deakin University? Or is it me thinking I'm crazy for thinking of something else that I originally didn't intend to think about and now am in complete utter denial about recognising said thought?

Sometimes I just go to sleep after that. It's just so tiring.

Coming to cafeteria for dinner?

THERE IS NO SPOOOON!!!

~Tarrant, in reply to undisclosed person.

Insomnia thoughts

I thought Dennõ Coil was a rather well worked piece of anime.
(sure, I'm 2 years late, but whats a guy to do)

I mean sure, it had it's faults, with the rushed plot, the overly brief background exploration - but it was well condensed. Sure, some motivations went unexplored, but really, it was still a very very tight story. A plot hole here and there unresolved, but all is forgiven. Lovely art direction too - very... traditional animation at first, with quaint doraemon style stuff, then suddenly whizz! bang! zwing! eye candy all over the place. Character design too - nicely worked.

Also, the concepts outlined in the anime itself were very very interesting. Here I was thinking augmented reality with glasses. sweet as. Makes the geek look quite the in thing. Then we discover consciousness - not souls, but consciousness. A typical bhuddist derived concept (and no, your eternal soul does not count). Then we discover cubes with lazor beams. I so want one of those. And Isako is such a wonderful tsundere. Of course, any deviant thoughts go into the loli zone. tut tut. Shame on you. Having said that though, the sniff of a lesbian/incest sub-plot makes it all so much juicier an anime.

And then we discover the chessmaster behind the main plot. Still, an interesting way to put an adult-ish theme in an anime filled with children. If you ask me, it almost was like the end bits of Evangelion, but felt more justified. Very well paced too might I add. Starts from what seems to be slice of life mixed in with cyberpunk to all out GITS style chase cams, to Evangelion montage monologues. I approve. Sequel? I don't think so. Too tight woven plot.

But surely, the entire point of this show was highlighted in the 23rd episode I think, when Yuko (and everyone else) gets their glasses confiscated. Technology - and total reliance, and how it can, if not used right, burns away our spirit of kinship.

Slowly but surely, that is what it can do. We give ourselves up to convenience, we ignore pointless appearing but symbolically very impactful habits (rituals? routines? the word escapes me) and we resign ourselves to our own private pursuits, in which it helps oh so well. Co-operation, temporal, virtual groups coming and going, never coherent. No emphasis on actual relationship building. All... superficial.

But that is the generation we are. Generation Y. The great new hope. The great new generation, stepping in to fill the shoes of Gen X and Baby Boomers, who right now are fighting the greatest enemy of all. Time. Like Isako, who had a twisted Peter Pan in the Coil Domain, I have a feeling Generation Y has grown up spoilt.

We've been fed consolation prizes for everyone. An excuse in every loss, instead of a lesson in every loss. Are we going to be spoiled further by technology? It's happening. It's what you do with the technology that makes a difference.

Technology provides the power to connect. Now we have this power, are we going to trivialise our friendships? Are we numbing ourselves to this abundance of trivial human contact that we crave so much, that we are immune to the very drug that sustains our psyche? Shallow contacts. No regard for consequences. Shallow minds. Instant gratification and the pursuit of fortunes. It's happening. And you know it is. What are you doing about it?

Dwarven Warriors

"A caravan from Dakost Etur has arrived"

The dwarven traders had just been sighted. They arrive in their caravans, bearing bales of pig tail cloth, heaps of cut gems, bors of precious metals, and of course, the precious commodity so frequently requested by Kubukashok, better known as Lancetimes, top grade dwarven alcohol.

Urvad Litastadil glanced to his caravan guard, a burly swordsdwarf.

"Looks like we're going to make a killing this trip round my good friend. Our brethren here never pass up the alcohol and gems."
"Aye, lets just hope this time we make the killings. You remember what happened to Iteb Mengingtak and Fath Olinteshkad?"
"Fell to goblins, I remember, bright as fire agate. Armok smote some of them, the rest of them ran like cowards."
"Armok protects Lancetimes jealously, but only up to the edge of the statues remember?"
"Aye. I hear from the human traders no goblin siege has ever made it into the courtyard of Lancetimes, even in the middle of trading with them."
"Goodness, is that a obsidian statue decorated with shells?"
"Sure is."

The traders entered the arch of smoothed obsidian into the trade depot. They unloaded their goods, spilling gems all over the depot, clumsily stacking barrels of booze and wheat on top of bars of platinum and electrum. A tanned and toned dwarf dressed in spider cave silk robes approached them. Zasit Melbilom the trader was a familiar face, having taken over from the overworked Tarrant Mozirlikot, the City Manager and founder of Kubukashok.

"Ah, good of you to have brought the goods. We have some special stuff for you this autum."

At his behest, dwarves bearing bins of silk goods and basalt crafts rushed into the depot.

"Lets trade shall we?"

Zolak Amxusnamoz the goblin Master Lasher sniffed the air. He smelt dwarves, and when he smelt dwarves, he knew there was blood to be spilt. With a gutteral screech he beckoned his goblin minions to charge this petulant dwarven stronghold, seemingly protected by the gods. His glorious siege will crush the tales once and for all. Where his moronic peers have charged and died, he will prevail.

"A vile force of darkness has arrived!"

Shem Rulushshorast the Philosopher saw them first. He ran to Mozirlikot, who was hauling a covered wooden bin to the trade depot.

"It's a siege! Everyon-"
"No. The traders will run. This Autumn trade must not be disrupted. It is too critical."
"But the goblins-"
"Bring our Champions into active duty. Have them crush the goblins utterly."

__

Litast Sakrithunib was sparring in the barracks when the call to arms rang throughout the fortress. Rarely were they ever called to active duty. The first was when Kima the Dragon threatened a fledgling Lancetimes, when he was still a Leatherworker. The Champions then paid dearly to stop the rampaging dragon before it reached the fortress walls. The second time was when Ronux Etogzedan, a second Dragon, threatened the fortress, but this time, Ronux was swiftly killed, pierced by crossbow bolts, his stomach fluids spilling onto the smoothed obsidian. Litast picked up a stack of bronze bolts, raring to kill goblins this day.

A wall of copper clad dwarves lined the outer perimeter of statues, steely eyes watching for goblins. Children, tan as their parents in the Champions, frolick ignorantly among them. Dwarves were never well known for their parental guidance - it was a lot more monkey see, monkey do, monkey learn. Still, the Champions stood fast against the oncoming goblins.

Zolak Amxusnamoz saw the copper clad dwarves. Fools, he thought, these dwarves are a flimsy defence against the might of his goblin siege. Zolak screamed in bloodlust and charged.

The Helmed Orbs saw the goblins charging alright. They even saw the raving mad Master Lasher leading the pack. The Champions stepped forward and let loose with their crossbows.

Too late did Zolak see them raise their weapons. A crossbow bolt pierced through his Iron chainmail, sinking deep into his flesh, then another, and another and another. Zolak gurgled once and fell, as the rest of his minions received similar fates. A surviving goblin, already bleeding from a bolt received a vicious uppercut from a copper crossbow wielded by a charging champion.

The Champions turned, and saw a charging pack of goblin wrestlers and axe wielders. Swift crossbow bolts from The Grasps of Winding hit them, and both squads charged as one, having spent all of their ammunition. The goblins were cut down to the man.

Mato Snodubuxzo's flanking group of archer goblins crept forward, noting the ineptitude of Zolak, and his fitting death. Mato thought to himself, that his archers will kill off these puny dwarves, and claim this glorious fortress for himself.As they crept into firing range, he noticed a group of copper clad Champions standing on the bridge leading to the fortress. Then he noticed the steel bolt lodged in his chest.

The two parties traded fire as goblins fell to crossbow bolts, while the Champions merely shrugged off the arrows smacking into them.

"Mommy!"

Alath Mengmorul was on the ground, two aluminium arrows stuck in her. One was lodged in her right upper arm, the other in her left lower leg. Her screams hardly rattled her mother, who was unloading crossbow bolts into the invaders. She was seething with anger, but her training kept her from going into a berserker rage.

As the bulk of the goblin forces fell, the rest of them fled, no doubt gone to spread the terrifying tale of Kubukashok and their dread defenders.

Alath continued to moan, as the aluminium arrows had lodged, and caused her immense pain.

"I'm thirsty."

The rest of the dwarves knew the drill. Once the invaders cleared out, all their metal gear was to be salvaged into usable items. Dwarves streamed out in grim efficiency, stripping armour and weapons from the still warm goblin hands. Alath lay there, moaning, and begging for water.

Mozirlikot noticed the moaning child. He swiftly grabbed an Iron Bucket full of water and brought it to the suffering child. Having sated her thirst, he took her up in his arms and took her to the barracks, where she could recurperate. It would be many seasons before Alath would walk again.

The dwarven traders watched all of this, down to Mozirlikot bearing the stricken child to the barracks. Mozirlikot returned to them with his covered bin.

"A gift, for our Queen."

___

The traders stumbled through the door, covered in mud and grime.
Goden Odgubolon, Queen of Dakost Etur welcomed them personally, inquiring about gifts from the rest of the dwarven holds.

After all the rest of the more mundane gifts were produced, a single bin was produced, still covered by the cave spider silk cloth. Goden pulled it off.
7 aluminium crossbows, of the finest quality, were stacked neatly in the bin. Each were decorated in gems and shell. The traders themselves gasped at the works. Goden smiled to herself.

"A gift for a Queen indeed."