A quest, said he, a quest I am on.
A quest, asked she, what quest are you on?
I seek a skin, I seek a hide, I seek glory.
You travel for the Golden Fleece then?
Nay, said he, nay and nay again. I travel for the Hide of the Minotaur,
I travel for the reek of the maze,
I quest to have my hands curled in the matter fur,
And have its fetid breath hot on my face.
She recoiled, unsure of a reaction. He pressed on.
It is my goal to go to the Minotaur's lair,
The den where it sleeps,
Where the remains of its victims rot,
And mingle with its offal,
And so there shall I bathe,
And so shall I lie with the Minotaur,
For this, this is the strength of my love.
Recently, I've been at the center of a trend. That trend is complete strangers asking me "Are you ____?" A quick summary. For example: Are you…
-10,000 years, at minimum. Tomorrow is always better than today, especially when you can't fact-check.
When I was working at Tri-Mount, we had these camp trucks. They were army surplus, and while they could take a beating, they only sort of worked. And…