Worrisome Fossil

Fossils sometimes appear in unlikely places. Often when this happens in America, instead of slaps on boney wrists, the powers that be give out medals. These naughty bags of bones become known as “State Fossils.” Disregarding the blatant favoritism involved with getting awards (not punishments) for being in unusual places1, let’s look at an example.

The Vermont State Fossil (Delphinapterus leucas, ‘Dauphin’ for short) was found when some 1849y locals dug it up looking for a railroad. They called it “Burt” but were reportedly disappointed by its dull attitude towards life. Upon giving to the government2 it was renamed with much sciencey thought. In 1993 it was given an award for being so whale-like, dead, and Vermonty3.

However many issues I have with fossils and their privileges, I have no bones to pick with their deadness. That is exactly why this recent fossil find of mine is so terrifying.

I have reason to believe that this orange bone is a fossil of some tall and terrifying beast. A beast which roams the streets of Chiang Mai in odious packs. I have yet to see a living form of this monster, but neither have I seen a bodied one in death. They are alive, or they are fossils. I truly am at a loss. Even as I write this I lock my windows and try not to make eye contact with the faces peeping in. 

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1 “Roofs of academic buildings are for keeping rain and snow out of classrooms, NOT for bawdy children to crawl all over.” –Saint Michael’s Security Guard #3

2 Probably still the Green Mountain Boys at this time, although I make no claims as to being a historian.

3 “That was the worst acceptance speech I’ve ever heard in my whole goddamn life.” –Saint Michael’s Security Guard #3

O-Range Bit

I was sprawled reading on concrete steps when I noticed my toes were being nibbled by a puddle of blossoms at my feet. Closer inspection--the “blossoms” were O-range Bits. Closer still—interspecies war: fire ants versus O-range Bits.

O-range Bits (named thusly for their terrifying and fang-ringed ‘O’ mouths) live in trees until the day they plop down. Once arrayed in a pile upon the ground they roil in a Dionysian frenzy of nectar, biting, and being small[1]. In such a state of active energy they attack anything that gets too close, and bit the hardest at feet and small bugs.  

I got away with only a few of my smaller toes missing, but continued to document the plight of the ants and the desperation of the O-Range Bits from afar.

This photo is from the ranks of the fallen Bits and may be a bit graphic for some audiences.

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[1] Lives which seem simple, but are probably just being over simplified here by me. I found it difficult to study this species closely; language barriers (as well as size differences) prevented both a figurative and a literal foothold in their society. 

Camera Obscura

Eyes see what we think. Whether it’s something we like, or something we’re afraid of, mind pictures are not an objective summary of life (is such a thing possible?). Even cameras lie, and tell stories that have narrators and hopes. The two dimensional form they squash real space into is shaded all over with these ideas. So many beautiful ideas.

In the realm of monsters it’s important to remember that some of these creatures have been hitherto unknown. How can our eyes see un-liked, un-feared and un-thought quantities? Clearly, we need some help. This help comes in the form of my camera obscura, passed down (somewhat awkwardly due to its strange boxy shape) to me from a long line of monster-hunting ancestors. My camera obscura snags shots that slip my eyes’ grasp.

Here’s a freshly coiffed and slightly titillating monster lurking by the side of the superhighway on Chiang Mai. I stopped for a drink on my long dusty passage and had a feeling about that hair.  

 Kate helped wielded the unwieldy box to capture this fight. It happened with little understanding at the time. Instinct takes over, and time moves in circles more silly than usual.

 

small

Small spaces fill me with intrigue. When a box (real or imaginary) catches a space inside of it, I feel myself pushing the possibilities of the area.[1] I strain to find something that fits physically, but that tells an intricate gangle of a story that touches far from itself.

These are the positive wonders, the wonders of when the sun shines. At night (real or imaginary) parasitic monsters leak into these boxes however hard I try to keep them out. They move with frightening speed and accuracy and aren’t content to merely touch far from themselves. Their touch is infections. Their touch is teeth.

Here are some found monsters. Thankfully, I met them in the heat of the day when their stories where warm and only mildly insolent.

I tremble at the thought of the terrible teeth they must grow every evening.

Kate poured this one into her mouth where it left her with a soulful glow of caffeine.

Harmless enough, but don’t pick those flowers. This monster’s heavy face can break your heart and your hand just as quickly.

Mailpeople have the most difficult time getting junk mail to stick in this retching wall guardian.

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[1] This is when Wall-Tape Monsters and Sewn Leaf Palettes come into existence.

Bejeweled

Ever unrelenting, monsters pace the outer edges. They stare in from dark places that we learn as young children to fear. Places of shame. Places of wild disorder. Places of disobedience.

Places of vanity and cannibalism.

These bejeweled dragons nearly shocked me off the sidewalk with such a spectacle. To retaliate, I bought the plainest socks I could find and nibbled my fingers when no one was watching.

Yellog: The Thai Underdog

Some monsters stew in secret. They wait for darkness to eat up the sunlight so they can billow around in shadows.

Some blind us with beauty. They throw wonderful straw men in our faces and hearts that make us forget the evil brewing beneath their charms.

And some are blatant and rely on brute strength to force us to their bidding. A sub-group of this blatant type are yellow and resemble giant humanoid dogs. This particular brand of monster, a Yellog, is both blatant and stupid. Yellogs are easily caught and trained by Green Professionals[i]. Which, luckily, are at least as abundant Yellogs.

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[i] This is especially true when the GP in question has a 30 meter scarf at his disposal (Yellogs have very sensitive throats and are incapacitated by even something light and soft twined around their necks) which he, of course, has.