"Then, friend John, am I to take it that you simply accept fact, and are satisfied to let from premise to conclusion be a blank? No? Then tell me - for I am a student of the brain - how you accept hypnotism and reject the thought reading. Let me tell you, my friend, that there are things done today in electrical science which would have been deemed unholy by the very man who discovered electricity - who would themselves not so long before been burned as wizards. There are always mysteries in life. Why was it that Methuselah lived nine hundred years, and 'Old Parr' one hundred and sixty-nine, and yet that poor Lucy, with four men's blood in her poor veins, could not live even one day? For, had she live one more day, we could save her. Do you know all the mystery of life and death? Do you know the altogether of comparative anatomy and can say wherefore the qualities of brutes are in some men, and not in others? Can you tell me why, when other spiders die small and soon, that one great spider lived for centuries in the tower of the old Spanish church and grew and grew, till, on descending, he could drink the oil of all the church lamps? Can you tell me why in the Pampas, ay and elsewhere, there are bats that come out at night and open the veins of cattle and horses and suck dry their veins; how in some islands of the Western seas there are bats which hang on the trees all day, and those who have seen describe as like giant nuts or pods, and that when the sailors sleep on the deck, because that it is hot, flit down on them and then - and then in the morning are found dead men, white as even Miss Lucy was?...Can you tell me why the tortoise lives more long than generations of men, why the elephant goes on and on till he have seen dynasties; and why the parrot never die only of bite of cat of dog or other complaint? Can you tell me why men believe in all ages and places that there are men and women who cannot die? We all know - because science has vouched for the fact - that there have been toads shut up in rocks for thousands of years, shut in one so small hole that only hold him since the youth of the world. Can you tell me how the Indian fakir can make himself to die and have been buried, and his grave sealed and corn sowed on it, and the corn reaped and be cut and sown and reaped and cut again, and then men come and take away the unbroken seal and that there lie the Indian fakir, not dead, but that rise up and walk amongst them as before?"-- an exchange between Dr. Van Helsing and Dr. Seward, as reprinted in dracula1897, a really neat community that's been posting the entire Bram Stoker novel in chronological order, starting last May and going through November.
Here I interrupted him. I was getting bewildered. He so crowded on my mind his list of nature's eccentricities and possible impossibilities that my imagination was getting fired.
"Possible impossibilties." I like that.
I got thinking of 1994’s Star Trek: Generations, enough to dig up the film’s trailer. It makes the movie feel small, which it honestly is. I’ve…
Back in December 2016, I wrote this, called “Soup.” You can write poems about anything, and I decided to write a poem about soup. And because I…
“Luckily many [whales] know how to be gentle. “(This is somehow a real fact and not a detail of a Chuck Tingle novel.)”