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In the night of 12/24/07, though sensors woven through the very fabric of the house had thus far registered a complete absence of sentient bio-activity, I found myself abruptly summoned from a rare, genuine and expensively induced examples of that most priceless of states, sleep.

Even as I hurriedly dressed, I knew that dozens of telepresent armed-response drones would already be sweeping in from the District, skimming mere inches above the chill surface of the Potomac. Vicious tri-lobed aeroforms that they were, they resembled nothing more than the Martian war machines of George Pal’s 1953 epic, “The War of the Worlds”.

And while, from somewhere far above, now, came that sound, that persistent clatter, as though gunships disgorged whole platoons of iron-shod mercenaries, I could only wonder: who? Was it my estranged wife, Lady Betty-Jayne Motel-6 Hyatt, Chief Eco-Trustee of the Free Duchy of Wyoming? Or was it Cleatus “Mainframe” Sinyard himself, President of the United States and perpetual co-chairman of the Concerned Smart People’s Northern Hemisphere Co-prosperity Sphere?

“You’re mumbling again, big guy,” said Memory, shivering into hallucinatorily clear focus on the rumpled sheets, her thighs warm and golden against the Royal Stewart flannel. She adjusted the nosecones of her chrome bustier. “Also, you’re on the verge of a major fashion crime.”

I froze, the starched white tails of an Elmore of Shinjuku evening shirt half-tucked into the waistband of a favorite pair of lovingly-mended calfskin jodhpurs. She was right. Pearl buttons scattered like a flock of miniscule flying saucers as I tore myself out of the offending Elmore. I swiftly chose a classic Gap t-shirt and a Ralph Lauren overshirt in shotgun-distressed ochre corduroy. The Gap t’s double-knit liquid crystal began to cycle sluggishly in response to body-heat, displaying crudely animated loops of once-famous televangelists of the previous century, their pallid flanks streaked with the sweat of illicit sexual exertion. Now that literally everything was digital, History and Image were no more than Silly Putty in the hands of anyone with a BFA and a backer in Singapore. But that was just the nature of Postmodernity, and, frankly, it suited me right down to the ground.

“Visitors upstairs, chief,” she reminded me pointlessly, causing me to regret not getting her that last chip-upgrade. “Like on the roof.”

“How many?” And this was Samsung-Sears’s idea of an “expert” system?

“Seventeen, assuming we’re talking bipeds.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That Nintendo-Dow micropore sensor-skin you had ‘em stretch over the Realistislate? After those Columbian bush ninjas from the Slunk Cartel tried to get in through the toilet-ventilators? Well, that stuff’s registering, like, hooves. Tiny ones. Unless this is some kind of major Jersey Devil infestation, I make it eight quadrupeds – plus one definite biped.”

“It can’t be Sinyard then.” I holstered a 3mm Honda and pocketed half a dozen spare ampules of gel. “He’d never come alone.”

“So maybe that’s the good news, but I gotta tell you, this guy weighs in at close to one-forty kilos. And wears size eleven-and-a-half boots. As an expert system, I’d advise you to use the Mossad & Wesson bullpup, the one with the subsonic witness protection nozzles—“ She broke off, as if listening to something only she could hear. “Uh-oh,” she said, “I think he’s coming down the chimney…”


[Originally published in The Washington Post, December 1991. And a very merry Christmas to all.)

Grandfather and Young Owl stood overlooking the canyon, their arms resting on the wooden railing. "You know", Grandfather said, "that in Chumash legend, each of the four seasons has a unique set of associations." He described the four quadrants, sketching with his hand in the air as he did: North Winter / Night White Eagle: Strength and Pride Bear: Earth Unity, Humility West Fall / Evening Red Dolphin: Connection, Friendship Raven: The Messenger East Spring / Morning Yellow Hawk: Recovery, Courage Deer: Life's Abundance South Summer / Afternoon Blue Owl: Wisdom, Intelligence Snake: Sensitivity to Earth "The Chumash always believed that Nature is sacred and understood evolution long before Darwin explained it to the White Man, who is still reluctant to understand his place. They would be wise to understand the three principles by which we have lived in harmony with all life on Earth since we first emerged from the Sky and the Earth and the Water: The Principle of Limitation: The understanding that we are all limited, all capable in different ways, and all equal, and that we depend on and are responsible for each other, that without Community we are nothing. The Principle of Moderation: The understanding that we must take only what we need from the land and the ocean, and give back as much as we take, and waste nothing, and live according to Nature's time. The Principle of Compensation: The understanding that we must give without expecting in return, and be kind, and recognize that compensation comes in many forms." "These are simple lessons. The Winter is our time of renewal. It is a time of contemplation, rest, and gathering strength for the ordeals that still lie ahead of us. The White Man's culture of occupation and scarcity is relentless and threatens everything. Even those that understand this cannot understand why we don't join them in their fight to defeat this culture. But no one can save them from themselves, Young Owl. Our task is to hold up a mirror to them, and let them see the madness in their own lives. Our task is to show them, just in case they want to learn, a better way to live. These Newcomers will defeat themselves, and then, just as after the great flood before our time, those who remain will learn again, freed from occupation and scarcity, to live in Nature's time. For us, there is only the waiting." Dear friends, may this season be a time of renewal and contemplation and peace for you, a time of sharing, and a time of gathering strength for the struggles ahead. I'll be back on Boxing Day.