I must apologise most profusely for not putting the other submissions for Lords of Misrule on the blog in a timely fashion. They were quite long, and i tended to procrastinate for quite a while on their inclusion, and so i ended up not bothering for fear of cluttering up the timeline with endless scrolling past other people’s creations — not a particularly dignified viewing environment for them.

But here they are in all their glory, on the main site:

• It’s an Ayn Rand Christmas, from one Baki: Scrooge discovers the true meaning of objectivism.
• Space Plumbing, from one Chris of Vacuum Forest: A space station suffers an unfortunate mishap.
• The Tale of Theoxenia Trismegistus, from one Ræl H. Bishop: A satyr discovers the outside world.

Iō Saturnalia! Today’s post comes from an anonymous reader in Santiago — to comment, please visit its page on the main site.

as a kid coming down the portway into the harbourside through here was always so epic: going past the rugby club, along the seamills bridge, down the hill, past the willow whale, seeing climbers on the gorge, the tunnels randomly sticking out the cliff looking like something out of minecraft, then coming around the bend and seeing the absolutely massive iconic bridge so high up. diving into the short tunnel type thing and then being greeted with an truly odd mix of architecture being the announcement of entering the city so dramatically. first ashton gate sticks out slightly, and then driving past the first row of house (the last one before the turn has a waving flag of the spanish republican international brigades — always fun for us, i am from spain but grew up in the middle of farmyland severn vale — we always came down via the m5 and even there i remember the giraffe cranes at avonmouth and the hovis silos), then being greeted with these brutalist tendales towards the airport, but we would always come off and into the redeveloped harbourside of its modern style and parked in the (very expensive im told) millenium square car park. the short drive through hotwells road was always very strange to me because its old georgian and victorian housing sandwiched between two far more modern areas. the nautical theme with the absolutely massive victorian ss great britain is also great, it used to have even more colourful flags !

the trip back was still good but never as cool as that experience, just a bunch of huge weed-themed graffiti on the quarryfaces across the river. will probably look much cooler if the train ever comes back that side.

Our final submission of the season comes from one Ræl H. Bishop, a dear friend of mine. Thank you so much for all the entries this year — it’s a lovely thing to have a tradition continue, especially when i’d worried you’d all forgotten i existed. And as always, please leave all your comments on the main site.

This past summer, I lived in a big coastal city. After two months, things took a turn for the worse and I had to move out. I found the city plastic and frustrating anyways. During my time there, I would go to the beach quite often. But not to swim or make sand castles. In the mornings, I’d walk with a book and a bottle of water and watch the sun dance over the horizon. In the evening, I’d find a vacant spot and watch the cargo ships sail over an increasingly indigo skyscape. It was very cathartic. I feel it’s the same feeling all cathedrals, mosques, and mandirs try to cultivate: a sense of awe and serenity that lets our minds meld and our troubles wash away.

I have a very beach-y metaphor for your consideration. The emotions we experience in our lives are like waves lapping onto a shoreline. All emotions are found in these waves. We get caught up in waves of anger, of depression, of pride and lust, of sorrow and shame, greed and jealousy, euphoria and ecstasy. They are strong, powerful waves. We all stand on these shores, but most folks spend their lives getting tossed and turned by these waves, smashed into the undercurrent and washed up to repeat the process the next day. What we need to do in the face of these waves is not to get knocked over by them, but to hold steadfast and let the waves pass. We observe the waves as they emerge, not “pushing back” and not “falling in”, but noting as they come and noting as they pass. The waves leave, and more take their place, but they’re all transient nonetheless.

I’ve tried taking this notion to heart since I realized it. I hope you can find use of this. The next time you’re caught in a slump, or a fit of rage, or in some all-consuming obsession, just remember that it’s another wave approaching from the distance. You have the power, the strength, the will to keep standing in its wake.

You are not these waves, these fleeting emotions. You are yourself. γνῶθι σεαυτόν. तत्त्वमसि.

Iō Saturnalia! Just as last year, a month ago, i flipped the tables and invited you all to send me whatever you wanted and i would put it up on the site. I’m pleased to say that even more took up my offer than last year, and over the next five days, you’ll be seeing a variety of their works. Our first submission for 2022 comes from a reader by the nom de plume of Baki. Enjoy.

One thousand eight hundred and seventy dollars. That was all. She had put it aside, one dollar and then another and then another, in her careful posting of selfies and other online activity. Della counted it three times. One thousand eight hundred and seventy dollars. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was nothing to do but post an Instagram Story and cry. So Della did it.

While the lady of the home is slowly growing quieter, we can look at the home. A VW van. There is little more to say about it.

The engine had decided to finally stop working completely and needed replacement. In the back there was an area too small to hold a toilet. There was a bed, but it was not long enough. Also there was a barely functional kitchen with the names of the owners above the tiny window surrounded by little hearts, Della and James Young.

When the names were placed there, Mr. James Dillingham Young was being paid $300 a week via PayPal, Venmo, and Patreon from people supporting their #vanlife social media lifestyle. Now, when he was being paid only $200 a week, the name seemed too long and important. It should have been “Jamie Young.” But when Mr. James Dillingham Young entered the van, his name became very short indeed. Mrs. James Dillingham Young put her arms warmly around him and called him “Jim.” You have already met her. She is Della.

Della finished her Instagram Story and wiped the tears from her face. She sat by the window and looked out with no interest. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only one thousand eight hundred and seventy dollars with which to buy Jim a gift. She had put aside as much as she could for months, with this result. Two hundred dollars a week is not much. Everything had cost more than she expected. It always happened like that.

Only $1,870 to buy a gift for Jim. She had had many happy hours planning something nice for him. Something nearly good enough. Something almost worth the honor of belonging to Jim.

There was the interior of the van. Perhaps you have seen the kind of interior of a van that is created by two people living #vanlife on social media. There was wood. There were lots of fairy lights. There was a colorful blanket to tie it all together. It was very narrow and hard to photograph properly with an iPhone that was two generations out-of-date. However, if she were very patient and used a cheap five dollar fish eye lens attachment, she might be able to get a good pic of the interior. Della, being quite patient, had mastered this art.

Suddenly she stopped trying to film the interior of the van and stared at her phone. Her eyes were shining brightly, but her face had lost its color. Quickly she turned off her phone and set it down on the colorful blanket.

The James Dillingham Youngs were very proud of two things which they owned. One thing was Jim’s VW van. It had been their reason for quitting their boring forty hour a week jobs so they could live their #bestlife. The other was Della’s iPhone, the only camera they owned which allowed them to document their #vanlife on social media so they could be influencers.

If a queen had lived in the campsite next to them, Della would have taken pics of her with the two generation old iPhone and posted them so the queen could see. Della knew that her pics were more beautiful than any a queen could have taken with much more modern equipment.

If a king had lived in the campsite next to them, with his fancy $200,000 RV with pop outs and self-leveling, Jim would have invited him over for a ramen dinner. Jim knew that no king had anything as wonderful as his VW van.

So Della stared down at her iPhone then picked it up again. She stopped for a moment and stood still while a tear or two ran down her face.

With the bright light still in her eyes, she created an eBay auction for her phone then announced it on social media.

“Will you buy my phone? Only two hours to bid!” Della Instagramed.

“Wonderful iPhone for sale. Only two hours to bid!” Della Facebooked.

“Get it while you can! #carpediem #2hourauction” Della Tweeted.

Two hours later, PayPal announced a four hundred dollar increase in their account.

Oh, and the next thirty minutes seemed to fly. She was going from online store to online store, to find a gift for Jim.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the online stores, and it was from a shop very close to them.

It was an original replacement engine for the VW van.

As soon as she saw it, she knew that Jim must have it. She paid the two thousand two hundred and seventy dollars for it. The owner of the shop was a fan, a subscriber to their YouTube channel, and promised it would be delivered within the hour.

What luck! To find the engine so close to their location and so close to Christmas!

Humming Christmas carols under her breath, Della quickly posted that “big things were afoot” and that she “might be off social media for a while” to her social media accounts then packed up her iPhone to be shipped to the winner of the eBay auction.

When Della had done this, her mind quieted a little. She began to think more reasonably. She started to try and cover the sad marks of what she had done. Love and large-hearted giving, when added together, can leave deep marks. It is never easy to cover these marks, dear friends – never easy.

Within forty minutes her head looked a little better and the engine had been delivered. “If Jim doesn’t kill me,” she said to herself, “after he realizes we can’t post to social media any longer. But what could I do – oh! What could I do with one thousand eight hundred and seventy dollars!”

At seven, Jim’s dinner was ready for him.

Jim was never late when he was out scouting new locations worthy of being photographed. Della held the colorful blanket that the engine lay on and sat cross-legged on the bed. Then she heard his step outside and her face lost color for a moment. She often said little prayers quietly, about simple everyday things. And now she said: “Please God, make him think the engine is nice.”

The van door opened and Jim crawled in. He looked very fit and he was not smiling. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-eight – and with only a couple hundred followers on Twitter!

Jim stopped inside the door. He was quiet as a hunting dog when it is near a bird. His eyes looked strangely at Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not understand. It filled her with fear. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor anything she had been ready for. He simply looked at her with that strange expression on his face.

“You’ve bought me an engine?” asked Jim slowly. He seemed to labor to understand what had happened. He seemed not to feel sure he knew.

Jim put his arms around Della. For ten seconds let us look in another direction. Two hundred dollars a week or a million dollars a month – how different are they? Someone may give you an answer, but it will be wrong. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. My meaning will be explained soon.

From inside the coat, Jim took something tied in paper. He threw it upon the blanket. “I sold the van to get the money to buy you the new iPhone.”

For there lay The Latest iPhone – the iPhone that Della had been reading reviews about for months. A beautiful iPhone with improved lenses and increased memory, perfect for taking selfies and pics of their van. She had known it cost too much for her to buy. She had looked at it without the least hope of owning it. And now it was hers, but the van was sold.

And then she cried, “Oh, oh!”

The magi as you know, were wise men – wonderfully wise men – who brought gifts to the newborn Christ-child. They were the first to give Christmas gifts. Being wise, their gifts were doubtless wise ones. And here I have told you the story of two influencers who were not wise. Each sold the most precious thing they owned in order to buy a gift for the other.

But let me speak one last word to the wise these days. Of all who give gifts, these two were the most wise. For when Della popped back onto social media that night using her new iPhone to tell their followers this story, Della and Jim went viral. Money and offers of sponsorship poured in. The lady who bought Jim’s van gave it back to him for nothing. The shop who sold Della the engine installed it for free. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are most wise. Everywhere they are the wise ones. They are the influencers.

#blessed #bestlife #vanlife

Iō Saturnalia! As you may remember, at the start of the month i announced that to celebrate the holiday season, you could submit anything you wanted to my website and i’d put it up. I’m pleased to say several people took up my offer, and i’ll be putting them up daily starting today. Our somber first submission comes from a reader by the nom de plume of Ræl H. Bishop. Enjoy.

I think I might’ve finally accepted the fact that I’m gonna die some day.

A story has no purpose if it doesn’t have an end.

We will all die some day and never again be able to feel the sun shine on our faces, shielding us with warmth.

But it’s that very fact that lets us enjoy the sun for his bountiful rays.

Be here, now.

For even the sun will burn out one day and never shine again.