Raven becomes the worlds first P I

So Raven decided to become the worlds very first Private Eye, Private Dick, Private Investigator, CSI, Sleuth, Detective!

Now, I’ll tell you something you may already know. Being the very first isn’t easy. In fact, it usually sucks - as I’m certain some of you may recall, provided you were sober at the time, or if you haven’t, by some other method, erased that particular moment from your memory - as for the rest of you, you’ll understand it when you’re older. (Don't you just HATE that?)

I mean, think about it, when you’re the very first it’s a tremendous responsibility. You want to do it right. You’re setting the tone you know? the expectations for everyone who will follow. So you have to think about the succeeding generations because what you do will establish, forever, the Total Inherent Coolness Factor (henceforward TICF) of whatever “IT” is.

For eternity!

You sure as hell don’t want to “jump the shark”! No sirree! Not the first time out.

Seriously!

Do you think the first geek, nerd, dweeb, or dork, gave the matter any thought? Hmmm...?

I rest my case.

Now, for his first try, Raven magiced himself up a Calabash, loaded it with a remarkably fine Hand Rubbed Scottish Aromatic (with a little extra Latakia, for the bite), and put on a Deerstalker. (You think Sir Arthur came up with that on his own? Be serious!) And he thought to himself “How do I look?”

But there were still these two minor issues.

Firstly - Raven didn’t have a mirror.

Secondly - It was still dark!

Which meant Raven could only go with his instincts, his gut, you know?

So after a minute or two puffing away on the Calabash, (which was a kind'a pointless exercise, since he had no way to light the tobacco)...

"And why was that?" you ask.

"Why? I'll tell ya why! On account'a there wasn't No Fire yet! Remember? Jeez!"

So anyway, after puffing away on the unlit pipe for a minute or two, Raven decided that Sherlock, while brilliant, didn’t really feel like his style. Plus he couldn’t think of anyone who could play a Dr. Watson to his Sherlock.

“What about Magpie?” You ask.

Well Magpie certainly has the talent, no doubt about that. But Magpie can be such a prima donna, and then there is the whole Magpie ADHD issue, (Raven is totally focused compared to Magpie!), so Magpie was out.

There was Halibut.

Halibut has a really great look, a look that catches your attention, very British, in a sort of cubist, both eyes on the same side of the face way, (Again - You think Picasso and Braque came up with that on their own? Ha! Shows how little you know). Halibut also has the big as a barn door thing going on, but Halibut really hates to come up from the bottom of the ocean, and would certainly be a big flop on dry land.

No, no. Halibut was out.

“OK.” Raven thought, ”Who else is there?”

Maybe Walrus? Walrus might be good...

In fact, Walrus would be great! Walrus already has a great mustache, actually a brilliant mustache, a genius mustache! Shoot, give Walrus a pair of spectacles, a waistcoat, a pocket watch and a notebook, and he’d be the perfect Watson!

Well, except for one little issue...

"Issue?"

Well yes, the smell issue. Phew.

(It’s really not polite to talk about it, but, well... All Walruses have some personal hygiene issues which lead to certain, shall I say, olfactory ramifications. So always remember! It is best, when talking to a walrus, to stand upwind.)

And then there was the problem that Walrus really like to hang out with a big crowd, (like maybe a thousand plus other walruses)! No, Walrus wasn’t fond of being alone. And that was a pretty serious problem. After all, it would be hard to be Sherlock Holmes , Master Detective! with a bunch of 800 pound Walrus (Walrusses?) around.

Also, there would be a bit of difficulty when it came to taking notes, since Walrus has flippers instead of hands and fingers. In fact it’s an issue for the entire Pinniped superfamily. (Even superfamilies can have issues, you know.)

Anyway, they’re really quite sensitive about the complete absence of manual dexterity thing, so if you ever find yourself making conversation in a crowd of Walrusses, (Walri?) or any other members of the superfamily Pinnipedia, you should really try to avoid subjects like, oh, playing the piano, or speed typing, prestidigitation, or darts.

And never, ever, try to teach a Walrus card tricks.

So, I guess Sherlock Holmes is out.

The Thin Man?

No.

Miss Marple?

Never.

(Raven says he’s totally confident in his masculinity, but it is his deeply held belief that only the British can truly pull off cross dressing, as they’ve been practicing it for hundreds of years. How could he ever hope to top Shakespeare. Or Monty Python for that matter?)

Hercule Poirot?

That Dandy?

Maybe Brother Cadfael?

Brother Cadfael? Hmmm...

Cadfael was a definite possibility. He and Raven are both adventurous, and they also share a, shall I say, somewhat flexible attitude regarding what constitutes “higher authority”. And rather strong personal views about “”the letter of the law” versus “the spirit...”.

The greatest problem, however, turned out to be the complete absence of the Catholic Church.

Which, of course, meant that there were absolutely no monasteries to be found anywhere! Not just in the “eventually to be” Pacific Northwest. And furthermore, after giving the matter some additional thought, he came to the unpleasant realization that, as his personal beliefs tended towards the pantheistic, and that he, himself, might be considered, by some, to be a type of god, (though he would never make that claim personally. Unless it were to result in a really good joke), well… What can I say? That fact could lead him to putting himself to the Inquisitorial Question, which, if he answered truthfully, would inevitably lead him to finding himself guilty of heresy, and then he’d have to torture himself, and then burn himself at the stake.

And that would never do.

(He's a Raven, for chrissakes! not a fricken Phoenix!)

So things were looking really dark for Raven. He was beginning to think he'd never come up with a character that would work for him. He would never find a way to be "The Perfect Detective" for a world with no light. The Perfect Detective who could figure out a way to find the sun. And, though you might find it hard to believe, Raven was beginning to feel despondent.

Yes, that's exactly the right word.

He was starting to feel despondent.

And then it came to him in another word, the perfect word, the only word!

“Noir!”

(And Raven doesn’t even speak French!)

“Yeah!” he thought, “That’s it! Film Noir!”

(Stretch it out, you know, really long, “Fiiiiilllllllmmmm (pause) Noooiiiirrrrrrrrrr!”)

OK, ok, so it’s two words. Jeez... picky picky picky.

I bet you folks are just like the bunch that was driving Raven crazy. Always have to criticize everything! Complain, complain, complain, all - the - time! But actually use your brain to come up with a plan of action?

Nope - can't be bothered.

Actually get off your fat asses and do something about it?

Nope again!

That’s just how you are. You figure Raven will take care of it. Doesn't Raven always take care of it?

But what happens if Raven gets tired? Huh? What if Raven decides he needs a vacation. Huh? What then? What’ll you do if that happens? Huh!! Well I’ll tell you!

YOU are going to be absolutely S - O - L!

But enough editorializing. Back to the story.

Think about it! It’s Genius! Raven is Black, right? - Noir!

And there’s no light anywhere, Right? - Noir again! (OK, ok, so maybe it should be “Noir Noir”, but that’s just silly, (You people are so literal minded!)).

I tell you, it was the best idea before Der Blaue Engle, Der Dritte Mann, Sunset Boulevard, Bogy and Bacall! (And you thought I was going to say “Sliced Bread”!)….

Next! Raven P.I. starts looking for the sun!

Fiat Lux

Fiat Lux!

It will be light.

I will that there be light.

"Let there be light" is really a namby pamby translation.

Too polite, to gentle, to soft, too given to alternative, too given to other possibilities. It reads as though there might be a choice, that light really didn't have to be if it didn't want to. Or, if light just didn't feel like it that "day", G and light could sit down and have a nice discussion about it.

That is not G.

This is G.

Fiat Lux!

By Fiat.

By command, by order, by demand, I shall create something out of nothing. (re. creation ex nihilo and it's various and sundry philosophical and physical issues? Not going there right now. Another can of worms, for another days fishing.)

Well, maybe I'll open a little tiny can of wormness - if G pre-exists his creation of the universe, (which G of course, being eternal and unchanging, must), then something (G) existed prior to creation, therefore G is not creating the universe ex nihilo, but instead either out of his very substance, or by an act of pure will, or pure thought, (whatever the hell that means, your guess is as good as mine).

(On the basis of the observed results, I'd have to say that G has a problem with "pure" anything.)

Either way there is no Ex nihilo involved.

G speaks the word, and it is.

This is a very old and common idea, found in almost all early cultures. The idea or belief that words are not just symbolic of an idea, thing, action, or person - Words ARE the idea, the thing, the action, the person.

Therefore saying and doing are, for all intents and purposes, the same thing.

You're probably more familiar with this as magic - or magick, if you are fussy that way.

And which term - Magick - I use out of a strange sort of respect for poor old Aleister, who was every bit as deluded as the celibate men in cassocks and silly hats who still, to this very day, stand before the altar and chant the meaningless spell over the bread and wine, in the belief (under the delusion) that the bread and wine will be transubstantiated into the body and blood of someone called the savior, Aka, The Christ, (who has been dead to this world for about two thousand years, and is beyond ripe), which flesh must then be consumed in a public act of ritual cannibalism, so that, through another form of magic, (sympathetic) the consumer becomes one with the consumed, thereby inheriting his powers, and thereby obtaining all the rights and benefits appertaining thereto. Said benefits being more commonly known as "life everlasting" in "Heaven", where they will hang with "G", in eternal bliss

for ever and ever,

world without end,

Amen....

G knows, if the eucharist isn't ritual magick, then they ain't no such thing.

Raven flew to and fro. Part the Second

- For my own amusement purposes and to save screen space, I almost always refer to the deity as "G". It's my personal shorthand and is to be read as "Big G".

So, I was talking about the story of Raven and Noah a while back. Semi sorta examining the original source material for the biblical version of the story, which, it turns out, was lifted pretty much intact from one or more of the following:

A: The Sumerian Creation Epic, Zi-Ud-Sura and the Flood.

Found on an original clay tablet, dating to around 1,800 BCE

B: The Atrahasis Flood Story.

Again on clay tablets, dating 1,646 - 1,626 BCE

Versions A and/or B would likely be the source material (Urtext is such a pretentious word), that the ancestral Ibri would have brought along if they wandered down out of mesopotamia and into what was to become the promised land, sometime after 1,800 to 1,600 BCE. (And possibly as early as 2,000 BCE.)

Then there's

C: Utnapishtim and the Flood original version, or:

D: Utnapishtim and the Flood as related in the Epic of Gilgamesh.

Scribal identification dating it to between 1,300 - 1,000 BCE

C and/or D would be the version(s) that the hebrews would have been exposed to during the babylonian captivity, and therefore would most likely have brought back with them on their return to the promised land after Cyrus the Great repatriated them.

C and D make a lot of sense to me, as the generally accepted time period for the beginning of the assembly of the Torah/Tanakh is either during, or shortly after, the Babylonian captivity.

Now, sometimes when I'm bored and can't think of anything better to do, I will log in to aig (answers in genesis) just for the entertainment value, and to see what preposterous nonsense they're advancing today. (It usually induces feelings of amusement, outrage, intense disbelief, and despair. It's quite bracing, but I don't recommend it in large doses.) And a while back I came across a lovely paper analyzing whether the Sumerian/Akkadian/Babylonian stories actually were the source material for the story of Noah and the Flood in the book.

As aig is dedicated to advancing the belief that the book is the inerrant, revealed, word of G himself, you can guess which side the paper comes down on. There are lovely graphs, language analysis, charts, tables, etc etc etc. It looks really impressive, and the author comes to the conclusion that the fragments and clay tablets found are "not reliable". In what way they are "unreliable" I never could figure out. They're just, "unreliable". Which, of course, they would be, being that they are merely actual hard copies, dating between 1,800 to 1,000 BCE. Whereas the earliest extant copies we have of any of the old testament, date between 150 BCE to 70CE and are commonly known as the Dead Sea Scrolls. (There is a tradition that the Torah actually dates to 2,000 years before creation itself. Though what possible meaning can be ascribed to the concept of "2,000 years prior" to the beginning of everything, including, but not limited to, day and night, wet and dry, light and dark, here and there, existent and non-existent, is beyond the limited ability of my mind to grasp.)

Hmmm. Oh me of little faith.

But that's enough mind bending for the moment, now it's time for the Big Question...

Why didn’t Raven come back to the Ark, and tell Noah the scoop?

When I was in Sunday School, a thousand years ago when belief was mandatory, (Under pain of, at the very least, verbal humiliation, and/or possible corporal punishment), I was told that Raven was being disobedient (which is a sin) by not returning to the Ark.

But, looking no longer with the eyes of a child, nor thinking as a child. And with, I’m not the least sorry to say, an ever increasing distrust of received “wisdom.” I must now ask, was Raven disobedient?

or... Smart!

Let us carefully examine the situation as presented.

According to the book, Noah didn’t specifically ask Raven to return, and hey, if you could finally fly outside, breathing fresh, clean, air, would you want to return to the Ark? I mean think about it, you’ve been locked up tight, in this huge fricken boat, packed cheek by jowl with one pair each of most birds and beasties, and seven pair each of certain privileged critters, with no plumbing (and there’s not word one in the book about G turning shitting off for the duration - He’s G fer crissakes, he could do it if he wanted to) and no ventilation, for at least one hundred and fifty, and possibly well over three hundred days ! I mean seriously, can you imagine the smell?

Now, regarding the duration of the trip - the book is rather vague regarding how all the various and sundry stated elapsed times are to be dealt with, which may be why it took Bishop Usher for freakin ever to figure out that the Deity most likely created dry land on or about October 25th, 4004 BC, probably in the afternoon - about tea time perhaps? after all, G is an Englishman - and even that date is founded on more than a little guesswork, and what I consider to be an unwarranted number of questionable assumptions. So, I can read it as one hundred fifty days total, if Moses is just being repetitious (Moses? Repetitious?) or well over three hundred days, if I’m supposed to sum all the elapsed times given. There are months and days given, but I presume they’re months and days in the Pre Babylonian Exile, Hebrew Lunar Calendar, though I suppose they could be from some ancient Sumerian calendar, but trying to figure it out gives me a headache.

I’m certain someone has figured it out, but I have better things to do with my time. Like laundry. You want to know, you Google it.

Anyway - Back to the smell issue.

Imagine you are Raven; you have finally been set free from this huge, stinking, boat, (made of gopher wood!) that you’ve been locked up in for the better part of a year. A boat which is packed to the gunnels with all these eating and pooping animals. A boat with no ventilation, no plumbing, and no anti-motion sickness pills!!! Elephantses, cattles, wildebeestses, duckses, geeses, doveses, asses, horses, giraffeses, and so on, with at least two of everything! Even piggies!

(Why in the world did God say “save the pigs”?)

That is a lot of shit.

I’ll tell you something, I spent several years of my early youth in farm country, and a year in my early twenties caring for livestock. I’ve slopped hogs, I’ve milked goats, I’ve forked silage, I’ve shoveled shit, I’ve experienced the piquant olfactory ambience that can only be found downwind of a freshly manured field on a warm spring day. I’ve been downwind of a hog farm in Nebraska on a hot summer night (now that’s a smell that will stick with you for a long time, Eau de’ Squashed Skunk is Attar of Rose by comparison).

Or, for you urban types, imagine the smell of well ripened garbage, after it’s been fermenting on the sidewalks of a major city, during a mid-summer garbage strike for, oh, three or four weeks at 100+ degrees and 100% humidity.

Eeewwwwwwww!!!!!

So what would you do?

I guarantee, you'd do just like Raven, and Haul Ass out'a Dodge!

Nope. Raven wasn’t disobedient,

Raven was smart !