Thursday, November 26th
Thanksgiving
I, myself – I cannot know that which is unknown.  The scores of days are fleeting; no recollection lights mine eyes when asked, “What did you eat as breakfast on this day a year’s past?” or “Hal, do you know not the time, nor the current year?” 
I will not speak my thoughts. 
A day slips by me, for I am old and weary, wont of vigour and a new machine between mine eyes.  Woe to me!  And woe, for that matter, woe to every creature under heaven that draws breath and calls itself man.  Thine years draw thee round, and disturb thy course such as Neptune’s mighty breath.  Yet we are no Ulysses, for there is no Madonna with child that gives courage to our hearts, nor strengthens our roots, nor causes us to flower.  For if I cannot recall last year’s porridge, and seven hundred thousand generations have passed before me, there is no knowing of the billions and billions of forgotten sentiments that went before me.  And if we cannot know how much our race has forgotten, we cannot know how little it does know.  Whether all human knowledge is but a grain of rice atop a mountain, or a flake of dust atop that grain.  To the Divine, we are so utterly incomplete, the extent of which mine eyes are too incomplete to perceive.  And the worst sentiment of all: that I perceive just so much to know this is true.
On this day I give homage to those noble pilgrims who made holocaust to the Divine on Plymouth’s height.  Waking up, my first thought was to venture from Bedroom, for the moon and stars were still queens at this hour, and taking care not to leave the trail, I followed Velvet Carpet down Three Flights of Stairs, into Marble Foyer, where my toes, even through three pairs of socks, could feel the marble’s cold bite.  Entering Cupboard, I gathered up all the food in cloth, taking care to not lay a finger upon even the humble apple, for that fruit is always the most evil, whether poisoned by witchcraft or the Devil himself.  The turkey was deep purple and had swollen twainfold, some of his neck-feathers still intact.  His finer organs, however, were worse for wear.  Both eyes had fallen out, and his abdomen ruptured by steaming maggots.  Flies buzzed.  His hot breath did not discourage me, and I was unafraid to handle the bloody meat, for I knew this bird was not poisoned.  What sane human would poison something that would never be eaten?  Something to which thou must pinch thine nostrils to come within a tenth of a league?  I have only my own genius to thank. 
Bundling up the apples in cloth and hoisting the turkey over my back, holding it by the neck, I exited Cupboard and followed the footsteps I had left in Velvet Carpet, taking care to cover my tracks behind me.  Finally, I returned to Bedroom and locked Door.  I had laid mine offerings out near Northeastern Bedpost when I realized I could start no fire to make sacrifice, for Fireplace, in Bedroom’s Southern Wall, was filled with books.  For hours, I tarried and toiled until I thought up a solution.  I opened Curtains, lifted Window, and pushed the offerings outside.  The turkey and apples fell for three stories, finally exploding on the wild lawn, where it came to rest with the bones of a dozen other turkeys and apple-sprouts that had fallen over the years.  I shut and locked Window, drew Curtains, and retreated to Prayer Corner.    

Friday, November 27th 
Black Friday
My daughter stopped by bring me a new device.  It was a peace offering, but I found no consolation in it.  I myself – the one who taught her to use a bathroom, to use a fork, to wash her hands – was no longer human to her.  She spoke to me as to a possession.  And even after all I had taught her, to possess was all she wanted.  To have and to hold, to watch and to share.  She sold her soul to the bright lights of the city, and would rather be forgotten in a million faces than take up the lonely trek to inmost calm.  She married the man from the world wide web and began a new family, of which I was not a part.  I did not look at her face.  For I knew there was nothing to behold but artificially golden hair, an artificially straightened nose, painted skin, and eyes that saw but perceived not.  It will not be long now until the governments collapse, a new ice age begins, and all sorts of pestilence will besiege the land.  This much I have predicted in my studies.  Then she will run from the city, she will run and return here, to our country manor-house, where I will fight to protect her.  That day!  Why not today!  She shakes her head.  And the door shuts.  No!  And the car grumbles, winding down the road, off the estate.  Return.
Return.     
Once again, the house was silent.  I returned to Bedroom, taking the new device she had given me, and slept.
This device, I am sure, is either the greatest good or the greatest witchcraft to feign mine eyes.  I will not say that it is precious to me, for it reeks of the city.  Seemingly nothing but a warm, vibrating notepad that nestles in my palm.  At the touch of my thumb, it alights and speaks only the word, “Nokia.”  It is encased within strong armor that cannot be removed.  At first, I observed it night and day, determined not to sleep until I discerned its function.  For countless centuries, I labored and suffered, thumbs sore from tapping, neck aching from bending, and eyes sore from the lights.  To no avail!  What an idiot am I!  Then, in the midst of my tears, the device purred.  Gripped by carnal urges, I threw it against South Wall.  Buzz.  Buzz.  The purring did not cease.  I counted to ten on all ten of mine own ten fingers.  Buzz.  Buzzzz.  I inched over to where the device lay belly-down and could see lights flashing from beneath.  I touched him.  He was very warm, although responded to no stimuli.  Buzz.  Buzzz.  In a single motion, I reached out, flipped him belly-up, and smashed South Wall with my fist.  For covering the device in bright lights was the face of my daughter, smiling at me.  Fiend!  I will not be mocked!  What kind of…to touch my skin with its warm, purring…machines?  Thou reek’st of the smoke upon which I choke, the confusion and ripping and tearing, taking my love and spitting on my face.  I will throttle thee – lo! – see mine own hands clench!  I am alone, and nothing more canst thou rob me of; even among people I am but an object, and even alone I am filled with fear and stupidity of which I ask not, for no amount of meditation can cool my fear, fear, fear, of which I ask not, not, not.  Thou also, art an object.  A scheming object without fear, and I find a worthy adversary in thee.  For I was born on the brink of a cliff between genius and madness, and yet I have not the legs to move.  I must watch others pass me by as they inevitably stop to admire the majesty of the cliff, so I will give them a push for good measure.  In the meantime, buzz well, Claudius of Nokia, for soon thou shalt buzz no more.

Friday, November 28th
Small Business Saturday
Last night, as rain pattered on Window Panes, I left Claudius on Windowsill, with designs for him to catch a sickness.  Today, I opened Window and drew him in, doing so quickly before any outsiders could see us.  Mine own hands trembled from the icy rain beads on the device’s belly.  Surely, the effect would be multiplied, left out for an entire night.  Yet I tapped the screen, and the device lit up just as before.  “Nokia,” it said.  My teeth ground, my fists curled and wrenched the life out of Southeastern Bedpost.  A more blunt execution, then.  Very well. 
I took Claudius to Bathroom and emptied Bathtub of all its books and papers.  Over the years, a coat of dust had accumulated on Bathtub, enough to turn my hand grey.  Goodbye Dante.  Goodbye Milton.  Mr. Virgil, as you are.  Squeeeeak.  At first, the faucet sputtered and coughed, pouring out brown water and a cloud of dust, but soon a steady stream was attained, and Bathtub was full.  In goes Claudius. Plop.  The lights twist and melt under the distortion of the rippled water, and when all is tranquil, he settles to the bottom and remains unchanged.  A more blunt execution, then.  Very well.
An array of torture devices – the blender, the microwave, the coffee grinder, cannot penetrate it.  Nor acids, nor any amount of thrashing and stomping.  Blast!  A fall from the top of Staircase.  A dropped brick.  An overturned bookshelf.  From a safe distance, I loosed Chandelier on it.  I buried him deep in poison apples, and then let the turkey-maggots feed on him.  Not a scratch!  I could not look anywhere and not see the fluttering papers and disturbed clouds of dust.  My possessions were strewn everywhere.  Knowing only one other route, I said a quick prayer to Hamlet and went to Garage, where I filled a bowl with kerosene and fastened a slender candlestick to the center.  Chuckling to my genius, I dropped Claudius in the bowl and fumbled to light the candle with a match.  It would be some time before the candle burned down the surface of the kerosene, which would afford me several minutes to make my escape.  With the candle smoke in my nostrils, I approached the door. 
It would not budge. 
I slapped the garage-door-opener and was met with a metallic clanking sound – Garage Door was fastened to the ground with chains.  I myself had put the chains there to defend from foreign invasion.  I myself had locked every Door to trap any intruders.  And there was the candle, burning at the same rate.  And Claudius, glowing at me.  With the flick of his wrist, he tapped the candlestick.  Claudius, I know I may have offended you… He tapped the candlestick again, and it began to lean.  No, Claudius, listen to me – I have wealth, wealth beyond measure.  I will give you anything; just be reasonable.  Claudius!  If you move that candlestick any further, it will be your death as well.  Claud – just, no, wait, Claudius!