Mar 1, 2020
"Hershel of Ostropol came to an inn and asked for a warm meal.
The innkeeper demanded he pay in advance, and when Hershel had no
money, he told him to get out. Hershel raised himself up to his
full height, looked the innkeeper in the eye menacingly, and said
“Give me my meal, or I will do what my father did? You hear me? I
will DO WHAT MY FATHER DID!” The terrified innkeeper served the
traveller a nice warm meal. After dinner, when Hershel was calmer,
he ventured to ask exactly what Hershel’s father had done. “That is
simple,” answered Hershel. “When my father asked someone for a
meal, and they refused to give it to him – then he would go to bed
— Old Jewish folktale
May 13, 2017
Blood bubbled up from the ground in little springs. The trees were growing skulls where the fruit should be. I concluded that I was somewhere from Aztec mythology. Probably not one of the good parts.
It was neither a jungle nor a desert. More of a grassy valley with bushes and occasional trees. The sun had a face locked in a perpetual grimace. I had a vague memory that Aztec mythology was really bad.
There was a directionality to the world. I followed it. It led me up a hill strewn with rocks. I spoke the Ascending Name. Nothing happened. Okay. This was somewhere else. The usual rules didn’t apply. Things started coming back to me. The Drug Lord. Peyote. I had taken peyote. Now I was … where?"
This is a serialized story narrated by Matt Arnold with the permission of the author, Scott Alexander. The original text is here: