The Minotaur

Today is the day of freedom my friends! From now on, you can find me here, in my shop:

http://blurst.com/minotaur-china-shop/

I’m clicking my hooves in calf-like glee! Today, I am teh win0taur!

Today I leave the labyrinth, free to start my new life as an entrepreneur. It has been difficult these many months, dear readers, I cannot deny it. But thanks to good behavior, my lawyertaur, and the grace of letter-writing activist readers like you, I will at last be free. Thank you!

I have secured a business license for my new china shop (see attached) and am ready to start meeting with suppliers and dealers to complete my stock. I have my eye on a few choice locations, but have not yet finalized my decision. It’s all about hoof traffic. I know, KNOW that all I need is a chance to ply my sweet Wedgewood wares firsthand.

See you soon my darlings!

Your free friendataur,

The Minotaur

… a blog from the deep dark labyrinth of my soul

O joyous day! My copy of Bovine Pottery Fancy arrived today.

In my previous posts I’ve mentioned my love of pottery in passing. It is truly a lovely and storied art form, from its humble and practical beginnings between 30,000 and 10,000 BCE, to the sophisticated pieces that are produced today. The is a certain je ne sais quoi that a piece of art possesses only with the knowledge that it has been sculpted by firm hands from the bounties of the Earth. Whether fine porcelain made from the feldspar-derived kaolin of the East, or the ruddy terra sigillata of the Apennine peninsula, my enthusiasm for ceramic magnificence is without bound! In my esteem, however, there is no peer to the pottery of Minoan Crete.

I am certain that some will decry my preference as rank partiality for my home island. I might point out, however, that this is the same culture that chose to unjustly incarcerate me for so very long. I harbor no strong love for the prejudices of this bygone era, but the quality of the ceramics is unrivaled, the objectivity of the justice system notwithstanding. Over the course of a millennium the styles have constantly evolved, with each new iteration showcasing its own particular strengths.

Of these myriad styles, one of my personal favorites is the bold “Ayios Onouphrios Ware.” Fired with a slip containing red iron — mightiest of the elements! — these pieces oxidize to a wonderful carmine under proper kiln conditions. This sanguine tone evinces the strength that the Earth has infused the materials with, giving it the hue of her own sovereign blood.

The decorative elements found on these ceramics were also of a quality par excellence, depicting a variety of motifs. Being made by a sea-going people, some late Minoan pottery is decorated with elaborate maritime scenes, including piscine and octopodine figures. However, the greatest testament to the craftsmanship of the Minoans is without doubt the “Bull’s Head Rhyton,” a type of ceremonial vessel in the shape of a stately bull’s head! These can be found in quantity from palaces throughout Crete, a witness to the esteem in which these dignified animals are held. These are truly a people who understand the allure of the bovine form!

It’s one day to my release! I am beside myself with anticipation!!!!!1!

Your friend,

The Minotaur

… a blog from the deep dark labyrinth of my soul

Today, a story.

Some astute readers have asked: ‘why, Minotaur, O why have you been consigned to the labyrinth?’ A fair question.

I’ve been reluctant to divulge the details because…well, my story is not for the feint of beefheart, gentle readers. For the longest time I bottled up my rage, keeping minobusiness minobusiness alone. But, the time has come to tell my tale. My therapistataur thinks it will do me good, and I think that the world should know my story. For those reasons, I will plunge bravely on. But, alack! It is…difficult.

You see, my father was a bull. Cretan the Sea Bull he was called, though I am told he preferred “Carl.” Carl was no ordinary bull, that much was plain. Gifted to King Minos by the the god Poseidon, Carl was immaculate, beautiful, and white – a divine bovine. The idea was, Minos get bull, Minos sacrifice bull, Poseidon happy. How sick is that? It’s like giving a boy a puppy and then telling him to throw it off a cliff or he’ll be grounded.

One day, Carl overheard two stablemen discussing his impending sacrifice and it hit him like a holy thunderbolt: he had days to live, and his legacy would consist of standing around for a few months then being stabbed. This was a depressing prospect for an ambitious ungulate, to say the least. And so, with nothing but his wits and looks, he hit upon the idea of escape. Seduction, he knew, was his only prospect for survival. So, when the queen came near he pranced and bellowed and flexed his rippling white body. He was a handsome bull, my father, it must be said. The queen resisted his wily charms as long as she could but eventually succumbed. My father was free.

Hoof in hand, they strolled down the street. Anyone who saw THOSE two walking around knew what was going on; she a young dreamer and he a glorious white bull. It was a little suspect, to say the least. Still, none dared to tell the king, and their love remained a secret. A very naughty, open secret.

Well, you know what they say about birds, bulls, and bees. From that union sprung…me.

Fast forward 5 years and all that’s left is a confused minokid with no true place in the world and a heartbroken woman whose bull-lover has gone in search of “greener pastures.” Getting by with a single mom and helping pay bills as a kid is rough, but going to school as an awkward big-head half-man is rougher.

Then, it happened. One day I was at the grocer when someone chanced to run over my hoof with their cart. I blacked out. I wake up later that night in this labyrinth with an attorneytaur telling me that I had annihilated a centaur’s supermarket in what can only be described as a furious and horrifying Minopocalpsye. Telling them I don’t remember doing it did NOT help my case and they told me to (and I quote) “Get comfortable, chump. You’re not galloping out of here anytime soon.” Which would have been cool if I actually galloped. Ever. In my life.

That’s basically it, friends. I’ve been patiently biding my time, seeing my great therapistaur and working through the anger. In my daily exercise to keep myself calm, I maintain a pleasant and hospitable labyrinth, read great books and magazines, and exercise. I am quite a skilled axe warrior, and I direct this discipline at staying focused. And BOY do I love fine china! It’s just so wonderful, the way it reflects the room around it. It’s so clean and beautiful, yet so fragile. I identify with it, really. So hopefully you understand my decision to open my own retail outlet so I can put this incredible stuff in your hands. I think it will be good for me, and besides…I’m a retail animal. All that time helping my mom at the textile shop really put some SELL SELL SELL chops on me! I’m so excited!

I’m getting giddy so enough of my rambling…it’s now three days to my release. See you soon in the sunshine!

Your friend,

The Minotaur

[We have a special guest blogger this week: The Minotaur, sharing exclusive journal entries about his incarceration. With just days to his release, he has a lot on his mind...]

In today’s post, I will address some of the more odious aspersions that have been cast upon me and my kind.

TOP 5 MINOTAUR MISCONCEPTIONS

1. We just destroy everything

I mean, really. Come on. I get up every morning, brush my fangs and horns, put on my minotaurkini, and start my day just like anybody else. My pile of hay is well ordered, my hoofs are buffed to a rippling shine, and the bones in my cave entrance are bleached, sanded and ordered by size.  I ask you: are these the actions of a mindless beast of destruction?

2. We just destroy everything

Again, this is just false.  Sometimes I do get upset, it’s true. And when I get upset it’s probably worse than when normal half-beasts do.  But I’m seeing a therapistataur, and have been making great progress with my breathing exercises and axeplay.  It’s minotauracist to think that I am a simple creature without feelings, whose actions are guided only by a crippling destructive impulse.  In point of fact, I love fine pottery and do the occasional bit of needlepoint.  Upon my release it is my highest aspiration to overcome my racial handicap and fulfill my lifelong dream of owning and operating a china shop for discerning mythical connoisseurs.

3. We communicate only in portmanteaus

This is just not the case.  I enjoy brunch as much as the next half-human monstrosity, but it’s NOT funny to call someone with a crippling condition a “minotard” when they have to wear a government-mandated restraint collar to go shopping in public.  Or to refer to their actions as “minotarded.”

I wish I could show everyone just how much love I have in my heart; it is love enough to fill two hearts – one of a man, and one of a giant bull.  That’s two hearts worth of love.  Should you call someone with that much love a “blowvine crippletaur?” That is for you, dear reader, to decide.

4. Being halfbreeds, we like half-things

Actually, I hate Pizza Combos and those blended shampoo-conditioners.  I prefer my pizza and pretzels separate, thank you very much, and those blends neither wash nor condition adequately. I get a pasty white residue in my neckmane and my coat is left without its typical gloss and luster.

5. We can’t look up

While I do get headaches from time to time because of the imbalance between my monstrous bull cranium and frail human torso, I have a complete and unimpeded range of motion.  Well, unimpeded as long as there’s nothing within hornshot.  I have to remember not to turn my head too quickly when waiting for a bus or someone might lose an eye ;D.

[Update - added a sixth to address a recurring comment]

6. We have romantic relationships with cattle

Of course not! That is the most disgusting and perverted accusation I have ever heard! You should wash your brain out with soap for even thinking about such a thing, you terrible, judgmental person.

…

Now, if a minotaur were ever attracted to a cow, it would of course be a forgivable mistake. If the cow’s torso were somehow obscured–by a blanket or plank of wood, say–and the only things visible were a powerful pair of hind quarters and a supple, cud-chewing face with a deep and gentle gaze…well, then who wouldn’t be immediately drawn in and seduced? Who, I ask you? No one. That’s who. Just let it end there and no one’s bovine heart will break. Not like mine. My poor, lonely, heartbroken beef-heart.

That’s it for today.

It’s four days to my release.  O victorious liberation!  I can taste freedom; it is like a salt lick covered in delicious marmalade.

Your friend,

The Minotaur