Sui generis

You might say that we have known each other for a long time now. I do not know about time. I cannot keep track of time. And I keep even less on the track of what I know.

Does that make me peculiar? The word "peculiar" comes from the Latin peculiaris, which means "private property." And peculiaris comes from the Latin pecu, which means "cattle." Now this is peculiar: That a real living breathing creature could be pecuniary in essence, branded and labeled, claimed and marked. Yet this matter is seen as merely boring and privately proprietary. Can this really be happening? And even glibly happening. Not shamefully hidden like shrunken parts that lie in underwear, not to be touched by strangers. But in full sight, kept in mind. The egregious extraordinary poses as acceptably boring, as boring as a long life of cud chewing anesthesia could be.

For me there is no boredom, not in the bovine nor in their keepers nor slayers nor in their consumers. In this eroded grassy flat field I emerge as cryptozoologist with no track record.

No matter what you've heard, crypto- zoology is not a pseudo-science. Never mind that the International Society of Cryptozoology disbanded in 1998 due to lack of funds. Or that its Web site fell into cyber non-existence in 2005.

Cryptozoology, true to its Greek etymology, is the study of hidden animals. Perhaps you have met some of them in your travels. There is Big Foot, aka Sasquatch, the large hairy bipedal humanoid of the Pacific Northwest. Or the fishy Loch Ness Monster, or Yeti, or the Chupacabra. These creatures are called cryptids, those whose existence is suggested but not proven.

The coelacanth lives in a less rarified part of the continuum between the suggested and the proven. Some believe this fishy creature to be extinct for circa one hundred million years. But perhaps the coelacanth survived the mysterious ending of the Cretaceous period, the massive K-T extinction that might have been the tragedy of asteroid impact or of volcanic eruption. Only museums covet the possible fish whose flesh exudes oil of a foul flavor even after death.

My favorite is the okapi, used as emblem of the International Cryptozoology Society. For many years, the okapi was assumed a fiction. Even in the early 20th centur,y the okapi was never seen by white man, but only by indigenous peoples whose stories of the creature stirred both smirking laughter and a twinkling hope. In 1901, the existence of the okapi was confirmed.

She is a kind of shorter-necked giraffe with zebra leggings and a flexible blue tongue long enough to clean her eyes and the insides and outsides of her ears. And she has scent glands on her feet that release a tar like substance that marks her trail.

It may be that the search for unicorns and dragons is too much a stretch for even most cryptozoologists. But who can say with clarity and assurance where any animal falls on the continuum of probable/possible.

It is the considered scientific judgment of this pirate cryptozoologist that we animate all animals, the bad and the good, the maltreated and the pampered, the seen and the unseen. We name them into their genesis. We impute them on fleshy bodies and on shadows and on things that go bump in the night. Our cameras cannot steal the animal anima. Our mirrors cannot lure them into exorcism traps. They live inviolate, like Rorschach responses given by concrete operational children whose timing of knowing plays at heart like so many infinitely priceless motif loops. I am knowing that we are forever soundly owning each other in the communal, non-private space between us that is unknown, mysterious, untrainable. We're on the right track: No tracking demise at all.

— Rx is the FloridaW eekly muse who hopes to inspire profound mutiny in all those who care to read. Our Rx ma y be wearing a pir ate cloak of in visibility, but emanating fr om within this shado w is hope that readers will feel free to respond. Who kno ws: You may e ven inspir e the muse. Make contact if you dare.