Monthly Archives: January 2018

A Simple Soul?…

*

Bright.

Free.

Easy…

*

Or superficial?

Blissful in ignorance rather than poised,

tight-rope like, upon the very lip of uncertainty…

*

We have no words for it,

this ‘traffic jam’ of artifice

which we seem content to pursue.

*

Our infinite regress of virtuosity

is no more than a virtual virus.

*

Our end?

Yet another blind-bumper away from the real.

Still Stone-Less At-Chat…

*

“No one in their right mind believes that stones can walk.”

“Despite the fact that the Folk-Record is unequivocable on this point.”

“It is also unequivocable about stones dancing, and drinking from streams.”

“I may be able to clarify the streams. They may be underground.”

“They may even be telluric currents, but you promised.”

“That, unfortunately, is deductive reasoning for you. It was the only bit of wall we had not checked.”

“We had so checked it… last time.”

“Only from a distance and that does not count.”

*

*

As it turned out there proved to be another bit of wall we had not checked.

Also distant and too far away to consider once the snow started.

I mean, really started.

There were compensations though, like the trees and the wildlife.

*

*

“Are you sure it isn’t the Throne-Stone?”

“Not near enough to the wall and the gate.”

“But the wall is a mnenomic. Your mind could easily have contracted the distance.”

“Not the right size, or colour.”

“Like that’s not easily accounted for.”

“Maybe you’re right and I’ve discovered a new species of stone, which can walk!”

“But that would be a New-Old species of stone.”

“So perhaps it just went for a stroll, again.”

“What, in the snow?”

“…We did.”

*

Amnesia…

*

A nameless shadow flits across the face of Science.

The Theory of Evolution has not been proven.

The ‘missing links’ for each species have not come forth from the fossil record.

The constituent parts of our DNA have proven far older than the Earth itself.

They can only have come from deep, deep-space.

Yet, in one sense, we have always been here.

Each catastrophic cataclysm endured has been but a pruning.

A clarion call to new growth.

The ushering in of the previously overlooked.

Those ekers out of existence.

The unassuming, unsung, survivors.

But if our very make-up forestalls the evolutionary leap, then who, or what, makes it?

We must turn to Memory for our answer.

We all know how she works.

She, too, is a gardener.

She cuts, and she prunes, and she grafts.

She contracts, or shrinks, both time and space.

And has a mind only for the outstanding.

The memorable is, precisely, in this sense, a cut above.

And where there are gaps in the narrative of her mind?

She fills them in…

She creates… new species.

This is how ‘our’ planet…

Forgets.

 

 

Kingship II…

*

 … “We are talking ‘Divine Kingship’ here, are we not?” asks Wen.

“Possibly… Possibly, not. It is not exactly clear is it? One thing is apparent though.”

“Oh yes?”

“At this juncture in time the institution was already ancient.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“The kingly duties listed here would originally have fallen to different individuals.”

“You mean, our king has been busy usurping the functions of his ruling elite?”

“Something like that.”

“Naughty, naughty, Mr Kingship!”

“Indeed! In cases such as these we may even have to consider the introduction of terrible consequences before the break down of this venerable institution.”

“Oh, Don, you say the kindest things.”

Scribes II…

 

*

… “When in doubt,” smiles Wen, producing a battered copy of Longmans from the murky depths of her shoulder bag, and, rather too conspicuously, for my liking, clearing her throat…

Sure enough, this unwarranted live event has now started to draw the attention of some idle strays who sidle over and form a crescent around Wen as she finally gets her reading specs onto her conk and launches into the definition…

“Incantation – noun the use of spoken or sung spells as part of a magic ritual; also, a written or recited magical formula of words designed to produce a particular effect fr Latin incantus, past participle of incatare, to enchant…”

“That’s not too bad, considering,” I concede, after I have finished dragging Wen away from our audience of somewhat bemused looking spectators.

“It’s bloody brilliant,” says Wen, “and so precise!”

“A chorus, it is then.”