Friday, November 02, 2007

Night Shift

Once upon a time when we all lived in the forest...

So goes a favorite book that twists and turns people until their images - what they project - become truly what they are. And on this night, when facades fall with whispery soft tones...I remember...

I used to gather myths, used to know every hero and misstep on their path to fame - and infamy. For me, those ancient tales held kernels of truths and finding another tome made clear all that I knew. Heh...all that I knew...you see, that amuses me because I know very little, indeed, that is of use in the everyday world. Rather than an education, I gathered about me ghosts of the long-dead and their stories. I placed a veneer over the world that made it...palatable.

Arthurian tradition? Badon, I knew. Rhiannon? She bore men against her will as punishment - the torture cleaned up, I am certain, by those romantic Frenchmen. Cretien...Gwynn? Enchanted...held up one night. Poor Hypatia - brought down bloody because she knew two plus two and where the moon would rise. Yes, all these things I could relate but ask me not where that Civil War blood fell. Nor a thing about the proper place for a comma. And a percentage is still limited to slices of a pie.

Sometimes those echoes of a past far gone were deafening and modern marvels were put to good use to back them down. And sometimes ancient tortures, if the mood struck. If the moon was right. Years and years lost to that drowning out - the drowning. Even now, it is rare for those things to rise and press against the surface, to break through and come known again. Forgotten for so very long...

But once a year I give it ear. Anything can be staved off, you see. Anything. As long as you can give it time...later, later. So, the last remaining Waterford goblet and a toast to things...forgotten. Misplaced. Negated. Refused.

Olly Olly Oxen Free!

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