Sunday, September 21, 2014
Sagicorn in Tailspin (Part I)
Sagicorn in Tailspin
Having rejected the role of forward air control over the civil wars of theoreticians fought in the abstract ground of concrete and jungle conflicts he longed as much for the music and poetry to return to the world as much as free to contemplate the universe in peace.
But the order does not trust its ex-soldiers anymore than poets or those with mystical worship promoting discontent short of what chaos reinvigorates the empire if needed for the moment. They are seen in the common flow of civilization always to be contained in as measured, rationed threat.
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Part I - He Attends the Far Rock'a'bye Lectures
Between September and November, the Sagicorn looked both ways into his past and future incarnations. Between the red and blue shifts he wondered at the up and down between the infra-yellow and ultra-green.
As Olney, the SphereDream along the endless beach his sense of self integrating over time to make sense of the world as well, Sagicorn recalled a lecture at night he attended at the Hall of Natural Philosopher Saints atop the seven pavilions, the university in the center of his beloved Far Rock'a'bye.
For he had spent the day in the market square at the parades, walking casually by street vendors selling the ancient nectar of the gods fermented foams, trinkets of sparkling metal, beads of the glass bead blowers, wood carvers. He grew a little sleepy full of exotic pastries full of meat linked through time, spice and heirloom legumes, explosive tangy mustard's.
Pink and blue cotton candy, sea foam taffy, he did not have a solid sense of quantity anymore than what the clock time was- he enjoyed the old steam tractors nostalgically on display, their work like the lives of his earthly forefathers done in the sorrows and joys of their lifetimes, the symbols on their coins slight shifting designs that marked the era of each generation, some as gold plated copper, silver cut electrum, some as common aluminium tokens worked into necklaces.
The crowds of gaily dressed happy people, some of the children face painted filled the street, their paths changed, attracted to the jingle of the belly dancers or avoiding the strange scents of the exotic barnyard animals and hauntingly familiar antics of the monkeys filled him with joy for this shift of season's holiday of October Fete.
Yet, at the lectures, the unity of the all the thinkers and the world made him realize he did not need to learn the local and technical dialect within himself, and that in the endless civil wars of models he had misinterpreted outside of their clan, some of the meaning of their words. Perhaps the next incarnation and generations will think this was a good thing. Adapt their thoughts as he had done despite his cherished first ideas he kept close to his heart, despite that falling asleep at the lectures he now recalls the words that curved his paths and crushed his dreams.
The drunken poet or those possessed in some places keep respect from the villagers and fisher folk. But unlike them with statuses to guard, or wealth, the age old question if a philosopher can love a simple girl is right up there with the minstrels of Old France who brought us through healing music the myths of chivalry and romance.
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