Private versus Public

I get the sneaking suspicion that the debate is all but over these days in the West... but unless I missed something it never really started. Had a short discussion at the weekend with a friend who is a supporter if the private paradigm and decided that really we don't know either way yet.

I was just about to do a pros and cons summary of the two arguments but its not even that clear cut.

The private system is designed to raise money from the general public. The incentive is a return on that investment. As I understand it this raises money only once when shares are sold - unless there is a further share issue. Yet the dividends are paid indefinitely. I don't see reasoning behind this.

This makes especially no sense when the private banking system is designed to be able to lend out virtually unlimited cash (new Basel III rules yesterday are reinforcing limits on this at last!). Why can't companies get money the old way from banks, which are lending private money anyway?

Competition is often cited as the magic regulator of the private free market. Yet competition is universal and it exists for state contracts equally - look at defence contracts. It is true that the state is more corrupt and more likely to offer contracts based on nepotism and favour rather than "value". But again competition is universal and competition within the state - especially in a multiparty system - is just as fierce as within the "free" market (this leads I suspect to the paranoid behaviour which creates dictators). But within a democratic type system the state is answerable to the public so there is extreme competition here. I don't see how the private sector has ever had a monopoly on competition.

Efficiency. The public sector is regularly criticised for its inefficiency. I suspect it is a matter of how things are measured. Has anyone ever added up the cost in time and resources of transporting people by public transport and compared it to private transport? Does 30million people owning their own cars and driving themselves each day really compare with a few thousand trains and buses being driven by a single driver each. It must also be pointed out that a private/free-market model can't even apply by definition to national industries (despite efforts). In public health the idea that experts, machinery and information needs to be duplicated in each private health company doesn't seem as reasonable as the system in the UK where expertise, equipment, knowledge and patient records are shared across the country. That is efficiency. It is the simple (and somehow forgotten) economic principle of economy of scale.

Certain things escape the envious eyes of the private sector; in particular the government and the military. I mention regularly in this blog the smile the thought of the private paradigm trying to accomodate these brings to my face. If these are deemed successful then why can't everything else work by the same principle? The builders of tanks probably don't get many contracts outside the government so why haven't they failed for the all the reasons cited by the private sector?

The other obvious inefficiency of the private sector is the supply of money. Those with money to invest also gain the right to returns on that investment. Thus a percentage of the economy's money flow feeds into the hands of the investors. Yet we already know that they have money to invest so they are unlikely to spend this money: it is invested further. Capitalism creates a growing snowball of investment money. The economy needs to grow in order for the investors to find somewhere to invest that money, yet they have starved the economy of the sales it needed to grow. Governments put in place a taxing system that recycles money from the rich but it hasn't proved to be enough and the rich grow richer and the economy grows weaker.

Now the other great crisis is that the economy is built upon a paradigm of employment, which is ultimately how the investors make their money (in Classical thinking anyway). Yet the salaries to support labour are more expensive than machines. It is natural for economies then to replace workers with machines thus increasing profits and returns to investors. Yet with workers being made reundant the money flow once again flows into the hands of investors rather than spenders and the market shrinks actually reducing profits on the global scale. Again growth is needed to provide jobs for workers so they can be paid, so the market can be kept liquid.

Provided there is infinite growth then the private system ought to be viable. Yet in reality there are very obvious limiting factors to growth: space, energy and other raw materials. Plus there is the natural environment when it is perceived as something more than just raw materials for exploitation (which was my own entry point as a child into this argument).

So if growth must give, then investment must give and investors must have their excess money recycled through the system more efficiently. The best way that I know to do this is to cycle money through a central investor who manages investment on a national scale. This way Bernanke's helcopter runs as a daily service avoiding problems rather than just fixing them in emergencies. The welfare system for example becomes economic centre stage and a necessity rather than an ill understood backwater covering up for economic failure. The walfare system also solves the issue of machine efficiency since it redistributes the added wealth of the system to the market through people, rather than into investment.

Another thing I read all the time is that state spending has been unsustainable. The fact that the private sector just spent too much somehow escapes notice. But that is the only similarity. Public spending has created 70% of the jobs in the UK in last 10 years. Private spending seems to have only created a series of speculative price bubbles - like house prices - whilst creating only 30% of the jobs. In the current climate people think that tax is theft and buying the trapping of the private lifestyle is freedom. But for me, at least, leave the buying to the professionals - I'd rather have the transport industry decide how to manage the states' transport so that I can turn up and use it rather than have to make the decision on car, insurance, maintenance and driving all myself. And the centralised efficiency (lower cost) would free more people from having to be employed at the same time, providing another wealth: more free time. So I speculate (and it is something to investigate) that for every % our taxes increase there is a greater reduction in the amount we spend and have to earn. It seems odd to realise that things like "choice" and "freedom" are actually the noose that is starving us of exactly these things... is there a reason for that ironic feedback? One needs only be reminded that with the exception of the industrial revolution in the West (which are the only figures normally published to prove the contrary) we are working the longest hours mankind (indeed any primate) has ever worked now (9 hour/day average figure includes "work" such as transport and personal grooming).

One thing I am not sure about is how the banking system ought to work. I have argued that really lending at interest should be outlawed, but if people wish to raise capital I suppose there should be a way to do it. The obvious way is to have the government as the lender. They have the countries taxes at their disposal and as we have seen they are indeed still the lender of last resort when capitalism fails (as it seems to recurrently do). So why do we have a private banking system at all? Why in a democratic country do our elected leaders have to ask permission from unelected banking magnates to borrow money? Actually how on earth did a handful of unelected people gain the right to write almost infinite cheques out of thin air? Indeed why in a democratic country do unelected people control government at all? This as a side issue is one major problem with capitalism by itself (altho many say it is a problem of that species called corporate capitalism only). It seems that putting lending under the control of the electorate (since it is them who ultimately underwrite lending) is essential. But there are problems with handing such enormous power to leaders as there is a tendency for them to buy favour with the people by creating unservicable debts... but actually this doesn't work cos we vote them out as we just did with Gordon Brown... something we can't do with the banking sector... so the argument for private banking seems far from on any solid ground.

All that said and I hope not militantly for either side, it stuns me (to the point of inaction) why the economic policies seem to always head in the opposite direction... even the mind set of the non-capitalist class seems to accept their fate and points in the opposite direction!

I can only understand that it is psychology that drives this. I believe that people don't like working. If they did they why do people struggle to become rich so they can pay other people to do things for them? Given this simple insight the psychology is simple. Investors are seeking a free ride by getting an income without doing any work - essentially they are buying people in a company and taking a percentage of their productivity. The workers on the other hand who work only because they have to, and deep down resent that fact, vent their anger on anyone who gets a free ride. It is down to packaging that investors aren't seen as free-loaders while people on the dole are. It might also be down to the old class system where an upper class person, while resented, it understood to deserve an easy life unlike a lower class person isn't. Since the investors and owners of companies (especially the media) get to control the image they have and also the policies of the governments it is no suprise that the system is bent in favour of them - evn while in the long run this attitude will be the ruin of everyone because it simply doesn't work. Greed doesn't pay - if it hasn't been said before I say it here.

The answer
In answer to this I have my book Anura still waiting inception. Within myself I know the consciencious attitude which takes plasure in helping other people and trying to make things better. I believe we all have this and at some stage we decide that while we don't like work, the reward of making the world a better place is a far deeper pleasure. This is a spiritual transformation. Once that transformation is made we are on the road to the greatest riches - but they are not material and can't be bought and sold. Inner peace, tranquility and happiness is something we can't buy or sell - it is ironically a private quest but it is gained through entirely public endeavours. We can and mostly do work for the welfare of our fellow people; money is actually the least of our interests required only to service the lifestyle that enables us to live well with our fellows.

The great fear of the above system that has been instilled in us throughout the bourgeoise era is that without strong social control we would return to a "state of nature" where our lives would be "nasy, brutish and short" (Hobbes 1651). Running from this image brought to the popular imagination in Lord of the Flies (William Golding 1954) we accept the rigorous establishment without question. In particular the structure of capitalist employment, salary, shopping, private ownership. But these are on a path to failure if the above analysis is correct, and an alternative is required. Apocalyptic images courtesy of the state of nature and also the Aryan religions - who believe in a final great apocalypse of ragnarok - fill our minds when we think of anything other than this. Lots of films like Madmax portray this common belief. Yet a simple argument somewhat undermines this thought. If humans really are based on evil and are unable to do good then how did this system we have now evolve? There are forces at work that bring humans together outside of establishment and social structures (this is SRH btw).

Certainly there are aberrations and illnesses of our species. People become violent (Desmond Morris has an interesting take on this with his "Human Zoo" concept linking the types of abnormal behaviour seen in zoos to those in human society). Societies become violent also as we have been in Iraq and Afghanistan. But these are the exceptions rather than the rule and the vast majority of human interactions are friendly and supportive (viz the Christmas football game between the trenchs of WW1). If there is research to be done it is not on how humans become supportive and good but simply to find out how conflicts and destructive behaviours arise.

Now the problem of how society would organise itself outside of "labour" and "shopping" becomes more addressable. We know already that humans can have enormous fun outside of the labour system because the aristocrats of the previous economic system showed us. All this "work" done by them needs to be dug up again because I believe the wrong side won the revolution and the working class should have become aristocrats (in stages as machines took their jobs) rather than the aristocrats become workers. Big mistake in Marxism there, and a spilling over of the negative sentiment mentioned above that ultimately poisoned the workers and society.

Education, politics, art, sport are just a few of the endeavours that humans have done and lauded in the past. Aristotle even argues that free-time is essential for a democratic political system because how can we make intelligent choices without considerable time in education and discussion of the choices available. There is perhaps a critical mass where once free-time has increased to a certain level it is self supporting because we have more time to make sensible choices about our future and create even more free time. Certainly historically the increases in technological efficiency brought about by free-time have generated whole classes (priests, rulers) based upon freedom from labour.

I don't accept there is an Orwellian conspiracy to do the opposite it is just an unfortunate outcome of greed that the investment classes seek more investment without actually thinking out what they are investing in and how it can possibly exist, and then a simple self-justifying attitude portayed in the public consciousness.

The selling of the state services by Thatcher in the UK seems non-sensical to me, especially the low price that they were sold at. It is pointed out by Walayat that this was most probably to get everyone excited about capitalism because of the huge gains made by the first investors. Of course no-one notices that those gains were made at our own expense (losses that continue to be felt today as the price of services continues it inexorable rise). Another case of the money of the masses falling into the pockets of the few - like a mass lottery we all play along because we might be the next lucky ones. It is remarkable how short sited we are and how the state can use that narrow-mindedness against us. We will steal a pound from the state because everyone only loses a penny.

So there is a very clear path open to us it is just in the opposite direction to where we are going. But my purpose here wasn't to change anything - if we want a ragnarok then so be it - it was just to reopen the debate that no-one seems to be having anymore.

Agora - Who is God anyway?

Just watched the film Agora about Alexandria and Hypatia. Hard to take sides in this film because while Cyril (terrible name for the baddy) is clearly crazy for power I seem to have taken sides against natural science over the years and see Hypatia's philosophical musings as interesting but no longer of fundamental importance. They cannot explain themselves, they do not deal with the SRH, and so are only relative. Shame that the good name of God got so rubbished in this film. Good film tho, like the dialogue (rare these days), and enough attention to ancient detail to make it believable + it was intelligently made.

So it got me thinking about the problem with Christians (and Moslems) and Pagans: all three of which had their hand over the centuries destroying the knowledge in the library...

and also my story "Alexandria" which is supposed to be a suggestion that behind the scenes this "random" destruction was not no random after all and the books that were saved were "chosen" very carefully (like Plato) because they supported a fixed world view like that of our modern world with fixed rules and truths, and the pre-socratic texts like Heraclitus were deliberately ignored because they argue for flux and eternal change which would challenge the building of a unified dogma (tho Heraclitus didn't challenge the state). I mean really why was Socrates killed? I can't see Hypatia rescuing Plato. Why did so much of his stuff survive and why is it almost opposite to Socrates teaching? There were about 3 major ancient libraries why do we experience the same loss of ancient texts from these to? But I'm wondering more and more whether this is ever a feasible plot line, even if it is just a genealogical device.

Anyway problem with Christians...

Exodus 20 gives us everything we need to know about Yahweh

Yahwey clearly says that "You shall have no other gods before me."[3] It's obvious not that there are no other gods, but rather that there are and He ain't gonna tolerate them being put before Him.

And he beats that point home by describing Himself as a "jealous God" [4]. I learned all that as a child but never really thought about what jealous meant until I had a jealous girlfriend. Yahweh had a lot of problems with the Jews because they had a few gods going around and he was stamping his supreme authority on them at the time... he don't tolerate competition. But that says there are other gods.

Jews and Christians know there are other gods, Mammon being one that both Christians and Jews do worship alongside Yahweh even today.

So when Christians go evangelising it is not to say that there are not other gods, but that their God is better. This is accurately how the bible and history books seem to go. Herodotus describes the meeting of Caesar with a Germanic tribe and as soon as they saw how powerful Yahweh was they kicked over the wooded stump they worshipped and converted over night. The Ephesians converted equally quickly after St Paul etc etc.

But what of someone who is not persuaded by the power of God? Who decides that their god is more powerful. Well what Yahweh says only applies to those who take Yahweh as their God. It makes no sense for Yahweh to say put me first above other gods if you don't already do this. Its a reminder to the faithful but falls on deaf ears to the non faithful.

The observation I made a while ago was that ALL gods (without exception) call upon their faithful to worship only them. Such a situation doesn't however mean that there is only one god (which is clear from the text above) and doesn't mean that everyone has to worship the same god (which is less clear).

This is the established view in the Indian region. People are free to chose their god, but once they have chosen they understand to devote their lives to their god. Without 110% devotion it is universally recognised that your worship means nothing. It is the 110% devotion that is the key point, the point I believe that Yahweh is talking about, not the fact that it is Yahweh saying it! The Christ says the same thing.

This is the main problem with Christian (and Muslim) thinking - it is subtle but a catastrophic mistake to make and so much energy gets wasted worrying about making God the only one rather than just getting on worshipping Him. I mean if you really think that people will be helped by believing in your god rather than theirs then help them by persuading them - but if they remain unmoved then just forget about them and let them be damned rather than do something that will damn you... and wipe the sand from your shoes as you leave town as Jesus said. If people really want a fight then go to the football stands on a Saturday night and try to persuade the opposition team to support your team - its equally pointless - and if religion descends to this level the you know its not about God any more anyway and everyone is going to Hell.

Another obvious problem is that as we develop our faith who we worship changes! It might have been a fluffy bearded man when we were a kid and now it's a sophisticated silent presence but as I try to point out daily in this blog God is beyond anything we can begin to think (even that description I just gave). So quite what we have faith in, and who our god is is actually a mystery to anyone who is really faithful always. If we ever think we know God then we are being tricked by the devil! To criticise some people for worshipping statues is like kicking a child over as they pray at their bed side because they don't have a sophisticated enough view of God - it is hypocritical in the extreme. To kick someone because their god has 6 arms, or is not allowed a statue, or hangs on a cross, or is a pile of mud, or a penis, or a tree is just missing the point. It is after all about 110% devotion and the tree worshipper can do that just as well as the most learned and pious Muslim.

Macro Stories

OK I never get down to writing any of my stories... so I'm going to do better than Borges and write them, but shall start with a full over view story and then expand each part like a fractal.

The Lamp
=======

Desert (research Jin). Wishes. Wish 1. To see where the Jin come from. Transported to Magical land. Bliss world. Second wish to find out how it works. Slave World. Third wish. The over throw of the Rich and the turning of the whole world to slave hell.

Hidden moral of story - the slave rebellion actual condemned everyone to the slave model of life - rather than the gradual evolution of everyone to the bliss model of life through technology. Allegories are obnoxious when they spell out their meaning - as in why didn't you just write a monologue on the subject - so the meaning is just the inspiration; it's not why it was written. It is a story!

Riswey visits Dublin

I cannot believe how cryptic this is! By good fortune 1999 it turned out that both “My Muse” and I were planning independently to go to Dublin for St Patricks day. It seemed the perfect place to meet up, give her her birthday present and complete what had remained unsaid for a whole year (she was still with her boyfriend but may be just desperation or a sense that it was ending made me change my approach). The issue of being in love without a word of it ever having been said remained and I believed that true love would never need to be spoken because a true flower is what it is whether you name it or not (to paraphrase less poetically Shakespere ;-). Thinking about this and having re-read the text it seems to remain true that, while impractical, a love which has been declared and officialised in words cannot be “true”… “I Love You“ is the greatest lie we ever speak because while we may be motivated to say such a thing by love such an utterance is not love and speaks of no such thing. Isn’t silence the true voice of love? Looking into a girl’s eyes, every time I know it is. Anyway I decided to break my silence but in silence so I wrote this as a follow up to the “Book of Seven Stories” the month before.

Even had she gone to Dublin I doubt in reflection she would have gone to the Ha’penny bridge at midnight as I remember being the meeting message – at least in this version of the play it is not obvious. On the plane over I read a letter that had arrived that morning explaining a change of plan – that was the end for me destiny had abandoned me and the heart ache was complete.

Also, I cannot believe how bad my dialogues are – this is a weakness I have to strengthen before I ever write for real. The rhyming couplets are quite juvenile as well; can’t remember what I was thinking. I knew nothing of iambic meters or anything and this is just a brute force attempt at copying Shakespere. Not too bad but misses the technical details. I only know this because I’ve come to tutor GCSE English this year (for which I got a U at o-level!!!) and have had to learn it ALL!

Kind of obvious but maybe cryptic names of Irish writers here: James Joyce, Oscar Wilde, Jonathan Swift, Yeats

Walk J.J., and read the streets, which boast
Names none more wilde and swift
Than when they ask whY he eats:

p.s. bridges = passage over water. Water = emotions, time, mortality, difficulty, separation. Meeting on a bridge is meeting between worlds and times… this is the kind of constellation of ideas I think I meant.

================================================================================

That we mortals do become poised on the bridge of indecision,
Reflecting on the waters of our dreams and memories below,
Should carry no odds with the reading eye; for this is the bridge of Stories,
And o’er mighty Time it flow.

ACT 1
SCENE 1 – Unlit room in early morning.

Ris. Oh my dear Imia.
If only it were that my words were as lucid as the starlight in yonder frame,
Which o'er remoteness so great as to quake mere mortal mind,
Still she hath impressed mine eyes so certainly
With the impassioned song of that fervent heavenly creature.
If only it were that shadow's mischief I could tame:
Find these words that quell, naturally as spring-water on my lips
A channel in which to run, a dew upon morning gossamer come,
A freedom for the dove of a heart's intricate construction.
But alas, poor fortune! I strain against the hidden canvas
As the seas lapping waves do roll upon silence shores:

For I am before the meter of the world, and in that I am every man.
Damn these words which do taint me most horribly:
What foreign food can there be in my mouth, which
With such nourishment, poisons so sweetly?
Silence I hesitate not! You are a friend I have not recognised:
Yet now come the twist; today you ally with mine enemy!
Sorry-day it is when I am supposed at odds with brethren
Now that our country Atlar is torn by war.
Imia, there was no midnight toll in the land between Miou and Amindor -
Fickle time he serves only History -
And our ancestral quarrel is now our own
Come from the waters on which this world stands
To turn back the clocks and cast silence between lands
Now that words between friends means death.
Speak Silence! Why so forsake me?
Why leave me alone in this terrible night?

SCENE II – On wooden steps of a house.

Imia.    Solis, Your cheerful gaiety this morning sweetens my sorrow
Each day, you rise and fall to be just as bold in the morrow
But your light today alas, has cast a fearful new shadow,

There are not one to pass through, but two skies for you now.
And it is as though your face is doubled
And your hidden light falls on memories troubled.
You remember once childhood days found Riswey's seat by my side:
We are still friends, and I know he still watches your mornings rise
And I am so happy that to another soon I am to be married;
But now I have a pained thought: A separation for life?
No sign in earthly form is there now between us
But we are free still to think of each:
And as friends? that they cannot deprive us:
Are yesterday's ways still within our reach?
Oh Riswey! No! Look! where have you gone?
Life! Life, blood and bone! They are one!
Land without war or bloodshed? There is none!
Love without flesh! It is words without breath - alone.
Now there is war between these lands
Silence fallen, no pen, command only your hands!
Animal! strain your sinews and muscular limbs
Life has always lived in the light of our sins.
How can you be gone my fool, if you were never here?
How do you think the separation of war, if you were never near?

ACT II
SCENE I – Meeting in suburban street.

Will.    How now Riswey, why your wistful countenance?
Be cheery today for I did certainly spy spring dancing
Through the cherry blossoms and doves courting,
And my path along the daffodils of the green
Was checked by a hare -
Who had the most distinct air of madness,
And if pushed I would say the fair mademoiselle Roche
Had designs for your family name.
Ris.    William why speak of marriage and public display,
Privately my heart is bleeding in such taught disarray.
And I would give the world, for me, this not to say
But I fear most horrid fate, that I have lost a friend today!
    Will.    Pray you do not bear ill news of Pierre or his battalions
Who have fought to see this very day.
And, you to be called to join the fight?
What greater honour could they pay.
Ris.    William, Tell me: what is there in knowing?
When 'now' leaves? Knowing is king,
How pointless! such words befriend a thing.
As friend I know you, your name, your face
Know that we have shared both time and place.
Roll the die! see what changes
Before the words come the pages
Of a city of ten thousand stories.
We turn the corner, we turn the page.
I ask you, immediately, what colour the sky?
'Tis blue and no mistake. Now look with thy eye!
I would have the sky no other way
'Tis truly perfect as she looks today.
She is as a friend I know.
    Will.    Riswey thou art in love?
    Ris.    Beneath summer trees moss and grasses grow
To make tender cushion and soft pillow,
And on the meadow breeze sweet scents come
- O'er a brook absorbed in song, never sung -
To play kiss-chase with the leaves
Translucent, and glowing with summer sun;
As these, her face is radiant.
And where she stands the ground bows down   
On golden sunbeams she walks without a sound
And as the night entwines the moon so curles her raven hair
Around a smile borne only by the spirits of the air,
And around her teeth silent snow-falls, even whiter
Each sound the first exquisite from beauties writer
And was the evening dew ever so soft as her lips,
Or her skin: rich partner to gold; complexion of petal;
And her nose of softest proportion most gentle:
Oh her eyes, in whose sparkle shines the cosmos
No less! she is a child of the stars
For she surely hath been blessed by the moon,
And where Amrit mere mortals rejoice even to touch
She has been bathed and upon it excess been drunk.
Like armies she has stormed the plains of my heart
But ne'er in grace would she and water nymphs be apart.
I remember, as always has its way, when days were young,
Upon desert beaches naked in the freedom of this sun
Caressed and chased by sea-forest scents and laughter tears
As we played under skies that burned out our years.
In words, never she speaks: and hear? I simply understand,
For I am happy to be by her side, for a moment her man.
Oh how I wish it to be yes: Do I speak of a friend?
But if no then apart we must stay, forever 'till the end.
Oh what cruel devices play with our hearts?
I once thought man were the wolf and love the child
Oh no! It is I who is scared and runs in the wild.
Love is a book we can't put down:
Freedom submit chained, whipped till you can utter no sound
Or hide as Love shakes the earth to which our mortal root is bound
And although Heaven be so close and in our grasp
What tragedy when it is death to which we clasp.
Now that there is war and death has finally come
Reason sees clearly my choice of Heaven or Freedom:
But choice is freedom! And Wo! Death you have already won.
    Will.    Riswey we are but actors in the Almighty’s design
We have no sway in our hearts fortune or rhyme
But I know what's best for you as for any man!
I am travelling with friends to an Island off Atlar's coast,
Where celebrate my people a great festival of good host.
For a week we can forget all that is here at home
Join us in an ancient land, my guest, you are welcome.

SCENE II – In a Park

    Imia.    Katrin, I am at a loss as to where she escapes winter,
But as though nature was only sleeping
She is out merrily busying herself today.
Like the morning that follows the virgin night
I swear she is with renewed vitality,
And so joyfully unashamed is she in her one intent.
Either Eros has spilled his store of arrows
Or whichever God breeds sobriety he is terribly drunk,
But from the trees around the croaking lakes
To the birds gathering twigs in the skies
Without ceremony, ever creature I would say
Was in love: nothing more simple or ordinary.
I am envious. If only it were so plain.
That nature chooses silence: that is her key!
But one wonders how any creature does know
That the amorous eye is upon them.
Katrin? Has Love ever declared himself to you?
    Kat.    By my own mouth Imia, I am not sure,
But through other's lips! More often than the Fall.
    Imia.    Then you believe in Love.
    Kat.    How empty a temple when the altar is gone
Or lifeless night-seas without moon above.
What is life without a heart?
And what be a heart without Love?
But to rashly answer so old a riddle I would be a fool.
Only the bravest may call themselves fools
And Love is certainly game for only the very bravest.
So send me folly 'till I make only sense and then I say:
I know not my love, but yes I believe in him.
    Imia.    And if I were to say your words had the ring of truth
Then the flutter of Apollo, for Eros I might mistake.
Let us rejoice that the greatest folly will never be sane
And in madness speak of things words do not forsake.
    Kat.    It has come to my ears that if we are careful
We can steal away from this war and join friends
In freedom on a misty island where it is said
The people pray for nothing but beer and love.
But we should be quick, for soon I hear there is a festival
And there I fancy Baccus, to be sure at his most majestical.

ACT III
SCENE I – On large ship

    Kat.    Imia! Come quick! Come brace the bow wind.
Is there nothing more ecstatic, more absorbing
Than in feeling the sea's course hands through ones hair
Feeling! I think fighting through one's clothes.
Liberty! I should become naked and give myself away,
My dolphin-body enter the foaming wake
Swim with love, a merman into the depths to make.

    Imia.    Katrin! Look! Is that the city to where we head,
That flock of twinkling stars descended to bed?
Oh how peaceful the land in that great valley
And the mountains watching around: serenity.
Already I smell the fires burning in the woodlands
And hear the drunken laughter in the streets
And the stories of strangers surrounding me
As the city breathes long to speak.

Stra-    And no better place to hear stories.
-nger.    Find a street whose secrets,
Do not die into the night -
But on the breath of a thousand tales:
Feel the Celtic spirit; its strength is here;
Tread well, and know ones foot print
Falls into those of five millennia or more.
In these ancient mountains the Gods have fought,
Here, upon these plains, kingdoms wrought;
Do you smell insurrections gunpowder?
See! a dark lonely gaol: Kilmainham 1916.
Into a candles light a man is thrown
To be married. At dawn a widow is sown –
He was fighting his last stand
In the post office of wide O’Connells Street.
See a 1000 years rise in Christ Church towers
And see the fallen castle, and Royal Crown Jewels
Gone to make a mystery still complete.
Walk J.J., and read the streets, which boast
Names none more wilde and swift
Than when they ask whY he eats:
But this be just the stage
So I bid thee ladies farewell,
To come write on this islands page.

SCENE II – Both dialogues concurrently in various separate streets.

Dialogue 1 
  Adam. The evening is running out!
What say we make haste to Temple Bar
Meet the others and there forget tomorrow!

  Ris: Forget tomorrow?
I have forgotten today!
‘Tis the thirteenth, nay? The day we arrived
And already I feel in the cities sway.

  Will: That’ll be the ale Riswey!
  Ris:  Speak for yourself!
If you think that’s us done for tonight
I proclaim to this city, I’m only begun!
Let me at it! Let me sacrifice myself in Temple Bar!

  Adam:  I can second that Hurrah!
I spy the lights of the Liffey Bridge
Watch out beer and women
In my pants I feel a twitch!
  Will.  Adam ! Have no fear, somewhere
There’s bound to be a toilet up here!
  Adam.  Amusant! Give this a try:
Your round quadruple whisky.

  Ris: Go on ahead, mine’s a Stout:
Leave me here silent a moment
To stand upon this iron bridge
And watch the crescent moon
Sail her face upon the river.
That I might hear time, free
In this quite different land
To sing her midnight song.

Dialogue 2
Anna. I fear that Davey Byrne’s will come
To claim me tonight less we move on.
Let us find new sites,
New music, drink and men to merry ourselves!

Imia. I am drunk! and wish to dizzy myself
More! to the tireless jigs that
Flit and dance these city street;
Grafton Street we’ll take a gambolling stroll,
See what delights come and excite our soul!

Kat. Anytime! anywhere!
That is where we are!
Before that splendid custom house
Whose reflection admires it so;
I am a queen and this my Queendom.
My ladies, usher me along my river
That I may explore my freedom.

  Anna. With what majesty my mind and that
bridge do greet
It looks as a place where strangers might meet,
Its crescent lights…
A necklace upon the night!
Till another day my Ha’penny bridge
Come girls to these streets, I care not which.

  Kat:  Where now Anna is Imia?

Imia: Riswey?

Book Seven Stories VI

VI.

One day while musing around his palace quarters, at the bottom of a large trunk, Riswey found a dusty satchel. He recognised it as the satchel he had brought with him and remembered the book inside that the storyteller had given him. He pulled the leather bundle out and unwrapped the book. He took it to a window to examine it and remembered the storyteller telling him that not all the pages had been torn out. It still contained the seventh story. He carefully opened the cover and there still in its binding was a single page mottled with age. It was blank, there was nothing on it at all. Looking out of the window at the rolling fields and ornamental laked gardens of the palace Riswey realised that today was his last day, the books spell was at an end. He went to the quarters of the court storyteller and when the storyteller saw the book in his hand he looked down and said “I know, I was expecting this one day. It has been good to know you Riswey, farewell my friend.” And they shook hands.

“Farewell story-teller. Now I must break the unhappy news to the royal family. I wish I could explain to the princess that we will always be together.”

As Riswey kissed the princess goodbye, slung the satchel over his shoulder, and walked down the slopes from the palace to the forest he suddenly saw behind a tree a familiar dancing point of light and he knew that soon he would be home. The light led a different way to that which he had come, around a village and down to a gorge crossed by a rope bridge. He crossed the bridge and on the other side he saw an old woman carrying a bundle of sticks. He sat down to rest watching her, studying the stories in the deep lines in her face. She stopped before the bridge and with a smile said to Riswey “Well aren’t you going to give me a hand then”. Riswey jumped up and took the bundle across for her. “That has made my life easier” she said “Thank you”. The light led back through the forest for a long while and eventually tired, Riswey took a rest. When he came to his feet the light was far ahead and he jogged to catch up. Gradually more and more lights appeared and then Riswey saw a sunlit break in the trees. This was the edge of the forest and he could just see a figure in the sun looking for something on the ground. Running out of the shadows he saw his close friend Imia. “Imia”, he shouted.

“Riswey! Riswey! Its you! Where have you been?” she celebrated hugging him “We all thought you were dead.”

“Well thank you! No I’m still here. How long have I been gone?”

“A year and six days. It’s the spring festival tomorrow.”

“I can’t believe it I’m so sorry. How are Mum and Pa?”

“They’ve not been the same since you didn’t come back. I can’t believe at last its you. Where have you been? I thought you might have got some grand job and would come back to the village rich to rescue me!”

“Not quite. It’s a long story. What were you looking for?”

“Oh it’s silly. Last year I bought you for the spring festival, a friendship amulet from Miou. Unfortunately it broke in half on the way home. I suddenly remembered again this year and thought I’d have a look for it.”

“You mean”, Riswey fished into his pocket “you mean you were looking for this?” He produced the amulet.

“Yes. Where did you get it?”

“I found it here last year. That’s why I went into the forest - looking for the other half”

“Oh Riswey you idiot, you always were a dreamer. Only you would think to look for it in the forest. I had it all the time. Oh well a year late, here’s your Spring Festival present. Sorry it’s broken.”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t think it’s broken.”, he looked at it cherishingly.

“And for my present! Riswey! Huh?”

“Do you have a pen Imia”

“Yes. Here.”

Riswey pulled out the storybook opened it and went to write something but changed his mind. “Here this is for you. Open it tomorrow.” He hugged Imia again “I must go and see my parents now. Are you doing anything later?”

Story V

Book Seven Stories V

 

V.

Deep in the forest there meditated a spiritual man who people called Balu. He was the object of many stories and the object of some ridicule. He sat before a pile of diamonds his only possessions but they were safe: Balu was supposed to be in a challenge from Death that if he could resist taking the diamonds for Ever then they would be his in Eternity.

Through sun, wind and rain the man sat motionless under the birdsong tree. Indeed he had forgotten what it was to move, and he had not spoken for so long that he no longer rehearsed lines in silence, his thoughts were free as the wind, and before him always, forever so long as he did not move, lay the diamonds.

One day a large drab bird, rare in those parts, descended into the glade. It wandered up to the pile of diamonds, tilted its head at Balu and watched his reaction as it picked off one of the stones; there it stayed playing with the diamond unable to work out what to do until it died. Staring deep into the shiny mirror world of the diamond Balu saw the bird shattered into a hundred, and in the bird’s two eyes the diamond twice. Balu was so struck at how senseless the bird had been that he began to think and then he began to remember. There had once been a man called Elrus who had lost a loved one in a glade very much like this, and as she departed her tears fell as diamonds. Her sorrow was immortal like the diamond for she had been an immortal. Elrus had not realised this; his sorrow had been mortal and he too had been mortal. But as the story went he had not tasted the Demon’s temptation, for he knew the demon well. A man by the name of Waylan a great warrior had been on the same quest as Elrus for he had learned to trust himself in the face of illusion but he had been no match for the Lord Demon, Death. And Waylan himself had been on the run from a great foolishness, like a man before him Boren who having won a princess’s hand in marriage had forgotten that the ring she wore meant nothing without her having won him too.

And before them came a stranger, a great story teller who saved a kingdom from the spell of a book of seven stories. The man sitting in that glade began to realise as he remembered that he might be each and all of these men separated as they were in their own stories and lives, for he was a part of their great wisdom. But the great-story was not complete the five horned beast was still unbeaten and Elrus’ sorrow was now his own.

Without warning Death, the Lord Demon, landed in the glade like an earthquake. Balu remained unperturbed and kept meditating on the diamonds.

“Balu!!! If you do not stand and fight, I will strike you down” the Demon roared tearing away trees

with his enraged voice.

“You are indeed free to chose the end of the characters in stories but you cannot stop storytelling Diablo”.

“But this will not save YOU Balu”, and Death stomped around shaking the mountains and the skies,

“See I am the destroyer of worlds. Who are you?”

“Death I am not a mortal now. If I were you would visit me as the grave, as the end of the story, but not as Death. I can see you. I can see that we are all suckers for your charms. I can see that you take us apart, separate us, bring friends, families and lovers to tears, end kingdoms and end stories. But if we were not apart in the beginning how could we ever be together, and for that we depend. I am Balu. And if you try and kill me, indeed because you kill me, I can be Elrus. I have been. You say impossible, you cast these stories into flames, and I am Riswey, the storyteller. I am but an incarnation of the universal immortal being and you depend upon that to play your games with my incarnations. Who do you wish to fight?”

The Demon stopped, leant over and touched Balu on the forehead. “The diamonds are yours”, he said smiling and then he turned and walked away.

In the silence Balu’s heart rejoiced; for Elrus in the incarnation of Balu was no longer separated from his goddess, indeed they had always been united and he had known this; Waylan in the incarnation of Balu had never been in danger from the Lord Demon; Boren in the incarnation of Balu, was married to all his women; and Riswey was the incarnation of Balu.

Story IV | Story VI

Book Seven Stories IV

 

IV.

There came into the most peaceful glade in the whole forest a wise man in search of eternal happiness. His name was Elrus.

Leaving his horse to graze on the moist grass he went to sit under a birdsong tree to watch its leaves playing in the sunlight, sunbeams streaming through a hazy pollen breeze, awash within the sea of sweet fragrance that lapped his senses. So peaceful was he that a passing goddess thinking him an immortal graced his presence in human form. She came and sat beside him, her long slender legs drawn up in a loose embrace; her long hair cascading down her back and over her delicate shoulders and breasts. The world was eclipsed; as the moon ripples dark waters Elrus’ mind was filled with the spirits of the sultry night and as his head fatefully turned he fell into the illumination of her eternal gaze. Like the waterfall filled by its river the windows of his heart were flung open and he breathed as if for the first time, his whole life within that grasp, buoyant in that one moment. They were transfixed, inseparable, he in her eyes and she in his. The birds usually in tireless chatter and game stopped their play to watch and as the birdsong tree came into its glorious blossom the animals and spirits of the forest came to settle in the stillness of the couple. So unbreakable was their bond that soon even neglected old-man Time respectfully departed the glade.

They would have remained for eternity but the great demon of the cosmos had become jealous, no mortal dare not fear him. The sky began to cloud and darken and a great chill wind began to blow in. As a thick fog rolled into the glade the animals of the forest fled terrified and the leaves of the trees turned and decayed and the white blossoms of the birdsong tree began to fall, showering upon the couple. A petal settled upon the goddess’s long eyelashes and disturbed Elrus. He could hear his horse braying terrified and it troubled him. Breaking his gaze the sky with split with a tremendous crack and the Lord Demon with five horns upon his head appeared in the glade. Elrus picked up the goddess and ran to his horse. They tried to escape but the demon was in front of them. The horse reared and they were dismounted. Taking his sword Elrus ran back into the glade with the goddess. “Stay close to me, we will be safe.” Elrus ordered. Elrus did not know she was immortal, and knowing it would make her mortal to disclose the fact, the goddess implored Elrus, “Please! I have a secret that I cannot tell you. You must believe me. I will be safe. You need only save yourself.” “I would gladly die for you my beauty, and I cannot conceive of living without you. If you should die I will die too.” A tear rolled down the goddess cheek as she looked at him pleadingly. “Please.”

Elrus turned to the Demon and launched an attack toward him but the Demon simply re-appeared behind him grabbing the goddess and standing between them. “Elrus your energies are wasted, give-in to me” taunted the Demon, “On the contrary Demon,”, replied Elrus defiantly “keep beauty and you are finished, save yourself and you lose her” and Elrus lunged at the Demon who reappeared behind him. “See we are together again” Elrus triumphed, “And you are vulnerable again” added the Demon “I am Death, fight or die you will never be together”.

As Elrus became more and more exhausted the goddess unable to bearing his torment anymore ran toward the Demon in surrender. In his clutches she looked back at Elrus tearful, shaking her head.

“You have only one chance Elrus”, the Demon argued impatiently, “I know you have never touched

her. Come! Give in to me and end your days in ecstasy.”

Torn, Elrus could not bear the sight of his beauty in the arms of the Demon, and he knew he could not bear to live without her, but he could not give into the Demon. He stood devoid of action, in anguish his sword lowered as he watched the Demon carry his beloved away upon the retreating mists. He stood staring at the point where she vanished until the moment was gone and with it her, and he collapsed lifeless.

Many days may have passed before Elrus awoke from his sleep. Before him where the goddess had stood crying, sparkled diamonds. He collected them into a pile and sat before them to mourn. He was more alone than he could ever remember, like a newborn child. He sat confused, no past and no future, there was only this one moment in which to think. So he sat in meditation and vowed not to move until be became like the trees, lost to the forest without sorrow.

Story III | Story V

Book Seven Stories III

III.

In the deep fearful forest of a distant land, asleep within an ancient building lay a young man, an adventurer come traveller in search of a quest that might fulfil him. His name was Waylan.

In his dream he was staring at his reflection in a serene pool and as he reached forward to touch the water the water stayed calm but it was him who rippled. He awoke suddenly in a cold sweat to the sound of his horse braying. A tall handsome man stood within the confines of the building. ‘Good morning to you.’ he said boldly ‘This is no place to be sleeping, where are you heading? ‘Nowhere in particular, I’m new to these parts. Is there a village near here where I may stay awhile?’ ‘It’s quite a journey but the people in Medon are good, you could stay there. Head in that direction’, he said pointing, ‘until you reach a river, follow it down stream. You’ll be there by late afternoon. It will be sun break soon I must be going. Farewell.’ And the man was gone. Waylan dozed off again.

Some while later Waylan awoke. The forest was strangely quiet not a bird sang or a creature moved and he remembered his encounter with a stranger. He mounted his horse and set off eager to arrive in Medon before nightfall. Along his route there were more ruins, many abandoned churches with overgrown graveyards. Whole villages seemed to have been deserted. He had been travelling for a while when he saw another man walking through the forest. He greeted the man and confirmed the way to Medon. ‘You’re heading in the wrong direction. It’s back up that way.’ Waylan set off on his new route. Again he met another man who told him a different direction, and then the same yet again. Finally he asked the next man he met if he could show him the way to Medon. He could but for a fee of ten gold pieces. The man sat back-saddled giving directions.

They eventually arrived at some ruins. ‘This is Medon.’ ‘I was told I could get lodging here’ protested Waylan. ‘Its been deserted for ages now’ ‘Where have all the inhabitants gone?’ Waylan asked, ‘Oh they now live in Medon.’ ‘This is Medon’ he said sarcastically, ‘No the other Medon’, ‘Look friend! I don’t care what the place is called, I just want to sleep somewhere tonight’ ‘I’ll take you to the other Medon but it will cost you another ten gold pieces’. The man’s directions were uncertain and when they eventually arrived at some more ruins he dismounted and scarpered into the undergrowth. Waylan gave chase drawing his sword, and riding along side, struck the man down. He turned his horse and rode back but the body and his money were gone. Infuriated Waylan stormed off vowing not to listen to another direction he was given and when he arrived at a signpost to Medon he ignored it.

Presently he arrived at a village. Looking out over the bustling market place Waylan saw a man steal a purse of money. His victim ran after him and they fell into an argument as a crowd formed around them. They were on the verge of blows when another man stood forward with a dagger. ‘I know’, he said ‘let us determine who needs this money more. The man who is prepared to die for it may have it. If you BOTH accept however, I shall toss a coin to see who wins the money and also who I shall kill’. The man holding the purse stood proud but the other man backed down and walked away. Waylan went after him, ‘That wasn’t justice you should have stood your ground. If you need my help…’ ‘Thank you stranger but that is the way things are in this town, you don’t want to get involved’. ‘No, please I want to know and anyway there is a mighty storm blowing up and I need somewhere to stay’. ‘You are welcome to stay at mine, my name is Yolas by the way’. Outside a run down shack Yolas suddenly lurched a blade at Waylan’s hand. Waylan instinctively drew his sword defensively and was about to attack when Yolas saw his hand bleeding and shouted apologies ‘I will explain Waylan, trust me! You can tether your horse in that shed.’

As the storm raged outside, sitting around a crackling fire while his wife prepared a simple meal, Yolas apologised again. “You see this land has been overrun by demons. They are exact reflections of mortals, indistinguishable, but theirs is not a living body. It does not bleed and they are always young, immortal because they cannot die. They have spread lies and confusion and life is now very hard. We have fled but they only follow. That man who stole my purse could have been a demon and so might you. I’m sorry to suspect. It will be night fall soon you must not go out.” His wife came in with some soup and some garlic and sprigs of mistletoe, “Wear these for safety”.

Through the howling wind came a knock at the door. Yolas answered it and said to the sheriff that Waylan was a relative come to stay, but he failed to discourage the inquisition. “Matia bring the sheriff some food”. The man seated himself and asked Waylan suspiciously his business while tucking into a bowl of soup. “Unhappy with the answer he asked to see Waylan’s identification”. Waylan looked at Yolas who looked back fearful. In the long anxious silence Waylan studied the sheriff waiting for his reaction and as he leaned over his bowl for another indulgent slurp Waylan was chilled to see dancing upon the soup candlelight but no reflection. He signalled to Yolas, then tipped up the table drawing his sword and striking hard at the sheriff. The chair splintered but the sheriff somehow escaped to stand sword drawn behind Waylan. Yolas ran to hold up the Sheriff’s aids at the door.

Waylan was outclassed he had never seen reactions like that. Again he struck at the sheriff who escaped to deliver a blow that Waylan only just defended. Thrashing around the room he could not understand how he had suddenly become such a bad sword fighter and how the sheriff was so unshakeable in his confidence. He was quickly reduced to desperate defence. As they fought Matia began to become hysterical. Screaming at the sheriff she pleaded that he take what he wanted and leave them alone. “There is nothing here of value but you” mocked the sheriff “and even you’re cheap”. Yolas gave the sheriff a grave look but remained silent. “Your ring” said the sheriff “today I’ll settle for the ring but your ‘friend’ must be gone by the morrow”. “No” shouted Yolas, but it was too late, Matia sobbing uncontrollably had thrown her ring at the sheriff – it lay on the floor. The sheriff proudly smirked.

Waylan defending another blow saw Matia throw the ring and look up at Yolas, and he suddenly realised that the ring-itself meant nothing to her, it was just a reflection, a symbol of their truth together. He had been an idiot, he was fighting reflections. He pulled back a little to let the sheriff nearer the ring and as the sheriff crouched down under a defending blow, Waylan went to attack and then spun around and slashed through his undefended rear flank. His sword powered into the sheriff’s side, and the sheriff appeared behind him again. Waylan thought to turn, paused for a second confused and struck out at the sheriff. He missed, the sheriff was beside him. He turned and thought to strike the sheriff in front of him but instinctively this time stabbed his sword behind him. The sword pierced the sheriff’s belly and he stumbled. Waylan went to the door, which Yolas was still holding closed, and offered to take over. Yolas nodded and with silent passion retired to claim his wife’s ring back. Letting the door fling open and presented with a man running at him, Waylan with complete trust in his new-found awareness swung a head high slice behind him and sent the head of the aid flying. His companion turned and fled into the thundering storm shouting for help with Waylan in pursuit.

Sliding around a corner in the mud Waylan was faced with an angry group of ten. He stopped and stood dignified with his back to them his sword pointing upwards in front of his eyes so that he could see the reflections of his assailants, but there were only five. Nervously he listened, resisting turning. The five approached and then they themselves stopped and four turned around and fled. Waylan sneaked a look behind him and the demons were running with four of the mortals. The remaining man, frightened, shouted out ‘What are you?’ ‘Mortal’ Waylan replied, “mortal friend”. “Why did those men flee?” “Five of them were demons and they saw I knew, your friends are fools. Where have they fled?” “This path leads into the mountains.” Waylan ran along the dark muddy path his way lit by explosive flashes from the torrential storm, following it high into the mountains until he rose onto the edge of a vast natural amphitheatre; a flat plate of smooth shiny black rock commanding the valleys and plains below. Everything smelt of oil. In tiers all around sat hundreds of small black demons and on a grand throne on the far side a tall black monster with five horns upon its head. “At last”, the lord demon boomed “we have some sport from the realm of the mortals, I am very impressed. You are welcome to stay and compete.”

As Waylan stepped into the arena, over a neat moat of oil, lightening struck all around sparking the oil and trapping him in a massive ring of flames. Demons then began to enter the arena and Waylan took his place at their centre. At the next lightening strike Waylan charged the demons striking and slicing always instinctively and contrary to what his sight was showing him, but he was growing tired and his foes out numbered him too many fold. Overwhelmed he retreated to the centre of the ring exhausted. Staring at the advancing masses he felt like a giant, being so superior a warrior but he was also frightened seeing his imminent demise. But it struck him: what was he afraid of if it was not what he could see? It must be what he could feel. He closed his eyes and sat down in the ring searching for salvation from his tormentors.

So intently did he search that he forgot about the battle, and when, full of peace, he opened his eyes the arena and the stands were empty only the lord demon remained, and he was filled with fear. Again he tried to find serenity but his fear was too great. He leapt to his feet, ran at the demon and struck out instinctively but his sword passed through thin air. Then he struck out at the demon and the demon appeared behind him. Then he was filled with terror and turned and ran for his life without even a look back. You may run but we will meet again Waylan.”, the Demon said, “Give in.”. But Waylan did not hear.

It was daybreak as Waylan arrived in the village. News of his exploits had spread far and he was received like a hero, rewarded with money from the hoard found in the county hall. He stayed for a season to teach the people of the land his new fighting code and his suggestion that all money should carry the motto “But for ‘ell, Gold’s World is Gods Word.” was duly received, but the words of the king demon wore heavy on his mind. One summer’s morning as the dew was rising into the cool air he hugged a tearful Matia farewell and shook his fond friend Yolas’ hand for a final time. Mounting his horse he slowly took the fateful path out of town down which he had come.

Story II | Story IV

Book Seven Stories II

II.

Once in a rich city, high in a splendid palace, their lived a King and his daughter and his son in law, Boren. Boren was a stranger who had defeated a dragon to win the princesses hand a year ago to the day, and tomorrow was their first anniversary. Tonight, his adopted birthday, he was celebrating with an elaborate banquet in his quarters of the palace. He did not invite his wife, the princess, in preparation for tomorrow.

After the meal Boren sat upon his thrown and gave a short slurred speech to his boisterous drunken company, ‘A year to this day I was poor, but now I am rich, rich because I told a dragon to give tomorrow a chance. I think a toast to the dragon. And may the last man standing get more wine.’ His chief hunting partner Patrio then stood and dedicated the evening’s entertainment to him. The doors of the room opened and a troop of ten beautiful dancing girls entered followed by a band of drummers and musicians. Boren was transfixed. One girl in particular caught his lascivious attention and she with tightened and prouder dancing, attentive smile and obedient eyes exasperated his yearning. When the dance had ended Boren took to his feet intoxicated and asked the girl to come forward. “Clear the floor”, he said plucking a huge gem from breast plate, “To this girl I give this diamond if she will dance for me”. A single base drum began to beat.

With eyes engaged on Boren’s she began to sing an ancient and beautiful love song telling of dynasties torn apart by untamed passions and she began a spectacular dance to the single slowly quickening beat of the drum. Her spinning possessed body enslaved to the rhythm hypnotised the room to silence. Faster she turned, jumping clockwise, counter-clockwise, faster, faster, still singing the song through her growing exhaustion. From frenzy the drum sounded a final beat and she was released breathless to the floor, still looking at Boren. Boren was transfixed his life draining as a fish on a harpoon, a helpless slave to his passions. Without trying to break his stare he threw her the diamond and the assembled crowd erupted in frenzied excitement. To the sound of more music fed by the summer’s wine the group enjoyed each other long into the night.

The next morning the princess was unhappy to be faced with a less than alert husband. “I hear you had quite a party last night!”, “Oh yes?”, “The palace was awake until the early hours.”, “We had a good party my enchantress, I’m sorry.”, “There is no need to apologise you know I trust you.” Boren felt awful but could not forget. He had little spirit for the party that he held in honour of their marriage and the next night was in disguise drinking in the city with Patrio. “Patrio I am possessed I can’t sleep, I must see that dancing girl again tonight.” “Boren you’re supposed to be happily married”, “I am, she still wears my ring! Come on, I’m a prince, grant me this simple freedom.” That night Boren let the dancing girl wearing his jewel through a window into his quarters.

“What is your name my divine temptress?”

“My name, my lord”, she replied bashfully, “is Kalima.”

“Where do you live.”

“I live with my boyfriend, he is a sheep herd.”

Boren was suddenly gripped with envy, “How much can I pay you to stay here in my palace with me?”

“I don’t know, I’ll ask my boyfriend he deals with our money.”

“No, No, with ME, Kalima. Do you think of him when we are joined?”

“I don’t know, I don’t always think of anything, does that matter?”

Dance for me for a while, I need to think.

A few months later Boren was out hunting with Patrio.

“Patrio the royal family are away next week and I want to hold the most decadent party ever held – exclusive guest list of course, and try and find me unattached girls, I can’t deal with boyfriends and husbands.”

At that moment the prize bow fell from Boren’s horse and before he could turn around to fetch it a large drab bird descended and took it into a nearby tree. “I have never seen one of those”, Patrio said firing off an arrow swiftly through the bird. “It’s a Watugot”, Boren stopped horrified, “I am such an idiot. I’m a husband myself. I must get back to the palace.”

Meanwhile the princess who had been growingly saddened by Boren’s coldness toward her had received a letter from a stranger and the news she had dreaded. Boren arrived at the palace and ran to her bedchamber where he found her crying. “I have been the fool”, he began,

‘I do not care, my father trusted you, thought you worthy to be my husband and instead I have been married to a dream, and you to YOURSELF, take YOUR ring and leave. GO.’, and she threw her ring at him.

Fearful of her father’s wrath Boren left taking his only possession, a satchel. He mounted his horse and fled into the forest confused. He no longer knew where he was or what he was doing. He rode for along time until the forest grew dark and his eyes filled with tears. Seeing a ruined building he dismounted, tethered his horse, and hid within to weep.

It began to rain. The gentle crackle on the leaves above and on the forests leafy floor outside was comforting. Boren began to feel at home again, and curling up under a poncho he drifted off to sleep.

Story I | Story III

Birth of Riswey – The 7th Letter: Book Seven Stories I

 

In 1999 Valentine’s day fell on a Sunday; 2010 is the first year since then that it has done so again.

In 1999 realising there was no post and I could not send “my muse” anything, and because we could not meet up either, I hatched a plan to send her something all the same. It was a series of apparently unconnected stories told by the storyteller Riswey, but also starring Riswey, in various incarnations sent as a physically separate letter each morning for the whole preceding week (we had often before exchanged daily letters). The absence of a finally and 7th letter was referred to in the stories and was its theme. The premise is that if the 6 preceding letters are part of the same story then the absent 7th letter is also part of the same story and so exists! To put another way what makes each letter part of the same story; or for that matter what links separate words into sentences or separate letters into words; or for that matter what makes separate people into a family or relationship or society or race or culture or world, and what does Death break up? What seems trivial goes to the Heart of the problem of living as finite mortal beings yearning to be together in a world that will strip us from each other in the maelstrom of competing contradicting passions, lost faith, bad luck, weakness; in the same way as that 7th letter I hope made it through the post so we can conquer Death; that which was to separate us (even forever), even against all impossibility, brought to submit and allow those once mortal being to be together forever.

That what was just a story would really raise its thorny head 7 years later is still an arresting shock. Just rereading it I’m so ashamed that “my muse” used the very description of the goddess with the tear rolling down her cheek to describe her grief at losing her father… but the one time she needed me I was not ready to listen :-( Hopefully she understood the story… and I realise maybe that is why even after her death I feel as close as before – I sort of anticipated all this from the beginning – I somehow knew the story before it even happened.

THE BOOK OF SEVEN STORIES (A.Gosson 1999)
An dialogue with Death

I.

In the ancient and distant land of Atlar, on its most remote Eastern shore, as the fearsome Southern Forest surrendered it grip on the land, beside sun drenched beaches stood the small fishing village of Plilia.

With a new sun beaming across the calm shimmering waves the Gen family were out on the beach beside the boats saying farewell to their youngest son Riswey. He was off in search of work in the nearest city Amindor almost two days walk away and as his mothers fading calls were reminding him, was due home in a week to celebrate the Spring Festival. With satchel on his back he raced light footed along the single path that followed the edge of the forest out of the village. He was feeling as free as the cool ocean breeze behind him and was impatient to taste the excitement of the city he had heard so much about.

Before long as he was approaching the junction with Miou, Plilia’s neighbour, he was suddenly stopped by a bright sparkle in the grasses ahead. Approaching he saw the half of a broken gold broach. It was very intricate with leaf like engravings and tiny ornate spaces running through it and on both sides three raised squares bearing symbols. He placed it in a pocket and began looking for the other half.

While searching he looked up and was paralysed by the beauty of what he saw. Standing in tranquil blue sunbeams as though he were pearl diving again was a serene goddess holding before her the unbroken broach as a point of brilliant light in her palm. Riswey blinked disbelievingly and she was gone leaving just the pearl of light darting around a tree’s lowest branch like a firefly. Riswey ran toward the light trying to catch it but it darted away into the forest. He gave chase running deeper into the forest than he, indeed anyone he knew, had ever gone.

The forest had grown dark and the trees enormous and Riswey suddenly fearful stopped. The light ahead stopped too. He looked back and could see no clear way through the vines and creepers that fell around him. He walked back a while but the light did not follow. Feeling very alone he sat down to think and then hungry for adventure mustered his courage and continued after the light.

A slight rustling was the only warning Riswey got, a thump to his back brought him violently to the ground. His satchel fell open and a hand fished through its contents discerning out gold coins with practised efficiency. His assailants were quick, by the time the light appeared to scare them off everything of value was gone. When Riswey came around he was confused and frightened. He sat in a small clearing with his back safely against a tree in the faint light cast by the dancing point of light looking at it, thinking. It was mesmerising and it brought him strength. He got to his feet, slung the satchel over his sore shoulder, and followed it again.

The trees were farther apart now and the light had gone on along way ahead when Riswey noticed it had stopped. Approaching he was amazed to duck under a small tree in full white flower and into a large domed clearing, the trees around adorned with cascading fragrant blossoms, and in the centre of which the light hovered over a still pool. As Riswey walked over the flat sandy floor the light dropped and was submerged in the waters.

On all fours Riswey peered into the pool and caught his reflection; he had a swelling on his face where he had fallen to the ground. He was examining the bump when with wonderment he saw the scene behind him.

In a cloud mountain

Of terraced plains,

A jewelled palace

In twilight’s gentle flames

Riswey was captivated. Unthinking he reached out to touch, but the palace retreated behind ripples. He reached into the pool and fished out a magnificent gold ring set with diamonds. Inspired and fearless and with a fire he resolved to find the palace. Looking up he saw the beginning of a path out of the clearing and set off.

Shortly the path led steeply down, and the canopy began to thin. Through breaks Riswey could see across a huge gorge and far over a misty undulating forest canopy to a mountainous horizon. It led to a one-man bridge walkway where Riswey was relieved to meets an old woman struggling with a huge bundle of sticks. ‘Can I help?’ he asked. She looked up expressionless and ignored him. ‘I’m looking for a splendid palace do you know where it is?’. ’There is nothing splendid here, just endless work’, scowled the old lady. ‘Well can I help you across the bridge then?’, Riswey offered again. The old lady suddenly became angry ‘You mean, if I had your youth I wouldn’t need help. Keep your youth. I’ve done this every day of my life, I can do it for one day more!’, and she started across the bridge. As she approached the other side Riswey could hear her crying and he was about to follow her to see what was wrong when he saw here cutting the ropes at the other end. ‘Stop’ he shouted, but it was too late the bridge was twisting, and then it fell. Riswey hurt and perplexed began following the path up the gorge.

The path led into a bleak mountainous wasteland above the gorge. Riswey chose a spot to cross the river and threw his satchel across. Immediately there was a flurry of feathers and a large drab bird landed on the satchel and looked quizzically at Riswey. Riswey jumped the river and tried to grab his satchel but the bird took off only to settle a few yards away. As he ran after the bird it took flight again and settled back by the river and then when pursued sat on the top branch of nearby barren tree. Trying to climb the tree Riswey failed to notice the approach of an old man, ‘What are you doing here?’. Startled Riswey looked down ‘I’m trying to get my satchel off of that bird’, ‘No, what are you doing here?’, ’I’m looking for a splendid palace’, ‘At last!’ the old man muttered, ‘I have something to show you, are you hungry? Don’t worry about your satchel the bird has no use for it. It’s a Watugot and is only interested in your satchel as long as it doesn’t own it and you still think you do. You’ll get used to them up here’. Come! Give me a hand with this firewood’.

Riswey came down from the tree and followed the old man to a small cave and a pot boiling on a fire. Riswey sat himself while the old man went into the depths of the cave. He returned with a leather bundle. In the flickering light he unwrapped an old charred book. I have a story to tell he said.

“You are looking for a palace. Many years ago I was storyteller to the King of that splendid palace. In those days this was a happy kingdom, there was a grace to life and every-man knew his place. But one day on the King’s birthday a stranger came to the court with this book bound as a present. The King, who was a great lover of stories, was delighted with his present and asked the stranger to stay for the feast but the stranger politely declined and left. Mystified the king passed me the book and asked me to read. There were seven short stories in the book and I began reading the first. It was about a King who hated stories and who lost his kingdom, his wife and his life to a storyteller. The king was so dismayed and upset that he did not let me finish. He grabbed the book from my hands tearing its pages out and threw it on the fire. There will be no more stories in this kingdom, he decreed, it is a lie my wife will never be unfaithful to me for I am king.

He banished me from the city never to return. I was able to rescue the book from the flames but the stories were incinerated scattered to the gods. As I left the city through its great Western arch the sun was obliterated by a huge presence in the sky. Behind me a gigantic dragon thundered onto the roof of the arch shattering it. From that day to this people have lived in fear and slaved to appease the serpent with endless sacrifice.

This is the book I saved. It still contains the seventh story. I give it to you. Use it wisely.”, With that the old man sat back relieved and fell asleep.

Riswey bewildered by the story suddenly remembered that he still didn’t know where the palace was, but the old man would not wake up. He picked up the book and left, finding his satchel under the tree where he had left it, and decided to climb the mountain to get a view of the kingdom.

As he climbed he began to think. It had looked as though the old man had been waiting for him, that he had been invested with the responsibility of defeating the terrible dragon. Why him? He was just a boy, he was afraid again. But, remembering the awesome splendour of the palace he was inspired once more and encouraged, odd that it seemed, that indeed he might be the one. Arriving over boulders at the windy summit he was on top of the world. The mountain dropped away in misty ridges on all sides and down into the tide of forest around. The next hill rising out of the forest was covered in billowing cloud and for an instant then it cleared and Riswey saw the rainbow resplendence of the palace. He could see the city perimeter and the Western arch and there in front the immense shadow of the mound that was the dragon. It was invincible. Then Riswey remembered the book. Of course what better way to put myth in its place than to tell it a story – the foolish king! He had banished stories. Quickly Riswey headed down the mountain toward the city desperately trying to think of a story.

Running down a steep bank Riswey burst onto the road only a few hundred yards from the dragon, and wished he hadn’t. The dragon reared upon its hind feet towering into the sky in front of Riswey’s dwarfed but proud stance. Falling upon his front feet in an earthquake bringing Riswey to his knees the dragon brought his head toward this strange defiant being, and Riswey began,

“Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there was a peaceful city whose abundant riches became the envy of an ancient dragon. The dragon rampaged into town and enslaved its people so that he might share of its wealth. And for a while he was satisfied, but soon the people became weary and the wealth of the land dwindled.

One day a stranger approached the dragon and challenged the dragon that if he could not answer his riddle the dragon would leave. Dragons are masters of riddles and of course accepted the challenge. So the stranger began,

“What can you truly only have when it is set free?”

Puzzled the dragon answered than in all his centuries learning he had never heard that riddle or any like it and refused to believe that there was an answer. The answer is simple the stranger replied,

“The future”

‘I concede’ the dragon said and immediately flew into the clouds gone forever and the people of the town lived happily ever after.”

‘That was a wonderful story the bewitched dragon softly spoke to Riswey, thank you. And he too spread his gigantic wings and thundered into the clouds.

A cheer began to rise out of the city steadily growing and growing, and jubilant people began to fill the streets; a huge crowd of men, women and children crying and shouting in joy descended on the place where Riswey stood. They took him upon their shoulders and marched him up to the palace where the king was told that the dragon was banished by a storyteller. The king remembered the stranger’s story with fear and declared to the crowd that despite the brave act the stranger had disobeyed the king’s order not to tell stories and should be executed. The crowd began an angry whisper plotting the execution of the king and Riswey was held high as people shouted, Long live the King! Long live this King. Riswey was suddenly filled with horror as he realised that the stranger’s story was coming true, he had no score to settle with the King, he did not want to win the kingdom and the Queen. He climbed out of the crowd onto a wall before the cheering masses. Speaking up at the King’s gold balcony he told the king that his pride had already wasted ten years of the kingdom and now was going to cost him his life,

“Free me and the state, of your decrees and you will end the story tellers grip and will live in happiness.”

The king thought and then granted Riswey pardon revoking the royal decrees,

“Through the bravery and wisdom of this stranger this Kingdom is now freed, it is the very least that I can do to call you stranger no more. I offer you the hand of my beloved daughter in marriage to live here in this palace as family. Prepare the most lavish wedding for tomorrow.”

Looking up to a balcony where the king gestured, Riswey’s eyes came to rest upon the most graceful and radiant girl he had ever seen and instantly he knew he would spend the rest of his days in this palace. Riswey agreed but on the condition that the old man to be pardoned and reinstated as court storyteller. And when he arrived the following day asked if he would be best man. At noon Riswey came to stand beside the exquisite princess, the happiest man in the land at the centre of the kingdom’s joy and placed the ring he had found in the pool upon her delighted finger.

Story II

Two story ideas spawned by Harry Potter

Anywish

Suppose there was a single way to attain any wish. What is most interesting about this is the realisation that the concept of "production" is nullified. Suddenly a crack appears in reality which completely nullifies the foundations of capitalism - that something may be obtained at no cost. Against this concepts of wealth, class system, success, progress and technological history are all nullified. Very interesting short story (or part of the Anura series maybe?)

Reverse Entropy

So any wizard worth their trade even Mary Poppins has the ability to increase the entropy of a room by magic - i.e. clean it up. But apply this magic to a burned love note and suddenly what was irreversably destroyed is recreated. In other words the Past can be resurrected and all information recovered. Such a magic does more than clean up rooms it can locally and asyncronously nullify the concept of Past! I mean by that we can recreate a burned love note (setting it back in time) while letting all other things remain present. What does this mean for our concept of Time!