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Reply To: Scientists and the art of telling a story


I’m currently diving into the Sumer history: why there, why then, why them. Coincidence of facts yielding in the first civilisation? That’s acadamic, not prose. The questions stands: why there, then, them? What moved? What… what is the proper question? (spoiler: when you ask the right question, the answer is folded into it)

The first promise, paradise (sanskrit ‘para’ ‘da-ise’): walled garden, the wild and tame in peace together, lamb and lion in love, unaware, motionless as the waters in the sweet pond, rippleless, mirroring the heavenly air and warming sunlight merging with the submerged nourishing earth in the realm of floating or flying free fish, timeless, the Nirvana (‘non’ – ‘wind’) mirror. What is the proper question which cast the hubris astray, whipped out of this desert divided searching, longing, yearning, hungry, theethless, pulling possessions aimlessly over the Hessenway, the ugliest scar on the surface of mankinds crib. All sick, all limb, all death. Sumer. What happened really? We looked up…? We awoke? Again a gain. From children of mud to masters of the world.

Every creation has to be framed to have it transportable. The painter smashes paint on the canvas, the composer throws notes on the score, the sculptor subtracts andor adds matter to the form, static or dynamic. Then tamed with a collar to freeze it on a wall, a blackwhite legion in harmony, the statue in its space. Without frame no transportation, vulnarable, floating or flying like the free fish. Downstream goes the dead fish, up the promise. I kiss the fish and ask it, what is the question? Release me! From what? To where? Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Look up. Do not cast yourself downward to the dirt you’re made of. That’s past. That’s dead. Selene (the moon), Diana’s counter in heaven, countered by Hekate twisted in the twisted downdeep roots, three separated faces of the same coincidence is now in view, a promise fierce and fury to handle, needs time, needs temper. Start your witch-broom and head for the sky. It’s endless, all knowing, immortal.

I think this is what you mean Stephen? Then, I better write my story not in dutch proper…