A wish list – a Will is a wish list. Native people in Borneo don’t have wills. There, everything belongs to everyone and everyone belongs to everyone else. One receives a blow to the head and everyone gets a headache.
A large part of Borneo is Islamic, not Shia but Sunni, all are Sunny whether they like it or not – ‘tis the way of things.
“Things/Two, Thing/One, One/Thing – ting – ting – Buddha bell, wind, flag, prayer, a life, Allahu Akbar – a flight of fancy for a charismatic man”. ~ Rivenrod
I love those people still.
The title and the style . . .
For the book I propose there will be a title and a style.
Title – Ca3(PO4)2
There will be a Teller and the narrative will begin with The Teller taking a bath. The bathroom floor will be black and white, a tiled chequer board.
The style of this poem will be rhythmic – dum-ditty-dum – and five elements weaving like a game of chess, juxtaposing that which sustains with the dangerous game living has become.
Us and Them . . .
The French have a saying “C’est la vie puis c’est la guerre” and chess mirrors both life and war. Choices are played out on the battle field. Chess pieces don’t die but can burn to ash, a cliché connection with human ash. References to pawns and kings are compelling but conjure unwanted images of powder-wigged Courtesans, whispering hurriedly, urgently, in draughty halls, far too important to waste breath on explaining the ways of REAL people to serfs. No cakes, no bread, no spin doctors, slaves understand nothing anyway.
“No, not that word UNDERSTAND. Folly the very idea! No it must be COMPREHEND darling, why say something in the manner of a commoner when the other is so ready to be aired . . . and makes me seem, how shall I put this? Ah, yes. So much more intellectually superior.”
Yet, sirrah, how our masters prefer to command the front lines from afar. A great distance from the action, a fortress away from the risk of harm to those who command. Drones are the inevitable product of the digital age, the American’s weapon of choice where warfare is now so dishonoured it has been reduced to the level of video games. Cameras digitally locate the enemy’s eyes, kill the target and photo-shop the red eye ready for the press call, all done simultaneously, with one squeeze of a little red button.
So when it come to resilience who or what, pray, will be around when the whole shebang goes up? Who is the top of the pile Survivor on Planet Earth? The Commanders in their bunkers, arguably Human of course. No? Worms, perhaps (they outnumber us by at least 1000 to 1 they can afford to lose a few), fleas, mosquitos (enough said). Or is it the unprepossessing Water Bear (tardigrade)? It’s a remarkable little thing. Other-worldly, whoever, whatever, made it must be proud. Shoot them into space or to the bottom of the deepest ocean, subject them to extreme heat and extreme cold, deprive them of air, water and food for a decade and sprinkle them with radiation, for good measure and still the beasties won’t die. Going through the rigmarole of cremating a Water Bear would be pointless. They would just set out the deck chairs and bask in the heat.What if the funeral corpse would not burn. It may definitely be dead but could not be incinerated – not immortal just impossible to dispose of. Imagine the consternation amongst the straight laced mourners standing like awkward pawns or penguins in chapel. A body that cannot burn, is non-recyclable and has a half-life measured in billions of years, like carbon. Wow!
So, in my story, what if the Teller’s funeral corpse won’t burn. It will definitely be dead but it cannot be incinerated – not immortal just impossible to dispose of. Indestructible like the Water Bear. Imagine the uproar, the consternation amongst the straight-laced mourners standing like awkward pawns or penguins in chapel. “A body that cannot burn, whatever next!” It could be non-recyclable and have a half-life measured in billions of years, like carbon. Wow!
If an explanation were needed, one possibility might be that his corpse was injected with essence of Water Bear as an experiment before rolling it out to the rich and powerful keen to explore every avenue for prolonging their pointless lives. Government Scientists have secretly studied these little creatures for years. But let’s not fool ourselves our masters would never conduct this research for the benefit of all humankind, oh no. If scientists did indeed discover a miraculous chemical the only ones to benefit would be themselves, after all, they must be protected at any cost, remember. They must never burn.
It’s everyone else that’s disposable. The question is would we want it even if it was available? Now we get into the realms of being around to protect our children and our children’s children etc. etc. Why must life be made so complicated when death is so simple.