Documente Academic
Documente Profesional
Documente Cultură
CONTENTS ~
THE WORK:
Ponderings D. Davis
Twitter: @amelia_blade & @abacus_blade
THE INTERVIEW:
Joy Can Never Be Delusional
Foolish People / John Harrigan
http://www.foolishpeople.com/
http://johnharrigan.com/
~2~
This issue comes with a beautifully donated soundtrack. Each of
these artists has given us a piece for free so we can add
dynamism to Esoterica. Thank you all. Listen gently and wildly.
Live in the same way. For every note of music, explode within
yourself and find a second path, away from the first, that is
rough and rigid and pure. Like a piano played by an improvised
blind man you can be anything in this world. Like a violin
thrown down a well. Like a clarinet blown from the wrong end.
Be everything for me, dear reader, be everything:
COMPLIMENTARY MUSIC:
OK by Christelle Elwin
https://www.youtube.com/user/chrissayUK
~3~
EDITORS NOTE
by NATHAN T. DEAN
Around the world people are persecuted for their loves. Around
the world fetishes are fetishized, loves are martyred, men and
women are murdered, elevated, destroyed, pushed aside. Around
the world love is warped by the behaviour of others. From the
lonely girl dealing with an adulterer, to the gay preacher hiding
in the shadows. There are a hundred meanwhiles, because-ofs,
and solidifications of this adoration, romance and love all
around the world. Remember that.
~4~
always because of an internal decision. Sometimes we change
without consent. Sometimes we reach the next chapter of our
lives before we really understood what we wrote before.
~5~
PONDERINGS
by D. DAVIS
~6~
show me a body that is not male or female
show me a body that is not the compilation of motives, mindset,
soul, lungs and memories stored up
susceptible to pain, pleasure and demise
and in the honesty of it all who has chosen their era, parents,
country or race?
but I will tell you, and it cannot be denied
we are all born and raised and victim to something
but on the other hand righteousness is a learned behavior and
kindness a practice
but history is as much a laundry list of tyrants and crusades
saints and martyrs
murders and rampages
countless bones of the weaker piled up in unmarked graves
and fathers and brothers and sons who left behind mothers and
sisters and daughters
todays not much different really, just the tip of time and
repetition of the past
blood lines conceived and extended in love or lust
descendents born and raised and self governed
each leaving their own mark on the face of the earth and the
backs or memories of those whove encountered them
~7~
and listen to the heartbroken story of the mothers who raised
sons and daughters who discarded the morals they were raised
with
or the stories of those raised in hostility left bitter and broken
and you will find as many shades of heart as shades of skin
tell me if you still feel hope for the future of our children
the bright beginnings of a generation still wet behind the ears
because
I do not, unless the children of the fatherless are caught up in
the arms of a wise man
unless the children of wars are swept up into homes of sure
~8~
foundation
and refugees shored up in the harbors of tender kindness
and our children taught that we are all prone to wickedness but
we are also all capable of righteousness
but, not by regulation and ritual
for when has the fear of the law ever produced a willfully tender
heart?
and some would say there is good in mankind, but I don't see it
not in man kind itself
if we were made in the image of God, but do not bear His image
in our actions and conduct then we are children of wickedness
and pushed to a limit
any person is capable of the things they condemn others for
and we haven't all got murder on our conscience
but we've each got enough shame, anger and self serving pride
to drown in
and on the flip side of the coin, love isn't prejudiced, its specific
and intentional
but where does it come from
if not from ourselves?
~9~
say its the heart, say its the moral statutes of the fibers of the
very makeup of each thought and extended hand and open
mind
but what standard do you judge the state of things by?
can we all be makers of our own truth?
I think not, or isnt the state of the world proof enough?
but who breaks the cycle, and who resets the pattern?
perhaps its beyond us, and always was
and if we were made I say its worth considering where we came
from
or who created us and why are we still here if not to return to
the source of life
to ask the question of why are we still here?
and what reason suffers the state as it stands
if not an invitation to become acquainted with the complexities
of the heart and the many facets and faces of God? and in so
doing we will see people as they truly are
darkened hearts capable of transformation into an enlightened
frame of mind
to view our brothers and sisters of the flesh as being capable of
containing a heavenly perspective towards one another
bearing with each other and walking in honesty before all
heaven and earth
with no cause for reproach but executing righteousness in our
daily practices
and extending love to stranger and enemy alike
because if circumstances and encounters can twist us
so can meritless love and kindness
and there is a redeeming quality in that and a hope indeed
~ 10 ~
IMPULSE
by NATHAN T. DEAN
I have to throw her jewellery into the ocean. I have to. I can tell
its expensive, and that explains half of her screaming and
squealing (the other half, naturally, being that this guy in a fluffy
coat is trying to rip her jewellery off her neck), but it has to go
into the ocean. If I could explain, shed understand. Maybe.
People get attached to things more than they do events and
ideas. Its why at the end of Christmas we have sales on
televisions and not on community projects; its why everyone
goes out and gets a new laptop rather than continue seeing the
family. So, even if I did explain, maybe shed keep the necklace.
But it has to go into the ocean. It has to.
~ 11 ~
from you, and even though you 100% do not want to do that
thing, for a fraction of a moment you were going to? Do you
ever get an urge incomprehensibly strong, and then in the same
beat realise this is not you, never will be you, and you really
dont want to do that thing.
I didnt.
The blood in my jaw doesnt ache any more. The spines growing
out my back, they hurt. When my eyes change shape, like
pottery, that hurts. When my lips fall off to reveal the satanically
goat-like maw. That fucking hurts. And I wait for the five hours
it takes, trapped at the back of my own mind, as this new
creature (which is also me) this thing muscular and black and
furred in the wrong places, twice-tongued, double-jointed
prowls in circles, eating the heroin needles and the sand for
sustenance, growling; it is the impulse incarnate. I am nothing. I
am the abyss of thought I dream for every night.
~ 12 ~
I wake up cold and wet. The tide had come in. The sky is wild
blue and red. I no longer need to throw her jewellery in the
ocean. I sit up and check my skin, little pockmarks healing
where the needle fur had grown out me. Shit. Theres a girl.
Shes mostly viscera now. I must have gone hunting. I really
should have thrown her jewellery into the ocean.
~ 13 ~
I can do these without being seen, and can continue my day.
Though, let me tell you, eating your rubber-erasers gives you
awful stomach ache. But at least we are up from last quarter. At
least the woman delivering the talk keeps making eye contact.
Wait.
~ 14 ~
It is a fine coffee. She is a fine companion to it. She also hates
the job and the quarterlies and the pointless pie-charts. We
laugh, sometimes. Other times she just listens to me. Sometimes
I listen to her, when she is interesting. We are both interesting.
As she buys the third round of caffeine I blurt out my curse. I
tell her about impulses. I thought I was the only one. She says.
I frown and realise she believes the monstrous part is metaphor,
Like, the other day, this guy was wearing a hat and I just
needed to steal it and wear it. I didnt. Didnt know the guy. But
I had the urge you know. I say I do know. But that if I hadnt
worn the hat I would have become something foreign to the
cosmos and eaten the man in his hat, and all the fish in the river,
and said things in twice-tongued fury. She laughs. Finds it funny.
She finds it funny? She invites me back for a glass of wine.
The next day I have to turn the lamp on the desk on and off
twelve times before ringing a single human soul. My office
buddy tells me she has OCD too, and gives me a business card
for her psychologist. I thank her, then bin the card. I help
someone set up their wifi and not a single urge envelops me.
~ 15 ~
My relationship with this woman goes well. We even said I love
you once or twice, as if no one else ever says it. We said it like
we were the only two people in the world with that urge, with
that impassioned romance. I love you. But we both know
millions of people say those three words, most of the time to get
what they want, or to lie to themselves. But at least we believe
we say it honestly. We go to dinner parties and my urges turn
strange, and we have to excuse ourselves. I expect to be scolded
by my lover, but she understands, holds my hand like when we
had coffee, soothes me, tells me she understands. She doesnt
want the monster beyond my ribs and soul to appear. She liked
those people. The hostess cooked a good pork roast. Why ruin
it with lycanthropy?
Work continued.
I continued.
~ 16 ~
I transformed for the first time in front of her and she kept me
locked in the bathroom. She said that although I was nothing of
Earth nothing chthonic I had slept all night in the bath, all
limbs and fur and the sound of buzzing wasps. I said I could not
remember. We were lucky that night. And from the days
onwards her eyes glimmered with a wetness of excitement I had
never seen in any human, even my own strange eyes regular or
deformed
And then I got the urge I had feared. I came into the bedroom.
She was on her period, always a tough time for her, for her
body. Her womb tried to rip itself out of her, and she curled up
with a hot water bottle and Netflix and waited for the
apocalypse to end inside her. I told her I had to have sex with
her. She said not now. I said I had to. She said not now. I
explained this was not me wanting to have sex with her, but that
I just had to. For a second she contemplated it before
scrunching up her little face, Its still rape. She murmured.
And I agreed. It would be rape. She wouldnt want me to have
sex, and Id be inside her, screaming the urge away. She adjusted
the hot water bottle, You know, Ive never really liked the
neighbours.
~ 17 ~
THE MIN
by TOBY J. REICHELT
The floor was oak, like the window frames and the
rafters. Even the shelves were oak, to hold the books that once
went on them. The books were taken away; they werent allowed
those. A balcony reached around the room, filled with more oak
shelves without the books. With the smell of books and the
sound of pages a once sweet reminder came: Off the Librarian,
whose feathers glowed red and blue and green, the way he
squawked at you as you went past, as well as the Three Wizards,
Yn, Yl, and Yx; their beards were still there, when you
remembered them, a palimpsest of unheard laughter, weird and
wonderful robes of crimson cloth and violet velvet, gentle lutes
humming, flicking orange candles, showering the readers with a
frost of light.
~ 18 ~
the min. Nobody knew when it was coming, how could they
know that it was so near?
The war that came cast down all their beliefs and ways
of life, giving them a new spectrum of behaviour: obey. They
have their places, the people of the min, beneath the Changers.
Still.
The candles had burned their last long ago, after the
Changers came. They stripped the library of all magic, deeming
it sorcery and unworthy of their advanced ways, but Wyck
knew better. He knew that they couldnt perform magic
themselves, so why keep it in the min?
~ 19 ~
not like the ones on the min. They were thin, without cross-
guard, their handles made of a queer foam. Each blade glowed a
different colour. Sometimes a Guardian would patrol with a
purple blade, some days a red one, some days a green one.
~ 20 ~
Sevron said, Maybe they cant bear to look at us.
Or revolt.
~ 21 ~
will say Commander. Fail to do that, and its into the Hole with
you.
~ 22 ~
Huh! Well, hes not lost his appetite for money, Ill give
him that. Lets see here Sir began leafing through all of his
books, papers, notes, and scribblings. He frowned. Finally, he
picked up a dusty sheet, and observed the scrawlings. Pleasure
house. Four thousand seven hundred twenty one shards. Not
our best, but there was a valiant effort.
~ 23 ~
Wyck obeyed. He walked towards the Commander, and
stood up straight. He bent his elbow and put his forearm across
his chest, so his fingers touched the shoulder. I am yours to
command, Commander.
From?
She felt the man take her, thrusting, hitting her body from
behind. She dreamt that it wasnt happening. She dreamt that
she was far away, on the shores of Crabs Bay, near the city of
Bellux, where the knights dress in yellow cloth robes and wield
scimitars instead of swords. She dreamt that it was someone
else. She dreamt that it was Wyck.
~ 24 ~
She didnt disobey. She did her duty, for that was where
they placed her. Youre fortunate to be here, she was told time
and time again.
The man threw a coin at her and was done with his
business. She picked it up, and bit it. It was real. Real enough,
anyway. She would have to go to the bank and exchange it for
shards, soon. Isla would punish her if she didnt. Maybe she
could say that he didnt pay, and the man would be hanged.
Maybe theyd find out that shes lying.
~ 25 ~
when they could speak in the mind. Have you been in the
library recently?
No. I havent.
I hope so.
~ 26 ~
Why did you do that? said Sevron.
Sevron sighed, and her face grew sad. I do, she said. I
dont want to be here anymore.
Wyck.
Sevron.
~ 27 ~
He remembered the past. It had been a sweet summers
noon, and he felt the salubrious air as he fletched his third staff:
it was made from Papas Oak Tree; only good, strong wood
came from it. The sun lorded over a host of clouds...and over
the green streak. What was that curious shooting star? It ripped
open the veil between sky and heavens.
Wyck had been told once, when a young boy, that there
is nothing to fear but fear itself. Yet in the min today that
wasnt true. Many things were worse than fear. Fear was the
Hole, the shackles, the guns, fear was the knife in the gut.
But now it was time for them to reap what they had
sown.
The platform in the centre of the city was bare, but the
throng of citizens around it were as thick as any day. Guardians
encircled the platform with their queer, foreign weapons. They
will reap, Wyck thought. His heart pounded. They will reap. He
found his way to the centre of the myriad of people, and there
stood a guardian of a plain face.
~ 28 ~
Stop! shouted one of the Guardians as they ascended.
Heads turned. Guns pointed. Stop this folly. Get down from
there!
~ 29 ~
Then he felt it.
Blood streamed from his chest and belly, and all of the
world turned faint and black and then white. A foul stench
assailed his nose. He heard the muffled groan of Sevron as she
too was shot, and the roars of the demon he recently conjured.
I do
~ 30 ~
CEMETERY WEATHER
by EVELYN HOLLOW
The lavender Texas moon goes down like a swollen sailor at last
call. The parking lot feels like somebody's idea of a ghost town.
Weeds grow up between the tyres of pick-up trucks and dusty
motorcycles; nobody here is staying long enough to see the
flowers bloom.
I watch Ryder adjust his ten-gallon and spit into the dust.
Mm?
Nothin'. Let's get this dog and pony show on the road.
The inside of the bar is more Virginia tobacco smoke than air. I
can't see past four bodies deep but the bar must be in the centre
because that's where most of the yelling is coming from. I have
to push and shove past a couple of old rangers and a particularly
sweaty looking biker dude to get to the front. I stick my neck
out between the beer taps and holler for one of the sweeter
looking bar maids, but I get a face full of this old boy instead.
He looks like the bottom of Bruce Springsteen's boots and I can
count his teeth on one hand.
~ 31 ~
Can ah's help y'all?
Roy says y'all are looking for Mae? I can take you to her.
Yes ma'am.
We follow the girl through some sort of store room and up into
a second floor. The air is cleaner up here, but not by much. I
pick my way over steel beer kegs and upturned floor boards,
silently grateful that I never ended up working for the health
department.
The roar of the bar downstairs falls away and is replaced with
the low murmur of a wireless talking to itself. The girl halts
outside a peeling red door and knocks.
~ 32 ~
She steps aside and I push the decaying door open. The room
looks like a yard sale for a dead kleptomaniac. There are piles of
newspapers almost up to the ceiling, I thumb through a few and
the dates vary from decade to decade. I find one from the day of
JFK's assassination and consider tucking it inside my jacket.
I jerk back and bump into Ryder, I can feel his hand on his .45
through the skin of my back. Well ain't he a little twitchy.
Tha's right. I was expecting cops, but cops don't steal from old
lady's, do they now?
The old girl motions for us to come through the doorway and
sit at a small tea table. The doily is held together by dust and
nicotine residue, but I see no ashtray.
Ryder sets his hat down on the table and the file of papers next
to it.
He doesn't even wait for her to sit down, he gets right on into it.
~ 33 ~
That's right. According to the file here you were instrumental
in apprehending her killer...
Yep. But by the time y'all dragged yourselves out there he had
already gotten himself another one.
Ryder flips through the file and pulls out a few old 35mm prints.
I've seen those photos two hundred times, they're burned onto
the underside of my eye-lids, everyone in the department old
enough to remember knows those photos. Nightmare fuel if
there ever was such a thing.
~ 34 ~
furniture, just blood. More blood than you would ever imagine
the 120lb body of a nineteen-year-old girl to contain. I find
myself thinking of sci-fi films that roll on the TV in the small
hours of the morning. Bad C movies that blow most of their
budget on gore FX with a director that gets off on medical
dramas. There's so much blood in Brown's basement that it
looks staged; it can't possibly be anything other than a lo-fi film
set. It's so devastating that it's almost comical.
The police arrived at the address you gave and found a second
victim. Brown confessed to both murders but the second girl
was never identified. Brown never gave her name.
The old lady barely glances at the photos, she chooses instead to
focus on the dying sun struggling through the dust encrusted
windows.
I don't have time for this tea party friendly chit-chat horseshit.
Listen lady, it says that you dreamed it. You saw Brown at the
first scene, down on the beach, then again going into his house.
That's where you got the address from. A dream.
~ 35 ~
Whatever deal you had with the office back then, whatever you
were runnin', that's all gone. Whatever you were leveraging,
whatever they were covering you for, I'm not party to that, ya
hear?
Uh, what my partner means to say is that, it's not clear exactly
how you came to know Brown's address, or his involvement in
the murders. We were hopin' you could provide us with more
information.
When you say that you found out about the murders from a
dream, how exactly do you
I get sweat rash somethin' awful in the summer. That one back
in '74 was a scorcher. I was indoors a lot, couldn't cope with the
scratchin'. I was up here, reading the cards, and I
~ 36 ~
fancy like. She tosses it down on the table and flips the lid,
inside is a deck of even fancier looking cards, held inside a silk
scarf.
No, ma'am.
She deals the cards like a casino crap-shooter pro. Fanning and
splaying and shuffling at a speed faster than any gambling man I
know. She must be, what, in her late seventies? Her fingers pop
like knitting needles. I'm impressed, but I don't think I'd play
cards with anyone this fucked in the head.
~ 37 ~
She plucks a card from the deck and tosses it at Ryder. He holds
it up. On it a pale skeleton hangs from a malnourished horse,
scythe in hand, scales in the other.
Every time I tried to ask the deck anything, I drew that card.
Love life? That card. Fortunes? That card. Future? That card. At
first I thought the deck was telling me I would be punching my
ticket ahead of God's schedule. Then I got the blindness.
Ryder puts the card down on top of the case file, the skeleton
replaces the carcass of our Jane Doe.
For a whole two weeks. I woke up one mornin' and there was
nothin' but nothin'. A pale black and a lot of fuzz. County
doctor came to see me and said there wasn't a damn thing he
could do. I was as blind as a leper.
Well you ain't blind now. So how about you wrap this pity
party up and tell us what any of this has to do with Brown?
If you could hold that tongue of yours, boy, you'd find out.
Two days after I lost my sight I started getting' these dreams.
Clear as the world in front of me now, ugly as it is.
Same dream every time. Girl running along the beach front,
screamin' hell's bells, being chased by man. Big fella in a hunting
coat. Then a car stereo playing some old dance hall tune and a
dog barking in the distance. Next thing I know I'm seeing the
~ 38 ~
trunk of this old pick-up, there's blood everywhere and it smells
like the inside of a hundred dead crabs. Young girl, small and
pretty like, all mangled up. Stomach cut open.
... what you talkin' damn near, I grind out under my breath.
Let me tell y'all, when you can't see nothin' when you're awake,
dreams become the only sight you've got. You imagine that
horror show being the only thing you can see. The only thing.
And what made you take these... uh... dreams, to the police?
One morning I heard the news on the radio. A girl had been
found in the trunk of a pick-up on the shore of Galveston
beach. They didn't say much else but I knew. That day I didn't
dream of the beach. Instead I saw a man going into a house, he
went down into the basement and there was a different girl
there. She was tied up to the pipes.
No. Not right away. He tortured her good and slow, it went on
for a damn eternity. Then he branded her with a cattle iron. I
swear I could smell that poor girl's burning flesh in my very
nostrils, right on the back of her neck. Then he gutted her.
~ 39 ~
And this man, he was the same one from the first dream? The,
uh, big fella in the hunting coat?
The sheriff was having an affair? Did, uh, did the cards tell you
that?
No, you damn When you live above a bar as long as I have
you get to know things.
Right, right.
Detectives, those murders are more than two decades old. Why
y'all want to drag back up that hell? What's the sudden interest?
~ 40 ~
I open the secondary case file.
I pull out two photos and toss them down in front of Mae.
She rolls up her face like she's been suckin' a lemon and I fight
the urge to smile.
Mae doesn't move for a few minutes. The light leaves the room
as the sun retires and my head fills with the sound of the
buzzing AC unit. I can feel the sweat on the back of my neck
sliding and I know that she knows.
It's the same brand as the one on that poor girl that was tied to
the pipes, Brown's second victim.
Correct. Except the brand was never found on the first girl,
Mills. The one in the pick-up on the beach.
~ 41 ~
What are you getting' at?
I'm getting' at the fact that a little over twenty years ago two
girls were slaughtered, one of them was never identified and the
killer left that same nasty lookin' brand on the back of her neck.
The other was sure killed the same way, but she never had no
brand and the sonofabitch left just enough for us to identify her
from dental.
What are you boys tryin' to tell me, that there's some kinda
copycat out there? Some sicko doin' what Brown was doin' all
over again?
No, ma'am. We're thinking that Brown only killed Mills. The
second victim was done by somebody else.
... But she was in Brown's house. I saw him. I saw him on the
beach and I saw him go into that house, and that's where the
second girl was found.
~ 42 ~
But I saw him. Plain as I see your dumb sorry face right now,
boy. I saw him in my mind.
It means you know more than the rest of us. So you either cut
the fortune teller freakshow crap and tell us how you know what
you know, or we start doing this the fun way.
Mae gets up and turns the wireless off. She stands perched by
the window like a bird contemplating flight with a busted wing.
The sky outside is the last departing scream of defiant blue
before the black envelopes.
You two aren't going to arrest me, especially when all yous got
is some suspicion. I'm an old lady now, you can't just toss me in
a damn cell.
Ryder shuffles the photos back into the files and I can feel him
jigglin' his leg under the table, anxious like.
You're right. We ain't gonna arrest you. Like you said, we got
nothin' but some suspicions.
~ 43 ~
But why don't you sit down all the same.
~ 44 ~
BOOBS
by LILY WEST
So it's about boobs. If Ive lost you here, please just, go.
I really don't want you to half-ass this story; it's important to me
and there are probably people out there of both sexes who will
understand the struggles. Since I was 15 my breasts have ruled
my life. I don't mean that in a controlling way, because especially
when I was younger I really enjoyed the fact that my boobs
changed the way I behaved. It's just not the story is... very
different.
The first time I realised they were changing my life was when
my friend asked me to do some modelling for her end of year
art piece at school when I was 15. She said it would only be the
teacher that really saw it as our work rarely got displayed in the
halls because when you're 15 and the art teacher tells you that
you can draw boobs and balls thats what you do. The
headteacher did not approve. My friend said, "its not crude, Im
not drawing you naked, I just think you have a very womanly
figure and I think it will suit what Im trying to do". I was so
flattered, I had always been a tomboy, very laddy and boring
looking and this really impacted the way I started to view myself.
~ 45 ~
I began immediately altering my clothes, hair and
general look to complement my figure and became more
confident around others, especially flirting which 15-16 year olds
and what came with that. All my girlfriends embraced this at
first. Then for my first ever house party I went as catwoman. I
was naive and borrowed my friends mums catsuit thing.
~ 46 ~
over my figure very quickly and consisted of a tight group of 6
girls & 3 guys but my teacher needed to comment?! Which
had lead to being bullied about my breasts? Needless to say the
remainder of my school life I received the nickname juggasaurus
rex and juggzilla and any other horrific nicknames about boobs
you can think of.
~ 47 ~
SELF-HERDING, IN DEFERENCE
by STEELE TYLER FILIPEK
~ 48 ~
Would that I could, but its such a long journey from
the Tall Grass, and my field studies Toe allowed her voice to
drift off so that she wouldnt have to embarrass her colleague.
Toe tried to pick up her pace, but the herd had slowed up ahead
as it reached the gate to the convention. The males had done an
excellent job: the entire site had been transformed into a perfect
replica of a grassland thatch. Large trees had been bent to create
an opening into the thicket. Shadow danced underneath the
canopy in the environs beyond. Toe could just make out
mounds overtop the shoulders over the others. That would be
where Speakers would hold court, above the gullies where low
conversation could be held so that certain topics didnt rumble
beyond the ears of those whod been invited into controversial
discussions. The theme, From a Time Before, had been
followed to a tee.
That meant the entry was small, though, too small for more than
one scientist to pass through at a time. When predators had
threatened pachydermic kind tens of thousands of years before
the Die Off, such surroundings were needed so that sisters
could protect the sick, so that children couldnt wander off.
Access could be guarded by one or two individuals, such as the
males who stood there now.
~ 49 ~
Toe noticed that Leg was still rambling, imploring her in an
unsubtle attempt to bring the prestige of a well-landed matriarch
to her studies. Despite all the bravado, Toe knew that Legs
discipline was tolerated--kindly, perhaps--but largely ignored by
the community at large, like a toddler pulling at her
grandmothers tail. And just like that kind of annoyance, Legs
protestations could only go for so long.
So, that was it. Shoulder had already staked her claim in the
honor of entry but not for herself. For Toe. Such an act
would be trumpeted about across the land. How Shoulder was
so magnanimous. How, despite their differing opinions on the
nature of the Die Off, that she would facilitate such an honor.
How Toe would accept it
~ 50 ~
and in so doing, take a subservient role in this herd.
Toe would not have it. The Tall Grass people werent egotistical,
but they had pride. Toe arched her head up, accepting the
compliment, but said, You do me too much honor. Indeed, I
have come alone, without my children, grandchildren, or
apprentices, so that I could be one of many. Not a leader but a
participant. That is the nature of this congregation, is it not?
Toe fanned herself with her ears lightly. You couldnt just
accept a compliment completely, nor could you throw it off.
Instead, she replied, I do so hope so. Nothing would please me
more well, than to offer the most honored position to
someone more deserving.
So far, the troop was fairly split. A few more of the attendees
had aligned themselves in parallel with Shoulder, but they were
nursing mothers: the calves toddling at their feet wouldnt count
toward a consensus. Toes congregation, meanwhile, seemed to
be made up of the conservatives. No calves by choice, they
instead focused on their work. That would damage her standing
~ 51 ~
with the progressive in the undecided flock standing in the
middle, but the chaotic forms they took showed that they were
still waiting to be convinced.
~ 52 ~
Toe walked around the perimeter, reaching out her trunk to
touch all those that would allow her. Which was everyone. No
one would dare to deny a sign of peace at a scientific gathering.
It was brazen, surely, but it also intrinsically allied them all with
the point that Toe was about to raise: I hope to have a chance
to converse to each one of you over the course of the following
moon cycle. You will see that my propositions are not so earth-
shattering, not with the recent discoveries in the High Star Mud
Flats.
~ 53 ~
correct, but as a scientist, I cannot use them as foundational
until Ive examined them in depth.
So, then you admit that your position on the Die Off
may be unfounded?
The males guarding the entrance dared not intercede. For one,
all hope of mating with any female would be finished, anywhere
and forever. Insalubrious rumors spread faster on the veldt than
wildfire. Toe thought she recognized the one at the left yes.
Crosses the River Quickly With Rump in the Air. Such a typical
male. Such a typical male name. He was a former mate of Salt-
River-Knee, and even he refused to take sides here.
~ 54 ~
had moved to the dwindling folds of the undecideds, unwilling
to take a stand even for a sister shed been begging for a visit
only a little bit of time ago. Toe couldnt even blame her. No
one else stood with her.
Shoulder paused, her head still low in defused pride. She didnt
speak. There was nothing to say. To ask for clarification was to
admit Toes point. To say that she didnt need clarity would
force her into a position which would force her to admit that
she wanted to enter. That would lose her the troop immediately.
Nobody liked a braggart, particularly among scientists.
~ 55 ~
to challenge all of our ideas? Someone who has traveled from so
far away to join us, despite being nearly singular in her
discipline?
Indeed, the herd almost butted their heads against each other as
they swung away from her alignment.
Nobody spoke. Toe gave Ear a hard look. The adolescent nearly
stumbled over himself as he walked forward, realizing just in
time that he was being given authority to speak. Im sorry that I
spoke out of turn, Ear said. I know that this is a matter of
honor that I have no place in.
~ 56 ~
propositions, some of which I hope to discuss with her over a
prolonged journey to her realm, if she would have me.
Toe exited the flow of pachyderms to wave Ear over with a wag
of her trunk. When that didnt work--so shy for being so
~ 57 ~
brazen--Toe literally walked over and escorted the boy by his
shoulder. His trunk was waggling uncontrollably. So, maybe not
shy. Just nervous.
Leg turned, not even realizing that her moment of glory had
passed. The matriarchs were already spreading out to fill the
various rolls and gullies of the thatch. Leg was left with Toe and
Ear, whod touched his trunk to the ground, waiting.
Ear snapped his head up, his eyes bright and eager. I had
hoped to speak to you about your treatise.
~ 58 ~
can see that the common ancestor of modern two-legged
primates originated there. The Catastrophe killed off so many of
them--as it did with all remaining species of microfauna--that its
now impossible to determine their true point of origin, at least at
the present.
Ah, well. It was too bad Seven-Hill-Ear was born male. Soon,
hed take up with a bachelor troop, throw off his honorable
name, and assume a ridiculous one. If hed been born female,
Seven-Hill-Ear would have surely accepted Ear as an apprentice.
Alas, all hed wind up as was a stud for his grandmothers
political machinations.
~ 59 ~
JOY CAN NEVER BE DELUSIONAL
AN INTERVIEW with FOOLISH PEOPLE / JOHN HARRIGAN
We create all kinds of art, films and books. One of the facets of
our work that were most well known for are our immersive
theatre projects. FoolishPeople create living story worlds, which
inhabit spaces. The stories we have created have inhabited
disused buildings, landscapes and traditional theatres. Our work
has links to immersive theatre, but the main difference between
FoolishPeople and other companies is that our practice is based
in ritual. We create rituals that attempt to offer audiences an
interaction with the numinous. Our work aims to instigate a
moment in which people transcend their expectations of
traditional experiences of entertainment.
~ 60 ~
find a specific field, and nurture it, rather than finding a
specific theme and propelling it out through so many
media. Why are the stories you tell necessary to break
down these boundaries of what format a creator should
use?
~ 61 ~
As time moves on, we keep losing artists and creators that
mean so much to us. I recently wrote about the passing of
David Bowie and Alan Rickman, with the worry of the
impossibility of filling those shoes. You write of how you
are inspired by a plethora of artists, David Lynch included
in that list what I am trying to amble towards is to ask
in the future do you think there are any prominent figures
lined up to be the next great cultureshockers, or do you see
someone in your own theatrical party accomplishing such?
What is the next big cultureshock? Who?
I'm not sure that it's possible for the kinds of artists you
mention to exist and flourish in culture as it exists today, I think
that true outsider art and the artists who create cultureshock are
few and far between in this day and age. Media is designed in
such a way that it suppresses the ideas and art born from these
kind of people. Culture has become homogenised. So it's rare to
see work that's truly breaking new boundaries.
~ 62 ~
Ill end on a little question. But with a big answer
hopefully What one thing does the arts need or an
artist need that would revolutionise the whole damn
scope of it all forever?
~ 63 ~