The Mythology Of Robert

December 20, 2008 at 5:27 pm | Posted in memoirs, writing | 9 Comments
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The great achievements of the modern age, post-Pharoahs, were rarely singular. Generally they were bought with the sweat and blood and lives of ordinary men and women, driven more by need than desire for immortality. You expect me to tell you there was some nobility in their honest poverty but that is a myth designed to comfort you and keep you silent.

There were lamed wufnicks, of course. A beautiful image of the wandering innocents, a handful of redeemers with no thought for themselves, unaware of their purpose. Should one realise their state they would die and be replaced.

And the star vampires of H. P. Lovecraft who consumed not only your life but all trace of your being, memories, mistakes, til the world becomes just as it would have been if you had never existed.

I told her on the telephone that Andrew found him blue. She said I’m sure you did all that you could do, please never contact me again.

I lived by the ocean in a wide bay of mangroves and at low tide vast mud flats stretching off to two horizons, one the line of the shore and one the line of the sky and in between the vast welcoming silence of the sea with ospreys for companions and my shock.

(The story behind the second last paragraph can be found here. A True Story.)



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  1. lines lines line

    i see the lines of the waves, the lines of the mudflats, the line of sky and sea and shore

    lines like those on the pages of a notebook

    line like those we see in the mirror on a face, memories those lines

    we were young together in another life. now we are old, we exchange lines

  2. oh i travel across time in adaggio tempo kind of occult colors images of pharoahlands gold with purple shadow figures, a star, vampire, the blue. t’s and w’s and m’s like triangles-compelling, provocative, mysterious

  3. Four people interwoven in the second to last paragraph, only one by name, a confusing conundrum preparing for the last word “shock.”
    Ahh, I see Ms Squirrel. That is why we should use links. It is not all confusing if you have read this piece from last week. A True Story. Oh and you have taken the link out from under your name. I don’t why people do this. Is it some form of false humility? I wanted to race over and tell you, now I shall have to search out a link. Perhaps I should reinstitute the blogroll again already?

  4. monuments as shadows of where we’ve been sucking the life of one to add to’s been a busy holiday in the stream of life… ouch, it still hurts, tho… love your writing the thoughts internal bleeding out and over.. and then i paused and read the last paragraph…felt the breeze, felt the peace…and the kiss of shock… take care paul… in my total ignorance i cannot help but to wonder what happened paul.. i still like the thought of the burning piano…
    Hello, Ms Pie. Paul got tired of being bashed around the head for being arrogant and assuming he knew what he was talking about. He also decided that his writing was never going to attract more than a handful of people on the internet who took the time to read things properly and understand them in some broader context. So I have taken over, haha, now there really will be burning pianos.

  5. Segue into vodpod…”One Perfect Day.”

  6. Sorry. Was too lazy to fill in all three lines. Didn’t realize that would result in linklessness. Was also unreading last week so missed your post. Will read all links from hereon forwards. Very, very busy when not reading at all. Now that I am more informed of your references, I still find it still a sad and shocking tale of love and death.

  7. Never mind, I realise I am rewriting Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad, Ms Squirrel. An astounding writer in that English was his second language.

  8. Beautifully related.

  9. Sometimes the sea is the best place to nurse your shock. Cheers.

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