Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

It is a place hungry for color.

But this hunger stems not from a desire for beauty, or variety. It is, rather, the very grease that makes the wheels of that grey place turn. It lures color there, through its subtle means. Curiosity, greed, even lust. And then it sweeps away the path back, bars the door, and waits.

Slowly, every so slowly, the colors are drained to grey and the life to a husk. The grey seeps into even the most vibrant colors, and then they are part of the grey, forever lost in the infinite shades as the boundaries creep out a little further into a colorful world.

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“She never accused them of it, and those prison guards never bragged about it either, and they weren’t the type to keep their mouths shut when it came to roughing up civil rights protestors. No, I think that back then, rape was just too delicate an atrocity for anyone to talk about. But we aim to change that, and visit some justice upon them.”

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I saw a method in the wind, a face in the trees, an intelligence in the light. Keen thoughts beyond the ken of mortals peered at me from behind the glinting eyes of an owl set high in a cypress. Wood arms spread wide, the scene welcomed me against a cloak of leaves and a staff of straight pine.

“What would you have of me?” I asked.

The answer was in the wet warmth of the ground, the steam of a hot day bleeding into the night, and the chorus of insects that rose above it all: go forth and burn those who would defile me in this place, my home.

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An old man publishes a book of poetry
Reflections on youth, nature, retirement
He sends copies to local libraries for free
Another old man greets shoppers at the door
Wishing them a happy Walmart experience
His reflections unpublished; no time, no money
In a hundred years, when people look back
Which would they rather have read?

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Three-sectioned luxury couch
Free to anyone who wants it
Used only a few times
In a midtown apartment
Paid for by parents
For their college student
Claim it anytime you want
From the dumpster

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The Book of Life
The single tome
Holding all the
Mysteries ever
Pondered over by
Mortal minds
Sits for sale
On Amazon.com
For one cent
Free shipping
Unknown binding
Unknown language
Great deal!
If it is sold
Jeff Bezos gets
.00001 cents
Has he already
Read the book
Or is he actually
Writing its sequel

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Canto XVIII
(Retranslated from High Arakeus by Cantor Simuhideen Jox in 137 PCA)
The Light, having set itself upon the world in finite amount, shall recede with the passing of ages. And when the light is so far gone as to be only a speck in the darkness or less, a new Light will burst upon the dark world, bringing with it a new order. Those who aided will be set upon thrones of light, and the task given unto them will be the remaking of the cold stone that is our world.

Commentary
(Written by Arch-Cantor Jadhrumelarin Ix in 589 PCA)
Canto XVIII is the most controversial part of the Hymn, and more of the Concordance is given over to it than to any other of the other eighteen cantos. This is because the ambiguity of the phrase “those who aided” (udunaal in High Arakeus);it is unclear if this refers to people adding others, aiding the Light in persisting, or aiding in snuffing it out and bringing darkness.

The result is that many cults and revival movements have seized on Canto XVIII as the basis for their deviant beliefs. They tend to fall into two camps. The first, “Kindler” cults, believes that by increasing the amount of light in the world, they will be rewarded when the light eventually fades. They are notorious for their acts of arson and self-immolation.

A second, and perhaps more dangerous grouping are the myriad “Dusker” cults. They hold that extinguishing light will bring about the end of the Universal Lightmore quickly, and that by helping to extinguish this “imperfect light” they will be rewarded in the soon-to-come. Duskers were responsible for the shattering of five of the seven Sunstones, for instance, helping to bring about the Dark Age.

“Kindlers” tend to be short-lived cults, as arson and immolationtend to, if one will pardon the pun, burn themselves out before long. “Duskers” on the other hand tend to be larger, better-organized, and far more dangerous. Both, however, are equally heretical.

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“Behind every mouse, there is another mouse who profits from its labors and even its death.”
-Ide proverb

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When wake ye from a slumber long
But all your dreams have up and gone
A fairies’ visit you have had
The tidings of which are never glad
Each stolen dream they siphon up
From your head into their cups
Then bear them hence, into the home
Of their darkest queen upon her throne
In mortal dreams does she seek
A way to learn the secrets we keep
For when she lays the last one bare
Her fairies’ time had come fore’er

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Burn out the Greymold where it gathers and grows. Anywhere you see its distinct color, smell its distinct aroma, begin your search and do not stop until it is destroyed.

Each tendril of the Greymold is like the synapse in a mammal’s brain, fired with energy from the foul slimes and detritus they consume. By the time it is detectable, it already had the quiescent intelligence of a minor beast. If left to grow, it will become a mind capable of functioning, reasoning…attacking.

Perhaps if our own neurons grew as quickly and as desperately as the Greymold we too would be able to act as it does, reaching out to control lesser minds and destroy greater ones. Perhaps it is best that ours do not.

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