Graffiti on the Avenue of Turia; A Conversation Overheard

"What do you make of this?"
"Damned insolent to be marking walls in this District!"
"I suppose so. Were you at the festival, the parade and so forth?"
"Indeed I was. The rabble of this city have some nerve!"
"You are exciteable this afternoon."
"The wall to my shop was defaced, Timon! Should I be pleased?"
"It is only a bit of paint and an opinion."
"My opinion is that these rabble should leave well enough alone. Marcus Claudius is a hero!"
"So it would seem."
"Your empathy with the lower castes is ill-placed, Timon. The cut of your tunic is far too crisp."
"Perhaps you are correct."
"Caste distinction is the foundation of an ordered society. You would do well to remember that."
"I doubt the average Peasant has any desire to give up his plow that he might learn the mathematics of Builders or the letters of Scribes, any more than I have a notion to dismiss the study of Medicine that I might recite poetry or knead dough."
"Do not speak of poetry."
"Very well."

A Letter to Brutus Aurelius

Administrator,

I was relieved to hear you were unharmed in the attempt on your life last evening. I would have preferred to express this sentiment personally, however I was turned away at the entrance of the Central Cylinder this morning. I understand the added security and find it a prudent measure.

As you are well aware, I spent a good part of last evening and all of this morning effecting the release of Citizens jailed during the festival. The chaining of Citizens exercising their right to assembly was, in my opinion, a poorly considered course of action. Further, adding the insult of incarceration was a regrettable decision. Magistrate Silenti overstepped the bounds of his Office last evening and should be sanctioned. This, however, I leave to your discretion. The People of this City, the finest City, are passionate. They do not need to be 'shown their place.' They know their place rather well. What they require, what is their right as men of Ar, is the respect and support of this Administration - of your Administration. If you wish to be successful in your term of Office, to leave a lasting legacy of your name, I suggest you avidly seek the endorsement of the People.

Respectfully,

Szol of Ar

Magistrate of the People

Beginnings

Spring sprung

Sentiment sung

And the rain washes clean

Another year

Perennials bloom

Brushing back gloom

And the naysayers have

Said their solemn say

I greet you, Lar Torvis

My door a verdant hue

You remember me

I remember the sun-dappled dew

The crisp mornings

And warm afternoons

It is month One

En’kara undone, open

To any and all avenues

But today is not for planning

Our laurels are for wearing

Not standing upon

Good-natured drinking

Not worrisome thinking

Fill my cup

From the bottom up

Return my smile

Accounting

New Year

With another somber Waiting Hand having passed, we welcome the start of another En’Kara and with it, another new year. I was up before the Central Fire crested the Voltai. Tasta prowled the cul-de-sac as I painted the door to my Anbar domicile green, a celebration of the season. The first hand of En’Kara is always a festive time. There is much to celebrate entering this new year, but much to be wary over as well. The Initiates have been exposed, but one cannot help to reason they will be preaching their dogma again soon, gathering the faith of the fearful and the adherence of the pragmatic in the process. The repeal and prescribed restitution of unjust levies have been met with begrudging consent, but that may hold true only so long as the ambivalence of our current Administration remains intact. New challenges are sure to arise. Our city is at its best, I fear, when conquest is on the agenda. During times of peace, the power-brokers are all too willing to turn inward, against their own to satiate their greed. I can only hope they have seen the folly of pushing the People too far. When you leave a man with nothing to lose, logic dictates he has nothing to lose. Each day another ten walls are defaced in districts across the breadth of the city, the contempt plain in the words, in the crude renderings. Some speak of it as social commentary, others dismiss it as the petulance of the poor. What it truly represents, in my mind, is a warning. The men who sweep your stables, light your lamps, sing your standards, vend your food and drink, brand your bitches, tool your sandals and perform a thousand other menial tasks most take for granted are not to be thought of lightly. We are all of Ar, from the tavern master renting a flat in the Trevelyan to the Scions of the City with their Tabidian Tower residences. There are no men of humble birth in this city. We are men of Ar. 

A Conversation Unheard

"He is still alive."

"The intelligence was sound."

"He is still alive."

"Do you really think he is the problem?"

"He is hardly the solution."

"Agreed."

"So it is the sleen on your heels or the larl at your throat, is it?"

"So it would seem."

"I choose neither."

"If you do not make a choice, a choice will be made regardless."

"Perhaps the time has passed for picture-painting and slogan-craft."

"You may be right, old friend."

"Is it better to be ruled by the sublimely apathetic or the ambitiously corrupt?"

"I choose neither."

"As you say, if you do not make a choice, a choice will be made regardless."

"Perhaps I spoke in haste."

"How so?"

"What if there were a third option?"

"That is intriguing Kaissa, Player."

"Intriguing, certainly. Dangerous, assuredly. And I am hardly a Player."

"We are all far more than we seem these days."

"We are of Ar."

"We are Giants."

"Both are true."

Distraction pt. 2

Preternatural lust
One hunger
One ache, just
Swim-headed
Cold-sweated, gone
The leash is broken
The cage door
Knocked down
Slake, sate
Seethe, rape
Coming

& coming again
Say my name
Say my name
Say my name
Shut your mouth

Graffiti in the Street of Brands District; A Conversation Overheard

"It seems Marcus has purchased a sleen."
"Big, gray one, by the looks of it."
"The gray ones are said to be excellent trackers."
"I do not wish to be tracked by any sleen, be it gray, brown, black, barred or purple."
"There are purple sleen?"
"If there were, would you wish to be tracked by one?"
"No, certainly not."
"Tenacious. Tireless. Always get their man."
"I knew a kettle & mat girl like that once. Face looked like she was hit by a butter pan, but she was an insistent, little slut."
"You are the most indiscriminate fellow I know."
"And you, my compatriot, are far too wrapped up in superficial beauty."
"I think I would like to see a purple sleen."
"So long as it was chained."
"Indeed."

Graffiti in the Anbar on Sixth Street; A Conversation Overheard

"Sloshing pissbuckets of the Priest-Kings, why is it always on my walls?"
"Not just yours. Something similar was put up in the Great Square just yesterday."
"Bold, aren't they?"
"Or foolish."
"Both, likely."
"Certainly."
"D'you suppose there is anything to it?"
"There is always at least a notion of truth in this things. If not more."
"Hm."
"I will fetch one of the sluts to get this scrubbed clean."
"No. Leave it."

Graffiti in the Great Square; A Conversation Overheard

"Do you think it is true?"
"It is only art, subject to interpretation."
"I suppose so, but the artist seems to guide the viewer into a rather narrow field of possible interpretations."
"Indeed."
"It is an accurate likeness. Of both."
"The essence of each has been captured admirably, yes."
"Would you rather be bitten by an ost or a larl?"
"What sort of question is that? I choose neither."
"I would choose to be bitten by Keri, a Dancer at the Braided Whip."
"She is a delightfully fierce, little slut."
"I am thirsty."
"As am I."

Poetry In The Margin

Unadorned
Unable
Unsound

Unraveled
Unstable
Unfound

Unsung
Unheralded
Uncrowned

Untouched
Unlabeled
Unbound

Diversionary Tactics

I have decided to ask Locutius to accept one of the parts in the new play, which I have entitled Catch of the Day. It might prove difficult to find him timely, but I have sent word to Vesutto of Venna who seems to have a rather reliable network. He has been able to locate the actor extraordinaire for me in the past. I sincerely enjoyed Alcobiades' performance in The Good Citizen, so it is my hope he can be persuaded to accept the co-lead in the new production. He is of Ar. If he is within the walls and not off performing with some troupe on a dusty trail, it should not prove too taxing to find the fellow. 

I have found myself slipping a little of late, unable to quench certain thirsts, sate certain hungers. The distraction, diversion, whatever one calls it, helps to take my mind away from work-related issues. In the past, I have turned to the bottle to ease the stresses of everyday life, but I do not have the taste for grain alcohols like I once did. I will indulge in a bowl of paga now and again, of course, but I do not miss waking in the morning unable to lift my head from the couch. I am coming to realize, however, that the distraction of soft thighs and a tender throat is still an addiction, an obsession that is far too easy to cede control to. I find that writing, a return to the work of my Caste, rather than the work of the People, is helping to hone my focus. I have been prolific of late, three poems and a play in the last hand or so. 

It is a thin line that divides having control of one's desires and letting one's desires take the reins. 

Poetry in the Margin

Forget me
Remember me
Dismember me not
Judge me
Begrudge me
Come
Take my spot
Relieve me
Reprieve me
Black kettle
Blacker pot
Imbue me
Re-undo me
Re-imagine
Life and lot

Playwright

Two years prior, during the Fair of En'Kara, The Fall of Agamedes was staged in the shadow of the Sardar for the world to see. It was a play about two men, each seemingly at odds with their place in the world; the archetypes of Assassin and Warrior. Famed actors, Locutius and Nikos of Tyros delivered my dialogue to the world. Earlier this year, in the middle of En'Var, The Good Citizen was produced on the stage of the Great Theater of Pentilicus Tallux. It was a historical account, a chronicle of true-to-life events that took place in the Street of Brands District of Ar several years ago, but most probably took it for dramatic fiction. There were four parts. Locutius, again, deigned to accept a part. Turianus of Torcadino, Phineahas of ...Cos, and Alcobiades of Ar were the remaining Actors. That was my third production on Tallux's grand stage, and by far the most successful. The previous two were my first work, Merchant of Ko-ro-ba, and a reprise of The Fall of Agamedes.

The new work, as yet untitled, will feature two principals with minimal stage production and props. If the parts can be filled timely, I hope to stage it soon after the start of the new year. Inspiration comes from the strangest of places.

Smolder

We are tired
Your huddled masses
Worn and bruised
Disillusioned, confused
Disparate from you
The grease to your wheels
The gears of your machine
Lean, but not broken
Hungry, but not starved
These setbacks will not
Tear us asunder
Like tin men you fell
Sanguine waters, the well
Still you dance, oblivious
Lascivious, your greed
Your corruption, a seed
Deep in the dogmatic soil
Pampered feet refuse to touch
These embers, remember
Have yet to cool