Sentiment of the Day

If I write, and you are moved, I have done my due diligence. If you find, despite your best efforts, you are not ambivalent to my indulgent rambling, I have made my point. You may agree whole-heartedly with my sentiments, raising a defiant fist in support, or you may spit, unable to contain the bile rising in your throat. So much of what I write fades from this physical plane; withered and dog-eared pages burned to ashes, lost to time, or graffiti upon the walls white-washed or rinsed away by the rains. If I have a place in history, if I am to be remembered for song, slogan, soliloquy, or slur, it will be because you keep my words, tenuous things they tend to be, deep in your heart.
Catch of the Day was performed last evening in The Great Theater of Pentilicus Tallux. Due the greatness of the actors Locutius and Alcobiades, their ability to deliver the words I pen with proper pace and sentiment, I believe it went well. Not every patron in the tiers received it favorably, but I do not recall an ambivalent reaction among them. Perhaps the words were more divisive than many would find polite, but that is only indicative of the divisions of the day. I do not speak of mere privileges. For the record, I believe in the structure of caste, in the fitness of a society in which every man pulls his weight by engaging in what he was born to, and born to do. Each of us has our role to play. Mine is to write verse addressing the glory of my city, to recite prose dedicated to the wonder of love, lust, and the range of human emotion - but there is more. The Poet is a bellwether against corruption, conspiracy, and a catalyst for change. Today's current events are tomorrow's history. While I would not be so bold as to think a Poet should write the history of his day, such things are for Warriors to forge and studious Scribes to record, my caste does what others cannot. We record the sentiment of the day. We are not here to record the chronology of things. If you wish to know what occurred during the life of Szol, you will find little in the lines of his poetry and less in the dialogue of his plays to form a complete history. What you will find in these things, however, is far more telling. You will know what men felt.

Flyer

Demands

Once, for your lapse in judgment

Twice, for your need to speak unbid

A third time, for your not-so-subtle betrayal

And three more times, for I felt like it.

I was not angry, I do not lash out unchecked

I was unhurt, for I expected no less

It would be falsehood to claim ambivalence

For I knew precisely why I did it

I would do it again, that is the lesson

Subversive diversion, manipulation

Temerity, the order of the day

Modus Operandi of an inglorious past

I will not be swayed from this path

I will not be convinced otherwise

You will endure this

When you are finally left with nothing

Bereft of all, depleted of stores

Then I will take everything

When you have nowhere left to turn

No avenue not traversed

Then I will show you the way

The Planting Feast Approaches

We are deep into En'Kara, the first month of the year. The First Passage Hand approaches and, with it, the Planting Feast. With the animosity between the lower castes and the five high, particularly the Initiates, I wonder if differences will be put aside for the three ceremonial days that necessary sacrifices, prayer and ritual may be completed. It is a solemn, important event not taken lightly, particularly by the working men and women of the lower castes. This event is not so sacrosanct, however, that it has not been blasphemed in the past. A glaring example from history was the time a rogue tarnsman from Ko-ro-ba dared to storm out of the city astride a fierce, black tarn with the Home Stone in hand - not moments after it was sprinkled with the offering of the Life Daughter. He took, as well, a woman once known as the daughter of Marlenus, but in retrospect, I take no offense to that - only that he failed to keep the bitch in irons from Day One. I will say that he has done service to the city since that time, but there are some slights so grave that one does not easily forgive - and one certainly never forgets. Given the opportunity, I would certainly drop Tasta's leash to see just how heroically he might run.

Whatever the political climate in a few hands time, I will make my observances and honor the day in hopes others are good enough to do the same.

I am reminded of a conversation I had with a man that might have been Ubar, had his personal pride and ambition not outweighed his sense of civic responsibility. "This is my city," I told him. "Your city?" he answered incredulously, as if I were a threat to his machinations. I have no doubt he could have gutted me where I stood, if the notion occurred to him. "My city, yes," I answered unwavering in my claim. I still believe that. This is my city. With defiance and obstinance, I have defended her gates. With conviction and determination, I have been the voice of her People. With a patriotic and dissident heart, I have defaced her walls that acceptance and kow-towing to the elite would not become the order of the day. So yes, my friend and sometimes adversary, Ar is mine. My love for her is deep and abiding, unending and enduring. Let no man or nation stand between us.