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.