Some thoughts of no import

A ship a pot and an internal combustion engine were having a debate. “Fairer than I? Upon the twelve seas there is not one such as I!” The ship was adamant. The internal combustion engine was unconvinced. “And what good does it do you to be fair? You are a hulk of wood and canvas, made of those things that once lived and now are dead to form your misshaped masts and planks. Your figurehead is a mockery of the perfect imperfections of the human form, a grotesque reminder of the fact that you bring nought but death.” The ship would’ve snorted had that been a thing a ship could do. As it was only a ship, it could but let the wind flap its sails fruitlessly. “I am only still until the time comes for me to live again. And once I do, that I live shall be clearer than clear could be. Gliding with such grace that those living things you so scorn could only look on in envy. Even those beasts acclimated and known to the sea shall turn green with desire to be as elegant as I.” Perhaps this swayed...

  “ 11:00 – Gertrude berates the princes for their slobishness and the maids for their tardiness in organizing the hall. 11:12 – Berrington and Prince Danneff have resolved never to drink again. The Danubian diplomat has made no such promise, though he seems chastised. Perhaps if he spoke Neptic his feeling would be clearer. 11:15 – Berrington, Prince Danneff, and the Danubian diplomat have been instructed to clean up the mess they made last night. Gerturde has failed to point out exactly what this mess was. That girls were involved is neither secret nor unexpected. 11:17 – Gertrude has informed me this is not the kind of meeting I am to keep minutes for.” -Discarded note from records of meetings of the twenty ninth tri-annual Danubian – Kargian cooperation summit. I assume nothing good happened to the minute taker. Pilly’s boredom grew logarithmically with his anxiety. And since his anxieties seemed to compound in on themselves, each feeding off each other in horrible c...

Heat and light streamed in torrents through the great library. Straining his ears, Hailey reached for the sound of birdsong. Instead, the gentle strumming of harp and guitar that permeated the hall engulfed him in serenity. The acolytes were doing wonderfully, he noted with satisfaction. He might have been dismayed at the evident truth of Dolstoy’s warnings, but he tried to ignore such things. Instead he let the beauty and truth of the afternoon study engulf him. Dolstoy found no such peace in the ritual and comfort of the familiar. Every letter read, every message received, every string plucked, and every discussion held was to him but a sign of the degradation of the point. He’d thought the veil was lifted; the obvious rot known to all. But the library was as calm and defanged as ever, as if a week had not passed since the pilgrims should’ve begun pouring in. He stared at the letters, the scholars, the teachers, and the holy men. What did they think these reports meant? What trut...

  “The Shaman of Devona had never been liked. The people of Devona liked him least of all. So much they disliked him that they begged the spirits and the shades and the first sun to send them deliverance, to send them peace. As had always been the case, the prayers and requests that were spoken to the wind were heard first by the Shaman, who would in turn speak to the stones and the storms who would in turn convey the prayers, as well as they could remember them, to the spirits and the shades and the first sun. The Shaman wanted nothing but the best for the people of Devona, and naturally, believed they needed the best Shaman they could get. So the people of Devona prayed and prayed, and the Shaman only wished they’d pray for something that’d do them any good.” Excerpt from the tales of suspect origin, Jennept’s archive of northern stories. The guard had diligently surveyed and observed the cell of the two foreign agents for almost two months. The guards had been less diligent....

“You want something poetic, don’t you? Oh futures who cares, it doesn’t take a prophet to tell you Jepchy won’t win this war. I can tell you that when the treaty is signed, the shaman brought to bear witness, as every contract between northerners must have at least one, will release a pair of strange northern rodents. They’ll devastate the local wildlife to no end. You’ll have loads of dead birds and starving moles. How’s that for a concrete prophecy?” Excerpt from the seeings of Taisotin the lucid, the litany of days to come, second standard edition. “Looking at the most prolific prophesiers, Jin, Gubita, Ayela, what strikes us as the common thread? I believe it to be not just the scope and distance of their foretelling, but the murkiness. It stands to reason that whatever process is underway during prophecy, there is both an element of natural skill, but also a tradeoff. One cannot prophesize far and accurately and often; something has to give. I realize my fellows will not want ...