This is an allegory. It distorts a lot what it intends to allude. There was an article the other day about new documents uncovered in King’s College. The papers are by Newton and describe a dream he had. In this dream he discovered the key to the alchemist’s stone and used the stone to gaze back in time, to see who had built the stone hedges near his house. He saw primitive sapiens...
Editorial notes: The first part of this short autobiographical narrative refers to the time Shai lived in a debilitated farmhouse in the Brisbane area. I was there is June 2015 and the description of the farmhouse, its surroundings and inhabitants is spot on. The last paragraph is Shai’s beautiful, yet painful, reflection of his continuing battle with drug addiction. The analogy he draws between...
By the late decade, he was an architect for a new data trawler innovate, designed to ease the congestion in cross-domain strategy development. These projects had stalled for weeks and were the major advantage of the Democrat party, which held them their single greatest advantage in the “Wise Decisions polls” TM. The party made a drastic decision to pool resources from alternative...
Editorial notes: This post was found in ‘Draft’ mode in the original blog and may be incomplete. It is published here in its original state. It was last updated on 12/05/2016 I first heard this story while smoking a thick reefer, bathing in a hot water spring in the interior of Fiji. I had travelled by cattle truck, foot and horse to arrive at this place. And it was good. I had long...
He had been walking since before he could remember, and before that he had escaped. There had been dunes of fine white dust and shattered stones lining desiccated river beds. He had passed passages decorated by impossible fossils, decaying wooden signs and roughly hewn markers proving undeniable theses and directions, and a skeleton proving that he was not the first to go this way. He had known...
Setting: Aristotle (the philosopher) and Alexander (the young, one day to be ‘the great’) are walking home from a speech by Protagoras the sophist. Alexander: Are the words of Protagoras true; that the ways of men are whimsical and at the mercy of the winds? Or perhaps it is true that man is the puppet of his soul? Aristotle: What a fine question young Alexander. The Oracle of Apollo...
David was a historian at the institute. The machine had been cold, like the look on his father’s face when he cried. The noises that erupted from it felt uncoordinated and overeager, like the dreams where he could not stop running and falling. The nurse had been friendly, like the voices in his head when there was no one else to tell. The doctor had been professional, like a salesman, like...
A boy lost in the woods. The path is a dragon to be fled, cobblestones made of logical paradoxes to be solved. There is a sign pointing to freedom and wealth. There are warnings; a cacography of leaves and bare twigs, foretelling failures and eternal damnation. The spirits sing sweet songs, gossamer echoes of Ariadne’s thread. “Here is freedom, here is choice.” But the boy...
When I first met Adam he was picketing cigarette sales outside a convenience store. When I think of him now, I think of his bulging eyes, sweaty stubble, the smell of aniseed as he leaned in confidentially to whisper something he thought must be a secret, but back then he was clean shaved and suited and not prone to whispers. “You got a light?” I didn’t. “That’s...
You are welcome to sit by the fire, its flames dance in the rhythm that aches for freedom inside us, and the rumble of the consuming fuel echoes the debt of time that strikes at us in unrelenting syncopation. You are welcome to sit by the fire, I am telling myself a story. It is not my story. Here it begins. When you wake up in the morning, you are you, and there is no doubt. When you lay down to...
