Desert of Man

Writing. Culture. Politics. Wandering.

Writing – A Triptych of Humanity

After a brief interlude of experiments in self publishing, designed to test the waters and the angle of the learning curve, I have managed to get some sleep and get back on track with two of my manuscripts. As I have mentioned, Of Suns And Spheres is one, but that is not under the limelight at this point.

While that manuscript is running along nicely, it’s the other one which recently has given me cause for concerns. Or at least thoughts of creative consideration. It is not a tale of projections towards a future, it is more one of connecting different futures by means of solving a mystery in the past. Yes, that is certainly one way to maintain it as an abstract, my apologies. Let’s shed some light.

The other manuscript has the working title of A Triptych of Humanity. It starts with an archeological find, a disease and quite a bit of cultural trauma derived of knowledge upsetting our perception of us as a species. Or rather, I should probably say “them”, not us. It begins with a setting of the stage by them finding what remains of us, after finding out what they became because of us. Cryptic indeed, but imagination is a wonderful thing.

The Triptych is quite a big manuscript. Consisting of three parts it might be an idea to split it up, as a trilogy. I have not decided yet. It is equally possible to release as a series (or even periodical) of short stories. We will see. One thing there at least is clear to me, each part does have a bit of a cold working title. Resources, intervention, management. Three parts to the manuscript, three panes to a work of  art which in the story plays an essential set of  roles.

It is not written as a story, consider it more something along the lines of a diary of events in passing, but in the form of a collection of letters. One man, his singular perspective, on a world changing around him. Without regards for him, in spite of him, because of him. Three different angles of approach, across time, under changing circumstances. His letters, his notes, his art. So, a few paragraphs of an introduction, a scene placed just before they open their own box.


Mode Record.

Colleagues, my friends,

forgive me that I do not touch my face to yours this evening, I fear for us all to meet properly the time we have available would come to an end long before getting to any point of acute interest here tonight. For those who did not recognise me, yes, I am still Mentor Eana K’Ton, I have gotten a bit older since the last time I managed to get out in the sun. Not wiser, mind you. Wisdom lies in the honesty of youth. Vested interests come with age. As always an intrinsic balance to strike. I jest, obviously, life is not that simple.

I don’t know why, normally I come to this marvellous museum by means of transport. Today I walked, perhaps to take some more time to reflect on my thoughts. Maybe also from an instinctive need to feel as an intelligent being, to briefly separate from modern technology. Almost as if taking on the footwear of one of our distant ancestors. It is a pleasantly dry and cool evening outside. It will undoubtedly get warmer inside here. I would ask of you all, to not let it get too warm.

Now, where else can I begin than at The Katarin Heights. After all, it is the place where we as a species came across findings that ultimately made us question our origins, our existence, even the mythologies that have shaped our history. It’s a barren, endless plane of sand and dusty rocks, nothing lives there. No animals, plants, not even insects. Life that wanders there finds itself suffering quickly, and moves on. Nothing has lived there for many, many cycles. From research undertaken by the – at the time – League university of Mieanan, just over a hundred years ago, we know that it once was a garden, teeming with life. It was their findings that forced us to no longer threaten each other with weapons of mass destruction. Their work opened the eyes of all, to see that such weapons – threatening our very existence in the case of war – had been used on our world already. The scars they had left, the scale and depth, it made us all think. When the last member of that expedition died, miserably, publicly but proud, it made us talk, with each other.

Scarcely a decade later, a more or less peaceful world once again returned to the Katarin Heights. This time it was the Second Expedition and Research Program – in honour of the first – commissioned by the Assembly. Our technology had advanced, enabling us to engage in much deeper study, without suffering the fate of the previous expedition. What they found gave us insights into a lost time, a different world entirely not our own, one likely the origin of most aspects of symbology and mythology at the heart of our history. It was however also an expedition that once again upset our worldview, challenging further convictions and beliefs. Not only were the findings of the first expedition confirmed in full, making clear that a war of extinction had once been fought on this world, they also found that those ancestral origins of gods and their mythologies were not our own. One of the main conclusions, no matter how disturbing at the time, was that another intelligent species had once called this world their home as well. A species which had interacted with our own, influencing our cultural development, events giving way to myths and symbols passing on in further tales across time. A precursor species, but one advanced. Advanced enough to keep a substantial set of findings hidden from a general public for the next four decades. In those days fear was an instrument of organisation still. All it maintained really was a number of opinionated convictions, we were fortunate at least that research and study continued. In the dark, but it did.


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This entry was posted on June 22, 2013 by in Muse, Write and tagged , , , , , , , , .
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