"Early Morning in Pa'apqa"
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@d-pend — |. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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Early Morning in Pa'apqa
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Sply Pa'axa
.Look at those absurd book-vaults stacked to the sky... I still cannot fully believe there are those capable of mynd-perusing them from afar. Can it be possible? At times I feel the victim of a massive scam — that all these nobles are really laughing uproariously behind closed doors, running this literary racket upon the whole of Pa'apqa. Still, I must admit, those musty tomes ranging from miniature to monolithic sprawling near-endlessly in every direction are most impressive to behold. Even I — who nurtures no great love of dull scholarship — admit to being frequently transported by an inexplicable and irresistible awe as I patrol the city streets in the early-morning before dawn.
I would not dare to voice my doubts regarding the distant utility of this exorbitant library metropolis to another living soul, so sacred are the literary skyscrapers of Pa'apqa to those who rule here. At times, moreover, I must doubt my doubts — so wise and learned seem the librarian-mages who travel from far-distant lands to attend the conferences held by the Vox Papyrum. Now excuse me, I must wander in the cool breeze of morning and patrol the empty streets — streets empty, at least, of all but the eccentric and the shady and the insane.
Byrm Pash
.Books are everything. I read the chill air with my nostrils and my skin and my heart and my mynd. Everywhere are the lines scrawled by the scribe-sylphs in flowing paragraphs, speaking of the history of this grand illusion, this beauteous word-city, this symbol-ful world. My eyes may be fading, dimmed by the imbalanced magic of my strange condition — attacked by the same eloquence that gives me joy — yet, I see internally, clearer than ever, the timely prophecies of all these fairy philosophers, written in symbols more ancient than Vek itself. Pa'apqa! When will you heed the repetitive klaxons of these shocking declarations? When will you lay down your doubt and your disbelief? A new era is coming, and with it a new world of chaotic cataclysms both hideous and vibrant. Pa'apqa! The end is nigh.
Pyron Na'upqa
.Now what is that incredible perfume upon the air currents? Ahh, what a wondrous day! Foorsooth, some subtle petrichor must linger from the days of old when Cold Xhonglu drenched hot Vek with endless rain. It must be this — here, now, as I stroll the glorious patios of the Ajnthyst Cluster — that constitutes the privilege of the noble: that we are able to appreciate the moment in a most sublime manner, untainted by the necessity of endless unnecessary toil, satisfied with our ability thereto, and confident in the potency of our influence upon a populace who love us of dire necessity. This necessity, by the way, is not enforced by militant strength, nor psychological coercion, but by rigorous structuring of society such that life becomes comfortable and safe within its snug walls.
Iceface Pirmf
.Me? Iceface, they call. Ha ha ha ha ha! Whatever name, if it fit. Morning not cold — not cold for Iceface. Six-point snowflitic my eye. Feet like glacier stone. Belly like snow-draft.
That person calls me crazy and that and that, then I saw soldier-people walk, and today no big food. Why Mama Fire no bring me big food for five day? Well, then I eat warm wind — warm for me Iceface. Ha ha ha ha ha. Synthesize from nothin, trick stomach. Boom — belly like snow-drift.
I see all on bent street intersection. Noble-ones know too much, think me daft. I hear they conversation. I know they drama. I hear somethin big comin. Na'upqa clan gone get surprise of all life. One-eye says, then shadow people move. Move not slow like Iceface me, they swift like blizzard-spear.
Then I go find good snug stone and sleep, dream — learn truth in cold place inside until Mama Fire bring me back on hot streets. It all cold with warm — the dream and the street, my belly my feet — maybe the warm make me Pirmf. Hah! Well. I dont overthink. I give them, complicated, my old name — toss it out on avenue side, rot. Yes. I try to forget anyway. Me just Iceface, now.
Arpaquon
.The morning is noisy, chaotic with rustles. Yod, how loud are all the people in the world! How I loathe their incessant screams and squeaks and squirms. That noble passes, and his fresh sandals creak with agony, at a frequency that drives a stake of steel between my eyes. That bum wanders, and his calloused blue feet scrrrrrape sccrrrrappe scrrrape on Pa'apqa's avenues — tearing right into my gut, disembowling me. This is all fuel, inspiration for my duty — to make the world more quiet — one target at a time.
Original writing and images
by Daniel Pendergraft
— created for HIVE —
published on Dec. 8, 2021.
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Writing is fully original
and can be considered a first draft/blueprint
towards eventual completion of a piece
shared and preserved immutably on blockchain.
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Images are created with Wombo Dream,
scaled up, and further processed using Deep Dream Generator,
then finished using Final Cut Pro for editing/combination.