meine umwelt

avec moi, sans moi,

par moi

Ahh… and the tales I shall unfold

May blast comprehension if the truth be told

An ode to the masters, martyrs and whims

A satyr on life and sullied daydreams

(1996)

London © 2016 Designing Futures

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Annals of Service

Ex-act Affect-ion

The cold great room was just warm enough to keep off the chill. Conversation petering out, he looked at his pale, thin young daughter down the long uncluttered table. Her mother had died some years ago with the encroaching winds; few sons little different. He watched her pick at her food before calling for the equally staid housekeeper. As the housekeeper called for the cook, he watched his child flicker in the light. "The child still does not eat," he said. The substantial multi-childed Flori maintained her position. He looked to his daughter. She looked at the fat globules floating in the thin soup and the cook. "It is too fat," she levelled. They all flickered in the light.

A long day and service over, they entertained briefly. The matters of the day covered, they retired.

The cold great room just warm enough to keep off the chill, he looked at his wavering young daughter down the long adequately provisioned table. He watched her look at her food before calling for the housekeeper. As the aging housekeeper called for the cook, he watched his child flicker steadily in the light. "The child still does not eat," he said. Flori, from family elevated in recent years among the congregations of inexplicable famines and plagues, sturdily maintained her wordless position. Her position had been negotiated. He looked to his daughter. "It is too heavy. I cannot eat it," she whispered across air and wood. The wind continued to blow. She retired.

A long day and service over, he entertained briefly. The negotiations of the day covered, he retired.

The cold great room just warm enough to keep off the chill, he looked at his waning young daughter down the long table. He watched her sit before calling for the housekeeper. As the housekeeper called for the cook, he watched his child as the evening light almost blew out. "The child does not eat," he said. Flori sturdily maintained her position. He looked to his daughter. In shadow, she lifted her left hand and slid thumb around over tips of middle and forefinger. "It is greasy. I cannot eat it," she inflected.

A long day and service over, they entertained briefly. The matters of the day covered, she arranged a small box to be carried.

He retired.

The Frontier Internal

"They request mixed audience."

"With whom?"

"They are content with you."

"I cannot see what I can do for them alone. Let me consult with my wife and issue an invitation."

The responses dwindled.

"Who is to attend?"

"A priest will administrate introductions."

Bounteous provision required, the children were not in attendance. Shortly before passing, his wife maintained pallid declination.

~

Good women approaching child-rearing age were known to disappear from the region and were rarely heard of again. Any that did retained little capacity for speech.

~

The tales entered the annals of service and over the years were interpreted and reproduced by those with access to be performed for a range of purposes.

(6th Nov ‘16)

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