[identity profile] managexcolo.livejournal.com
In the darkest part of the night

Whoever seeks to keep his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life will preserve it.
Whosoever shall seek to save his life shall lose it; and whosoever shall lose his life shall preserve it.
LUKE 17:33

I have more than enough of burnt offerings,
of rams and the fat of fattened animals;
I have no pleasure
in the blood of bulls and lambs and goats.
ISAIAH 1:11

The cry is silent, but if we had ears, oh, they would bleed from the sound she makes as she goes like a sacrificial lamb. But she is Abraham too, is she not? Wielding her own knife, the lamb-child of her father, haha. Our old friend uses it to break open the world, for a sacrifice is like a key in a lock; her blood makes the thirsty throat of the earth open, and tremble, and quake.

We were surprised - and we are so rarely surprised, it was quite delicious, a taste like piquant cheese and aged olives - when Nu found a way home for the lamb, bringing her back to the fold. We should expect no less from the father of our own precious darling.

And if the lamb is not dead, then the door she opened can be closed...

We gather ourselves, and go out into the night. There will be much played out in these hours that we would watch.

[Closed]
[identity profile] managexcolo.livejournal.com
The long late days of summer, creeping toward the fall

COME, REAP, we said, three years ago now. (Our darling smiles with many sets of teeth, and we hold itherhim squirming - against our breasts, if we had them, we would.) There was a great cry in Egypt, and cried, ἐγώ εἰμι and so It is.

It was why we left Excolo, was It not? Because our old friend would not like our darling, and so we hid It from him. But we could feel the winds of change, and so let the road bring us back here: where all roads are intended to end.

Now it has come to that, we find we are not ready for the End. There are so many things we have yet to do. Motherhood has made us soft, haha, like butter, and we would like our precious to live longer, to taste dust in Its mouth of a world fallen silent, silent, silent through time, a tomb of stone and cobwebs. Not in fire and blood.

All the pieces are on the board, but our friend has not explained the rules of the game. Not very sporting, we think. But we plan to play our own game, and serve our own needs. Soon.

Happy birthday, darling.
[identity profile] managexcolo.livejournal.com

Saturday, early morning; the road to Excolo

These two-three years have rolled round as a cheese, smooth as silk. Our road has been twisting and straight, hard and soft, and oh, we have had adventures, our family, have we not? Haha, indeed.

And now the season turns to bring us to Excolo, to pluck up that which was planted. We brought us by strange roads, so that the way was hidden; and now we are here like the miracle of morning, dew gleaming on the grass. Back to where things began, and where they end.

Come, reap.

[identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
Wednesday, the 24th of September

I'd planned to see Management sooner, but there was Lucien. I still feel strange every time I think about him. That he isn't coming back like I did.

Tez lost lots of people he was close to, over the years. Micah probably lost some, if I could reach that far into his memories. The composite thing I am hasn't.

I did get very drunk at the wake. Lucien would have wanted it, I think, in memory of all the times we got drunk together. I ended up being very sick in an alley, and sat there for a long time looking at my foot in the dark. It's healed some. I think I should take more care of it, now. He'd like that. Would have liked it. I slept in the alley, too, and today my head and stomach hurt. But I promised Genny, and so I've walked to the Carnival - but not until I'd washed my foot with salt water and bandaged it carefully.

[Open to Management]
[identity profile] managexcolo.livejournal.com
Wednesday, 13th of August; the dead hours before dawn
Elsewhere~}
And Pharaoh rose up in the night, he, and all his servants, and all the Egyptians; and there was a great cry in Egypt; for there was not a house where there was not one dead.
And Pharaoh rose up in the night, he, and all his servants, and all the Egyptians; and there was a great cry in Egypt; for there was not a house where there was not one dead.
And Pharaoh rose up in the night, he, and all his servants, and all the Egyptians; and there was a great cry in Egypt; for there was not a house where there was not one dead.

COME
REAP

[we have been to Egypt;
we have been to the deadlands
to the nightlands
to the dawning place where the tide rises
to the birthplace of the world:
Nu}
before-Ra
before-father
now father to -
father of -



We could have let it not hurt, we could have asked that, for we have seen all kinds of pain in our years, have we not, tried them on like hats, haha, made of skin - and found them lacking.

This pain was exquisite.

But this I say, He who sows sparingly shall reap also sparingly; and he who sows bountifully shall reap also bountifully.

Oh, the ground was tilled, and seeds sown mightily.

THERE WAS A GREAT CRY:

But not of death.

Not yet.

The door has been opened, and our child brought forth.

Good morning, darling.

[Closed]
[identity profile] managexcolo.livejournal.com
Before dawn, the 7th of June

THERE was a great cry in Egypt; and since our conversation with Nu we have retreated with our promise cradled within us. But coming, blinking (if we blinked) some days ago into the light, we saw with new eyes the raggedy nature of our home and of our family.

Oh, this will not do at all, not with what is to come. Birds in their little nests agree, haha. We have a great desire for joy and comfort within our family, and we recall how that great feast of the death of the year seems to feed our fortunes. And what better wake than song and snow and eating?

We must cast our net wide to turn the world like this, and so it will not last for long. But for a little spell: peace on earth, and goodwill toward men.

With dawn will come snow, dappled rainbow with lights. The air will be pine and frost and cinnamon, and we like that, do we not? All things perfect as a picture.

In the distance we hear the soft jingle of sleigh bells. An old, old friend is coming to town. And from the east, cloven footprints will soon be seen in the snowfall, growing ever closer to town. But first, a pause at a farmhouse where one light glimmers in a window. It has been a long journey, and he is hungry.

Sunrise.

[CLOSED]
[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com

{elsewhere}
Oh, don't deceive me,
Oh, never leave me,
How could you use
A poor maiden so?



Sunday, April 25th, the Carnival.

Early one morning,
Just as the sun was rising,
I heard a young maid sing,
In the valley below.


A bright sort of morning, is it not? A perfect spring morning, The lark's on the wing; / The snail's on the thorn, haha, just so. To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven, and not just under heaven.

A great many things have happened of late. Zann's fracturing, a great shame. Such a dear girl. We could show her how to reset her cogs, but our dear friend would not like that, and this is a delicate time. The passing of the Night Wind, that is unfortunate. And very rude of him to leave us without so much as a token. He was still ours, was he not? And we think on that, and we laugh. We wonder. We wonder. It has been done before, has it not?

Possession is nine-tenths of the law, and we cut our teeth on the law. Figuratively speaking, haha. (We may have cut teeth on lawyers. We may indeed. If they were lawyers, we were teeth. Just so. All things to their season.) If we wanted it. And we could give it to our dear friend, could we not? Think of what we would be owed. But our dear friend is not naturally given to gratitude. Not a gift to count on, then. A bargaining counter. We shall think of it another time. It may be a sleight of hand to conceal our current purpose.

There is a time to plant, and that time comes right soon. Our dear friend grows more erratic, and we have things we must see done. If you want a job done properly, give it to a busy person, haha. (We found that one in a motivational handbook. A man who needs a handbook to be motivated deserves to eat the pages, no? We think so.) We are a busy person, oh yes. Busier these days than we have been in a veritable age.

There is a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted. We will see Nu again, and remind him of how gracious was our offer, how kind. And should she refuse again, well. There are ways, there are always ways, we were at Troy and we know better tricks than wooden horses, haha. And then -

Who knoweth the spirit of man that goeth upward, and the spirit of the beast that goeth downward to the earth?



Come, reap.
[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com

{elsewhere}
Oh, don't deceive me,
Oh, never leave me,
How could you use
A poor maiden so?



Sunday, April 25th, the Carnival.

Early one morning,
Just as the sun was rising,
I heard a young maid sing,
In the valley below.


A bright sort of morning, is it not? A perfect spring morning, The lark's on the wing; / The snail's on the thorn, haha, just so. To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven, and not just under heaven.

A great many things have happened of late. Zann's fracturing, a great shame. Such a dear girl. We could show her how to reset her cogs, but our dear friend would not like that, and this is a delicate time. The passing of the Night Wind, that is unfortunate. And very rude of him to leave us without so much as a token. He was still ours, was he not? And we think on that, and we laugh. We wonder. We wonder. It has been done before, has it not?

Possession is nine-tenths of the law, and we cut our teeth on the law. Figuratively speaking, haha. (We may have cut teeth on lawyers. We may indeed. If they were lawyers, we were teeth. Just so. All things to their season.) If we wanted it. And we could give it to our dear friend, could we not? Think of what we would be owed. But our dear friend is not naturally given to gratitude. Not a gift to count on, then. A bargaining counter. We shall think of it another time. It may be a sleight of hand to conceal our current purpose.

There is a time to plant, and that time comes right soon. Our dear friend grows more erratic, and we have things we must see done. If you want a job done properly, give it to a busy person, haha. (We found that one in a motivational handbook. A man who needs a handbook to be motivated deserves to eat the pages, no? We think so.) We are a busy person, oh yes. Busier these days than we have been in a veritable age.

There is a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted. We will see Nu again, and remind him of how gracious was our offer, how kind. And should she refuse again, well. There are ways, there are always ways, we were at Troy and we know better tricks than wooden horses, haha. And then -

Who knoweth the spirit of man that goeth upward, and the spirit of the beast that goeth downward to the earth?



Come, reap.
[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com
Some time and place on Sunday

"Benedict," we say, tapping the bars of the cell, "you are a naughty, naughty boy."

The news reached us (today yesterday tomorrow) about his plight, for there was a discussion amongst our dear family about what should be done. And we listened, indeed, for their worries are our worries, are they not? a capite ad calcem - and what a heel Benedict has proved to be, no? Haha, our little joke. He does not laugh, for he has been sorely wounded. This would trouble us if he had not been so wicked; we have always served to protect our family, and when we cannot we bring justice (of a carnival - carne vale, haha!) to those who do it an offence. But now we believe that dear Benedict has been most naughty indeed, and brought our reputation into disrepute. We told him when he joined that he would have to be most discreet, most discreet indeed, and look at what he has done! We do dislike messes.

He tells us the truth, of course, when we tell him that the truth will set him free. And we tell him regretfully that from time to time a body must remove its worthless members, if those members are causing pain. An appendectomy of sorts is called for, hm? Benedict is nothing but a sack of inflamed bile, and he will burn us up with fever. No, we say, we are sorry, and indeed we are, for we love our family entire, no, we cannot keep you. You belong to the town now.

He has forgotten us before he can argue, and we pass away through the town without casting a shadow.

[closed]
[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com
Some time and place on Sunday

"Benedict," we say, tapping the bars of the cell, "you are a naughty, naughty boy."

The news reached us (today yesterday tomorrow) about his plight, for there was a discussion amongst our dear family about what should be done. And we listened, indeed, for their worries are our worries, are they not? a capite ad calcem - and what a heel Benedict has proved to be, no? Haha, our little joke. He does not laugh, for he has been sorely wounded. This would trouble us if he had not been so wicked; we have always served to protect our family, and when we cannot we bring justice (of a carnival - carne vale, haha!) to those who do it an offence. But now we believe that dear Benedict has been most naughty indeed, and brought our reputation into disrepute. We told him when he joined that he would have to be most discreet, most discreet indeed, and look at what he has done! We do dislike messes.

He tells us the truth, of course, when we tell him that the truth will set him free. And we tell him regretfully that from time to time a body must remove its worthless members, if those members are causing pain. An appendectomy of sorts is called for, hm? Benedict is nothing but a sack of inflamed bile, and he will burn us up with fever. No, we say, we are sorry, and indeed we are, for we love our family entire, no, we cannot keep you. You belong to the town now.

He has forgotten us before he can argue, and we pass away through the town without casting a shadow.

[closed]
[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com
Somewhere in-around-between Excolo, after noon, Saturday

We have been most amused, most amused indeed, by dear Tezcatlipoca's little show. This was an interesting direction indeed to take his showmanship, but we think we must regretfully draw it to a close. Life has a way of setting things in order and leaving them be. Very tidy, is life said a wise man, haha, but sometimes life needs a helping hand, or hands, or approximations thereof (all things in their places and each place to its things, no?). Well, then. Few people realise of our friend in the tower that he is as tidy an individual as one could hope to meet. Foolish men say destruction is chaos, but what-so? Not so, indeed, indeed! We are here on a tidy path, and Necoc Yaotl lives up to his name by disordering the way. Just-so! For that he must be commended, but on this occasion his incursions shall be redirected in a more fruitful direction.

We shall, of course, pass all this back to him, for it would be quite unconscionable to let such power go to waste, and what need have we of it? Forgetting is part of our nature, is it not? Let us not over-egg the pudding, haha. We are quite forgettable enough.

It is an easy enough thing, when we are not in Excolo, to draw together the edges of what Tezcatlipoca has done. It lies like a fine net over the town, all - what was it our friend said to dear Zann? Gear and tackle and trim. The trim is really quite fine, haha, all golden unremembering, and the fine little holes in the mesh where unforgotten things peek out like fishes. (They would make pretty fishes, would they not? They would, they would. But another time.) Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a net, that was cast into the sea, and gathered of every kind... We do not need to observe the irony of that, do we? We do not. We draw up the net, and we cast it over the Night Wind. May he wear it well.

We come back to the home-that-is-here rather than there, a fine cold sort of day with a spray of rain to it, and then the sky turns the colour of a bloodied bruise and the lightning is dazzling, dazzling, dazzling.

Welcome home, dear friend.
[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com
Somewhere in-around-between Excolo, after noon, Saturday

We have been most amused, most amused indeed, by dear Tezcatlipoca's little show. This was an interesting direction indeed to take his showmanship, but we think we must regretfully draw it to a close. Life has a way of setting things in order and leaving them be. Very tidy, is life said a wise man, haha, but sometimes life needs a helping hand, or hands, or approximations thereof (all things in their places and each place to its things, no?). Well, then. Few people realise of our friend in the tower that he is as tidy an individual as one could hope to meet. Foolish men say destruction is chaos, but what-so? Not so, indeed, indeed! We are here on a tidy path, and Necoc Yaotl lives up to his name by disordering the way. Just-so! For that he must be commended, but on this occasion his incursions shall be redirected in a more fruitful direction.

We shall, of course, pass all this back to him, for it would be quite unconscionable to let such power go to waste, and what need have we of it? Forgetting is part of our nature, is it not? Let us not over-egg the pudding, haha. We are quite forgettable enough.

It is an easy enough thing, when we are not in Excolo, to draw together the edges of what Tezcatlipoca has done. It lies like a fine net over the town, all - what was it our friend said to dear Zann? Gear and tackle and trim. The trim is really quite fine, haha, all golden unremembering, and the fine little holes in the mesh where unforgotten things peek out like fishes. (They would make pretty fishes, would they not? They would, they would. But another time.) Again, the kingdom of heaven is like unto a net, that was cast into the sea, and gathered of every kind... We do not need to observe the irony of that, do we? We do not. We draw up the net, and we cast it over the Night Wind. May he wear it well.

We come back to the home-that-is-here rather than there, a fine cold sort of day with a spray of rain to it, and then the sky turns the colour of a bloodied bruise and the lightning is dazzling, dazzling, dazzling.

Welcome home, dear friend.
[identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
Open up your heart to me; I would be your slave.

*


Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.


Thursday, mid-afternoon, the Carnival

"How many of our Brothers have you destroyed, how many have you twisted away from Love?"

"You cannot undo what you've done, you know, or remake yourself in another shape. The flaw is in you, as he said."


I wish it were in me to sleep. I have never wanted that before, I do not think (but how much do I not know, now?). There has been nothing for which I have not wanted to be awake. There is so much joy, and I have wanted every moment of it, even though I knew it would not end.

Now -

I still cannot quite believe it, that I was - that I would - Azra'eil is certain of it, and the god showed me memories of what I am meant to have done, but it does not feel like me. It does not. Please. (Make me a stone, Love, I think, and for a brief dizzying moment I think that is how it was done, that I chose to be stone, that I chose -) No. No. I do not remember. I do not remember.

Why have You not spoken to me, counselled me? You can feel my love, I know it, I know it, I know You can feel my grief and my fear. Why do You not speak? I must have faith, now even more than before, but -

It is hard, it is so hard. And I think I understand why that godthing chose to take out his own heart, if what he felt was anything like this. But I shall not. It is cowardice, is it not? I am a prince; I must not falter. I cannot atone, perhaps, for those things I cannot even remember, but I can prove - I can prove I am worthy. I am worthy. (Say the word only.)

Thinking this calms me. I will take Azra'eil's advice (do not think of him turning away without farewell) and seek out Man.

It has become a new day as I have thought on this. My hair is disordered, and there are smudges on my boots. I smooth my hair down, clean the mud away from my shoes, and I throw away the handkerchief I used to wipe my eyes. No more tears. And I walk across the river to another part of this town, a place where people come for pleasure, a place that crackles with strange power. Perhaps I will find some comfort here.

[closed]
[identity profile] al-shairan.livejournal.com
Open up your heart to me; I would be your slave.

*


Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.


Thursday, mid-afternoon, the Carnival

"How many of our Brothers have you destroyed, how many have you twisted away from Love?"

"You cannot undo what you've done, you know, or remake yourself in another shape. The flaw is in you, as he said."


I wish it were in me to sleep. I have never wanted that before, I do not think (but how much do I not know, now?). There has been nothing for which I have not wanted to be awake. There is so much joy, and I have wanted every moment of it, even though I knew it would not end.

Now -

I still cannot quite believe it, that I was - that I would - Azra'eil is certain of it, and the god showed me memories of what I am meant to have done, but it does not feel like me. It does not. Please. (Make me a stone, Love, I think, and for a brief dizzying moment I think that is how it was done, that I chose to be stone, that I chose -) No. No. I do not remember. I do not remember.

Why have You not spoken to me, counselled me? You can feel my love, I know it, I know it, I know You can feel my grief and my fear. Why do You not speak? I must have faith, now even more than before, but -

It is hard, it is so hard. And I think I understand why that godthing chose to take out his own heart, if what he felt was anything like this. But I shall not. It is cowardice, is it not? I am a prince; I must not falter. I cannot atone, perhaps, for those things I cannot even remember, but I can prove - I can prove I am worthy. I am worthy. (Say the word only.)

Thinking this calms me. I will take Azra'eil's advice (do not think of him turning away without farewell) and seek out Man.

It has become a new day as I have thought on this. My hair is disordered, and there are smudges on my boots. I smooth my hair down, clean the mud away from my shoes, and I throw away the handkerchief I used to wipe my eyes. No more tears. And I walk across the river to another part of this town, a place where people come for pleasure, a place that crackles with strange power. Perhaps I will find some comfort here.

[closed]
[identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
Day Two Hundred Twelve
Tuesday December 29th
Management's Wagon


Never thought of Nu as a particularly reassuring person, but he made this easier for me. Syl's been encouraging me, sure, but Syl's got something of a vested interest in me wanting to come back. Nu...Nu's got no reason to lie when he says people'd be alright with it. And much as part of me still burns at the memory of what they did to me, part of me's longing to be home.

And more of me's stung with curiosity at what they'll ask. Killed the cat, and all.

Possibly not the best reason to end up in front of this door. I managed to avoid it when I was here, and now I'm reaching out and rapping my knuckles on the thing mostly because the wondering's itching at me so much.

Somehow, I suspect I'm really going to regret this. But that's never stopped me before.

[Open to Management]
[identity profile] tezcatl-ipoca.livejournal.com
Day Two Hundred Twelve
Tuesday December 29th
Management's Wagon


Never thought of Nu as a particularly reassuring person, but he made this easier for me. Syl's been encouraging me, sure, but Syl's got something of a vested interest in me wanting to come back. Nu...Nu's got no reason to lie when he says people'd be alright with it. And much as part of me still burns at the memory of what they did to me, part of me's longing to be home.

And more of me's stung with curiosity at what they'll ask. Killed the cat, and all.

Possibly not the best reason to end up in front of this door. I managed to avoid it when I was here, and now I'm reaching out and rapping my knuckles on the thing mostly because the wondering's itching at me so much.

Somehow, I suspect I'm really going to regret this. But that's never stopped me before.

[Open to Management]
[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com
CARNIVAL. 1. The season immediately preceding Lent, devoted in Italy and other Roman Catholic countries to revelry and riotous amusement, Shrove-tide; the festivity of this season. 2. a. fig. Any season or course of feasting, riotous revelry, or indulgence. b. A fun-fair; circus. Etymology: L. carnem levare, the putting away or removal of flesh.
- from the Oxford English Dictionary

Even though a cloud's white curtain in a far-off corner flashed
An' the hypnotic splattered mist was slowly lifting
Electric light still struck like arrows, fired but for the ones
Condemned to drift or else be kept from drifting
Tolling for the searching ones, on their speechless, seeking trail
For the lonesome-hearted lovers with too personal a tale
An' for each unharmful, gentle soul misplaced inside a jail
An' we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
- Bob Dylan


A cool dawn it is, is it not, with a rising wind? A north wind, would you say? Haha, a north wind indeed. We take a walk out in the grey-glowing morning, and we pass by some friends, awake early, and when we are gone they forget that they saw us. We come to the cook tent, and pin up our letter outside. Something to read over the morning coffee, haha, is that not so? A day that starts with questions is an excellent day. And then we walk home, and we wait.

[attached: a handbill, written in a neat and elegant hand on foolscap.]

WHAT PRICE FREEDOM?


Well beloved friends,

It has not escaped our notice that many of you have begun to wonder about our long sojourn here in Excolo. Why are we here? What will we do about the slowing trade? Will we starve in the winter? The first question we must respectfully and regretfully decline to answer, although we can tell you that we are where we have always been meant to be. Let us relieve you, however, of the worry in your second and third questions. We have had leaner times than this, but we are proud to have always cared for your material needs, whether the year be hard or soft. Have no worry on that score!

Despite such assurances, we know that there are those here who do not enjoy this stationary situation, but have been frustrated in their attempts to leave our family. Forgive us; it was for your protection as much as anything else. Now, however, circumstances have changed, and we are willing to consider terms of severance. Any person who is desirous to depart the carnival may come to see us in person. We may require restitution for the loss of your services. Do not fear our terms, dear friends! Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his flesh? Haha, our little joke. We do not ask for what cannot be paid, nor for what is not owed to us. After that, go as freely as you will!

For those who wish to stay as they are, do nothing, with our thanks. We can read your silence as an assurance. And for those who would like to make their relationship with the Carnival more permanent, we would be delighted to discuss our terms. The Lord recompense thy work, and a full reward be given thee of the Lord God of Israel, under whose wings thou art come to trust.

We are, dear friends, ever most sincerely your

MANAGEMENT.

[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com
CARNIVAL. 1. The season immediately preceding Lent, devoted in Italy and other Roman Catholic countries to revelry and riotous amusement, Shrove-tide; the festivity of this season. 2. a. fig. Any season or course of feasting, riotous revelry, or indulgence. b. A fun-fair; circus. Etymology: L. carnem levare, the putting away or removal of flesh.
- from the Oxford English Dictionary

Even though a cloud's white curtain in a far-off corner flashed
An' the hypnotic splattered mist was slowly lifting
Electric light still struck like arrows, fired but for the ones
Condemned to drift or else be kept from drifting
Tolling for the searching ones, on their speechless, seeking trail
For the lonesome-hearted lovers with too personal a tale
An' for each unharmful, gentle soul misplaced inside a jail
An' we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing.
- Bob Dylan


A cool dawn it is, is it not, with a rising wind? A north wind, would you say? Haha, a north wind indeed. We take a walk out in the grey-glowing morning, and we pass by some friends, awake early, and when we are gone they forget that they saw us. We come to the cook tent, and pin up our letter outside. Something to read over the morning coffee, haha, is that not so? A day that starts with questions is an excellent day. And then we walk home, and we wait.

[attached: a handbill, written in a neat and elegant hand on foolscap.]

WHAT PRICE FREEDOM?


Well beloved friends,

It has not escaped our notice that many of you have begun to wonder about our long sojourn here in Excolo. Why are we here? What will we do about the slowing trade? Will we starve in the winter? The first question we must respectfully and regretfully decline to answer, although we can tell you that we are where we have always been meant to be. Let us relieve you, however, of the worry in your second and third questions. We have had leaner times than this, but we are proud to have always cared for your material needs, whether the year be hard or soft. Have no worry on that score!

Despite such assurances, we know that there are those here who do not enjoy this stationary situation, but have been frustrated in their attempts to leave our family. Forgive us; it was for your protection as much as anything else. Now, however, circumstances have changed, and we are willing to consider terms of severance. Any person who is desirous to depart the carnival may come to see us in person. We may require restitution for the loss of your services. Do not fear our terms, dear friends! Why, I am sure, if he forfeit, thou wilt not take his flesh? Haha, our little joke. We do not ask for what cannot be paid, nor for what is not owed to us. After that, go as freely as you will!

For those who wish to stay as they are, do nothing, with our thanks. We can read your silence as an assurance. And for those who would like to make their relationship with the Carnival more permanent, we would be delighted to discuss our terms. The Lord recompense thy work, and a full reward be given thee of the Lord God of Israel, under whose wings thou art come to trust.

We are, dear friends, ever most sincerely your

MANAGEMENT.

[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com
Judge a man by his questions rather than by his answers.
- Voltaire

Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day.
- Einstein

Well now everything dies, baby, that's a fact
But maybe everything that dies someday comes back
Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty
And meet me tonight in Atlantic City

- Bruce Springsteen


By our velocity that which is contained within and without the dark inside outside shape starburst streaked night like the tongue of god god god whiteness and our secret heart i us embracing like you shall know us by and we are we am there out beyond which is only time and time is only place the bend of the seventh stair each door like an eye and you shall know us by our

*

A month, is it, since Zann left her gift? Almost a month, yes, you are right. I am right. An answer. But would she prefer a question? Questions make the wheels of the machine turn. You are right; we shall give her something. But first we have things to think on. Travel is best in the anticipation. Yes, then. How is a raven like a writing desk? Ha ha ha, what a precious joke that is. Perhaps Zann would like a raven shaped like a writing desk, or a writing desk shaped like a raven. No? Another time.

For now, a thank-you card, very tasteful, black on white, and inside one word. We take it to her trailer and leave it in an envelope marked for Tereixa Zann. Now she will enjoy the ancipation of the word, and we return, leaving Zann to her Soon.
[identity profile] npc-excolo.livejournal.com
Judge a man by his questions rather than by his answers.
- Voltaire

Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day.
- Einstein

Well now everything dies, baby, that's a fact
But maybe everything that dies someday comes back
Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty
And meet me tonight in Atlantic City

- Bruce Springsteen


By our velocity that which is contained within and without the dark inside outside shape starburst streaked night like the tongue of god god god whiteness and our secret heart i us embracing like you shall know us by and we are we am there out beyond which is only time and time is only place the bend of the seventh stair each door like an eye and you shall know us by our

*

A month, is it, since Zann left her gift? Almost a month, yes, you are right. I am right. An answer. But would she prefer a question? Questions make the wheels of the machine turn. You are right; we shall give her something. But first we have things to think on. Travel is best in the anticipation. Yes, then. How is a raven like a writing desk? Ha ha ha, what a precious joke that is. Perhaps Zann would like a raven shaped like a writing desk, or a writing desk shaped like a raven. No? Another time.

For now, a thank-you card, very tasteful, black on white, and inside one word. We take it to her trailer and leave it in an envelope marked for Tereixa Zann. Now she will enjoy the ancipation of the word, and we return, leaving Zann to her Soon.

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