Oh my gosh, it is not “mere superstition”. We have a tradition of esoteric sophistication and power given to us by the Gods. And I can attest to their powers. Poor, poor, fellow: he has an infatuation with Chlöe
Secret of the Gods
Y’know, despite their claimed sophistication, some of the Ojdispekib don’t want to scientifically examine some of our traditions. They think it is mere superstition and would embarrass them if held up to scrutiny. Utcoozhoo, especially, knows that the late-period migrants to the up-top world are ashamed of our traditions and secrets. So these are not as modern as they think they are — not open minded, not willing to examine all possibilities in an objective way… But I’m annoyed that Utcoozhoo allows their ridicule and doesn’t debate with them, and will not reveal the secret of the Gods that would astound them. They in their way are backward and stubborn in spiritual matters, but so too Utcoozhoo is stubborn and backward in not embracing the best of the modern age.
I have a computer in an apartment outside the cave. A word processor helps with the writing. I’ve tried to save my thoughts in rhyme, to be the Ut’ishsih poet laureate, but it’s so tedious coming out of the cave, though I know the maze of passages, just to post at a computer, so far, so foreign to me, an artist not a hunter, perhaps a proto-shaman who still cannot do routine traipsing like a meditation, who feels no ontology snaking around stalagmites as a native not a tourist, bored. Maybe I should run cables into the caves, pirouette a line around lime and trouvère. I’ve heard the ancients say there are silken spider ropes below the floor. Now that sounds like cables from the Gods, but the ancient technology doesn’t seem likely to be compatible – doesn’t seem wise to ask the Cable man to hook up to “this” and not ask any questions. I’ll have to come out of the cave to post.
The city woman wants me to embrace the modern age. She’s telling me to be more civilized like the Ojdispekib upper-class snobs who we, before the language change, called the hunter class. I call you all the time, she says, you’re never home, you don’t answer e-mails, don’t pick up the phone. Yeah, I know — mostly, I’m not in my apartment. I’m in the cave. I can’t lay cable in the cave to connect to the Internet — can I?
DRILLING THROUGH ROCK
She beseeches me to e-mail, to be phone touching, encore calling. She says she’d lend me a cellphone, an earful, but I haven’t told her the cave is too deep for signal.
Oh but, let the Gods lay me a cable I say. Might I lay aside the ancient prohibitions with a toast to modernity if the Lady needs a cable in the cave?
But it is said, “Secrets are sacred. Don’t approach the Sun Fire, or the growling spears of the sacred spider until the Gods return to sear the rock with silk.”
Hey maybe I’ll just flip a switch or something, drill through rock, and voilà: e-mail, cell phone reception, redemption. End of tension (right?).
—- END of ” 2. Doug Is Looking for Love In The Concrete Jungle ”