Dud Sea Scrawls The Writing, clearly, is not on the wall!

Act III
An affiche advertises guaranteed cure for psilosis with a sagittal mark showing the way, while I jog through the streets one early morning. I almost step on a lying dog which bares it’s carnassial teeth and growls a ‘gardez’ and sends me scurrying for cover. I pull off the hood of the grego like sweatsuit I am wearing, bend down and hyperventilate for a couple of minutes. I look at the lomatine covers of nearby shanties and their futile attempts to maintain privacy and get protection from the elements. I consider the Porphyry and a thin trail of Rhodochrosite left behind by a leaking truck. I notice the intricate burelage on the piece of a postage stamp lying in the garbage heap, something I must have seen a zillion times when using stamps, but never paid attention to. I catch a glimpse of myself in a small piece of broken mirror, I have managed to lose some weight and look much fitter than in ages. I hear the sounds of some distant melotrope playing an unknown melody…

entr’acte
Tell you ‘bout a dream that I have every night
It’s in dolby stereo but I never hear it right
Take me for a fool well thats alright
Well I see the way to go but there isn’t any light

You’re readin my mind you wont look in my eyes
You say I do things that I dont realise
But I dont care its all psychobabble rap to me
Psychobabble all psychobabble
Psychobabble all psychobabble
You’re lighting a scene thats faded to black
I threw it away cause I dont want it back
But I dont care its all psychobabble rap to me *1

Act IV
The arfé is complete. I consider it complete because there is nothing much I can do to improve this. A brilliant example of repoussoir, it was a castrensian scene with a couple of Hussars discussing strategy inside a tent and the sculpture of a retiarius framing the right edge. The smoke rising from the oil lamp had created a diaphanous form in front of a Jardinière, uncannily resembling that of a human figure. I’d never imagined anything like this before. It was extraordinary and scary too. Then looking at it objectively once again, I feel there are some Chromotrichial issues and think that I should perhaps get some Ooporphyrin to set that right… or maybe get that shade with coffee itself. I look at my fingers, they look as if they are stricken with Onychomycosis.
Then I heard a tiny voice that seemed to speak inside me. Soon I realized it was someone else speaking to me and definitely not some chemical imbalance that caused me to hear voices. It sounded like Plattdeutsch, but I could clearly understand it’s meaning.
The voice had said :
“When heaven above was not yet named,
nor earth below pronounced by name,
Apsu, the first one,
their begetter and maker Tiamat,
who bore them all,
had mixed their waters together,
but had not formed pastures,
nor discovered reed-beds.
When yet no gods were manifest,
nor names pronounced,
nor destinies decreed,
then gods were born within them.” *

Act V
I relaxed after the breathless dysbarism of initial shock and awe faded. I asked it’s name, rather I thought it. “Call me Al” it said, “or call me by any name you want, I will know. I have stopped counting and remembering my names… it is difficult too, especially when people let free their fancies and name me ‘Swaralkaalebhujivyumkesh’ or ‘ Suranoviremblastiran’ or ‘dubdubbu’ or ‘bialy’.”

Over the next few days, I changed. I, who would boil with rage and impuissance whenever I saw what the politicos were doing to our planet no longer cared about Earth imploding because of diastrophe from excessive mining or rigging. I no longer worried about what I ate, if it was Cotechino, Reblochon or soubise or plain bread with tea. I was content. I attributed the strange calmness and sense of peace to Al’s presence. He was Mephisto to my Faust, only here I had not sold my soul… not yet.

Act VI
Once I asked him how we were communicating without speaking. “Words aren’t everything and communication has stopped since mankind devised speech”, he pontificated further “Speech, originally, was the device whereby man learned, imperfectly, to transmit the thoughts and emotions of his mind. By setting up arbitrary sounds and combinations of sounds to represent certain mental nuances, he developed a method of communication – but one which in its clumsiness and thick-thumbed inadequacy degenerated all the delicacy of the mind into guttural signaling”. **
He continued; “in what way can words like Melioidosis or Sarcoidosis describe what a person suffering from them experiences? Can you ever describe any of your artworks in words exactly the way you felt when you created them? Don’t look at me like you are suffering from exopthalmos, can you?” I pulled my eyeballs back into their sockets and shook my head in negative and said “that does not answer my question, are we reading minds then?”. “Telepathy, is still evolving on Earth, but we of Gaia have mastered it… while men on Earth still dig old graves to learn history, we dig minds to understand emotions and communicate completely and unambiguously. The time will soon come on Earth when I can say ‘annurig gabbīšunu uptaḫḫir’*** and all would have realized how superfluous words are… that is the time we would all be found as a single cosmic consciousness at the Edge of the humanity’s foundation”.

I felt the didymous clay statues on the table nod in agreement.

The End

*1 Psychobabble, Alan Parsons Project
*http://www.language-museum.com/a/akkadian-cuneiform.php
**Quoted verbatim from Isaac Asimov’s Second Foundation, Chapter 8 : Seldon’s Plan
*** I have now gathered them all