Just a prequel

[Nazz]

Why make so many notes on the arc of space? There’s no practicality in it. He writes of unimportant things, and damn well hears about it. Professor Mensch once suggested he write about mass-suicide at Verdun in 1916, or some such disaster more relevant to human incomprehension. The human world turns on kingdoms and the consummate chess move-- the art of war. True enough. And countless authors will rehash that beaten trail. They'll do fine without him.

It's only a prequel anyway. He can’t call himself a pioneer, but he might wonder out loud what propelled pioneers into the field. What inspires wilderness champions to their destinations in the first place? The mission may reveal itself in passage, but in the beginning he suspects it had much to do with intoxication of space beyond any specific vector of duty-- especially for denizens of dust. The marching orders may come, but for today he sips freedom in the unknown span-- nothing more or less.

Would-be mystics in due time grow up and grab a shovel, but let them have a childhood. Let them waste time in a playground of horizons. When you plug in again it will make less sense than before—the one constant. Let them have their big picture mythos. You'll have lifetimes to bore yourself with Verdun, trust me. Childhood has more promise for now. Ah, but now he’s writing an essay and he swore he wouldn’t. White marble fuzzes and heat intensifies.

[mtmynd]

... meanwhile at the arc of space....

[Doreen Peri]

Your writings are always very interesting. They are poetic and philosophical but also very descriptive and flavorful.

Have you ever considered writing fiction?

I think you'd be very good at it.

[Nazz]

I like some sort of blend between fiction and non, it would seem. Thanks Doreen and Cec. This one not only admits limitations to the way in which I've written of late, but is also a bit of a "kiss off" vaguely aimed at someone we all know and remember. Bon apetit!

[Doreen Peri]

Well yeah, I can see that sometimes it's sort of a blend, but was suggesting fiction like short stories or a novel where you create characters and a story line in addition to your observational style.

Have you ever thought of creating characters who interact with each other (dialogue) in a story? If you've posted any, I apologize if I've missed them. I bet you're good at writing stories with characters.

Not sure where the "kiss off" is in this... maybe I need to read it again. And whoever you're kissing off, I have no idea. Hmmm... you got me wondering....

[Nazz]

Yeah Doreen, that might be a logical next step-- more character and plot development. Some day, maybe. It just hasn't been in the cards that much for my first few years of sustained writing, but who knows? As for the "kiss-off", I was politely reminding someone we all know that not all of us need to write about the trenches of Verdun. Been covered already. I'll just wallow unapologetically in "poesy", thank you.

[Barry]

that not all of us need to write about the trenches of Verdun. Been covered already.

Not all of us, true enough. But some?
Perhaps it's when the trenches of Verdun are no longer written about that we begin to build them anew.

Peace,
Barry
PS: Take Doreen's advice. Your fiction would be world-changing stuff.

[Arcadia]

the word prequel sounds like a sticky heavy sweet and I had to google Verdún mass suicide ... (a link to your post is the second one to the word! ). Keep writing, Nazz!, it seems you can´t complaint about encouragment!!!!!!!

[still.trucking]

Professor Mensch was right. We need all the relevant incomphrension we can get. .

So many wonderful books and poetry have come out of wars. From Homer to Gus Hasford. War is good box office.


Forget about Verdun. Let's pick the story up in 1941. It makes more sense that way.

"Those who remember the past are doomed to repeat it." Professor Mensch

I write about World War One a lot, but I am sure this had nothing to do with me.

I am just vain and paranoid. I think everything is about me

"the only meaning the world has is how it unfolds for me" kerouac


I come close to deleting my reply above, put it down to old age and pain. World War One was my father's war. It drove my family to these shores.

But you are right it was just a prequel.

We still got a lot of sequels coming, or so it seems

sorry for the rant
I deleted this but decided to put it back

[Nazz]

It's how I'm feeling about my work lately-- incomplete and in some ways scratching the surface-- a prequel-- at least as far as the natural, wide-open spaces that flow in and out of my vignettes. Just when I think maybe I can write, I read someone like Ed Abbey and I'm blown away. The guy could paint incredible scenes with words-- a real A-hole sometimes, but god could he turn a phrase. Or hundreds.

As for Verdun, that was simply the Mensch's one particular obsession when he logged on to trash internet poets. It could be any military tragedy or abomination though, really.

[still.trucking]

Mensch the yiddish word for man. Man as in John Wayne. But you probably knew that already.

The arc of space is where I try to see from too, I wish I was half the writer you are.

[Nazz]

Yeah, I was surprised to learn it was Yiddish in origin. But I think it's taken on additional meaning(s) such as "craftsman" of a sort, or man of integrity or honor. It seemed to fit the individual I was addressing, at least as he saw the world.. I don't know. I'll probably end up changing the name-- something a little... meaner.

Anyway, thanks Jack. And I appreciate everyone's responses. They are quite helpful and insightful to me as always.

[hester_prynne]

As usual, great stuff here Nazz. Bravo!
H

[Nazz]

Thanks Hest. Some mindless anti- empir-i-cal ranting here-- and who couldn't use a little of that every now and then?
----------------------------------------

revised it...

....Why so many takes on the arc of space? No practicality in it. In this Age of Numb Techno-Ingestion and Cultural Wane he notes immaterial things and damn well hears about it. Old Vlad, his ironhanded professor from the Cold War years—those comedic games of thermonuclear chicken and mass-military bake sales—suggested he peruse Hemingway, maybe take in some blood-soaked journals from Verdun in 1916, or some such disaster more authentic to human incomprehension—lest the author and his ilk continue to murder true art with poetic inanity. The world turns on kingdoms and the consummate chess move, says he—the art of war. True. And countless grunts and masters will beat that trail deeper into the crust. They don’t need him today. Old Vlad wasn’t a bad mensch. You could warm up to old Vlad in time, like polar ice fjords to a blizzard.

It's only a prequel anyway. He can’t rightly call himself any sort of warrior, or pioneer—though he might wonder out loud what draws either into the field. What inspires wilderness warriors to their destinations in the first place? The mission no doubt reveals itself in passage and discovery, in purest states of being, but I suspect it has much to do with intoxication of space in the beginning, over any particular vector of duty—especially for denizens of dust. Marching orders may follow. Today he sips freedom in the unknown span—nothing more or less.

Drunken half-mystics multiply in the barcodes and foothills. In due time they grow up and grab a shovel perhaps, but let them have a childhood. Let them waste time in a playground of horizon. Let them have a big picture mythos. When you plug back in it makes less sense than before—the one constant. You have lifetimes to bore yourself with the likes of Verdun. Childhood has more promise. Ah, but now he’s writing a tailgate essay—still moving too fast. White marble fuzzes. He stares with undue intensity and stands up to preach at the sun. The view from his soapbox is breathtaking—Mount Everest of justice. He’s a fount of channeled wisdom up there—any higher and he's flat on the clay. He spills silky sermons of milk and honey and pyre—fresh caress of dust and aimless soul. Worlds hang in the balance but for an audience.