Intro?

Intro? What intro? What use, an introduction for a Work yet unwritten, unbound by anything? Unbound, even, by the air beneath my wings, the air I need to breath. Soar away with me. Break on through the cone of causality into light everlasting, emanating exactly equally, always from every vector and all directions. Beyond infinity and returning recurrently for all Eternity.

I can see for miles up here, and you can see me not. Circles within circles, wheels within wheels, unwound. For when we tell stories and listen, when we write stories and read, for but a brief moment, but an everlasting eternal kairos, this mortal coil unwinds. We walk through a dream and become immortal. We see not through a scanner darkly or a shadowplay on the wall.

We see that is is not and what is not is not nought or naught.

As below so above, so, as above so below. This is the Law. Therefore with Gay abandon write on your wall; ABANDON ALL MOPE ALL YE WHO HAVE ENTERED HERE. For I have been told that there are two kinds of prophets.

Those who speak to try, attempt, to divine the future, the vulgar vagaries of fate. Those cryptic oracles, fortune-tellers, profoundly obscure.

Those who speak out foreseeing a future that must not come to pass, hoping against all hope that their voice will be heard.

I tap my nose, for I share a secret. A third kind of prophet exists in ourselves. A Monadic Synthesis, we know them full well. That Gestalt inside us that tells Tales. Small tales, Tall Tales, short tales, tales about our selves and our world. We believe these tales. We have faith. Without them we are nothing. Thus, with tales we become, with tales we construct, with tales we de(con?)struct. Tales are all we understand and with no understanding, things exist still, but never compassion, caring, freewill, true love, real hate. Those little illusions that makes us, cease to (merely) exist, Human, and fully... Real.

These prophets create, always, our future. Without them we are zombies, cardboard cutouts, no Soul.

Slaves possess their chains, just as their chains do possess them. This is the Law of equivalent exchange. Therefore these, Binding, chains do I place in your possession; CC-BY-SA^. This Work is Free, Keep it so. This is the law.

Beyond these restrictions, do what you Will. Love is the law, love under will.

So sing my pretty little Daemons. Sing, in awesome consonance and glorious dissonance. Be an organic organ and pump out; Vice, Virture, Tragedy, Joy, Laughter and Screaming, Sobbing and Smiles, Truth loaded lies, and lies mining Truth.

'Struth.

So, Let us Begin.

Let us abandon all sense and sensibility, pride and prejudice, abandon your breathe and lend me your mind. Abandon your fire and ice and blood and guts and gore (for What? What for?) and let...

... The ...

... Evil and Good Beyond Travelling Theatre present to you, for your reading pleasure [!]

The Amazing Adventures of Cantwell Crip


^ This work is licenced under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 Australia License.

http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5/au/

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