1-2 Writers Are Liars...
but some lie better than others
The Headmaster -- or the Liar Supreme, as
I like to call him -- was not happy with yesterday’s... work. Go
figure. He said it reeked of idleness, self-indulgence, and -- of
all things -- misinformation and/or disinformation. I’m not sure
which... or the difference between the two for that matter.
No doubt, the words Untrue and Lie are not within
the Headmaster’s vocabulary or he might have used them... but then,
what is a mere stretching of the truth when greater artistic
aspirations are involved...
Without relating his Lordship’s meaningless words
((please note the supremacy of the insult if you will)), at the end of
our... discussion, the net result was my immediate banishment from the
grace, glory, and the future companionship of my Brothers’ in the
cathedral -- more formally the chancery, or what some of us disgruntled
lackeys have nicknamed the dungeon. Suffice to say that it is an
unpleasant place -- dark and damp with only the narrowest beams of
light (from the smallest, slit like, practically nonexistent windows)
to guide the movements of our quills. The repressive atmosphere
is intended to turn our thoughts inward, to make our spirited journeys
easier, but these rationales do not diminish the intrinsic
distastefulness of the place. Spending a day in our chancery --
or in any chancery for that matter -- is much like spending a day in an
uninspired Hell where the budget is so meager that it does not allow
for more exciting, involved, or interesting tortures.
The upshot was that I was moved... relocated.
The Supreme Mustafa -- himself -- suggested a dank ill-lit cell down
the way (nothing more than an unused supply closet really), but I opted
for the garden courtyard out in the sun. When outfitted with an
antique Koa-wood desk and a matching rocker that I found lying about,
the spot is most refreshing and pleasant -- and let’s not forget the
ocean view... a view -- that before the current regime came to power --
must have inspired countless poets.
Somehow -- don’t ask me how -- I even managed co-opt
the services of Lily, as well. Someone has to look after my...
um, instrument... and what would happen if I were to spill some
ink?
For her part, Lily seems pleased with the relocation, and -- no doubt
-- the fresh air and the sunshine will do her good. Already I can
sense a change in her. Her skin has grown warm and luxurious and
has taken on that deep brown hue that so many of the sexier Polynesian
women seem to have. I can only imagine how much more delightful
-- and pleasing to the eye -- she will become when we finally get her
out of those silly orange robes. To be honest, I don’t think she
was put on this Earth for such a drab existence as this -- for a life
in a monastery... devoid of passion, pleasure, or emotion.
And although the morning is still young, and the day
is fresh and new, I have once again filled my page -- and then
some. It should be enough to keep my bowl filled with the
tasteless, bland, unappetizing rice that passes for food in these
parts... at least till the morrow.
Until then, I have the urge to explore my new surroundings, and see if
I can’t find Lily something more -- or less as the case may be -- to
wear. And as for myself, I think a change to my wardrobe is in
order, as well. I have heard remarkable things about a cloth
known as denim... and I feel confident that I will be able to locate at
least one piece of the stuff.