By: Aphex Twin
From: I Care Because You Do (1995)
"...A big storm into the rough sea. Huge waves followed of harsh winds, breathes of Adamastor, crashes a wooden boat. The gray skies surrounding it, moving like the tides below, emanating of lightning threatening to take over their both lifes to the bottom of once azure plains. Unknown figures stand inside the boat, one in the arms of its mother, faces covered by a hood and an air of uncertainty. A cold air, and no sign of a ticket to warm lands, awaiting to embrace their lifes. Tomorrow never arrives, it won't come suddenly as the toss of a tidal wave, rasing the boat into skies still gray, and oceans dark as the closure of eyes. Red glows alike a curtain, revealing hits of sunshine. The pictures of before were just a nightmare, who walked and went away to the netherworld it belonged.
'Or, perhaps they belonged to this world outside the window?' Wondered a beautiful girl, sitting on a chair, dressed in a white regalia, curly strands down and alive by the breeze from out the window, whom with an approach, shows the view of a kingdom lying outside. Drowsy eyes for a tired girl, a portrait of an oil canvas blurred in orange, cotton clouds floating in the skies above, white and gray as the smoke emanating from its chimneys cleansed by the poor children, paid by the rich man, both walking on same street. The streets of Alexandria, filled in of many faces, while its skies are flourished of doves, vanishing quickly as her dulcet blink..."
Not that bad for an autobiography. I wonder in which chapter I'll appear. Let's see... Awakenings, I already read this chapter... Unforgiving Cold; Pathos; The Poison Sky; In the Meantime; Wartorn Knights... No, maybe I'll make an appearance at the next volume. It should had been me the one to write about my life, but guess they do not care that much. So, I got this book from Crescent, though she doesn't appear that much since Under Siege. And her chemistry with Sir Forgetful... Tsk tsk. if I should care for these characters as I care for a slice of bread in hands, I choose the bread. "To be forgotten is worse than death"; how ironic. It gets hard to not feel pity. At least, I felt something, this I can agree with. Also, nobody would read a book about someone suffering breakdowns, would they? Neither a propaganda book. Sure, the burmecians suffered, but they also made us suffer too.
Us? As if they cared to rotulate me as a human, neither I want.
I mean, did they deserved it? Everyone's blood sheds of same color. Yet, we insist to give tones of red different names, just to complicate things a bit. Crimson, ruby, merlot... cherry. Well, though I liked it a bit, this book is just a collection of cherry-picking. It tries to be serious but barely deals with politics, instead focusing on magic and monsters later on. Not the real monsters, who still live wearing fancy clothes. And damn, those cleyran barely wore any of them. But I can agree with them that violence only creates violence. There are many ways to violent someone, and you don't even know you are, like, being stabbed by a knife. It's sharp tip is able to cut layers of air like bread. Again, did I said bread? I must be hungry enough to eat stone. Well, I might include the sentence of before on the book if I am invited to write about it. Which'll never happen, by the way. A book of memories... for someone who doesn't want to remember.
''I'd rather die a fighter than a beggar''... Ouch.
Now, look at what you've became, Amarant. In a way, you do not fight anymore, and in another, you live this miserable life. A life without fights, without meaning other than live. That's the triumph of all men, know them or not. A time and another, I see someone who wants to die, to give up life, but most of them do not even have a reason to do it so. They're just outta their minds, on same stinky bodies, remains of a life given worth. But from remains, fortresses are build, ain't I right? At this street, where many died, flowers are in bloom. I could say blood gave them life, sacrifices of the flesh belonging to the unworthy. Or maybe those worthy enough to leave this place to a better one. Not that I live here, I belong to the old guard. While not selling any books, I play cards. I fool people around, people that have nothing else to do. Some who might think they're lucky enough to be rich in a blink.
Well, here I am, guess where the Queen is at? Oh no, a Jack of Hearts. Be lucky next time. Until them, I have earned a few bucks. Went to a square to another four times, left my signature on one's face. A man with skin so slippery of sweat he almost seemed to be drowning in it. Until now, nothing happened. Death threats aren't common for those wearing hats. And the kind that cuts a pig's leg only to eat it, because a whole pig is too much. Then, the fun is ruined by that shadow upon me.
— You always have to push it, Amarant – she said.
— Ah, gimme a break, Crescen... – those eyes... so cold it's hard to stare at her face. No, wait... I mean, HIS face – what the hell, Fratley? You scared me.
— And I really should – that can't be. I mean, the helmet and everything. I should have noticed that hair, like I always do – why the long face? I have yet to punish you.
— Are you alright? – it's what a sane person would ask.
— How do you feel giving fake hopes to people you don't even know? – he is serious. I can tell by looking at the shadow surrounding its eyes. Still, I find it quite invasive, by mine and Freya's standards.
— There's nothing wrong with a casual card game.
— There isn't, huh? – Fratley approached, grabbed each of my cards, only to throw them around – next time I see you doing this, I won't be kind.
— I play by the rules. See any Tetra Master around? That would be cheating – I can't make him think I'm shaken. Just surprised to see the dead brain in person, at the sun.
— Say that to the judge. He'll be pleased to hear these words – judge? look at you, standing there as Justice in person.
— You take me out these streets, so what? I'll find another corner to be at.
— Then I'll be pleased to spoil the fun out of you again – so Fratley began to crawl the wall. His claws are very sharp.
— Dressed like that, you spoiled all your dignity – I said, right on his face. I admit, for that skinny guy to be taking the weight of all that stuff is rather impressive – also, I have the talent to fool idiots. Is that a crime?
— I don't like when you take advantage of innocents. Now, begone! – to hear these things come out of Fratley... Yeah, he must be bored, and felt that acting as a hero may bring any excitement to the quiet life he had been leading. Speaking of yourself, who someone who saw it all, the end of the world, a world built within the crystal... I too would be quiet about it.
Even the slightest of the infractions must be treated with importance.
Or else, anarchy takes place. The smallest of the fires can burn a whole forest. Well, counting Amarant, I had intervened 20 infractions this day. From carriages that almost collided against pedestrians to kids knocking doors and leaving, I am everywhere. From the clock tower, I see the whole Alexandria. I can see it as well from the Palace, but I prefer to be out of those walls all day along. I changed my mind, and decided to do something new. A thing I haven't done ever since I failed with my people, with my being, and the one I love. There's no love in this world, only an interpretation of what's given, and what's received. I may have received too much of Freya, but I haven't given anything to her other than company. It's fine to have company,but when it's all you can do, it becomes an unpleasant thing.
Even now, I'm followed of her. This coat, one of the sparring Dragoon outfits I found in the wardrobe. It's itching, still covered in dust. Why was it there, if no one ever used it? It fits my body, at least. A fresh new air is felt by my nose, at this height. The arrows of the clock tell it's 15:00, so giant they are that I could happen to be squashed by their weight. Burmecia had a clock tower too, but like any other risen metal pointing to the skies, it only had a purpose to deviate lightning from hitting the people at streets. Or the trees, never stand below trees during a storm, that's what... every mom says. Including mine. I think she was of the kind who said these words. Her epitaph doesn't say much, other than 'rest in piece', followed of her name. Matha... I forgot the 'r'.
I... forgot the 'r'.
It took a long time so I could pronounce it. A 'r'...
Faley, Matha, Bumecian, dawings...
I look below, a city that doesn't belong to me, but the sun. It burns my back, but I don't care. If a single tear could make a whole rain... For so long, I had been denying the possibility of remembering things. Utter impossible. Lies made at hour. Things must made sense. How do they so? You're a rat that thinks, don't you see it? Yes, I see, with human eyes. I feel human emotions. I feel the sun, I can't stare at it, touch it, but if there's a light you can reach... the closer you get, the more are the chances you get burned. Let it be yours, at once. You can remember things, not as clearly as they used to, but still, you walked over coal in the festival, only to be embraced by those arms. Matha's arms. When did that happened? When I was a child. By the four and five years old.
How can I remember it? Well, I just can. Is there anything to do with the coat? I don't think so. Speaking of the coat, I should give it back to its owner, but first, I'll do some acrobatics. Roof by roof, if I could explain how it feels to touch everything, feeling the pressure of each object, a sensation that becomes full motion... I might break a bone, but I don't care. I felt pain before, more than I could support, one more won't be a problem. I'll heal, like I have been healed by this moment of clarity. Sure, you could tell this was an episode of ephipany, that none of this makes sense, but again, what does? There are things that need sense, though. What happened today, with all the people you met, some who were kind, others not so much, and what they saw coming out of you... I was mean to Amarant, the others, for sure. Did I needed to be? Clear answer is no, but crystal-clear answer... I don't know.
It's a Dragoon's task to preserve the law, but then, who puts the law in me? And I'm not a Dragoon, so that qualifies as an illegal practice. But there are no official Dragoons units at Alexandria, other than Freya. They already have the Knights of Pluto, ruled by Genetal Beatrix. Beatrix killed a hundred of people, and yet, she has to obey the law. No, better not try to make sense at these thing. It ain't good for the head, or for the heart. Some people make their own laws, and that's one of mine.
— Hey, mister – so a kid came in my improvised store, just when I was about to dismantle it.
— Howdy – I said. Heard no reply. Better not have said it, and I'm not even drunk.
— How you doing? – the kid looked to me, while I prefered to ignore it. The man did, but the salesman had all eyes.
— What do you want? – it ain't that rare for a little to walk over these streets, wearing no shoes. Burmecians do not have the need to
— Do ya sell books?
— Sure, kiddo – I said, staring at the rat kid. A lot of them run around, walking over coal and frozen streets – nice poncho.
— Thank, sir – other than the green poncho with a few rags and what I presume to be a dog's bite, maybe the boy's own, who cares? I could see a few scratches on the boy's skin. Broken glass, I know very well, for someone I only saw once. I don't mean the boy, but myself – I need book, please.
— Which book? – his legs trembled. It wasn't my voice, because they were already trembling.
— Any book – he said. It was no joke, I could tell by looking. Fear emanates of a scent which I am fond of
— Any book?
— Uh huh. Quick – then he began to swing his tail – mister, it hurts.
— Well – what am I doing here? – boy, don't you want to go to a bathroom first?
— I want – he nodded, the gray on his face showing a few colors – that's why I want book.
— Uh... you can do it without reading, know?
— Yeah, but... I wanna clean my ass.
— Watch your tongue.
— No, I do not need the tongue. Any paper? – the boy came here to mock me. But seeing his face, not enough to melt my heart of stone, I can tell he is not here for fun.
— Here. Take it – so I lended the boy a book. He asked for it, and 'do whatever you want with the product' is my motto. I think.
— Thanks – he said, doing little jumps, as if he's playing hopscotch. So I followed the boy, who went to an alley I pointed at. I am from the time people dropped it outta their windows. They still do, around here. Always bring a hat – could you leave me alone?
— Right – I'm not the kind who suggests, but in this situation... – now, why don't you read it while you do... your stuff?
— Read? I do not know how to.
— Please don't tell me you don't know how to clean.
— I'm not stupid, mister.
— Then how come are you talking, boy?
— I have ears – my god.
— Do you have someone?
— What do you mean? – why do I want to have a conversation with this rat boy? I don't even know him. And he looks at me, demanding privacy.
— Other than yourself. Like, a mother, or a father – there's a lot of runaways around. I know, by proper experience.
— I don't have mom.
— And father?
— I don't have father. Maybe I have, but who cares? He doesn't care, even knows I exist. I'm a pile of dog poo...
— What's your name?
— My friends call me Rael.
— Rael?
— Uh huh. Now, could ya...
— Oh, for sure – so I left the boy on its own. But before – and no, you can have it
— What?
— The book. It's yours. I don't want it back.
— But I didn't... oh, okay then.
Rael... A rat boy with caramel fur. Nobody takes a caramel back to mouth soon as it falls in the street. Now, for the choice of the book I gave him, I had none in mind. Sure, there are some authors I despise, but as much as I can see their flaws, I too see how good and talented they are. They make those fantastic settings out of nowhere, walls and streets made of gold, while I sell them for a low price. People should be given books, pages to be readen, to be sneezed, to be burned in the fireplace... they do whatever they want, what they feel right. I don't support any behavior, I have my own and they aren't meant to be distributed. A frown is enough to tell I'm bad, a low price to say I can be kind. A price low enough to ask for a pint at the bar. 'So you sell books in order to drink beer...what a pitiful way of living', so said Crescent a week ago.
'If you came here to insult me, you're the third one from the list', I replied. Now dismantling my store, I think about Crescent, and how she sold me a book. It's this one I have in hand... wasn't published by anyone, it can't even be described as a proper book. More like excerpts of a research, made by no one other than Doctor Tot. 'But this is Doctor Tot's!' I said to her. I know the guy, good scientist, was willing to help with Fratley's condition, to not say disease. 'You want me to have this book, Crescent?' I asked, to which she, no, everything on her, from the face to her hands to her toes, said YES. 'No, I don't want it anymore. I just want it away. I read enough. None of its sentences changed my life the way I expected'. Poor Freya, living on expectations is like comparing yourself to someone else. You only get negatives.
'Your life? Don't you mean Fratley's? You did it for yourself, or for him?' Like I could understand a woman, I dared to ask. She said nothing. 'Who are you to ask? You sell these books. I mean... If it didn't worked for me, then maybe someone else'...; then she left. You know, this could had been the book being used by Rael. Jokes aside, you have a pretty bad taste of humour, Freya wasn't neither happy or sad when she came here. Whatever she felt, she was being herself, a thing I struggle for.
ns 15.158.61.46da2
