A month and some change later, and I’m back.

Am I ready to be back? That’s a different question. I have pondered the idea of extending my hiatus, but that way lies inertia, and I have enough issues with that these days, thank-you-very-much.

So every concern must be dismissed. My buffer is still unsatisfactory…but what would be enough? Noriama still little better than a second draft? Let it be seen anyway, warts and all. Celestial not even half finished? Slow down your posting schedule. Nothing I write is good enough? It never will be, no matter how long you delay. Your ashcan RPG currently stalled out because you need playtesters, and scheduling is a problem? Post it anyway, perfection be damned!

I swear I didn’t plan it this way.

I wouldn’t have if I could have; I’m put now in a somewhat difficult position of wrapping up both The Poems of Madam Albithurst and The Watch in the Sand in one post. I’d rather do it over two, but time and tide wait for no one; So…

The Poems of Madam Albithurst

Did my experiment work? It’s obviously not my place to say. There is a delight I’ve found in the bizarre and otherworldly tone of the Myriad Worlds, where the people and customs are as clear and distinct as our own, if decidedly unfamiliar. I am currently working on a guidebook to the entire Velvet, and that might not have happened without this experimental work.

November 15, 2048

Serious discussion begins on the Boards on how to restructure the governments of the world, given the advances in communication and Nanocule technology. Some in America suggest decentralizing the major halls of policy; demolishing the White House, 10 Downing Street, the Kremlin, et. al., and moving all official correspondence to the Boards. Others argue for dismantling the concept of representative government entirely, and moving to a pure democracy. Officials from multiple levels of government reject all suggestions.

And that is how my poem ends.

A satisfying ending for myself, and certainly for my companions, though I am sure it hasn’t entirely ended for all of them.

Mx. Image and Mr. Porist, of course, left for the Tides of Three Shades, though Mr. Porist seemed far more insistent than Image. The poor Marq turned an eye towards me with a mild click of bemusement before they both left. I think our chitinous friend had already attained more than xer goal could provide.

Now I suppose you desire an explanation for what happened once we had finished our dance. Alas, this is a poem, and poetry provides truths not through narrative, but through thought, heart, and soul.

The Great Construction was completed, but so far I think never used. The engineers and scientists went home, happy with their efforts and with the simple assumption that someone somewhere might finish it someday. A commonplace occurrence for those who are only responsible for the middle of a project. Those who begin and those who finish, they never have the luxury of contentment.

The door was large and steel. The room was cold and dark. My Archonarchian friend ushered me inside, and closed the door behind me. The light came from high above, creating a cold silver circle for me to stand in.

I certainly felt at the time that the dark emptiness was a refreshing change from the chaotic outside. The noise had given an ache to my head, and now I found myself at rest. But it was not long before the soothing respite was broken by the sound of approaching steps. In moments, another light shone down from above, a second circle of silver, a moon drawing ever closer to mine. In the middle of the circle stood a man I had seen before.

June 20, 2036

An upgrade is released to the Boards, allowing Nanocules to record sensory input, rather than requiring an external phone or recording equipment. Hand-held devices are now unnecessary to completely utilize the Boards, as video recording is done through the users eyes, while audio recording is done through their ears.

Physical recording equipment begins to disappear. Professional cameramen begin to train themselves to keep their gaze steady without blinking for long periods of time, while sales of professional recording equipment drops sharply, as even the high end recording devices cannot compete with the perfect quality and ease of Nanocules. Indie film developers begin experimenting with this new recording medium, creating ‘Personals’ — stories filmed by the actors, and viewed in first person perspective.

In the centuries before recorded time, before the Myriad Worlds were set in their spiraling dance, the great giant Yurghyn stood tall on the land of Ut-cart. Ut-cart was, among the known world, the most verdant and beloved of lands, with people who cared well for each other and the balance-of-things.

Yurghyn, however, did not care for the balance-of-things, for the evil that he saw in the wasp sting and the viper’s tooth repulsed him. With his might and magic, he ruled over the people of Ut-cart, and guided them away from evil with a firm and steady fist.

I am not ashamed to admit, I was crying when we left Lady Song.

I did not look to see if my companions too had been affected by her words; more fool me, I thought it polite. Of course, had I been born of another time and perhaps another place, I would likely have found it the height of callousness to allow them their thoughts alone.

Of course, that lovely part of me that embraces my Sensate nature was already crafting a poem — but now I found myself in conflict twice over. First because I could not find the words to express such an experience as Lady Song — an embarrassment in itself — and second because a portion of me did not want to craft a poem. It felt, in some macabre way, gauche. Barbaric, perhaps, which was a state of being that I had long decided I would never experience.

And there we were, in the darkness.

Surrounded. Alone. The five of us together.

No hopes, no dreams, nothing but the uncertain truth of our situation.

There was a pool of light we could not see.

A howling scream we could not hear.

Children, children everywhere, grabbing and laughing and crying.

Thousands dead, thousands more alive.

A singular moment stretched on into infinity.

We were now, and then, and to become. It was everything I ever wanted. It was Hell.