Interim
letter.
(A bridge between
Book 2 and Book 3)
*
Dear Cicero,
The Autumn rains
are here again, and I have seen the first towers of bonfire smoke
rising from the valley lowland farms near my home. I have been
writing letters to you and our other dead friends for a year now.
So much has
changed. Nothing has changed.
This morning, a
chilly Sunday, I sit in bed to write and to read. I have Tacitus
beside me, telling stories of despots and suicides and all manner of
terrible debaucheries from the reigns of the early Roman emperors. I
have your letters, Cicero, telling me the tale of your year in
Cilicia. I have a book of poetry by Yevgenny Yevtushenko telling me
stories of Russian revolutions, of failed uprisings, of oppression
and of love.
And my
story...what of my story?
So much has
changed. Nothing has changed.
Every day I read,
I write, I play music, I draw pictures late into the night, never
sleeping before midnight. I rise in the morning to take my son to
school, I go to work, I pick my son up from school and come home, I
play games with my children, I make dinner, and in the evenings I sit and draw pictures late into the night.
What picture am I
drawing now, Cicero? A line between two points? A line between two
minds separated by two thousand years? Is it a circle?
The bonfires are
being lit, burning away the old dead wood of summer, to make way for
the new growth in the spring to come. The hours of daylight grow
shorter, the sunlight is colder, the frost and fog and rain cloak the
land in their green bounty, while I sit wrapped in my black woolen
robe on a chilly Sunday morning, writing a letter to a long dead
friend.
Thank you Cicero,
thank you always and forever. Without you, I might have gone mad
long ago.
With Gratitude
and Respect.
Morgan.
*
A message to my
readers...
Letters to
Cicero: end of Book 2
First, I want to
thank you, my readers. I, like most artists, feel the need to have
an audience, and your attentions to this blog have made it possible
for me to continue in this work with the happiness and enthusiasm
that make it a pleasure to write, as well as to read. I am trying to
understand the past, and in doing so, to gain perspective on the
present, as well as a better sense of what might be possible for the
future. I hope that my search is of benefit to others, as well as
myself.
The future...
Book three is
already part written. I have been writing to Ovid, Plato, Tacitus,
Marcus Aurelius, and of course, Cicero. I feel as though I am wading
into deeper and deeper water, and this makes my progress slower, more
considered. Expanding my list of authors to include in this blog
gives me the perspective that I seek, and grants me the nuanced
understanding that I have always wanted. More than just info-bites,
more than just anecdotes, I want to understand history, not so I may
draw conclusions, but so that I might understand more about human
nature. For now, my study is focussed on ancient Roman & Greek
writing. The future, is unwritten...
I have also been
working on a few other things.
My new solo album
is now complete, (Zebulon: Music of an Invisible Enclave) and is
ready for release in a few weeks time. You can watch and listen to
my previous music work here:
My band, Iron
Dwarf, also put on a show in this year's Adelaide Fringe Festival,
re-telling the Epic of Gilgamesh, as a hard-boiled detective story,
presented with funk music, puppets, and a belly dancer. I have been
editing the video from the show, which will be available on youtube
soon. Here is a video of the band performing one of the songs on the
street.
My novel, The
Hangman Tree, is about to start 4th draft editing. It
tells the legendary tale of Djinnee One-Hand, Shaman of the Red
Sands. It will be a couple more years before it is ready for
release, but it is a project I am still very passionate about
bringing into the world.
In the last few
months I have also produced a small book of poetry called “Love in
the Age of Gasoline” and a short espionage sci-fi story called
“Necessary Beast”. Finally, I am in the process of a what might
become a new novel, “Monkey and Tortoise”, which is a sort of
Platonic dialogue between a small community of animals who are trying
to solve the mystery of their own natures.
I am considering
making these other written works available for purchase in e-book
format.
But for the
moment, I will give you a taste of Monkey and Tortoise, and leave you
with a promise that my Letters to Cicero will continue for the
foreseeable future, expanding slowly to include the poets and
playwrights of the ancient world.
The future,
however, is unwritten.
*
Monkey and
Tortoise (Chapter 1)
Hey Tortoise,
Monkey said one day,
Hey Tortoise,
are you listening to me? Monkey raised his voice. It always
seemed as if Tortoise wasn't listening to him.
Hey! Tort...
Yeah, Monkey.
What is it? Tortoise cut him off. It was true that sometimes he
didn't listen to Monkey, but it was also true that sometimes Monkey
didn't say anything worth listening to.
Do you think
that all art is portraiture?
Uh...Tortoise
had an opinion on this, but he was not good at quick responses.
I mean,
Monkey continued, uninterrupted by Tortoise's lack of reply, I
mean, is all art, Self portraiture?
What is art?
Tortoise loved the Socratic method.
Well...
Monkey thought for a moment, but then recognised the smile on
Tortoise's face. Don't try to side-track me. You already know
what I mean, you're just avoiding the question. (Monkey paused,
for effect.) You're avoiding the question because you're lazy.
Tortoise
was silent for a long time. He hoped that Monkey would just go away.
All around them the grass continued to grow, and the sky turned a
darker shade of blue. Finally Tortoise gave his answer.
If all art is
self portraiture, then there is no longer any difference between
subject and object, and the meaningful relationship between artist
and art is one of solitary significance, relating only to the nature
of the artist. As the art either disturbs or comforts the artist, so
its purpose is served in the continued development of the human
relationship with the concept of self.
If all art is
self portraiture, then everything which mankind, (or monkey, or
tortoise-kind) has created, in every field of endeavour, is also self
portraiture. From the automobile to the sex toy to the missile to
the basketball, from shoes to shawls and crowns and bells on ankles.
Everything is just an effort to express and explain and describe and
translate, the mystery of the individual.
Monkey
thought about this for a while.
Yeah, OK. But
what do you really think?
What do you
mean by 'think'? Tortoise did
this out of habit, not really meaning to divert attention away from
the question Monkey was trying to ask.
Monkey
just stared, waiting.
Tortoise
used a stick to draw a picture of himself in the sand. If
all art is self portraiture, then what is self portraiture?
Monkey
smiled a great big smile. Yeah, that's what I thought too.
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