Archive for the ‘Knave’ Category

TDV 66: Knave (Part 2)

April 8th, 2010 by Sharkchild

There is such a thing as the chaos of fate—an endless-fingered glove, a maze of only dead-end paths. And there is such a thing as living separated from life—not by the escaping of death, but by the living outside of life in a place where its wholesome reaches fail. There is such living and there is such a place. The living is like being a dog: aware, emotional, but void of self purpose. The place is like a beehive—active, inconstant, volatile.

Life is linear: it runs from one point of time to another while immuring its contestants in a singular transition at any given moment, placing them on a one-track outcome: fate. There are boundaries in place—rules. There cannot be multiple futures or multiple endings. There cannot be purpose beyond what is attained in a two-dimensional timeline. But if not governed by these rules, then what? Life is these rules, and so to be outside of these rules is to be outside of life, and this uncertain place of living outside of life is the chaos of fate.

***

The chaos of fate was my home, and had been since I ingested into my body the myriad of Obstructions of Fate from the Devoted Man’s Bazaar. Life disgorged me in a mass of unscrupulous discord. Every particle in my body—down to the most miniscule—was pitted against every other particle in my body. There was a battle within me; every part and piece of me wanted to go a different way, make a different choice, follow a different fate. By these things alone, I was not human; I was Knave—a servant to pandemonium.

(Listen to the entire story below)

 

TDV 61: Knave (Part 1)

January 28th, 2010 by Sharkchild

I once had in my possession a unique thermometer I called the Gapetha. Using the buoyancy of five silver circlets in liquid contained in a tall, slim, clear cylinder, it determined temperature. If the temperature was to reach a very specific reading, down to fractions of a degree, these five silver circlets aligned in a pattern that, for while they were in that alignment, unlocked a gateway in the space between airs. The precise distance between these air particles, which would alter at any minor change in temperature, allowed matter from a place called the Devoted Man’s Bazaar to connect with the world. To enter the Devoted Man’s Bazaar by means of the thermometer was to let air slice between flesh, allowing it to come together again in a strange domain.

The Devoted Man’s Bazaar was indeed a marketplace, and it was operated by none other than the Devoted Man—the traveling being who was not man, but only called himself so. He engineered things beyond understanding and found ways to come and go, creating pockets in the continuum of space—havens where he could lead his trade at the apex of mystery. Under these circumstances, people acquired merchandise from his inventory, whether knowing or not—intending to visit or not intending to visit. More often than not, people had no idea they procured items from this inter-dimensional economy because the Devoted Man had his ways of blending his refuge flawlessly with the world and had other ways of masking his secrets. When he chose to carry out business, the Bazaar would appear in a remote location—never within or even close to a city. There would nearly always be a large, silver meadow surrounding the Bazaar, with the Bazaar itself appearing as a glowing, striped tent. And it always came at night—never when there was a single spot of sunlight.

(Listen to the rest)