Preface

"Sometimes 'everything' can sound like nothing,"
The old man said. The young girl stopped and
Looked. She was indeed young-much too young to have
Understood or cared for his wandering whispers.
Unexpectedly she replied, "Sometimes nothing can
Sound like everything all at once."

Baffled, and somewhat disappointed that this
Young child with her upbraided hair should
Assume to have had any idea of what he
Had just said he replied, "Yes but nothing
Is just a something that we have conceived
Of in a desperate attempt to know the Unknowable."

The young girl, with an expression of neither
Care nor worry nor desire to engage the old
Man any further stated casually, "Are you on
Drugs? Maybe we can know the unknowable
If we accept the nothing as something."

Well the old man didn't take to this well at
All. His body shook with displeasure and
Fear and he shot back, "But not if we have
Already said the word...unknowable, that
Is... it stops us in our tracks-- keeps disease
At my back door, our back door-- and the
Indian on the reservation."

The two were locked in a battle over
The cosmos and the future of its
Success or, at this rate, probable
Failure and so of course she had to
Come back with, "Does the disease
Really stay at our door and the Indian
On his reservation or is that simply a
Construct of our minds to tame the
Vastness that is so?"

The sweat on the old man's forehead
Started to fall more rapidly down
His brow as the furrows that were
Created by his now growing smile
made channels for the salty water to
slide down.

"I've got her," he thought."
I say!-take the vastness off
Its leash and let it play in the
Backyard of consciousness!"

The girl gasped and, not knowing
What to think or feel responded with
The only inkling of reason that she
Bore left in her breast: "But it might
Run away!"

The old man convulsed with laughter
And saw that he was inches from victory.
His muscles clenched in his throat and
He cried out, "Then let it go! Through the
River and down to the ghetto where
The black boy taps quarter notes! It
Will only return dirtier, grittier, and wiser!"

The girl took a deep breath, conceded
Defeat, and walked on her way.

I think she is an architect, now.

She designs foam reproductions
Of Gaelic statues and ceremonial grounds.

No one comes to see them.

- The Barking Aristocrat