19

...first of and above anything at all, exceeding everything by their supreme importance are now and here—the shortest jot of time and so narrow bit of space we occupy being crammed into the pod of these two—nothing but they constitute our both eternity and infinity.

People inclined to scrupulous consideration of things they come across in their progress to the better world in heaven or, contrastingly, to the hotter world in the roaring fire of hell, inevitably reach this very conclusion and take a shot at presenting this idea clearer, more descriptive form for eager seekers of reason and sense in their sublunary existence. They are vouchsafed, but not me, to enlighten the humanity with so radiant thoughts as this of mine. Because, even though still in possession of my aptitude for subtle reflections, for pondering on things ahead of the contemporary age, I’ve ditched entrusting them to paper altogether…

Dried up to the very bottom naps my inkpot, the dust grows ever thicker upon the lid and seals the hollow void under, the quill has been abducted for household needs, which are a plenty, by one or or other of the shrews from the garrulous bevy of womenfolk at this abode. To skirt around my possible expostulations at the unwarranted trespass, the skirts did it on the sly! The most surprising thing though is that they had somehow found out that I wouldn’t make a fuss about the quill pilfered for God knows what application. Some culinary needs, I believe, but they in the kitchen should know better.

But their innate smartness which they conceal so deliberately! Their ability to suss out what you’d rather keep to yourself. They know even things untold... Ha! Here’s another subtle, brilliant thought, a priceless observation to bequeath the posterity with, slips fading by, irretrievably. So cater for yourself yourselves, posterity, use your own wits to reinvent my sage remark.

Good luck, kids! Hopefully, you’ll accomplish the deed before reaching the venerable age when you have answers to any question whatsoever, under both the sun and the moon, be it full or waning, or even hid behind the jealous clouds… yes! in your limitless wisdom you comprehend practically all but none of those blockheads would ever think of asking you of anything worth an answer. For them you are a piece of furniture, the old wardrobe or rickety sideboard, you’re just a part of the room interior or of the view outside the window. Tell me, pray, who would ever start a discussion with a crooked, weather-beaten tree in the roadside? Who would tarry for a chat with it except for an insane poet?

So fare well, posterity, in your quest for answers you cannot pass on and wisdom no one cares for. Seek high and low and you’d inevitably find what you’re after and then scatter away your needless experience, let it be gone like withered foliage with the wind and get lost as happened to that my thought a moment back… hmm… what was it, again?

Aha! I remembered!. That keeping within the bounds of space and fleeting moment enhances your comprehension of eternity and of your place more clearly than, you know… yep, and so forth.

Mmm… and by the by, about them those poets, a really rare commodity they are and the most delicate flowers that bloom no frequenter than a couple in a century… or even one in two… If we look back, to observe the last one – who, in God’s truth, will you discern there worthy to be named a poet of merit? One, two and – that’s it! I and Quevedo, the sharpest wit of the Golden Age in Spanish poetry… No one else! But still and yet in every lane of any one-horse berg they count up to a thousand of poets a-tinkering their jarring clumsy nothing, their so called “verses”. O, tempora! O, mores!

And a propos of poesy… Even during my first incarceration, the one-month stretch in that common cavern of a jail, when they arrested me as a suspect to the murder of the senor killed in the duel next to our gate… yes! Even there I met a poet! Though it’s not for me to judge the quality of his opuses. It was an Englishman of their barbarously absurd parlance.

He communicated in a mixture of a school Latin and a score of broken Spanish words… maimed them so funnily, the words… A nice young man, yes… What was his name, again? Bill... Shax or Shoox… doesn’t matter… which meant, as he was trying to interpret, ‘shake bones’ or ‘quiver the shaft’… Whatever.

He often recollected his spouse Anne, unsparingly cursed her with any bawdy phrases… in Latin mainly… My bet is she was the reason for the poor devil to flee the British Isles… and the conditions in that prison!. nauseating shock… a mere recollection gives you creeps… no latrine, the inmates discharging their bodily refuse into filthy pails… horrendous disgusting stench!

As always, I was perfectly lucky. One month of running nose! That’s the fortune’s fave!

But that Biscayan ogre was a real pest! The one who stole a mangy ass from the padre in the neighbor village… Some beefy brute, that ass thief was. The men in the common cell were wary to fart near him for fear that sniffing the whiff would give him a hardon turning his train of thoughts to lusty recreation… fucking sodomite...

Poor Bill!. His asshole saw a great deal of abuse. But never ever his usual gaiety was lost… The guy of spirit, after the ordeal he would instantly perk up, like a young cock ravished by the mature rooster, and explain to me, between us, poets, that thanks to his bisexual nature it was a mere piddle and the heat accumulated from thrust-n-pokes of Biscayan passion would fill, in due time, the molds of his Sonnets with a sublime and penetrating impact … later… or plays, may be, when he put hands on a quill and paper… Yet, Mr. Shox-something learned the hard way, firsthand and in full measure what Spanish prison was…

And when talking of plays and stuff, who prompt’s us our thoughts? God? Satan?

The latter should be recognized the more reliable provider of the two. His goods will never disappoint the client – first-rate evil, I be damned! Best quality in the market, and suits you so perfectly! None of the ready-made look! Take it, you’d never regret the deal! The evil you were looking for, exactly! Or cashback within a week or so.

And that same industrial espionage, eh? We were commanded “Thou shall not steal!” while He, Himself… ahem!. well, I mean, there are certain indications of undeniable plagiarism by means of copy-paste off the Competitor’s proprietary know-how...

Straight from the horse’s mouth on the inveterate Turncoat’s policy: He creates Eve, okay, He knows better, who am I to keep back His creative impulse? Hallelujah! Glory be to God! And in several days kicks her out Eden together with that victim guy who never got it ever what all that fuss was about, at all.

But if You are so Omniscient couldn’t You foresee the tricks your creature’s pregnant with?

Or else. The city of Gomorrah smashed into bitty smithereens, which is an undisguised genocidal action (if not to say more) as regards stray cats, dogs and sinless sheep swept away for no fault of theirs in the dead of night?

But the sect of Vegans are spying vigilantly on each Your step adding up to the bill… what? Some news to You? Those guys on freaky diet with their non-stop chant about the pensive look in Cow’s eyes and also of other domesticated Victims’ to the gluttonous humanity of humanoids… Yep. Moody, too effing moody…

Or are there several Gods doing shifts?

...o thank You, Lord, that I’ve given up on confiding to paper any hooey coming to my head, and thrice thank You, OMG, that the Holy Inquisition cannot read our idle thoughts because at times you careen in blabbering such heresy for which HI at once would land my ass and stuff in the bonfires to the glory of God Almighty…