graphix: spwilcen
They met from different times, disparate places. An odd warp in eternity’s cadence. These things happen now and then. We don’t see them. We’d rather not see them. They are uncomfortable. What normally divides moments in time and practiced philosophy, we call “generations.” As a rule, generations are blurred each to the other. Now and again, they allow serendipitous moments of shared crystalline clarity.
Happenstance?
“Where are you headed, oddly dressed little man?”
“Just over that hill, to face the giants, lovely señora.”
“Giants? I just came from there. I saw no giants”
“Oh, they are there. They must have been sleeping as you passed on your stallion.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure of what?”
“Giants live there.”
“Certainly, señora. They are there. Fearsome, and evil incarnate.”
“So, you go, little man, on your tired, sad mare to challenge them?”
“Not to challenge, to defeat.”
“You are not even armed!”
“I have this lance. With this I will slay them and send them to tremble at the gates of hell.”
“That is but a broken piece of wood.”
“Mayhaps. But I am armed with a pure soul, and a valiant heart.”
“Fool! Who asks you to do this?”
“No one.”
“Then why?”
“It is my calling. Fighting giants. Righting wrong.”
“I see.”
“I think you do not.”
“I am aware of what goes on about me.”
“You did not see the giants.”
“There are no giants there.”
“Indeed, there are. Further, señora, you will catch your death of cold when evening arrives.”
“I speak against oppressive taxes. I will make it seen.”
“Noble in purpose, fair señora, but you will lose the battle if you die of a chill.”
“My heart is on fire. I fear no cold.”
“Here. Mi chaqueta is threadbare, but it is faithful putting the chill aside.”
—
Sometimes, you put pencil to paper, just to see where it leads.
Often it sparks a warming winter’s fire, an interesting inferno, or a visit to hell.
Usually, though, it remains graphite cobwebs on yellowed paper.
Ramblings 
“Graphite cobwebs on yellowed paper” Brilliant Don Q!
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I dunno that “brilliant” applies, but it (pardon me) “paints a picture” of scribbling that is not words, not concrete things, but thoughts, often incomplete but brutal, rarely finished and exquisite. Thank you for dropping by.
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You’re very welcome Espie, and yes, often the best writing is automatic…
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I might fancy myself something of an Alonso. Less Idealistic, more pragmatic, not as fearless, and too-often sidetracked from the heat of battle when my attentions are most needed. What disappoints me most of life is that I will never understand all of it before I die, and the pure mystery of it for the beauty of mystery itself does not satisfy me. Thanks again for dropping by and dropping words on me.
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It’s always a pleasure Espie. And I think, at different levels, we all think of such things. But we, those whose faith lets us know that we’re just pilgrims on this plane of existence, believe that we will know and see as He sees us. All the best and a good night.
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Your “graphite cobwebs on yellowed paper” took me to the convoluted thoughts of one of the best Urdu fiction writers “Mantoo”, SP. I often found a glimpse of his boldness in your writing.
Keep creating graphite cobwebs, we need them SP.
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I will do my best. Thank you for your gracious comments.
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Spelling “Mantoo” led me astray. I dug deeper. I am immensely flattered, for Saadat Hasan is most esteemed [though unknown before now to me] and I will look into his work as opportunity presents. Compared on one hand to Kerouac, usually with reference to my written obscurity and to one of several “noir” writers or humorists, I am unsettled likened to Kerouac [and perhaps to Manto]. Often it is a cultural divide that makes me seem obscure to readers. Fine, in that case. Sadly [and I firmly believe this] among English as native-speakers, not understanding what I write is more a matter of shallow intellect, lack of a funny bone, and confusion when it comes to satire, parody, sarcasm, out-an-out rant mentality. That is all compounded by readers [especially English-speaking] failing to realize I am a wordsmith and when my work leaves the forge and anvil, is is NOT average fare. I labor to close generational divides. Sometimes I fail. [Sigh!] Again, thank you for reading, and for commenting bravely, freely, and deliciously. SP
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You’re right! Common reference points that help with understanding references like the ones you made in this blog post have all but vanished. I can’t imagine what anyone not familiar with Don Quixote would have made of this. I don’t mean that as a slur on anyone’s intelligence, just a remark on the cultural barriers you mentioned.
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Though, you know, [I adamantly maintain] average intelligence today is appalling. I dunno if it is the air we breathe [blame the Republicans] the stress we endure [blame the Democrats] the medicines and supplements we take [blame snake-oil pharma] the perversions we enjoy [blame Holly/Bolly/Nollywood and the wild wonderful wacky] or the depreciated DNA-pool [blame Libertarian ideals permitting any cretin to reproduce] but the human race is ignorant, intolerant, illogical, and in every other respect mentally deficient. We are a new species: Homodefectus.
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I can sympathize. Home Defectus may be the best way of describing what we have evolved in to. (But I was pleasantly surprised to see that you are familiar with Nollywood given how you often say you are not into the kind of oddball movies I review.)
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Balladman, you’d be surprised the shix WP thinks I’m interested in. That’s no slur. It’s a statement expressing a truth that should scare the living shix out of anyone who presently believes the future of man lies in AI. [{Snicker!} Or in the future of man. {Prolonged snicker, culminating in tears of sorrow.}]
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Ha! I can relate!
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