Get the Last Post

[Bobby Summa]

Beyond the cavern the dragon lies waiting for a feast to greet his eyes. A festive item to sparkle the soul, through the withering turns the lantern will show.

Come to me says his Ravid mate, that’s just the way it is, it’s never too late. The path ahead can only strike you down if you choose to always frown.

 

[Jetflag]

I lived once on the ocean floor, all robot help and sliding doors, and thought seldom of the shore.

Until I received one night a letter from my grandfather, and the letter read…

Dear Empty Head,

Ye who dwell on ocean's bed,

I send this by the cracked moon's light,

It likely be the last I write,

I'll take soon flight for a long journey's while to the Ninth Isle.

Remember me as I will you, all tree houses and untied shoe,

In hope someday we meet again,

Your distant kin,

Sebastian

But a farewell by letter is little better than no farewell at all, so on a young man's whim, for my grandfather, I set off in search of him...

 

[Gijs]

Whew, took a while but I got my account back!

Just so I could say that I have the last post again

 

[Arnoud]

Only to lose it again...

 

[Julian Del Agranda]

If Gijs was a dj, his name would be Giësto.

 

[Jetflag]

I left by quiet my stately keep, the escape was easy, guards asleep

and wandered 'bout on tiptoe feet, the tall glass halls and cold steel streets, and found, at last, an airlock

but for love or none could find no life suit or aqualung.

So deep breath then. I go to find Sebastian.

Then airlock open, and off into the freezing hug of the dark ocean

and struggling up, heart kicking like a drum then, limbs and lungs all done then, and the next thing I knew, I woke again, all gasping and flail, and wet as whales,

and most pinned by wind and water, a storm, ye, a storm, hell's teeth, and I at the centre.

And I, swimming as though possessed, and I, to die, and senses arrested, and kicked my legs in fit of fear and knew no north from south or my mouth from my arse, as I rolled about in the water.

 

[Julian Del Agranda]

Leander posting some weird shit lately.

That's a serious Retflag for me.

 

[Jetflag]

But God, air, and true wind on my face, for I had not known such a thing In all my remembering, and though I might well drown and sink true down to the ocean floor once more in but a minute's stem,

for this moment, swirling in those salt eddies, I was a boy again. And stormy though the night was hung, beyond that storm, I knew, the sun.

Nay, but I was still at fate's behest, and had no interest in the valley of death, and by width and breadth did trial about a long while, and the water did carry me along and put my soul and breath asunder⎯

so this is how it ends, the long going under. And with water in my mouth, goodnight, yes, give up air and everywhere, yes, goodnight, I go to seek a water sleep.

But fate was hard at play and I woke again, this time day, the storm a year away so far as the sky told that story, a beach whereupon the sea had spat me out like some dislikeable pip.

And I alive and washed ashore with bones and balls all sore, and what's more, there in the sky's maw, was the moon in cracked spoils of dead rock,

as though God Himself had struck it with His mighty galactic co-

But nay, there a man approached along the sand and called to see if I was all right. And his face became familiar of a sudden. "Grandfather?" I said.

"Err, no?" replied he with concerned eyes on me and continued, "Sir, whatever ordeal you've just been through has perhaps relieved the sense from you. May I ask your name?"

 

[Julian Del Agranda]

How do you call military explosive device which can also produce trance music?


..


a jetfrag

 

[Jetflag]

And though I did my best not to show it – my name, I realized, I did not know it.

And my companion helped me to my feet, led me down the beach, and I walked bent double, still reeling from the morning's trouble.

Then said he, checking my memory, "And how old is your grandfather?" Said I, "I don't recall at all. Perhaps you're right, I'm rattled slight from the ocean."

"Okay," he said, "then which island is it you're from?"

"I'm not from an island," I said. "I hail from beneath the sea and that great aquatic nursery. For I am but 40 years old, and from youth's throes, I escaped the watery below for one last hour with the man who taught me all I know."

And slow he said, "But you are too young. You shouldn't be above the water. Not until their one hundredth year can nursery folk yet come up here."

I only avoided his chiding stare and took great gulps of salt sea air.

Finally he said, "I think it best we find this grandfather of yours and get you to safe keeping. No isle is distant, mind, and I've a vehicle of my own design. Come along, we'll make it wherever together."

And he led me to some great balloon whereupon we got in and, though he touched no gauge or board, the craft set off of its own accord. We were out over the water then...

 

[Progrez]

If Gijs was a dj, his name would be Giësto.

And yours would be Viestoci going by previous name of Voci.

 

[Gijs]

But God, air, and true wind on my face, for I had not known such a thing In all my remembering, and though I might well drown and sink true down to the ocean floor once more in but a minute's stem,

for this moment, swirling in those salt eddies, I was a boy again. And stormy though the night was hung, beyond that storm, I knew, the sun.

Nay, but I was still at fate's behest, and had no interest in the valley of death, and by width and breadth did trial about a long while, and the water did carry me along and put my soul and breath asunder⎯

so this is how it ends, the long going under. And with water in my mouth, goodnight, yes, give up air and everywhere, yes, goodnight, I go to seek a water sleep.

But fate was hard at play and I woke again, this time day, the storm a year away so far as the sky told that story, a beach whereupon the sea had spat me out like some dislikeable pip.

And I alive and washed ashore with bones and balls all sore, and what's more, there in the sky's maw, was the moon in cracked spoils of dead rock,

as though God Himself had struck it with His mighty galactic co-

But nay, there a man approached along the sand and called to see if I was all right. And his face became familiar of a sudden. "Grandfather?" I said.

"Err, no?" replied he with concerned eyes on me and continued, "Sir, whatever ordeal you've just been through has perhaps relieved the sense from you. May I ask your name?"

Listen, I know weed's legal over here but I think you need to stop smoking it regardless...

 

[SleepyBuddah]

Listen, I know weed's legal over here but I think you need to stop smoking it regardless...

Technically weed still isn't legal over here...

 

[Gijs]

Yeah but it's funny to have people believe it is

 

[SleepyBuddah]

Yeah but it's funny to have people believe it is

Good point

 

[Jetflag]

And before I could comment there appeared, upon the horizon, rising up skywards, some needle wound at least ten thousand feet 'bove ground.

"Vishnu's arse!" I cried, "What is that?"

"A tower, whereby," he did reply, "it kisses tongues the edge of sky, and if you were to reach its spire, you'd see the breadth of space entire.

It proves most convenient for ascending objects into orbit without need of fuel or speed. Though keep your eyes open yet," he mumbled slight, and five seconds hence did see him right

for overhead and yonder yet were craft wide as twenty jumbo jets, seemingly sitting there in the air by dare of whim.

"Oh gods, you're all so clever," I cried. "You built all of this?"

"Aye," he said. "Year to year ascended each, by hammer's knack and number's reach."

And quite a while we watched the scene, his face sincere, then turned to me and said, "Young man, be honest, what is it you want with your grandfather, really? Are you so bold you can't just let the old be old?"

"Nay," I said, "I wish to talk with he who by longevities, like you, has endured the centuries. Besides, he says he's going elsewhere, and I'd like to follow him there.

His letter said the Isle of Nines, if that's his ground, that's where I'm bound. Actually, I wonder if I ask, dare, you’d get me there?"

He was quiet a while, pokered face, no smiles, and said, "So you think age leads to becoming some great sage, do you? Yes, I'll get you to your grandfather. But we'll take the scenic route on our way to the Isle of the Nines."

 

[SleepyBuddah]

The candlelight flickered across the linen tablecloth, casting golden halos on the half-empty wine glasses. She laughed at something he said, the sound low and private, meant only for him. He reached across the table, thumb brushing the inside of her wrist where her pulse fluttered like a trapped bird.

 

[Jetflag]

"Fine," said I. Our bearing changed then, southwards bound, for some small spit of sandy ground. "I think," said he, "we'll search about, and see if we can't out some of that wisdom you crave."

And before I could protest we'd set down and come ashore, and were bounding over pier floor and up then sand and jungle thick and cut our way with will and stick, and emerged before a town.

In the suburbs folk were felling trees and hauling sure great carts of iron ore. Then further in were folk who looked as young as I and dancing 'neath the broke moon sky, all necking bottles gin and beer, then coupling up to disappear.

“Which Isle is this?” I asked my friend. “I'm barely two decades old, they act younger yet.”

“The Isle of Ones,” said he “All here have aged at least one century.” He left me down the winding paths of open debauchery in open bars, and folk who clear appeared they slept perhaps three days a year,

and we came upon a woman there, all dancing legs and wild blonde hair. My friend proclaimed, "Oh lady mayor, I've brought for thee one cub straight from the nursery, and he has questions for his elders."

She regarded me with red eyes and regard tireder yet, and said "Nursery huh? Why, here we've ditched the milk but kept the bottle. Ask away young Aristotle."

 

[SleepyBuddah]

"You’re not eating,” he murmured, eyes never leaving hers as he lifted a forkful of tiramisu. Instead of bringing it to his own lips, he leaned forward, offering it to her. She parted her mouth, slow, deliberate, tongue touching the cream just before her lips closed around the tines. A soft sound escaped her—approval, hunger—and his gaze dropped to her throat as she swallowed.

 

[Jetflag]

And the music did stop, and all folk turned about with their drunk blare stares poking out, and the lady mayor of the Isle of Ones did close her eyes in great profund.

I murmured, "Why, I am young and confused about everything and sure of nothing, but above all I should like to know: How does one live well? And how does one see far? And how does one want for nothing and still acquire everything?"

I leant sure close and cupped my ear, the wisdom of one in her one hundred years, whereby she replied, "The secret to acquiring everything? Buy it.”

“How to see far? Squint.”

“And how to live well? Well. I'd suggest you’ve found your answer here, for we've loads of drugs and high strength beer!"

and though I cried out for clarification it was surely the end of that conversation, and my new companion led me back past trees and lagoon to our waiting bright balloon.