Monday 9 February 2015

TUMBULAR 7

The space that separated us was a gulf, but it may as well have been an ocean.  The ape preened,  pulled off a couple of fleas, teasing them between his two fingers.  I've come this far, but this is the land where we all pass through our infantry stage.  Some of us, if we are lucky, get to train apes, who end up flying in our own tumbulation devices we have designed.  Opposite, there is another city where nothing is ever what it seems.  If we say the basic manner of existence is knowable, for them that is never actually the case.  It's always in a shroud, a hesitant pause and then an evasion.   They say they esteem their women, but their tunic to not allow them even the full length of their stride.  For us a stride is purely physiological, not a feature of the mind.

These others seem to have manicles on their minds.   The refinement of bodies are a different matter, smoothe as can be.  But lift a finger to help themselves?  They cannot.

Our lives were as thorny as theirs were neat and protected.  At least they did well in hiding their bruisings and abrasions well beneath their tunics.  If they died, it was with a mere sigh that they faded out of existence.  Aesthetically.

We sought only to make fighting men and women with every right to rule over them, since it was said that the women from our city were the only ones capable of giving birth to MEN.


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Cultural barriers to objectivity