shud-shee
03-14-2010, 05:03 AM
Locus
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost
In the cold evening when loud Kurland horn asked to sleep the scarce population of the city-ship of Prot when the dim alpha of the Capricorn was hardly visible behind a green lump of the Jellyfish, when visitors have dispersed on hundred rooms of a palace of expelled prince Sevastii the seventh, he himself was tormented by insomnia. To what hadn’t resorted young sovereign in order to be rescued from terrible disaster: read ancient passionate von Hardenberg, but that only woke inexpressible grief; beheld sensual-hologram symphonies by Anatole Schulz, but the composer loved unreasonable luxury of tropical aromas asandia crispoena, and the prince had to save on everything; drank chocolate prepared according to the ancient Belgian recipe; composed lovely anagrammes on ministers of the Government, which asked His Highness to leave a throne of a zone of 500 parsec Tetrahedron. It is necessary to tell that wasn’t the boredom of an angel sung by Baudelaire, or the boredom of a god sung by Rossetti, but something more simple and complicated at the same time: as if something called Sevastii further, in not reconnoitered zones, for ten thousand light years, forward, without looking round. As if he knew, that he couldn’t fall asleep, as if he took an obligation to be in such a place in such a time. And probably that place would become his, maybe not home, but more likely a haven. All planets which he had visited for the last five years, amazed him with some strange and even eerie luxury. The prince long peered at them from an illuminator, tried to listen to the prompt whisper of an invisible demon, a genie. But it kept silent. Certainly, many of the worlds seemed beautiful and hospitable to the prince, and people from retinue begged him to remain there. That was not the loneliness generated in the lags of the vast distances on which the terrestrial poet of 20 century Warren had narrated. It was not loneliness at all. Neither grief, nor mourning, nor vacillation.
Once, in rare minutes of sleep, an aged man in oriental robe visited the prince. It seemed, it was impossible to count with human numbers the age of the visitor. He showed his palm, and there was coruscating a small spark from which a pleasant heat spread over the body of the prince. The aged man said: What do you think, what Aristotle meant when he dilated upon occupying of a place by a body? I Avicenna will tell you. However a human were great, how many worlds he would not occupy and civilizations have not enslaved, all the same there would be necessary for him these three things – a shelter, for this is a spot for rest and meditations; a supper from a cheerful wife, for all the woes are from a bad wife; and chess with an old friend for it is your double which brings good luck. And also let your jokers who assert, that I have read Metaphysics of Stagirite forty times and have understood nothing, try to challenge those three! And this is time for you to stop!
After these words the prince woke up and felt himself refreshed. “At last, my demon” – decided Sevastii.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost
In the cold evening when loud Kurland horn asked to sleep the scarce population of the city-ship of Prot when the dim alpha of the Capricorn was hardly visible behind a green lump of the Jellyfish, when visitors have dispersed on hundred rooms of a palace of expelled prince Sevastii the seventh, he himself was tormented by insomnia. To what hadn’t resorted young sovereign in order to be rescued from terrible disaster: read ancient passionate von Hardenberg, but that only woke inexpressible grief; beheld sensual-hologram symphonies by Anatole Schulz, but the composer loved unreasonable luxury of tropical aromas asandia crispoena, and the prince had to save on everything; drank chocolate prepared according to the ancient Belgian recipe; composed lovely anagrammes on ministers of the Government, which asked His Highness to leave a throne of a zone of 500 parsec Tetrahedron. It is necessary to tell that wasn’t the boredom of an angel sung by Baudelaire, or the boredom of a god sung by Rossetti, but something more simple and complicated at the same time: as if something called Sevastii further, in not reconnoitered zones, for ten thousand light years, forward, without looking round. As if he knew, that he couldn’t fall asleep, as if he took an obligation to be in such a place in such a time. And probably that place would become his, maybe not home, but more likely a haven. All planets which he had visited for the last five years, amazed him with some strange and even eerie luxury. The prince long peered at them from an illuminator, tried to listen to the prompt whisper of an invisible demon, a genie. But it kept silent. Certainly, many of the worlds seemed beautiful and hospitable to the prince, and people from retinue begged him to remain there. That was not the loneliness generated in the lags of the vast distances on which the terrestrial poet of 20 century Warren had narrated. It was not loneliness at all. Neither grief, nor mourning, nor vacillation.
Once, in rare minutes of sleep, an aged man in oriental robe visited the prince. It seemed, it was impossible to count with human numbers the age of the visitor. He showed his palm, and there was coruscating a small spark from which a pleasant heat spread over the body of the prince. The aged man said: What do you think, what Aristotle meant when he dilated upon occupying of a place by a body? I Avicenna will tell you. However a human were great, how many worlds he would not occupy and civilizations have not enslaved, all the same there would be necessary for him these three things – a shelter, for this is a spot for rest and meditations; a supper from a cheerful wife, for all the woes are from a bad wife; and chess with an old friend for it is your double which brings good luck. And also let your jokers who assert, that I have read Metaphysics of Stagirite forty times and have understood nothing, try to challenge those three! And this is time for you to stop!
After these words the prince woke up and felt himself refreshed. “At last, my demon” – decided Sevastii.