Obligatory "ignore this space" : https://sacoronavirus.co.za

Our earliest knowledge of America was as the place where all the tv programmes came from. As most have surely noted, countries which think they aught to stimulate their local film industry by buying expensive cars for people who don't know how to act, are missing a bit of history. For the sake of Aryans trying to recover from amnesia, or who've decided that glossing over the last seven thousand years in order to make themselves a comfortable picture of history is much the same, I like to share what is indeed only my opinion, but an opinion that has been demanded of me.

Seven thousand years ago there weren't any Aryans. That is about the only thing I'm willing to state for certain about a time which may or may not precede any evidence of that which sets us apart from animals. Not everyone is musically inclined, and those who are don't always know where to start. This brings us to another debatable origin, for those of us with affinity for numbers most often have affinity for the music of the seven and the twelve. Those who talk of music being made with rocks might, if they assiduously persevere in keeping a potential mathematician from reproducing with his equal, may thereby produce a work of art as counterevidence to the theory of evolution.

"Teach thy tongue to say, I do not know."

We cannot help seeing those who talk of former golden ages in which they lived, and tell us that those days ended for reasons unbeknownst to them, as being duplicitous; we do know that the causes of those who have advocated non-racism since they were first able to talk to people of other races, have revolted. I'm not one to say that non-Aryans are revolting. I'm sure that if I were a slug, the feelings that we may have for people of other kinds would at least equal the feelings I'd therefore have for the owner of a shell.

Regretfully, I find it counterproductive to talk to non-Aryans, because they just play the game of showing off how nice they are. I am glad I wasn't taught, like others were, to keep to their kind as a matter of religion.

Quixotic behaviour was my hallmark, but it was up to me to recover that designation that clearly used to be as common as calling a man a stag-hound.

My virtuous Lady dulcinea del Teboso, who has no peer, took the word obviously from me and left me with nothing more to say. Knights don't wear white. The renaissance period most resembles the world today: people burying their noses in entertaining fiction every moment of the day. But the making of fiction that only refers to garments that may be seen down a particular street, or a knight that can't tell you where his pen is, just so that we know that misery exists in the fiction world, did bring forth a better state of things for a time.

Nor the knight, nor the ladies at the inns and the taverns, neither.

Being the only who has expressed sympathy with a fictional character, which is to sympathize with the author, I've had trouble with the idea of making the character do more work. But bringing ourselves to the truth of American history is not a job to be withheld from our hero.

I do believe proofreading is important, but I'm only doing myself an injustice if I don't claim credit for that for many years I was one of very few voices raised in objection to that little proofreading seems to be going on. I might be annoying a reader or two by treating the association between content and urls as an arbitrary one, but I don't mind if someone, from the goodness of their heart, sets up a back-issues killtheworld site.

As children we had fun making things with paper. As adults we felt we had to call such activity by a different name. We always called our paper darts, paper aeroplanes: I doubt any oriental will take credit for the inspiration that led to powered aircraft.

On the matter of inspiration, we are in fact naturals at undermining each other's projects and designs, as one who throws a paper dart at another who is painstakingly building a model aeroplane knows well. On a fair sea it is but for a man to practice the art of meditation in the standing position. Getting a paper dart in the back of the neck is not likely to be a thing that one who has chosen a life of hardship, while preaching and practising meekness, can respond to without at least an imprecation on the thrower.

'Fuck off!'

Fortunately in more advanced times we have imprecations that are intransitive: while ignoring people is a necessary art unless we intend to join those who've sold themselves to materialism, Sancho Panza, recovering from the nervous jolt which people who like to put their limbs into a fire try to constrain, simply made an imprecation that he himself had invented; which imprecation he used liberally, no matter what his mood. But he knew his master was possessed by a malicious spirit, and his curiosity was always piqued when this demon, or fairy, or pixie, sought attention for that which it possessed in odd ways: for it inevitably meant he was to hear something interesting. Don Quixote had been drawing circles on pieces of paper because the master of the ship was stingy with information such as the where and the when (the how was obvious, obviously).

As we know by a map discovered in Persia, the coast of America--both continents--was by this time very well known.

"We land tomorrow," said our jack of no trades, master of paper folding, who had asked to be called Don Gullible the day after they had set sail, as the discussion turned to that of the Navel of the World.

Panza turned back to his meditations. The men were shouting to each other in an unintelligible tongue: by their behaviour it seemed that the captain had kept the information from them, too. After a few more thoughtful minutes, he went to find his grey mare with whom to share the good news. The course was set for a natural bay made by a river which they could be sure to be a full day's work to come safely into. Quietly the two passengers sought out the captain later that afternoon, paper dart in hand. Seeing the circles, he consented to the arranging of an excursion party after giving his crew the misleading information that the boredom of two passengers needed to be alleviated, whose spirits were flagging on account of the gentle weather which was sure to mean weeks more of sailing.

Thus the next day but one saw the animals on shore along with the masters.

"I like coffee! Do you like coffee?"

The cook's assistant, who brought along a contraption that the ship's builders had invented, was one who believed that nothing else mattered but coffee. The contraption was used to give an added touch to that which keeps us looking for things to do. The cleaning of it could only be done on a day when there was nothing to do. But sea-men who insist on sterile conditions are likely, on getting a taste of salt, to wash their mouth out with liquor; which would mean that they'd have to keep the drink for special occasions, instead of drinking up every last drop whenever it was rationed out to them, like mommy taught them to do.

As the party began to pack up they looked back at the ship and could discern the cook shaking his fist at them. It had required trickery of the utmost delicacy to have the means of making cup-of-joe-now1. The origin of this term, which included a version number in case someone came up with a better idea, was from what a passenger from a land no-one had heard of said almost inevitably. Banging his third cup down demonstratively (of the word thunk) and ignoring the party who were all but one impatient with the assistant for the delay, he clicked his teeth, sighed like a hot breeze in the cool evening, and ejaculated in his strange accent, "migh-high-tee figh-iyn cup o' joe y'know!"

The morning was not far advanced when they came upon a hill that seemed likely to give them an opportunity for a thorough survey; naturally with Gullible and Panza in the lead. Reaching the summit they saw smoke in the distance.

While the rest of the party were making their way up the hill, said Gullible, 'seest thou that the smoke stoppeth betimes?'

'Indeed,' replied Panza, 'it remindeth me of how our village spinsters do make the smoke to go, from their kitchen fires, to signal the needy that there are victuals available which elsewise must be given to the animals that scavenge.'

In truth, the Americans were sending morse code with the message, "We have popcorn!"

It must be noted that, before morse code, telegrams were sent by magic. Creating a statistically optimal encoding is something for those studying discrete mathematics to give as an exercise for the reader. Standards which come from a country which has no Royal standard are, unsurprisingly, just another way to make money. That is, unless the independent churches can take technology seriously.

In ignorance of relational theory, but enticed by what Panza had to say, the whole party put spurs to their steeds and tore their wild way along the wild roads, letting their wild thoughts go where they would.

In modern times we do indeed make our way through wild places so as to look at a scene of life for an hour or ninety minutes. It is known that this is seldom fun if done alone; now Don Quixote could see for himself if it was true what they said, that American boys would ask someone they fancy to go with them to meet the parents, before asking them to share their wigwam.

Received by the natives, they were each given a skin of popcorn and signalled to be quiet. Seating themselves on a slight decline, in regular rows and columns, the first scene in front of them involved American children putting sticks into their mouths. The visitors could not follow, and did never find out how it was that in this scene, adults walked in very quickly, took the sticks away, and threw them angrily into the fire. After a very short space of silence people who weren't adults, but weren't children neither, appeared. They were holding sticks between their fingers and putting them into their mouths with faces suggesting pure bliss, while others were enjoying the aftertaste of each other's sticks.

In fact, they seemed to be having so much fun that the visitors thought this was the main attraction. But now one of them held up a pouch full of sticks while the others walked off; and then the pouch bearer walked towards the visitors and threw the pouch over their heads.

This, we can confirm, was the true and verifiable origin of an intransitive imprecation which in later times independent churches took on themselves to redefine because, they assured us, if there were to be books in heaven, there certainly wasn't going to be electricity or a reason to encode letters with electrical signals; certainly there would be no reason to use any imprecations at all. After the scene just described, the man who in the morning had clicked and sighed and slam-thunked, said loudly, possibly because he forgot his morning prayers, what was then repeated by the whole group in unison.

"What the actual fuck?"

The murmur of the audience fading, American people who had been sitting and standing in what had been assumed to be the background, were now heard to be talking clearly to each other. One who was standing a little apart, with a stick in his mouth, was looking like he was trying to work up the spirit to raise an objection; but he had none to make, so, for him, the stick was his only friend in the world.

Don Quixote sipped his frothless cup-o-joe (the assistant's attention was absorbed elsewhere) and his heart went out to this unnamed smoker. The bride, which term was established by the party as just as appropriate when looking at mean things like population statistics, or at individual cases when all the town can be sure that a person does not know what upon the other side of marriage lies, had her eyes fixed on her father, who was also the man of the village who had the power to marry people.

The unerring knight suddenly thought that he had made a mistake between now and some time in the past, because they had arrived only to see the final scene, and he couldn't help blaming himself for timing problems.

The father was looking and smiling at the bridegroom, now husband.

'I hope you're not thinking about two tents,' he said, after saying something to the others about how proud he was that his daughter was now making something of her life.

The American who had been spokesman of the welcoming party (who knew passable Spanish) then explained that this was an old joke given in case a greedy husband thought he might keep the teepee that his wife was to leave upon her marriage.

The group breaking up, Don Quixote and the forlorn man with the stick in his mouth, who said his name was Dorxas, met each other just as the newlyweds were seen to enter their new wigwam (which was big enough for at least four occupants, on account of her father's status). The two wandered around the village for some time, the native carrying a gourd of something that faintly resembled wine. Any excuse for a party, had become a native word, which was one that all American tribes had in common; there promised to be little sleep for the gullible knight, tired as he was. But then someone gave him a herb in a pipe, which gave him visions of his Lady, who lulled him to sleep with her voice.

In the morning the party spent a short while talking to the natives again, and heard about the Great Buffalo.

This animal was revered because it gave the Americans all that they needed: the thrill of the chase, the taste of the flesh, and two very pointy horns as two very pointed hints as to what came of sloth.

The party needed no such hint, as they had become accustomed to regular habits. They had little time to dally and were on their way without anyone having to say to anyone else to hurry the fuck up.

But on their way back to the ship one of their horses cast a shoe. In this country there was little to fear: while one of the party went ahead to give warning of the delay, an American appeared who, though ignorant of horses, had a strange way to talk to animals; so that it continued the journey on a three-legged trot as if it had been using four all its life so as not to put other horses to shame.

Half way back they met the man who had gone forward, now returning with a spare horse, so that everyone felt like they were children being looked after by doting parents, who would have to put away their dreams about earning an award for bravery.

There was no time to be lost: the ship was bound for the southern continent, and all hands had been commissioned to do justice to rovers thereabouts who were plaguing the dwellers of ancient cities, whose behaviour, while not exemplary, was something to be contemplated from afar.

But the Great Buffalo had a gift for Don Quixote.

Don Quixote was chastened by a similar spirit to this revered one: the thrill of getting people to laugh at his behaviour for irony they didn't see in his actions, and the sweet taste of being a righteous prick. Having assisted to load the ship, and now wandering the decks after dark thinking about the departure, which was to be the next day, and thinking about the word trust as it had changed to him throughout his life, he rounded a corner and noticed in the shadows the silhouette of an American!

Seeing that he had not been observed he held his breath and watched.

But it was only for a moment. The American had only taken a step back to get a better grip. Another slight movement in the shadows threw the ghastly reality into the watcher's face: this American was about to take the life out of one of the sailors!

Why the sailor was mad about the sight of our hero's unsheathed sword is hard to tell; why the American girl commenced weeping at the sight, harder still. But as firmly as she was set back on the shore, so firm are these facts.

Perhaps our hero mistook her sorrow for remorse. For he let her cry on his shoulder, and wiped away her tears.

Remaining with her on shore, to lull ourselves to sleep in days when simpler lives could be had, we find we can't talk of succeeding centuries without talking of deterioration.

But not from those merciless days.

The allegorical interpretation of Revelations has been confirmed by just about everyone; but there are ways of saying the same thing without making reference to outmoded ways of getting around: power corrupts, for instance. But, naturally speaking, and practically, what man can possibly have absolute power?