November 28, 2008
Friends, some editorial advice?
Here is a piece I started back in, oh, 1992 or ‘93 or so. I’ve attempted furtherances of it many times, yet I find myself stuck here with it. I think some of this has merit to continue work on it, but I’m stuck. Stuck for 15 years.
If you can muster the will to get through it, I’d welcome insight on the moment in the text that makes it, for me, unfurtherable. Is there a point where I should delete everything after and move from that point? Or is it a turd from word one? Don’t hold back, I’m a big boy, I can take whatever you might have to offer.
Prayer I
Father?
We have, as planned, camped on the precipice of this grand divide, on the bank of a cracked and rock-strewn creek bed with no farther than two miles or less separating us from tomorrow’s history. Our object—this edifice—squats below us amid arbors of brush and parking—straddling the valley like a dam or mayhap a stone so massive as to make erosion, at its task, weep. You’ve asked much of us we see. From our vantage, here—from this distance and height—it’s small, but as bright and as hot in reflecting the sunset’s amber as an evening star rising in the midst of this valley’s quiet twilight.
Small or not, its power’s great. And Father? It beckons. Its dark gravity’s all its own, but we stand our ground. Our grave resistance is, for now, our only offering. We will be drawn on soon enough. Our task before us looms. The magnitude! The mere magnitude of your request honors us and we are proud we are chosen—motley and lawless, misshapen and ruined as we are—we are yours forever. Eagerly, we wait for dusk and dark that our work—this demolition—may begin. Eager as we may well be to begin in our service to you, we are not without fear.
The twins suffer most this evening. Remember our discussion when we talked of their possible role in this? Bless them, for they are so limited, here. They lie now, on the ground breathing heavily for they are not used to weight and each finger strokes the other’s face, trembling, each mouth shaping whisperings of comfort each to the other. They may bemoan this choice they’ve made, but they make no complaint aloud. For they know no complaint’s allowed.
And others of us feel, upon arrival here, that the best thing you might have done would have been to send fire from above, or to send a flood to bathe this valley, and start again. Fresh brick, fresh mortar, fresh everything? But no, it’s not your choice and the last others of us here share your opinion that there is something worth saving here. These boys! Once we gain access—once we’ve headquartered within the walls, let us—as with those asleep but walking—wake them carefully and with love. Let the news of their waking be carried far and near, high and low—like a discarded Times on the breeze.
Let us be ever mindful of their spirit and let us be ever mindful of the need they may feel for vengeance. For it is not revenge that is our motivating principal, but cleansing—righteous cleansing. We wish not to awaken them to revenge, but to turn them toward more excellent purpose. For theirs was a grand ideal. Alas made feeble by evil ones who sought notice for their ordinariness.
Father! The orneriness of it! If there were a need to allow revenge, would this not be it? To have revenge on the evil who love nothing—with nothing of their own to give? Revenge on these evil who have ingested these boys’ originality and turned it to bland tastelessness? To have revenge on these evil who’ve made mediocre copies of their own mediocrity? It is this evil we must remove.
For there is a most excellent mediocrity here and it is celebrated—the practitioners of it adored above the truly excellent, who are ignored and scorned. This is our purpose here. Let us for these boys this way make clear. Let us guide these poor misguided young who—led by the most mediocre—know no better. Let us break in and shape their way. Let us show them a true excellence for which to strive. For they are imprisoned by their search for press and fame and would compromise all they own to get it. And for what? Let us encourage them to seek first their inward completion in the most minute detail. Let us show them that the most excellent are ignored, but more complete within than public notice can allow.
Ah, father, it is for this we plead! We would see these boys changed overnight, but know it cannot be. Let us rely on your supplied patience, let our good come from your good. Let our way be slow, methodical, careful. Let us take each brick carefully without damage—ever mindful of the need to use them again, re-laid in a new and precious configuration.
Oh, Father! The bricks! Consider the bricks in the edifice. The number? What? Millions? Billions? And here we are set to taking them—cleaning them—one by one. We pale at the thought, Father, this is no simple task! We weaken at the thought of it—oh, Father! Some strength please! Perhaps it would be better to destroy it wholly and begin again with new bricks? Send the fire from heaven as in the days of old—send the rains to wash clean this valley? Can there be any here worth saving? Are not all the boys here indeed ruined by their news—the press and video? Is there one noble of mind enough to let stand and stay?
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