Call me Smith. I am a doctor of Philology. Or I was. Seems we have some issues regarding my credentials. My doctoral dissertation was titled, The emergence of meaning; the ancient Runes. That was my specialty, my interest.
Mordecai was my student. He was more like a son to me, but that’s neither here nor there. That’s a long time ago. Water under the bridge.
It seems that he, Mordecai, has had himself a little adventure. I have tried to get him to write it down, and having failed that, to let me interview him so I can get it down on paper. He won’t sit still long enough for me to accomplish that either.
So this is what we’ve got. I am going to do the best I can to tell his story. At times, I feel the need to recreate parts in his own words , his voice. It feels like the story demands it. For the rest, I’ll do the best I can to “keep it real” as the young folk say. Keep it real.
Alice was not my student. She was a political science superstar at the same point in time. She and Mordecai were good friends. I don’t suspect they were lovers, but you never know. Alice was a very serious student. Alice more than Mordecai. Mordecai was more a man of action. Alice was the darling of her department. Mordecai was a fuck up, barely scraping by, but when he applied himself, he couldn’t be bettered. He never completed his course of study.
You’ll see. I’ll let the story develop the characters instead of vice versa. Hang on. It’ll be a fast and bumpy ride.
I should warn you.
The ideas are subversive. I buy them whole heartedly, but the implications are vast and terrible. It suggests that the whole world order needs to be thrown out for a new way of doing things. It means utilizing the new consciousness that has arisen, just in time, I hope, to save us.
Some of us see it as our only hope. Other’s as the force that’s going to kill us all. Time will tell, or there will be no one to record the final chapter.
If it weren’t for man’s inhumanity to man, I might not be hiding out in this cave trying to manipulate the images that show up on the wall. But here I am. I am not complaining. Its not a bad life for an old man. I have enough of what I need, and I pray that I have time to finish this book and cast it out upon the waters to let it have a life of its own.
I guess we’ll see.