Book of Wine & Seizures fabulation concerning the god of poultry products Chapter 7

The Journal of Provincial Thought

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Obscurity Inutility

What then of the Kingshorsiers? Well! There came before them a mischiefmaker who uncannily resembleth the King about the eyes; and he representnd before them, saying, Look at these eyes; am I not in fact thy King? And he pitted them in a war against the Heathen Multitude of the Peopel—a congeries of the disenthralld—for he had betted unto his fiancée that he cud make it hapfen. And the HMP, they were play for the fray, drawn ’long by their own cocky-jolly logix; for they said, We fight when fought. And of course, the outcome of all that, lieth some where in histry, or out.

And of the wind? The wind were ne’er in any true peril. Forsooth, the King hath outspake his modes, in taking on with the wind. And he were concluded to revoke accusatiens against it, and legal machinatiens, and brutalidy stipulasiens. For the paepel murmurd, saying, We need not another war against nature, such as that war of bombs & arrows so recent fought against delinquent rain, which unolattrel struggol amid our own falling ordnance almo destroyd us, but, so far as we cud tell, leav-ed no mark on the heaven. And still, rain passeth us o’er, on its way to some place nice.

And of Varostril? Yon Top Potter, he put on a broad face of smiles, and brought unto the King some money, whispring, For the warring chest.

And Cutzamullich was tackld by greed, and his heart was wrested around unto a posture of love. And he saith unto the sculpiter, O grandmaster Varostril; a day ago—ere beholding any of this excellent graft—I skew-ed away from my choler, and brake down & forgave thee all ready, absolving thee of faults & liabilidies. ’Tis some good news, the which I have been poisd to reveal as whimsy permit. For mine whimsey is iron, and hath the uppfer hand o’er me. (And he feigneth a fleeting weary visage, that Varostril might glimpse therein some endless spirituel wressling tragicly prosecuted.) As to this decree of terminatien which I recent lay down, fear not. Mine witternit of a medisine man, he had me loopish on armogeddin cocktail, which caus-ed me to sit cranking out capricious decrees of drastick impact. We need fear no more of bad meddisins from him, I warrant; I have crankt out his own unwelcomd decree, with but a sprink of caprice. The episode is playd. Come, sweet Varostril, whom wicked men have dubb-ed Shakymakes, thou morphsman of the clays of our dirty earth. Bring thy grime-ed fingers and live with us here in the spires; there is room.

And fables arose, for came the fabulists through the land, foraging for those things of which they might fabulate, they beginning with some things which happent, and in their depictiens rendring them as queer travesties which ne’er cud to have happent. And hearing of the plummet of the god of poultry products, straightway commenst they to forging singings & tellings & fables up to here, which abide through all time in divers tongues, proclaiming in queer’d depictien the dismol lot of Oomtay-Doomtay the wallfaller; for men wish to hear of that which hath happent, in terms in which it ne’er cud to have happent. Neither thriveth any of that manner of dogsmaticol cacarah which saith, By-&-by shall he return. Nay; for him, ’tis knewn to be over.

But Varostril—sculptor that he were, & pottior, & statemesser, & cold soul, & chief of rascols—he was forgot almo entire, in those faibuls, dunkt in the dusts of time. More & over, he hath in some way, at some junxure, offendnd most notey influenzos & gazetteers & recordics who might to have preserv-ed his name; therefore their mind was to leave him outen histery. Yet, some few scribes & recordics, being of note in their own minds, and seeking by the ploy of Honesty to outrelate those pompous affronted authorities, have marshald up all these knowings concerning Varostril. But of course, only the Prosecuter desireth to read any of their marshallings, and construe therein enogh illicit opinien to interdict the whole and put it away, by petition of those very pompiss authorital influenzos. The War of Letters, it also hath its rulers & its rebels.

Thus & thus it is, that shudst thou to mentien among comp’ny, That one Varostril, then they will answer, Who? And they will plot to merder thee, delighting not in thine attendance among them. For ages have gone by—some say thirteen billiens years—since that young sculptor were of the stuff men value for conversasien.