"The Paper People" by Joe Urso
|Joe lives in Albany, New York.|
© 2011 Joe Urso
Year: 22,137 A.T.P.P.
I will make history today. Amen.
Morning prayers are so vital. Where would I be without my rituals: standing on my head for two minutes, brewing my espresso, uncovering the birds and petting the cats good morning, watering the plants, and leaning over the railing of my porch as I throw some seed and peanuts to the squirrels, cardinals, two morning doves, sparrows, and blue jays who live in the seven maple trees in my backyard. Then a shave, shit, cig, shower, and work.
Whenever I begin to earn my living, it seems the seat of my pants has eyes guiding the crack of my ass down, slightly left off center, on the computer chair. Routine is the essence of Life. It’s also what keeps us going. Progress comes, then it goes away to sneak back.
I wonder…Do you still pray on your Earth?
Let’s see where’s my briefing. . .two vids, first one a short origin myth, the second one introducing the setting and remaining legends. Narrated by an old man and his granddaughter. Let’s begin.
The Two Merchants
NOT LONG AFTER The Great Ones walked and talked with Humanity, two traveling merchants - whose ancestors brought civilization to The World but refused to export it - one day especially felt the burden of their trading packs, for it was a very hot day in the desert. They were traveling upon The Ancient Trade Trek back to their village when the one merchant said to his partner:
"There must be a better way to earn a living."
Hold on to your hats because they were besieged not from a lack of coins but from an excess. I should say their camels were with their backs a-bending and eyes a-glazing from the weight of the coin bags under the desert sun. As their trade prospered and the coin bags multiplied, their troubles multiplied too. More coins = more coin bags + more camels x transportation costs divided by bribing the court officials, concealing the bags through the toll gates of Kings, sneaking past thieves, and throwing a few in front of The Coinless Ones.
"There must be an easier way to earn a living."
Thus sounded the chorus of their yearly lament as they traveled trading goods for coins.
As the coin bags accumulated, this hollow sounding song wifted on the wind that tossed the desert sands. Then one day while waiting for his partner to take a shit, the other merchant heard a repetitive shout:
"I’ve got it! I-I-I-I-I’ve got it!"
How could a bowel movement instigate such a joyful sound he wondered as he watched his partner running up to him, toilet paper under an armpit, one hand pulling up his pants, the other arm waving like a metronome.
"I’ve got it!"
Toilet paper? You betcha. These merchants were born from the people who invented Paper for all its practical purposes long, long, long before your ancestors got a whiff of their workings. Remember dear viewer, the good things in Life have been with us from the beginning. If you think there’s anything new under the sun you’re probably sun stroked and suffering from overexposure. So the merchant ran up to his partner and said, "Now we’ll live like Kings."
The following year as they made their way past the toll gates of Kings, bribing the court officials, sneaking past thieves, and this time rushing past The Coinless Ones, their camels hauled no coins but rich they were. They carried, as lightly as a duck carrying a scorpion across a pond, Paper.
Beginning with a single shit, for the next three thousand years Humanity shitted on itself while chasing Paper.
There you have it.
Raining the day dawned. Around The Dome the atmosphere hung pea soup thick, and for those who dreamed of sneaking their snouts outside, smelt musty. The Sun persevered in plotting sharp rays through this mist and its light, upon hitting The Dome, burst and dispersed over the metaglass creating bands of spectrum colors running from one end of The Dome
Living inside looking outside is Life locked up in a giant kaleidoscope, similar to the smaller scale artifacts one sees displayed in our museums of ancient art, trinkets from thousands of rainbows long ago.
Inside The Dome, an Old Man and his granddaughter finish their daily walk. Taking a bench in The Park, they will begin your viewing of another segment of ancientlegends.com. For more info-
There’s more? Perhaps an extensive archive yet to be discovered. Thank The Creator only these two were found. Two breaded and buttered slices of a lost, prehistoric, culture are enough to swallow in one day.
–Grandfather look up! Ohhhh you missed it. Gone too soon or perhaps you looked too late.
–How I never long for the freedom and disrespect of youth. However, I am the first to admit there was a time when all good things like rainbows died all too soon, and my reflexes were a bit quicker.
–Do you mean when The Paper People ruled The World?
–I’m not that old missy.
–Grandfather do tell us The Legends. You know, The Tale of The Rat, The First Beginning, The Bear King, The Lion and The Wolf, The Great Suppression - whooooo - The Four Minstrels, The Three Great Plagues, and The Second Ending. Or is it a Beginning?
–My my what a list! Don’t forget The Nitpickers, and of course my favorite - The Legend of Planet Pigeon. Let’s see is there any more. . .
–Isn’t that enough for one afternoon.
–Starting again are we young lady!
–Sorry grandfather just trying to make sure I know them all. When I’m old and gray I want to be able to rattle them off, just like when great-grandfather taught you to count to ten in ancient Italian and you still remember.
–I see. But don’t make your step longer than your leg, and remember never to give up picking yourself up when you fall down, even if you have just one arm and one leg to do it. When you can no longer get up, then you’ll know you’ve lived your best. Capi?
–Io capisco grandfather.
–Let’s sit underneath that tangerine tree and I’ll tell you about The Paper People.
I should report some background facts before I continue. On summer nights by the lake around a campfire, my older cousins would tease me with horror stories about The Paper People with personal names who lived 84,000 years ago. Strange custom personal names. For us, the name of the village where our primo ancestors were born becomes our name. After all that’s were the story of any family begins, though a beginning just begins an ending, and some endings never seem to have a last word.
Today Fear is extinct. Therefore no Tribal Gods, Murder, Public Freedom, or Deprivation infect my Earth. Before these vids were discovered, no historical record existed on these Paper People, but we’ve assumed they were afraid all the time as they ruled The World during the era of The Five Ancient Evils. Of course, slices from this forgotten Past have slid into our memory pool. Inevitable I imagine. Whispers of what once was. A longing for The Past.
Will you remember me?
However, we do have two half legible pages of a pre-historic manuscript describing the bottomless pit of self-loathing infecting this human species.
So deep was their self-hate, The Paper People never realized they hated themselves despite countless wars, slavery, the extinction of other species, and murder within families. There’s an old saying we recited as children: "They did unto others first what they feared others would do unto them." Understandable retributive behavior for those who kept their sins secret in the closet. The worst horror story I can recall is one about death camps. New arrivals were greeted by guards - people who could have neighbors before - with the question: "What whore shit you out?" Do you know what a "whore" is?
So these erstwhile human beings who became guards apparently were told everyone was guilty from birth, so they watched their one time neighbors and friends as they filed past in long lines waiting to enter the death camp. Then they rolled dice to see which ones - usually the children, the old, and the sick - would be plucked from The Tree of Life with as much thought as they would give an autumn leaf blowing on the wind. Imagine death ready or not here it comes. My mother always said "The Ancients never had a vote on which way the wind blows." Then the chosen ones were hauled off as, I quote, "eyes never to see each other stared and blinked good-bye, and wailing voices about to expire filled the air." Ironic the only extant piece of the manuscript should sound so poetic.
They must have been skilled in the craft of dressing up their "Sins" - what we would call the guilt they felt for being human. What a waste of time. They would have had better luck trying to hide their faces. Tell me - you don’t kill your own kind do you? Are we still dancing toward the noosphere, or have we run away back to Tribal Gods and The Colosseum?
The reason I am writing this report for you is because popular ears aren’t really interested in hearing about an extinct species. Fine by me. That’s the odd thing about writers who write for the clock. What would history’s appetite have digested if writers wrote for past or future readers, composed their great opuses for their immortal soul instead of the vox populi. I was told once the job of the writer is to imagine what The Creator dreams of.
The Chief Collector of Ancient Records blessed me with the power of Life or Death over The Paper People. A slow swipe of my finger freed thick, ancient dust off the vid. My desk lamp liberated the letters of an extinct language looking at me, imploring me to do what I must quickly, begging me to be just, merciful, and wise. I can only say what comes around, goes around.
"The History of Humanity Volume Two/Unabridged Edition-"
The title’s ending remains a question. Probably for the best.
My task is one-sided. The Paper People have no advocate sitting opposite my desk explaining their Sins or reminding posterity of their achievements. If they happened in the dock now, what would they say for themselves? Sorry is such an alone word, and the horror tales tell of their cowering at the prospect of living with themselves on a healthy planet Earth. Seems they lived for The Three Personal Evils: Freedom, Property, and Profit. I will be Judge, Jury, and Advocate for the defense. This is probably for the best too, since bribery is a nequeo, and I already sleep with myself. I wonder what the hell, or who the hell, I am doing this for anyway. Who cares, and who is going to keep score, about an ancient culture who reveled in Paper and personal names and the present one oblivious of its existence? Not The Creator. Maybe that’s why they named their Gods, hoping if they named them they will come. As if The Creator had a name. Riddle me this: who named It? Perplexing these ancient customs and neuroses. Must have been another bureaucratic brainstorm invented at one of those ancient group discussions. Bureaucracies are like cockroaches withstanding the blast of Time. I haven’t the answers. Don’t know if I care to discover one. Questions are my game. What grows and changes adapts and evolves, what has roots as deep as a redwood persists and endures. I imagine you know which one is more reliable.
Change is a cosmic reality, even at the pace of a nano second a century, so it’s natural our personal realities should reflect the cosmic state of being. That’s why on any given morning my first name may be "Smiley" or "Heavy-Hearted." What the hell is a "Bob" anyway? There must have been a million "Bobs" on ancient Earth, "packed like sardines in a tin," as the saying goes. Our first names enter the air on those rare occasions we meet our casual or close relations. For everyday conversation, "Sicily," "Ecuador," "South Africa," or "Tuva" will do. With only three hundred thousand people living on Earth, we are the least populated planet now. I could wait a year before hearing one of my first names. I wonder if I am the fortunate one in this scenario, having a million acres of space between my home and my nearest neighbor’s.
Before I start, what’s the phrase for the day. . .ah here it is - "Let’s not forget a child of The Creator is a Creator as well."
The Tale of The Rat
–Grandfather tell us The Tale of The Rat.
–A fitting legend to begin with since the primordial fear of spiders under the bedcovers or snakes in the grass is still with us. Once upon a time, The Rat was the most feared little animal to ever have been cursed with human contact.
–And Fear flips over into Hate right grandfather.
–With a 79.3% probability of doing so. The Rat was the carrier, though not the originator, of a division of diseases all threatening the second most important thing to The Paper People - prolonging their life span at any and all costs. Mere sight of this small-headed, beady-eyed, snotty-nosed, tight-furred, long-tailed creature would summon automatic fear or violence, ending either in escape or murder. For thousands of years The Paper People neglected one well disguised question they never cared to answer: How did this one-time harmless creature become the ultimate symbol of fear, hatred, and disease?
–A trick question grandfather?
–Not a trick, but truly a question that never seems to go away, like the universal spider in mufti always crawling under your bedspread.
–Oooo just the thought gives me the creepies.
–Exactly. Fearful people are imprisoned by their fears, though they never see their fears, even to spite the view once they open their eyes. The Paper People had the habit of hiding their heads under the covers.
–I was going to say what about the ancient prophecy, "The only thing to fear is fear itself," but obviously that went in one ear and out the other. How simple can it get! It’s like saying the only thing to breathe is the air that you breathe. Duh.
–The Paper People ignored such simple pearls of wisdom because they soon discovered they could encourage fear for a profit. So instead of starving their fears and feeding their self-respect, they fed their fears and starved their self-respect.
–All in the name of The Mean Green, and even though - ah never mind I get the picture.
–I’m sure you’ve already learned in your Ancient Psychology Class that The Paper People suffered from the mental disability we call Selective Responsibility.
A pitiful mental illness, it anesthetized a person’s capacity for self-respect - and therefore respect of The Others - while awakening the arrogance of the brain to answer only those questions that–
–Made a profit?
–Quite right my ear.
–Oh grandfather you’re so silly sometimes. Thank The Creator I was inoculated against this disease or I would never be able to give, and take, as is proper.
–True. Very true. Good manners and self-respect seem to endure longer than a mere moral, religious, or legal for that matter, dictate. Are we wandering…oh the answer. There is only one reason why The Paper People demonized The Rats: It was the only way they could kill them on the spot and still bathe in self-righteousness.
–Oh I get it now! Our Ancestors were their own worst enemies and every other living being on Earth paid the price for it. That wasn’t hard to figure out.
–Indeed not for us - not even for a wee girleen - but somehow this didn’t compute with The Paper People. When the disease began dripping into their disabled minds, they began the futile extermination of The Rat.
–But surely The Paper People paid a price too - all that killing and guilt over trying to hide their perfectly natural human imperfections and weaknesses.
–Touche! I have always known you would become our family’s brightest star. They are teaching the fundamentals in school today what!
–Thank you grandfather. But grandfather, why try to kill them all?
–Same reason Lovers and The Innocent were always persecuted throughout history, but you would have to be a true Lover or a Convict to capeesh. There was a more mundane reason: The Rats were the only other living beings which enjoyed the procreative act more than The Paper People. As strange as it may sound, they were in a competition of sorts to outdo each other doing thingy. All other species viewed thingy as a pleasant yet necessary chore.
–And what’s wrong with pleasant slash necessary?
–Fire mingling with dry wood, if one is neither careful nor conscious of one’s actions. Say no more - your grandmother will follow-up when you’re older. For The Rats and The Paper People, the chore was to do without; the reward was they couldn’t get enough. So for thousands of years before The Paper People pooped on the scene, this shared national interest bonded these separate families together in a twisted sort of way. The Paper People introduced competition into the equation, and The Rats reminded The Paper People what nature really thought about thingy. Competition concludes with a Loser, and reminding those who are more powerful that they are as ordinarily weak and limited as the next species–
–Leads to persecution. Silly Buggers. I think I’m already wrapping my brain around The Past.
You make The Rats and The Paper People sound so similar grandfather.
–They are. Each species spends 96.7% of their lives doing exactly the same thing. The clothes may be different, but bones are bones. Ergo.
–Listen. Do you want to know a secret?
–Oh yes please.
–She who can chew gum
While carrying the biggest stick
Spending her days talking over riding over and killing all other creatures
Sits in front of the computer screen
–I know that one - The Law of The Food Chain - and a lot of good it did them. Silly Buggers. So these closest of colleagues became the closest of enemies.
–Paper history in a nutshell my dear.
–Personal history too grandfather.
–I’ve noticed how bosom buddies - pals for life, to-the- breach-together dearest friends, even mothers/fathers - run the risk of becoming get-out-of-my-sight foes. It’s almost as if human closeness degenerates into a disease people kill to avoid.
Some things in evolution never change grandfather, so I for one am not surprised The Paper People preferred personal distance to how’s the gang doing. After all human intimacy can be painful, and you can’t put a band aid on the cut.
–When people or nations connoodle, we have a family, and the story of any family is the penultimate opera.
–The Paper People went to war, family versus family, instead of sitting still to remember we all eat, shit, thingy, and will die just like any other Rat. The Rats and The Paper People shared another characteristic, probably one of the reasons why they shot at one another rather than talk - the despicable treatment of their children. Once upon a time, human children were beaten by their parents, neglected, assaulted by other children, starved, denied free medical treatment - even in The Country with The Most Paper. Children were murdered by their parents and other children, and other children in so seeing became Murderers too.
–Monkey see, monkey do, you don’t need a Phd. to figure that out, do you.
–Back in the good ole days, at a much too early age children were bequeathed so much freedom they were engaging in free enterprise and free you know what before they learned how to wipe their own cooleys.
–Don’t tell me - particularly in The Country with The Most Paper.
–Especially in The Country with The Most Paper from whence originated the belief Freedom was for free. Their children were caged in concrete buildings for the first 21 years of their lives-
–Talk about not leaving the nest. Cooley backwards I would think.
–Many for even longer, while taught to think by Instructors who were never taught to think for themselves. Children too young for school, around about your age, were herded off to something called "daycare", their hands tied together on a leash while those Instructors we just mentioned walked them through the streets like dogs.
–I hope the children were at least pottey trained. For crying out loud grandfather what acamademic genius thought that crap up. I mean really!
–It was the worst of times because the best of times were over. Children were sentenced to prison or left in something called an "orphanage." How would you like to be abandoned by parents who wanted to sail the seven seas, do a career, or get their nails done up rather than do up parenthood?
–I for one wouldn’t have coo cooed or goo gooed for them.
–I’m sure you wouldn’t have my child. However the list goes on:
Children from families who lived weekly from piece of Paper to the next piece of Paper were sent into battle first.
–Well there were more of them n’est pas grandfather. Should we accuse The Paper People for bowing to the numbers?
–Hmm. I’ll think about it.
–Best to be charitable sometimes grandfather, and let Karma keep score. It has the last word anyways.
–So the overstuffed Paper People purchased a pass to scoot their way out of war - or into one at the expense of the lives of The Others - to protect their cooleys. They ran away from the two things which could take their Paper away in a blink of an eye: Death around the corner and responsibility to The Others. Now back to the children who for centuries grew up abused and abusing, scarred and scarring, mimicking their parents’ behavior to such a degree of repetitiveness that would make a parrot screech in envy.
–"Parents begot violent children begot violent children begot crime begot punishment schools, falderie, falderal." I wonder if anyone’s responsible?
–Rats were much too expeditious than your average Paper Person. They simply ate their children who didn’t fit the mold.
–Oooooo bon a bloody appetitee. Why dance around the bush right grandfather - beats having them in the nest for an extra 21 years. You know it seems to me The Paper Peoples’ preoccupation with thingy is somehow connected to their obsession with abuse, punishment, and murder n’est pas?
–Quite so. There’s only a breeze between an act of life and an act of destruction. I see you’re keen on ancient languages.
–Why not be prepared grandfather. You never know when the obsolete will become fashionable again.
–Smart girl. So for a thousand years the sleepy soul of humanity snoozed while the stuffed brain, saturated with thingy and conjuring ways to chase pieces of colored Paper, two inches wide by six inches long,
–Wandering again hey. Good thing I have you here to remind me where I’m going. Let’s see. . .ah, so the legend tells how one day a slowwitted, bighearted, young man began to feed a member of the first Rat family. They quickly became friends, one for the food the other for the company, yet somehow they both knew to hold their friendship in secret. This precaution ritualized itself into sharing meals until-
–There’s always an "until" around the corner in these ancient legends. Jeeezzz!
–They were spied upon by the self-frighteous, moral-headed, twin brother of the big-hearted young man. One day, this brother followed The Rat home and watched him share with his family the heaping leftovers of the meal. This infuriated him since the food his brother shared with The Rat came from his family’s garden.
–There’s that "ownership" thingy again.
–This dishonorable, gutless, Self-Appointed Regulator of What’s Right and Wrong, "ratted" on his big-hearted brother - hence the origin of that obscene act "to rat" or to tell on someone. To breach the bond of loyalty and trust, confidence and commitment, between two living beings is biological sacrilege. The Paper People never quite understood The Two Fundamentals of a Civil Society:
1.) You cannot save many lives by destroying one life, especially if you believe you are right.
2.) Whereas Kings and Queens of the old world believed they were descended from The Creator, the Politicoes and Police of the new world were descended from Bullies. So who, if any, is fit to tell who what to do with you know who.
Nowadays, to "rat" on someone is a heinous crime as well as an immortal sin.
–Just think grandfather The Paper People believed it was the right thing to do. The times they have a changed.
–Indeed. The Earth has evolved from sitting on the throne in the center of The Universe, to a small seat in the nose bleed section of the outer balcony of this galaxy, to now being a mere speck on the left lung of The Universe - which might not be the only Universe around Town. Always remember my child Trust is the air that breathes life into any relationship, Betrayal the knife that kills it.
–Sounds high falutin to me grandfather.
–Allow me to propose a more practical, and necessary, example: As The Earth trusts The Sun to rise each morning, and set each night, so too must we trust the living beings in our lives. Despite the clouds, in the face of all weather, and especially in the winter.
–Well done grandfather. That I can go for.
–So the husband and wife Rats were murdered by the self-frighteous brother while their surviving babies hidden away watched. The big-hearted brother was ostracized by everyone except his son and daughter who shared their father’s respect for the sacredness of all Life.
–Even at the expense of their own lives grandfather?
–The cost for being alive my dear. However, who’s to say one is suppose to allow The Bullies to catch you, so discretion, and cleverness are often lifesaving.
To wit, no one ever knew the son and daughter of the big-hearted twin continued to visit and eat with the surviving Rats.
–Grandmother says silent love is the strongest variety of its kind.
–So human history began to cut its nose to spite its’ face after this one event of love, betrayal, and love again. For the next 20,000 years fear, distrust, and an unparalleled addiction to survival - sharpened by regular hostilities from our ancestors - conditioned The Rats. Human beings, alone among all the living creatures on The Earth, continued to "rat" on one another when the sun shone, complementing the clouds, in any sort of weather, and above all during the winter when they were stuck in their homes like the rats they were. Now to return to your trick question of a little while ago: why try to exterminate The Rat, who’s to blame, and what happened to ancient civilization when people voted themselves judge and jury over The Rats instead of letting Karma come a-calling.
After the fourth generation, the descendants of the first Rat family were compelled to sneak around human dwellings under the disguise of night, foraging for the food in garbage bins Humans once shared with them in a meal. These new habits became conduits for diseases The Rats carried to other animals who carried them back to The Paper People - at no extra charge.
Plague and disease killed thousands of people during any weather, anytime, anywhere, without permission, minus bias, and especially if you thought it couldn’t happen to you.
–A fine example of the titanic consequences of Karma I’d say.
–Indeed. Some of our historians speculate these events coincided with the development of the ancient mental illnesses Selective Responsibility I believe I mentioned already…well, you probably know.
–Of course grandfather. Imagine believing being born a Human in a huge, bottomless, galaxy abracadabra gives you the right - excuse me for a sec.
–Have a good laugh.
–the right to decide when you want to be responsible to the planet that bore you and the people you live with. I mean really! Does The Sun wake up each morning and say, "Oh by the way I don’t think I’m on today so I’m not even going to bother." They didn’t even have the intelligence to figure out that once you take responsibility for living your life, you also take responsibility for the Life around you, and then, and only then, do you have the freedom to live.
–Here here. Be careful my child; you’re beginning to sound like me.
–Hey I could do worse.
–The Paper People had to think about it. Thinking about it was the problem. Talking about it the equation. Doing nothing about it the solution.
–There we go with those Acamademics again, spending time theorizing why Time ticked so they could profit from The Clock. Then there was that other high-falutin idea "All people are created equal." Yeah right. How about "Who do you know to get you where you want to go." They should have addressed The Constant that Obligation and Freedom are biological, not political. Oh well.
–Strange isn’t it. You would have thought a Peoples’ undoing sleeps in the nightmares of History but nooooo. Apparently the simple, ordinary doings of daily life make or break us in the long run. Oh well indeed.
So The Paper Peoples’ failure to accept then apologize for their part in muscling The Rats into disease carriers transformed itself-
–Here we go with the abracadabras again.
–Into The Pursuit of Justice, but not for all.
–We call it something different.
–What’s that my dear?
–Why grandfather the ancient mental illness Revenge you silly goose. Seems to me Revenge was like their pursuit of thingy - they could never get enough.
–Six of one?
–Exactly. The Revenger - apparently for some mysterious reason to all and sundry who held sway in The Paper World - took Revenge on a Revengee for something The Revenger was equally capable of on the q.t.
–Yes way. Oh to scorn your brother from another mother when he becomes one of The Others. Capeesh?
–Hmm. So preoccupation with Revenge, like their obsession with murder and, well, other things, substituted for Compassion and Obligation when duty called. You see my child, The Paper People believed in a Scorekeeping God who would separate all The Good Guys from The Bad Guys once The Game was over.
–Like some ancient sporting event huh grandfather. Anything goes just to be able to win. Then what? I mean really!
–They thought The Creator reclined on some divine couch throughout eternity, worrying about human imperfections on some measly planet. The Good Guys versus The Bad Guys, Paper or No Paper, My God is bigger than Your God. Imagine living on such an Earth.
–I’d rather not thank you very much. Besides, isn’t this the same place?
–You’re much too quick for me my little sparrow. But remember - don’t make your step longer than your leg.
One their inventions that poisoned The Earth was that somnambulistic potion we now call The Scorekeeping God. Religion was a subliminal sporting event. Priests cut from all cloths manufactured the rules and regulations for billions of spectators who waited forever for a Champion to release them from a life they were dying to escape from.
–I believe you just hit the marks with that summary grandfather. Kudos for you. But they did live thousands of years ago; shouldn’t we cut them some slack?
–Getting soft in your old age are we. Better than brain softening - a side effect from millennia of Paper chasing and Digital learning.
–Shoulda came with a warning label stuck on the back right grandfather?
–Unlikely it would have made any difference.
–Still you can’t deny we are the flower blossoms their seeds grew into. How can we forsake them? Don’t forget their offspring produced The Hero of The Heart who stood alone with The Pigeons, a distant cousin of the slowwitted, big-hearted brother, who began The Second Beginning.
–Quite right my dear, but later for that Legend.
You who live after a million tomorrows: Have you discovered an obsolete vid about the obsolete history of an obsolete People? Are you satisfied with the sum of all that you are equaling an electronic pulse encased in a one inch square piece of plastic? Will you judge me? The memory of me is for you.
–Now you know why Sunday lunch is such a sacred meal for a family to share. Always keep this ritual my child when you have a family of your own; it will bind you of The First Supper, and maybe of me too.
–Twiddling on the precipice of beginning The Paper Chase in earnest, there arose a seeming contradiction in the modus operandi of such a seminal undertaking.
Unfortunately for The Paper People–
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