WORK IN PROGRESS

 

l083

Parva velut limax spreto Remora impete venti, Remorumque, ratem sistere sola potest: Sic quosdam ingenio et virtute ad sidera vectos Detinet in medio tramite caussa levis. Anxia lis veluti est, vel qui meretricius ardor Egregiis iuvenes sevocat a studiis.

Small as a snail, the remora is able by itself to stop a ship.

It’s disdainful of the force of wind and oars.

So some petty circumstance can check in mid-career certain men who are, by genius and by virtue, headed for the stars.

Likewise a tormenting law-suit, or a passion for a prostitute, draws youths from their distinguished studies.

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THE EMBLEM – John Manning

 

A Cottage Named Joan
 

It is the end of MMXX – by all accounts it was a dark year. There has been the occasional knock on the door but fear of clowns and plague has ruled the land.

Though perhaps perversely – for AfW –  this year in solitude was a welcoming sanctuary revealed by the guttering light of his life. A heroic path out of the Necropolis, social responsibilities and gilded middle class mediocrity.

Joan has provided a made for one crevice in the World Rock. A grotto he could call home. A not uncomfortable metaphor for rebirth that had always been the hoped for endgame of the decade-long Fool’s Journey MMX ~ MMXX that saw him age LXVII~LXXVII.

Bought by his children in December 2018 the Worker’s Brick Cottage 1865 has been modified to now have reliable wifi – some resistance to challenging weather patterns and the Gazania and rock decked dirt footpath outside the front door is doing well.

A good place indeed to finish his time on Earth. Somewhere, his Tazmanian father Jeff, dead at LX probably dreamt of – somewhere perfectly situated between the police station and the catholic church.  

His end holds no mystery for him. Now with more parts of his body missing a beat than he can be bothered spending the time fixing. Life like ebbing waves surmounting a childhood sand dyke – enough effort has been spent defending and restoring. Time now to stand  back – breathless hands on hips, watching – not waiting – for the inevitable that is to come.

So much more engrossing than concerning. The super nova he gets to watch. He considers himself privileged to be awake and onstage for the final curtain.

The new studio house on the hill behind Joan – the Palace on Knossos – is nearly complete. Soon grave goods can be moved into its ark –  a final resting place for Anthony Frederick Ward – who still chooses to live his life as a story from the Empire Boys C’mas Annual Circa 1958.