anybody. They were intellectual
curiosity and dialogue no more. True danger only resides in the physical, but
over the course of his research, Kosta had discovered that danger was also hidden
in the pages of some books and texts. It wasn’t the ideas and beliefs of the
Martin Luthers, Newtons, Marxes and Hitlers that were dangerous. Rather, it was
the lost and better-forgotten texts, which revealed our true nature. Some
people couldn’t abide this revelation and went insane, their minds snapping
from the weight of this realization. For most people, the real truth was better
left unknown, lost and forgotten, the lies never revealed.
Kosta began to murmur under his breath and, after a
while, the words, upon leaving his mouth, glowed in the air in front of him. He
slowly continued the incantation, as it went past priceless stacks and shelves
of scrolls, parchment, vellum and pelts. The incantation continued, turning
right, left, around marbled busts and reliefs of Ptolemies, Alexanders,
Cleopatras and major political, religious figures, both forgotten and
remembered, who, after a millennium of complete darkness, once again saw light.
The glowing words came to an ordinary shelf, among
the many others, and slowly dipped to the second from bottom shelf. It then
wrapped around a pelt-bound volume, with cracked edging and four equally-spaced
steel bindings. Kosta bent down and retrieved the tome, snuffing out the
glowing breath like a candle. The incantation would not have worked on anything
other than the original Idammah-Gan
Codex, and Kosta could not have known it would work until he used it. If he
hadn’t found the lost mother of all libraries, and had the original texts been
returned to the ancient travelers in Alexandria, he wouldn’t have the Idammah-Gan Codex . There were so
many ifs, woulds and maybes, conveniently converging, that Kosta forgot to
breath. He became lightheaded and nearly forgot how to light his miner’s
helmet.
It took a few hours to weave his way back along the
path of the incantation. Kosta burned to sit and examine the book he carried,
but knew he could only examine it under daylight. The darkness hid too many
unknowns, and he wanted to concentrate on the codex, not on fighting phantoms
and madness. He would return again when he was more prepared to deal with these
uncertainties. Now, he needed to read the pages of the codex and plan anew. All
of his beliefs were gearing up with the renewed hope, provided by the codex.
A plan, designed by a long forgotten, medieval
philosopher, was about to be discovered. After a year of searching, Kosta held
what George Gemistos Plethon had longed to read. In his search for its
recovery, Kosta had learned what it was all about and that he must handle it
with caution. The volume detailed all the many lives of the main character in
St. John’s Revelations. After a long enough time in our imagination, the mythic
Beast had been made real.
TIME: AUGUST 14TH, 1961. WHITTIER MANSION, SAN FRANCISCO,
CALIFORNIA, U.S.A
Balzeer walked lightly down the corridor of the third
floor in the Whittier Mansion. At various intervals of the hall, he passed
lounging glassy-eyed devotees, some on the floor, some on chairs and couches,
all there to experience something different. The beatniks had carved out an
attractive scene, which had attracted many like-minded people. Some came to sit
and listen to Kerouac, Ginsberg and Bukowski read aloud from Lonesome Traveler, Kaddish and Howl, so
they could snap their fingers in appreciation.
The sad fact was that Kerouac had nearly gone mad
from drink and was traveling all around the country. Ginsberg was traveling the
world, traversing the U.S.S.R., Scandinavia, China and the Communist Block
countries. Bukowski had never even come to San Francisco until later in his
life. He lived and worked in a post office, doing his cultural wailing only in
his spare time, while sober, or most likely while he was not.
The Supreme Tribunal
curiosity and dialogue no more. True danger only resides in the physical, but
over the course of his research, Kosta had discovered that danger was also hidden
in the pages of some books and texts. It wasn’t the ideas and beliefs of the
Martin Luthers, Newtons, Marxes and Hitlers that were dangerous. Rather, it was
the lost and better-forgotten texts, which revealed our true nature. Some
people couldn’t abide this revelation and went insane, their minds snapping
from the weight of this realization. For most people, the real truth was better
left unknown, lost and forgotten, the lies never revealed.
Kosta began to murmur under his breath and, after a
while, the words, upon leaving his mouth, glowed in the air in front of him. He
slowly continued the incantation, as it went past priceless stacks and shelves
of scrolls, parchment, vellum and pelts. The incantation continued, turning
right, left, around marbled busts and reliefs of Ptolemies, Alexanders,
Cleopatras and major political, religious figures, both forgotten and
remembered, who, after a millennium of complete darkness, once again saw light.
The glowing words came to an ordinary shelf, among
the many others, and slowly dipped to the second from bottom shelf. It then
wrapped around a pelt-bound volume, with cracked edging and four equally-spaced
steel bindings. Kosta bent down and retrieved the tome, snuffing out the
glowing breath like a candle. The incantation would not have worked on anything
other than the original Idammah-Gan
Codex, and Kosta could not have known it would work until he used it. If he
hadn’t found the lost mother of all libraries, and had the original texts been
returned to the ancient travelers in Alexandria, he wouldn’t have the Idammah-Gan Codex . There were so
many ifs, woulds and maybes, conveniently converging, that Kosta forgot to
breath. He became lightheaded and nearly forgot how to light his miner’s
helmet.
It took a few hours to weave his way back along the
path of the incantation. Kosta burned to sit and examine the book he carried,
but knew he could only examine it under daylight. The darkness hid too many
unknowns, and he wanted to concentrate on the codex, not on fighting phantoms
and madness. He would return again when he was more prepared to deal with these
uncertainties. Now, he needed to read the pages of the codex and plan anew. All
of his beliefs were gearing up with the renewed hope, provided by the codex.
A plan, designed by a long forgotten, medieval
philosopher, was about to be discovered. After a year of searching, Kosta held
what George Gemistos Plethon had longed to read. In his search for its
recovery, Kosta had learned what it was all about and that he must handle it
with caution. The volume detailed all the many lives of the main character in
St. John’s Revelations. After a long enough time in our imagination, the mythic
Beast had been made real.
TIME: AUGUST 14TH, 1961. WHITTIER MANSION, SAN FRANCISCO,
CALIFORNIA, U.S.A
Balzeer walked lightly down the corridor of the third
floor in the Whittier Mansion. At various intervals of the hall, he passed
lounging glassy-eyed devotees, some on the floor, some on chairs and couches,
all there to experience something different. The beatniks had carved out an
attractive scene, which had attracted many like-minded people. Some came to sit
and listen to Kerouac, Ginsberg and Bukowski read aloud from Lonesome Traveler, Kaddish and Howl, so
they could snap their fingers in appreciation.
The sad fact was that Kerouac had nearly gone mad
from drink and was traveling all around the country. Ginsberg was traveling the
world, traversing the U.S.S.R., Scandinavia, China and the Communist Block
countries. Bukowski had never even come to San Francisco until later in his
life. He lived and worked in a post office, doing his cultural wailing only in
his spare time, while sober, or most likely while he was not.
The Supreme Tribunal
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