Friday, February 20, 2015

6370. THE THINGS THEY CARRIED WERE NOT ALWAYS THEIR OWN (false names)

THE THINGS THEY 
CARRIED WERE NOT 
ALWAYS THEIR OWN
(false names)
Like George Orwell and Rebecca West,  an agreed-upon premise each,
sometimes the false things you decide upon just end up working well.
Eric Blair and Cicely Fairfield, down and out no matter. A band of
Gypsy-Romanys brushing through town would have no less problem
than this in the taking  -  draperies, maybe cars, and even a dog or
a cat. Jewelry, tools. But never names? Who ever heard of that?
-
I park this purloined nomenclature on your couch forever, and
please there let it stay : I can be all of my imaginings, and the
stronger for the doing. You will little notice what I do or say.
Adventures such as these come along but once; my friends,
were they ever still around, would say. They tell you all
about me. But now  -  alas  -  I have none at all, and there
is no one present to attest yo my worth. I never stole
a thing, far less this majestic name with which I jest.
-
I've just  -  darest thee let me say  -  grown tired of the
battlements and towers; I weary of carrying these
frightful arms up all these stairways again. For what?
To fight a fruitless mob of enemies down below me
at the moat, squabbling and screaming their now
unsightly mismash, claiming fealty to another
King I hardly know, nor wish to. Death then,
to all of them, their scribes and what they
write as well. Give me my straightened
name and real  - with that I'll walk away.

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