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You are sitting at a writing desk. There is a pen, ink, and paper in front of you.
The house is quiet and the sun is streaming through the window. A cluster of dried hydrangeas sit in a little vase on a table.
You can [[try to write something->Write]], but it is so easy to [[become distracted->Become Distracted]]. (if: (history:) contains ("Think"))[](else:)[Perhaps it would be better to [[think->Think]] about your aspiration, first.]
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You decide to think about your projects.
Your dreams have been consuming you lately. If only you could carry over the things you see there into your work. But how could you even start to express those ideas?
Language seems so obscure. There has to be a [[better way]].
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You decide to start writing.
With great flourish you lay out a fresh sheet of paper and stare down at the canvas of possibilities.
Unfortunately, [[not much comes of it]].
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You become distracted by something other than writing.
(if: (history:) contains ("Catherine"))[]
(else:)[You could go find [[Catherine]].]
(if: (history:) contains ("old writings"))[]
(else:)[You could look at your [[old writings]].]
(if: (history:) contains ("art"))[]
(else:)[You could go work on your [[art]].]
(if: (history:) contains ("newspaper"))[]
(else:)[You could read today's [[newspaper]].]
But you really should [[try to focus]] on your work.
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You rifle through a pile of your previous works. There's only a few that you would truly consider to be complete.
You could read [[Poetical Sketches]], or [[An Island in the Moon]].
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You enter into your workshop.
There are a number of tools laid out on the workbench, set aside only for the moment. Little pots of ink and paints sit along nearly every available surface, though you've managed to keep your pile of sketches clean.
A few half-formed etchings are set out. The technique is fussy and you haven't figured out exactly how you are going to achieve the effect you have imagined.
It's tempting to return to working on your commercial engravings, but you set this time aside for your personal projects. Better go back to your [[writing desk->try to focus]].
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You go to find your wife Catherine.
Catherine is in the garden. She it tidying it for the winter, and has been planning what will be planted there in the spring. Setting up a new household is always a lot of work.
If you walk out into the garden you will [[interrupt her work]], so you could always find[[something else->Become Distracted]] to distract you. Otherwise, you should really [[try to focus->try to focus]] on your writing.
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You look over your //Poetical Sketches//. Ah, here's a good one.
TO SPRING.
//O thou, with dewy locks, who lookest down
Thro' the clear windows of the morning; turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!
The hills tell each other, and the list'ning
Vallies hear; all our longing eyes are turned
Up to thy bright pavillions: issue forth,
And let thy holy feet visit our clime.
Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.
O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languish'd head,
Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee!//
You could turn to [[An Island in the Moon]], or [[try to focus]] on your work again.
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//In the Moon, is a certain Island near by a mighty continent, which small island seems to have some affinity to England, & what is more extraordinary the people are so much alike & their language so much the same that you would think you was among your friends. in this Island dwells three Philosophers Suction, the Epicurean, Quid the Cynic, & Sipsop the Pythagorean. I call them by the names of those sects tho' the sects are not ever mentiond there as being quite out of date however the things still remain, and the vanities are the same. the three Philosophers sat together thinking of nothing. in comes - Etruscan Column the Antiquarian & after an abundance of Enquiries to no purpose sat himself down & described something that nobody listend to so they were employd when Mrs Gimblet came in the corners of her mouth seemd I dont know how. but very odd as if she hoped you had not an ill opinion of her. to be sure we are all poor creatures, well she seated & listend seemd to listen with great attention while the Antiquarian seemd to be talking of virtuous cats. but it was not so. she was thinking of the shape of her eyes & mouth & he was thinking. of his eternal fame the three Philosophers at this time were each endeavourding to conceal the his laughter. (not at them but) at his own imagination, this was the situation of this improving company. when in a great hurry, Inflammable Gass the Wind finder. enterd. they seemd to rise & salute each other Etruscan Column & Inflammable Gass. fixd their eyes on each other. their tongues went in question & answer, but their thoughts were otherwise employd I dont like his eyes said Etruscan Column. he's a foolish puppy said
Inflammable Gass, smiling on him. the 3 Philosophers the Cynic smiling the Epicurean seeming not studying the flame of the candle & the Pythagorean playing with the cat. listend with open mouths to the edifying discourses. Sir said the Antiquarian I have seen these works & I do affirm that they are no such thing. they seem to me to be the most wretched paltry flimsy Stuff that ever ___ What d'ye say What dye say said Inffammable Gass, why why I wish I could see you write so. Sir said the Antiquarian. according to my opinion. the author is an errant blockhead.__ Your reason Your reason said Inflammable Gass_ why why I think it very abominable to call a man a blockhead that you know nothing of._ . Reason Sir said the A tiquarian I'll' give you an example for your reason aAs I was walking ng the
vast
street I saw a ^ number of swallows on the top of an house rails of an old Gothic square they seemd to be going on their passage, as Pliny says as I was looking up. a little outre' fellow pulling me by the sleeve cries pray Sir who do all they belong to, I turnd myself about with great...//
The manuscript ends here. You have not finished writing this one yet.
You could go back and read your other [[old writings]], or [[try to focus]].
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You pick up today's copy of The Daily Universal Register. The date along the top reads November 23rd, 1785.
There are [[theatre listings]], [[news from America]], and some [[sales by auction]] that catch your interest.
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<img src="http://s24.postimg.org/4120dokr9/Theatre_Listings_Nov_23_1785.png">
Turn to read the [[news from America]] or the [[sales by auction]]?
You should probably [[try to focus]], though...
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<img src="http://s24.postimg.org/do5inedqt/News_from_America_Nov_23_1785.png">
...you decide to stop reading.
Turn to read the [[theatre listings]], or inspect the [[sales by auction]]?
You should probably [[try to focus]], though...
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<img src="http://s24.postimg.org/erpmzcydx/Sales_By_Auction_Nov_23_1785.png">
The listings are interesting, but you just recently moved into this house on Poland Street. You aren't keen to move again so soon.
Turn to read the [[news from America]] or the [[theatre listings]]?
You should probably [[try to focus]], though...
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You wander into the garden and catch Catherine's attention.
"Oh, hello," she says, "I thought you were working. How is the engraving going?"
[["Fine."]]
[["I'm actually working on a personal project."]]
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What have other writers done? Prose or poetry, fiction, myth, or allegory. The right method is daunting.
Though, you are not merely a writer.
Perhaps that is how you will find a way to express yourself - both story and image, in one space.
That will have to be good enough for now.
Time to [[try to focus]] again.
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"I'm glad to hear it," she tells you. There are piles of tangled roots on the ground at her feet. The gardens are starting to look rather tidy.
You've been doing a little commercial engraving work ever since you ended your printing business with James Parker. You were supposed to be working on one of the plates today, but your writing seemed more important. Catherine doesn't need to know.
You better [[try to focus]] on your work, now.
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"I'm not surprised," she tells you. "You've been muttering about your stories again. Just don't forget to finish the work that pays," she reminds you. There are tangled roots piled up all around her feet. The garden is starting to look rather tidy.
You know Catherine is right. Better [[try to focus]] so you don't waste the day.
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Better luck next time.
You don't want to waste the day, so you go back to working on your commercial engravings. A more profitable venture than labouring over blank paper, to be sure.
There's enough work in this to keep you busy for a [[couple of years]] at least.
=><=
(transition: "dissolve")[Time passes.
(live: 2s)[Fifteen months have gone by.
It is [[February of 1787]].]
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(textcolour: #FEF8CA)[
It is hard to read by candlelight, but you are doing your best.
In the bed across the room, your brother Robert is asleep.
He has been sleeping for over a day now. You fear that eventually he will not wake up.
You [[turn the page]] of your book.
]
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(textcolour: #FEF8CA)[You are reading the Book of Revelation. Somehow it is comforting in times like this.
//I John, who also am your brother, and companion in tribulation, and in the kingdom and patience of Jesus Christ, was in the isle that is called Patmos, for the word of God, and for the testimony of Jesus Christ.//
[[Read on]].
]
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(textcolour: #FEF8CA)[//I was in the Spirit on the Lord's day, and heard behind me a great voice, as of a trumpet, Saying, I am Alpha and Omega, the first and the last: and, What thou seest, write in a book...//
[[Read on->Read on 2]].
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(textcolour: #FEF8CA)[//...and send it unto the even churches which are in Asia; unto Ephesus, and unto Smyrna, and unto Pergamos, and unto Thyatira, and unto Sardis, and unto Philadelphia, and unto Laodicea.//
(live: 3s)[(transition: "dissolve")[Your brother stirs across the room. You close your book and rush to his bedside.
//And he laid his right hand upon me, saying unto me, Fear not; I am the first and the last: I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have [[the keys of hell and of death]].//]]
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(textcolour: #FEF8CA)[//Write the things which thou hast seen, and the things which are, and the things which shall be hereafter...//
(live: 3s)["[[I will]]."]
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=><=
(textcolour: white)[(transition: "dissolve")[ [[Time marches on]].]]
"Dear Sir,
I am very sorry for your immense loss, which is a repetition of what all feel in this valley of misery & happiness mixed. I send the Shadow of the departed Angel. hope the likeness is improved. The lip I have again lessened as you advised & done a good many other softenings to the whole. I know that our deceased friends are more really with us than when they were apparent to our mortal part. Thirteen years ago I lost a brother & with his spirit I converse daily & hourly in the Spirit & See him in my remembrance in the regions of my Imagination. I hear his advice & even now write from his Dictate. Forgive me for Expressing to you my Enthusiasm which I wish all to partake of Since it is to me a Source of Immortal Joy: even in this world by it I am the companion of Angels. May you continue to be so more & more & to be more & more perswaded that every Mortal loss is an Immortal Gain. The Ruins of Time builds Mansions in Eternity. I have also sent A Proof of Pericles for your Remarks, thanking you for the kindness with which you Express them & feeling heartily your Grief with a brother's Sympathy.
I remain, Dear Sir, Your humble Servant
William Blake
Lambeth. May 6. 1800"
Time to [[go to sleep]].
Double-click this passage to edit it.
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More than a year has passed since your brother Robert died.
You wake up early in the morning. The sun has just begun to rise over London.
You ought to head to the [[workshop->go to work]], as always. You feel that you are on the edge of something brilliant.
But it is very tempting to [[go back to sleep]] for a while.
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No time like the present.
You could [[tinker for a while]].
(if: (history:) contains ("commission"))[]
(else:)[Your latest [[commission]] is sitting out on the desk.]
(if: (history:) contains ("bookshelf"))[]
(else:)[You could go out to your [[bookshelf]] to read something.]
(if: (history:) contains ("newspaper2"))[]
(else:)[You think you forgot to read the [[newspaper->newspaper2]] yesterday.]
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(if: (history:) contains ("tinker for a while"))[]
(else:)[You wouldn't want to disturb Catherine, after all.]
You doze [[back off to sleep]] to the sound of songbirds outside your window.
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(textcolour: white)[You are in the garden of your father's house. The sun is high but you still feel a chill. You must be here on a holiday from Henry Pars' drawing school, for you feel like a child, somehow.
You can hear three voices. Which do you follow?
Your eldest brother, [[James]], your younger brother, [[Robert]], or your younger sister, [[Catherine->Sister]]?
]
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(textcolour: white)[You follow the sound of James' voice through the garden. When you round the rosebush, you find Robert instead. He does not look like a child as you do, but he rarely does in these dreams.
You call out his name. "[[Robert]]!"
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(textcolour: white)[Robert sits on the garden bench, and waves at you as you come closer. "I thought you had gone to work," he tells you. He does not look uphappy to see you again.
"It's hardly dawn," you tell him. "It can wait a little longer."
You are unsure whether to ask him about the [[printing technique]] or your [[new project]].
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(textcolour: white)[You follow the sound of Catherine's voice, but when you round the white lilac, you find Robert instead. He does not look like a child as you do, but he rarely does in these dreams.
You call out his name. "[[Robert]]!"
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(textcolour: white)[
(if: (history:) contains ("new project"))[]
(else:)["I wanted to ask you more about this printing technique," you tell him. ]
"You couldn't understand how I explained it?" Robert asks.
You can only half-remember his words when you wake up. Your brother sighs, but looked resolved. He stands and reaches out a hand towards you.
[[Take his hand]].
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(textcolour: white)["I wanted your help with my new project," you tell him.
(if: (history:) contains ("Take his hand"))[You put the tremendous things you have learned out of your mind, but only for a moment. You do not fear you will forget them upon waking.]
(else:)[The printing technique he spoke of before is important, no doubt, but you cannot help but prioritize your own machinations.]
"I have been working on Lavater's engraving, but it is the content that concerns me."
Robert looks at you expectantly. You feel permitted to [[air your grievances]].
]
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You are getting nowhere. Two hours have passed, maybe more. You hear the sounds of movement elsewhere in the house.
Perhaps you should have gone back to sleep. You put away your tools and [[retreat to bed->go back to sleep]], hoping a nap will bring you inspiration.
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(textcolour: orange)[As you take Robert's hand, the garden melts away around you both.
You cannot describe the sights that you see using any language you know. An infinite space which was once hidden is now before you. Some new language must be conceived to fully express such things.
For now, you make do with what you have.
(text-style: "smear")["[[Lead on]], brother."]
]
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(textcolour: orange)[Robert leads you through a great turmoil, that you perceive as a printing press. Something familiar, at least.
(text-style: "smear")["This knowledge is transmitted from generation to generation,"] he tells you.
The first chamber you enter is filled with Dragons, hollowing out the cave. A Dragon-Man stands at the mouth, clearing away the rubbish.
[[You understand]].
]
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(textcolour: orange)[Robert leads you further onward.
In the second chamber, the cave is housing a viper, its great coiled lengths folding round the cave and the rock. Others adorn it with silver and precious stones.
[[You understand->Understand2]].
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(textcolour: orange)[Robert leads you further onward.
The third chamber is infinite. An eagle, its wings and feathers made only of air, causes it to be so. All around, other eagles - appearing much like men - build palaces into the immense cliffs.
[[You understand->Understand3]].
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(textcolour: orange)[Robert leads you further onward.
You are rushed through the fourth chamber. Inside are only Lions of flaming fire, and they rage like tempests. Their fire melts the metals into living fluids.
[[You understand->Understand4]].
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(textcolour: orange)[Robert leads you further onward.
In the fifth chamber, language fails you again. The forms - you cannot describe them - cast the metals into the expanse.
And yet, [[you understand->Understand5]].
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(textcolour: orange)[Robert leads you to the final chamber.
Here is a population of men, working diligently. They receive the forms of books sent on from the previous chambers and arrange them into libraries.
(text-style: "smear")["Do you understand now?"] Robert asks you.
You believe that [[you do]].
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(textcolour: white)[Robert lets go of your hand, and you are back in the garden. He can tell that you have been changed by what you have seen.
(if: (history:) contains ("new project"))["I believe I must get to my workshop at once," you tell Robert. [[He understands]].]
(else:)[
"Before you go," he says kindly, "is there something else you wanted to speak on?"
[[Yes, there was->new project]].]
]
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(textcolour: white)["The problem with Lavater's aphorisms," you tell Robert, "is that they should be univerally true, but many of his are not."
"Such as?"
You recall a line that irked you. "//Who begins with severity, in judging of another, ends commonly with falsehood//," you recite. "The very notion is false. Severity of judgement is a great virtue."
You think Robert agrees with you. "But you do not disagree with all he says," he surmises.
You do not. "Much of it is gold, and should be written in gold letters on our temples. //Who writes as he speaks, speaks as he writes, looks as he speaks and writes--is honest// - it has given me much to think about, and my copy of the manuscript is near falling apart for my notations."
Robert seems amused, but you think you need to [[get to the point]].
]
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(textcolour: white)["The point is," you explain, "that aphorisms may be a suitable vehicle for the subjects which we have discussed at length. I have been experimenting with them, and find that their proclivity for truth suits the topic."
"I agree," Robert says. You are glad to hear it. He has never led you astray, after all.
Something tells you it is about time to return to your work.
(if: (history:) contains ("Take his hand"))[You tell your brother as much. [[He understands]].]
(else:)[
"Before I go," you tell your brother, "a word about that [[printing technique]]."]
]
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(textcolour: white)[
You wander away from your brother into the garden towards the house. You walk, and walk, but never seem to get any closer.
It's time to [[wake up]].
]
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It's already late morning. You've lost half the day to work, but feel as though it has not been in vain.
With all the knowledge you have gained, you return to your workshop, and [[create something new]].
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You've been comissioned by the Boydells to create a large engraving of Act III of Hogarth's //The Beggar's Opera//.
On your workbench is a pile of sketches for the project, and a copy of the script. You could [[read it]], though it is rather long. Perhaps it's better [[not to->work to be done]].
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(if: (history:) contains ("bookshelf"))[You return to your books.]
(else:)[]
Your bookshelf is looking rather full. There are a number of things you could read, if you were so inclined.
There are a few texts of [[your own work]], and some written by [[others]].
But perhaps you should [[get back to work->work to be done]].
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You decide to read the script, despite knowing there is [[work to be done]].
=><=
''The Beggar's Opera''
//Act III//
<==
Scene 1.
Scene, Newgate.
LOCKIT, LUCY.
LOCKIT. To be sure, Wench, you must have been aiding and abetting to help him to this Escape. 1
LUCY. Sir, here hath been Peachum and his Daughter Polly, and to be sure they know the Ways of Newgate as well as if they had been born and bred in the Place all their Lives. Why must all your Suspicion light upon me? 2
LOCKIT. Lucy, Lucy, I will have none of these shuffling Answers. 3
LUCY. Well then——If I know any thing of him I wish I may be burnt! 4
LOCKIT. Keep your Temper, Lucy, or I shall pronounce you guilty. 5
LUCY. Keep yours, Sir,——I do wish I may be burnt. I do——And what can I say more to convince you? 6
LOCKIT. Did he tip handsomely?——How much did he come down with? Come, Hussy, don’t cheat your Father; and I shall not be angry with you——Perhaps, you have made a better Bargain with him than I could have done——How much, my good Girl? 7
LUCY. You know, Sir, I am fond of him, and would have given him Money to have kept him with me. 8
LOCKIT. Ah Lucy! thy Education might have put thee more upon thy Guard; for a Girl in the Bar of an Ale-house is always besieg’d. 9
LUCY. Dear Sir, mention not my Education—for ’twas to that I owe my Ruin. 10
AIR XLI.—If Love’s a sweet Passion, &c.
When young at the Bar you first taught me to score,
And bid me be free of my Lips, and no more;
I was kiss’d by the Parson, the Squire, and the Sot
When the Guest was departed, the Kiss was forgot.
But his Kiss was so sweet, and so closely he prest,
That I languish’d and pin’d till I granted the rest.
If you can forgive me, Sir, I will make a fair Confession, for to be sure he hath been a most barbarous Villain to me. 11
LOCKIT. And so you have let him escape, Hussy——Have you? 12
LUCY. When a Woman loves; A kind Look, a tender Word can persuade her to any thing——And I could ask no other Bribe. 13
LOCKIT. Thou wilt always be a vulgar Slut, Lucy.—If you would not be look’d upon as a Fool, you should never do any thing but upon the foot of Interest. Those that act otherwise are their own Bubbles. 14
LUCY. But Love, Sir, is a Misfortune that may happen to the most discreet Woman, and in Love we are all Fools alike——Notwithstanding all he swore, I am now fully convinc’d that Polly Peachum is actually his Wife.——Did I let him escape (Fool that I was!) to go to her?——Polly will wheedle herself into his Money, and then Peachum will hang him, and cheat us both. 15
LOCKIT. And so I am to be ruin’d, because, forsooth, you must be in Love!——a very pretty Excuse! 16
LUCY. I could murder that impudent happy Strumpet:—I gave him his Life, and that Creature enjoys the Sweets of it.——Ungrateful Macheath! 17
AIR XLII.—South-Sea Ballad.
My Love is all Madness and Folly,
Alone I lie,
Toss, tumble, and cry,
What a happy Creature is Polly!
Was e’er such a Wretch as I!
With rage I redden like Scarlet,
That my dear inconstant Varlet,
Stark blind to my Charms,
Is lost in the Arms
Of that Jilt, that inveigling Harlot!
Stark blind to my Charms,
Is lost in the Arms
Of that Jilt, that inveigling Harlot!
This, this my Resentment alarms.
18
LOCKIT. And so, after all this Mischief, I must stay here to be entertain’d with your Catterwauling, Mistress Puss!——Out of my Sight, wanton Strumpet! you shall fast and mortify yourself into Reason, with now and then a little handsome Discipline to bring you to your Senses.——Go. 19
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There are a couple of things you wrote yourself on your bookshelf.
Your copy of your //[[Poetical Sketches->Sketches2]]//, a few years old now.
The manuscript of //[[An Island in the Moon->Moon2]]//, which you never really finished.
You wish that this shelf had a bit more on it. You really should [[get back to work->work to be done]].
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There are many texts here that you have collected over the years. A few titles stand out to you:
Lavater's //[[Aphorisms on Man]]//, hot off the press.
A copy of the //[[New Testament]]//.
You haven't forgotten that there is [[work to be done]].
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You pull out your copy of Lavater's //Aphorisms on Man.// You have heavily annotated this copy already, even though it was just recently published. When you're done with it, you put it back on the [[bookshelf]].
1. Know, in the first place, that mankind agree in essence, as they do in their limbs and senses.
2. Mankind differ as much in essence as they do in form, limbs, and senses-and only so, and not more.
(textcolor: "red")[(text-style: "subscript")[This is true Christian philosophy far above all abstraction]]
3. As in looking upward each beholder thinks himself the centre of the sky; so Nature formed her individuals, that each must see himself the centre of being.
8. Who pursues means of enjoyment contradictory, irreconcilable, and self-destructive, is a fool, or what is called a sinner-- Sin and destruction of order are the same.
(textcolor: "red")[(text-style: "subscript")[a golden sentence]]
11.The less you can enjoy, the poorer, the scantier yourself--the more you can enjoy, the richer, the more vigorous.
You enjoy with wisdom or with folly, as the gratification of your appetites capacitates or unnerves your powers.
(textcolor: "red")[(text-style: "subscript")[false for weak is the joy that is never wearied]]
13. joy and grief decide character. What exalts prosperity? what imbitters grief? what leaves us indifferent? what interests us? As the interest of man, so his God--as his God, so he.
(textcolor: "red")[(text-style: "subscript")[All Gold]]
14. What is a man's interest? what constitutes his God, the ultimateof his wishes, his end of existence? Either that which on every occasion be communicates with the most unrestrained cordiality, or hides from every profane eye and ear with mysterious awe; to which he makes every other thing a mere appendix;--the vortex, the centre, the comparative point from which he sets out, on which he fixes, to which he irresistibly returns;--that, at the loss of which you may safely think him inconsolable;--that which he rescues from the gripe of danger with equal anxiety and boldness.
The story of the painter and the prince is well known: to get at the best piece in the artist's collection, . . .
(textcolor: "red")[(text-style: "subscript")[Pure gold]]
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You open up the manuscript, still a little disappointed that you never finished it. But you've got more important projects in mind these days. You glance over what you did write before putting it back on the [[bookshelf]].
//In the Moon, is a certain Island near by a mighty continent, which small island seems to have some affinity to England. & what is more extraordinary the people are so much alike & their language so much the same that you would think you was among your friends. in this Island dwells three Philosophers Suction, the Epicurean, Quid the Cynic, & Sipsop, the Pythagorean. I call them by the names of these sects tho the sects are not ever mentiond there as being quite out of date however the things still remain, and the vanities are the same. the three Philosophers sat together thinking of nothing. in comes—Etruscan Column the Antiquarian & after an abundance of Enquiries to no purpose sat himself down & described something that nobody listend to so they were employd when Mrs Gimblet came in [tipsy] the corners of her mouth seemd I dont know how, but very odd as if she hoped you had not an ill opinion of her. to be sure we are all poor creatures. well she seated & [ listend] seemd to listen with great attention while the Antiquarian seemd to be talking of virtuous cats, but it was not so. she was thinking of the shape of her eyes & mouth & he was thinking, of his eternal fame the three Philosophers at this time were each endeavouring <t> to conceal [the] his laughter, (not at them but) at t his own imaginations this was the situation of this improving company, when in a great hurry, Inflammable Gass the Wind finder enterd. they seemd to rise & salute each other
Etruscan Column & Inflammable Gass fixd their eyes on each other, their tongues went in question & answer, but their thoughts were otherwise employd...//
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You open your first book of poetry. You're still rather proud of it. One poem jumps out at you before you put it back on the [[bookshelf]].
TO SUMMER.
//O thou, who passest thro' our vallies in
Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat
That flames from their large nostrils! thou, O Summer,
Oft pitched'st here thy golden tent, and oft
Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld
With joy, thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.
Beneath our thickest shades we oft have heard
Thy voice, when noon upon his fervid car
Rode o'er the deep of heaven; beside out springs
Sit down, and in our mossy vallies, on
Some bank beside a river clear, throw thy
Silk draperies off, and rush into the stream:
Our vallies love the Summer in his pride.
Our bards are fam'd who strike the silver wire:
Our youth are bolder than the southern swains:
Our maidens fairer in the sprightly dance:
We lack not songs, nor instruments of joy,
Nor echoes sweet, nor waters clear as heaven,
Nor laurel wreaths against the sultry heat.//
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You open up the copy of the //New Testament// that sits on the shelf. It falls open to //The Apocalypse of John//. You've read it many times, but give it another glance before putting it back on the [[bookshelf]].
=><=
''Revelation''
<==
[1] The Revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave unto him, to shew unto his servants things which must shortly come to pass; and he sent and signified it by his angel unto his servant John:
[2] Who bare record of the word of God, and of the testimony of Jesus Christ, and of all things that he saw.
[3] Blessed is he that readeth, and they that hear the words of this prophecy, and keep those things which are written therein: for the time is at hand.
[4] John to the seven churches which are in Asia: Grace be unto you, and peace, from him which is, and which was, and which is to come; and from the seven Spirits which are before his throne;
[5] And from Jesus Christ, who is the faithful witness, and the first begotten of the dead, and the prince of the kings of the earth. Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood,
[6] And hath made us kings and priests unto God and his Father; to him be glory and dominion for ever and ever. Amen.
[7] Behold, he cometh with clouds; and every eye shall see him, and they also which pierced him: and all kindreds of the earth shall wail because of him. Even so, Amen.
[8] I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending, saith the Lord, which is, and which was, and which is to come, the Almighty.
[9] I John, who also am your brother, and companion in tribulation, and in the kingdom and patience of Jesus Christ, was in the isle that is called Patmos, for the word of God, and for the testimony of Jesus Christ.
[10] I was in the Spirit on the Lord's day, and heard behind me a great voice, as of a trumpet,
[11] Saying, I am Alpha and Omega, the first and the last: and, What thou seest, write in a book, and send it unto the seven churches which are in Asia; unto Ephesus, and unto Smyrna, and unto Pergamos, and unto Thyatira, and unto Sardis, and unto Philadelphia, and unto Laodicea.
[12] And I turned to see the voice that spake with me. And being turned, I saw seven golden candlesticks;
[13] And in the midst of the seven candlesticks one like unto the Son of man, clothed with a garment down to the foot, and girt about the paps with a golden girdle.
[14] His head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow; and his eyes were as a flame of fire;
[15] And his feet like unto fine brass, as if they burned in a furnace; and his voice as the sound of many waters.
[16] And he had in his right hand seven stars: and out of his mouth went a sharp twoedged sword: and his countenance was as the sun shineth in his strength.
[17] And when I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead. And he laid his right hand upon me, saying unto me, Fear not; I am the first and the last:
[18] I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death.
[19] Write the things which thou hast seen, and the things which are, and the things which shall be hereafter;
[20] The mystery of the seven stars which thou sawest in my right hand, and the seven golden candlesticks. The seven stars are the angels of the seven churches: and the seven candlesticks which thou sawest are the seven churches.
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(if: (history:) contains ("newspaper2"))[
The only interesting headlines are a [[letter to the editor]], an article about [[tea shrubs]], and a [[silly article]] run by the Editor about the paper itself.
Eventually, you'll have to go [[back to work->work to be done]].
]
(else:)[
You go to find yesterday's newspaper. It's the August 13th, 1788 copy of //The Times//. You're glad this paper changed its name, the old one was a mouthful.
There's a [[letter to the editor]] that might prove interesting, an article about [[tea shrubs]], and a [[silly article]] run by the Editor about the paper itself.
Eventually, you'll have to go [[back to work->work to be done]].
]
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<img src="http://s24.postimg.org/mfcjhnx1x/Editor_Letter_Aug_13_1788.png">
You examine the letter to the editor on the front page.
Eventually you [[finish with it->newspaper2]].
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You read an article about tea shrubs, thinking Catherine might like it. Unless she read it already?
But [[that's enough of that->newspaper2]].
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You peruse the silly article about the Times' own circulation.
But [[enough of that->newspaper2]].
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You open your first published book of poetry. One poem stands out to you before you put it [[back on the shelf->read something else]].
TO AUTUMN.
//O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof, there thou may'st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe;
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty songs of fruits and flowers.
"The narrow bud opens her beauties to
"The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
"Blossoms hang round the brows of morning, and
"Flourish down the bright cheek of modest eve,
"Till clust'ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
"And feather'd clouds strew flowers round her head.
"The spirits of the air live on the smells
"Of fruit; and joy, with pinions light, roves round
"The gardens, or sits singing in the trees."
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat,
Then rose, girded himself, and o'er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.//
You open your first book of poetry. You read one of the poems before you put it back on the bookshelf.
TO WINTER.
//O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:
The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark
Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs,
Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.
He hears me not, but o'er the yawning deep
Rides heavy; his storms are unchain'd; sheathed
In ribbed steel, I dare not lift mine eyes;
For he hath rear'd his sceptre o'er the world.
Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings
To his strong bones, strides o'er the groaning rocks:
He withers all in silence, and his hand
Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.
He takes his seat upon the cliffs, the mariner
Cries in vain. Poor little wretch! that deal'st
With storms; till heaven smiles, and the monster
Is driv'n yelling to his caves beneath mount Hecla.//
AH! SUN-FLOWER
//Ah Sun-flower! weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the Sun:
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the travellers journey is done.
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgil shrouded in snow:
Arise from their graves and aspire,
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.//
A DIVINE IMAGE
//Cruelty has a Human Heart
And Jealousy a Human Face
Terror, the Human Form Divine
And Secrecy, the Human Dress
The Human Dress, is forged Iron
The Human Form, a fiery Forge.
The Human Face, a Furnace seal'd
The Human Heart, its hungry Gorge.//
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[[Robert will be proud]].
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(live: 3s)[(transition: "dissolve")[It has been a while since you started working on the new printing technique.
You stand over your workbench. You forgot to put the lids back on the bottles of acid; you do so before you forget again.
Before you, a [[pile of plates]] are ready to be printed. You'll have to [[get Catherine]] to help when you are ready.
]]
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These plates were created using the new methods that Robert showed you. It worked exactly as you expected it to.
You should probably [[proofread]] them before going to [[get Catherine]].
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You go find Catherine and tell her that your plates are ready. She has been very curious about this new printing method that you came up with seemingly overnight. She has always helped with your printing, after all, and is excellent at ensuring your projects appear as you intend.
You take your new plates over to the rolling press. The machine's top cylinder needs to be raised a little for this new technique. Catherine looks apprehensive but helps you to do so.
It's still not quite right, though. You need to [[think about this]], or you could [[ask Catherine]] what she thinks.
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You read over the plates you have created to make sure they accurately represent your vision.
The first plate reads: //The Voice of one crying in the Wilderness//.
The second plate reads: //All Religions are One//.
The third plate reads: //The Argument As the true method of knowledge is experiment the true faculty of knowing must be the faculty which experiences. This faculty I treat of.//
The fourth plate reads: //PRINCIPLE 1st That the Poetic Genius is the true Man. and that the body or outward form of Man is derived from the Poetic Genius. Likewise that the forms of all things are derived from their Genius. which by the Ancients was call'd an Angel & Spirit & Demon.//
The fifth plate reads: //PRINCIPLE 2d As all men are alike in outward form, So (and with the same infinite variety) all are alike in the Poetic Genius//
The sixth plate reads: //PRINCIPLE 3d No man can think write or speak from his heart, but he must intend truth. Thus all sects of Philosophy are from the Poetic Genius adapted to the weaknesses of every individual//
The seventh plate reads: //PRINCIPLE 4. As none by traveling over known lands can find out the unknown. So from already acquired knowledge Man could not acquire more. therefore an universal Poetic Genius exists//
The eighth plate reads: //PRINCIPLE. 5. The Religions of all Nations are derived from each Nations different reception of the Poetic Genius which is every where call'd the Spirit of Prophecy.//
The ninth plate reads: //PRINCIPLE 6 The Jewish & Christian Testaments are An original derivation from the Poetic Genius. this is necessary from the confined nature of bodily sensation//
The tenth plate reads: //PRINCIPLE 7th As all men are alike (tho' infinitely various) So all Religions & as all similars have one source The true Man is the source he being the Poetic Genius//
[[I think it's ready.]]
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You're satisfied with the plates. Now they need to be printed and coloured. Well, maybe you won't colour this project. But it does need to be printed, and for that you need to [[get Catherine]].
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It's your vision, after all, so you ponder what must be done to support this new printing system. Perhaps trial and error is the best solution.
You lay out the inked plate on the bed of the press, and Catherine puts a sheet of damp paper onto it before covering them with the rest of the felt blankets.
Together you turn the wheel of the printing press, forcing the plate and paper together. When you remove the blankets to see the result, you are disappointed. That was far too much pressure, and the image is bent and distorted. You just wasted the paper and ink.
"I was thinking we should have taken one of the felt blankets off," Catherine says. "This new method shouldn't leave any platemarks on the paper, so it should need much less pressure than the old way."
You realize she is right, of course. You really should have asked her to begin with.
The next [[printing]] goes much better.
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You decide to ask Catherine what she thinks.
"This new method shouldn't leave any platemarks on the paper," she observes, looking at the plates. "So we shouldn't need nearly as much pressure as before. Perhaps we should remove one of the felt blankets."
That's a very good idea. You do so, and set down the inked plate on the bottom inner blanket. Catherine puts a damp sheet of paper on top, and lowers the rest of the blankets.
Together, you turn the press. You hurry to pull back the layers to see how your [[printing]] turned out.
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<img src="http://s30.postimg.org/sjc4icdwh/arao1.jpg">
You are quite pleased with what you see. Now that you know how this new method works, you can really start to play with it.
You'll have to remember to show Robert how it turned out [[later]].
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You go to bed the night after creating your first book using the relief printing method. You are very satisfied with the result, but even more so with the potential.
(live: 3s)[(transition: "dissolve")[
But for now, your eyes are getting heavy. It's [[quite late]], after all.]]
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(textcolour: white)[You are in the garden by your parent's house. Though, the house is nowhere to be seen. The garden sprawls in so many directions.
Every time you visit, it looks a bit different. You wonder [[what is different]] this time.
But you should probably [[go find Robert]].
]
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(textcolour: white)[To your left, the garden looks familiar. It reminds you of the ornamental gardens of a friend you had when [[you were a child]].
To your right, the garden looks like one you saw in a painting once. It was some landscape in France. You can't remember who the artist was.
Ahead of you is a spiral hedge. It is only waist high, and you [[notice Robert]] sitting on a rock in the center.
You suppose you could also [[look behind you]], if you wanted to.]
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(textcolour: white)[You look around the garden for Robert, and see he is sitting in the middle of a hedge that has been shaped into a spiral. It's [[easy to see over->notice Robert]] the top, though. ]
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(textcolour: white)[You look down at your hands. How old do you feel? Not as young as you normally do in these dreams, but your hands are clean from ink-stains. You must not have begun your apprenticeship with Basire yet, for you never escaped ink after that.
You should go [[see Robert->notice Robert]], now.
(if: (history:) contains ("look behind you"))[]
(else:)[Or, you suppose you could still [[look behind you]] before that.]]
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(textcolour: white)[You walk through the spiral hedge to where your brother is sitting. He is holding the pages you printed that day.
"These are very good," he tells you. You're glad he likes them.
"But I am concerned with what you've written," he says next. "Can you explain what you mean to me?"
You can [[certainly try]].]
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(textcolour: white)[You turn around to see what is behind you.
It is a garden. You are not surprised.
There are lilies and daisies growing together, and behind them is a patch of yellow sunflowers. There is also a white lilac tree. It's a very pretty scene.
You should probably go [[see Robert->notice Robert]] now.
(if: (history:) contains ("you were a child"))[]
(else:)[Though, you could always see if [[anything else->you were a child]] is different.]]
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(textcolour: white)[
Robert listens as you explain your visions to him. He nods along and doesn't interrupt you.
You talk, and talk, and talk. But more words don't seem to make it any clearer.
"You really just need to read what I wrote there," you point to the printed pages. "It's the clearest I could possibly be."
"I guess [[you're right]]," Robert agrees.
]
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(textcolour: white)["What are you going to write next?" Robert asks you.
You have started another manuscript, though it's not finished. "I don't have it here to show you, but it's about the non-existence of any natural religion."
"That sounds interesting," Robert says. "I would like to see it."
Well, best go [[find it]], then.
]
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(textcolour: white)[You wake up. It's still dim outside, but the sky is a pretty blue that suggests dawn will come soon.
You climb out of bed and light a candle, walking quietly out to your workshop.
Placing the candle on the desk, you find the manuscript you've been working on.
"Here it is," you say, [[holding it out]].
]
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(textcolour: white)[
Robert takes the manuscript from you and reads through what you've written so far.
(text-style: "smear")[(text-colour: grey)["//Man cannot naturally percieve, but through his natural or bodily organs//,"]] Robert reads out loud. (text-style: "smear")[(text-colour: grey)["This is very strange. How untrue this is, and how unlike something you would think!"]]
You explain that you have been thinking about contraries. "The first six aphorisms will be false," you explain, "so the following six truthful ones will be that much more impactful."
(text-style: "smear")[(text-colour: grey)["Interesting approach,"]] Robert says. (text-style: "smear")[(text-colour: grey)["Like what you wrote in the one you printed yesterday, no man can think, or write, or speak from his heart unless he intends truth. You've played with the concept, but express it here nonetheless."]]
You're glad he understands. Might as well [[discuss the rest]] of the work with him, while you have a moment.]
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(textcolour: white)[
Discussing your ideas with Robert always helps them become clear to you. Though sometimes it isn't the discussion so much as the experience of being in his presence that inspires.
You're glad that Catherine doesn't mind how much time you spend cooped up in your workshop. She's always been so encouraging of your creations.
What was the [[next thing]] you intended to create...?]
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You are sitting at your writing desk.
There is a pile of papers before you. Your pen and ink are laying ready by the side, waiting for you to use them.
You should really keep writing, but it is called work for a reason. Maybe [[rereading]] what you've written would help.
Although, you could always go [[read something else]].
(if: (history:) contains ("talk to Robert"))[] (else:)[Or you could [[talk to Robert]], of course. ]
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You decide to flip through the pages of your current project.
The poem you finished most recently is underneath the blank sheet on top. You read what is written.
//Merry Merry Sparrow
Under leaves so green
A happy Blossom
Sees you swift as arrow
Seek your cradle narrow
Near my Bosom.
Pretty Pretty Robin
Under leaves so green
A happy Blossom
Hears you sobbing sobbing
Pretty Pretty Robin
Near my Bosom.//
You haven't given it a title yet. Oh, you know what it should be.
You write THE BLOSSOM at the top of the page.
(text-style: "smear")[(textcolour: grey)["That's a fine little composition,"]] Robert tells you, glancing over your shoulder. (text-style: "smear")[(textcolour: grey)["But you can do better, can't you?"]]
You ask him [[what he means]].
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You decide to read something else before focusing on your work.
There are a few of [[your own works]] on your bookshelf. But there are also some by [[other authors]].
A recent [[newspaper->newspaper3]] sits on top of the shelf, too.
Your work is [[beckoning->next thing]], though.
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You wander over to where Robert is sitting in a chair by the window.
(text-style: "smear")[(textcolour: grey)["Having a hard time focusing?"]] he asks you.
"It's just part of the process," you tell him, before going [[back to your desk->next thing]].
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(text-style: "smear")[(textcolour: grey)["You want to share your vision with others,"]] Robert says, (text-style: "smear")[(textcolour: grey)["but if you keep writing like this, your work will be mistaken for simple trifling poetry."]]
You can't help but feel that he is right. "So what do I do?"
Robert points behind you, over your shoulder. You [[turn around]].
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You pick up the newspaper and see the date on it is March 9th, 1789. Oh, you read this one yesterday.
You could [[read something else]], if you wanted. You can only procrastinate [[so long->next thing]], though.
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You look at your own works on the shelf.
There's your old copy of //[[Poetical Sketches->Sketches3]]//, as always.
Your printings of //[[All Religions Are One]]// and //[[There Is No Natural Religion]]// are there too.
You could [[read something else]], if you wanted. But maybe you'll be able to [[focus on work->next thing]] now.
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There are a couple of other authors' works on the shelf. Some of them catch your attention:
(if: (history:) contains ("A Brief History of Time"))[ [[Paradise Lost]], and [[The New Testament]].] (else:)[ [[Paradise Lost]], [[The New Testament]], and [[A Brief History of Time]].]
You could [[read something else]], if you wanted. You can only procrastinate [[so long->next thing]], though.
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You pick up //All Religions Are One//.
<img src="http://s24.postimg.org/uyj2cxz4l/arao4.jpg">
Then you put it [[back on the shelf->read something else]].
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You pick up //There Is No Natural Religion//.
<img src="http://s22.postimg.org/kieca3qkh/NNR4.jpg">
You read it before putting it [[back on the shelf->read something else]].
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(textcolor: white)[(align: "=><=")[You are standing in front of a door.
It does not stand in a wall, but you cannot see around it. In fact, you cannot see much else at all.
You could turn around and leave. There is a sense of the familiar behind you. You can hear the sound of horse hooves on cobblestones, and smell smoke.
But you feel like the door leads somewhere familiar, too.
(live: 6s)[(transition: "dissolve")[Maybe you should [[reach out]] to it.]]
]]
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(textcolor: white)[
You reach out a hand to the door. At least, you think you do. The concept of hand is kind of difficult to grasp right now.
The door is closed firmly. It doesn't even rattle when you push at it.
(live: 4s)[(transition: "dissolve")[What about the [[doorknob]]?]
]]
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(textcolor: white)[
=><=
You can't seem to find one.
There doesn't seem to be a way to force this door open.
(live: 3s)[(transition: "dissolve")[ [[Too bad]].]]
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=><=
...
(live: 5s)[
(transition: "dissolve")[
(text-style: "blur")[[[Where am I?->try to focus]]]]
]
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(textcolor: white)[
(align: "=><=")[
(text-style: "expand")[
#INFINITE
]]]
(textcolor: white)[
(align: "=><=")[
[[Play->START]]
]]
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You open up Milton's //Paradise Lost//.
//Raphael, said hee, thou hear'st what stir on Earth
Satan from Hell scap't through the darksom Gulf [ 225 ]
Hath raisd in Paradise, and how disturbd
This night the human pair, how he designes
In them at once to ruin all mankind.
Go therefore, half this day as friend with friend
Converse with Adam, in what Bowre or shade [ 230 ]
Thou find'st him from the heat of Noon retir'd,
To respit his day-labour with repast,
Or with repose; and such discourse bring on,
As may advise him of his happie state,
Happiness in his power left free to will, [ 235 ]
Left to his own free Will, his Will though free,
Yet mutable; whence warne him to beware
He swerve not too secure: tell him withall
His danger, and from whom, what enemie
Late falln himself from Heav'n, is plotting now [ 240 ]
The fall of others from like state of bliss;
By violence, no, for that shall be withstood,
But by deceit and lies; this let him know,
Lest wilfully transgressing he pretend
Surprisal, unadmonisht, unforewarnd. [ 245 ]//
You put the book [[back on the shelf->read something else]].
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You open up your copy of the //New Testament//.
//"I know thy works: behold, I have set before thee an open door, and no man can shut it: for thou hast a little strength, and hast kept my word, and hast not denied my name."//
Too much to read right now, you think. You put the book [[back on the shelf->read something else]].
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You pick up a book labelled //A Brief History of Time//, by Stephen Hawking. Strange, you don't remember owning this before. Perhaps someone left it here?
You open to a random page.
//"“As we shall see, the concept of time has no meaning before the beginning of the universe. This was first pointed out by St. Augustine. When asked: "What did God do before he created the universe?" Augustine didn't reply: "He was preparing Hell for people who asked such questions.”"//
You're not sure what to make of this. Better put it back on the shelf, [[just for now->read something else]].
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(textcolor: white)[You realize that you are not in your house at all.
Before you stands a door.
"I've been here before," you say out loud.
(live: 5s)[(transition: "dissolve")[ Where did [[Robert->where is Robert]] go?]]
]
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(textcolor: white)["I'm right here," your brother tells you. He is standing beside you.
"This door doesn't open." You have tried this before.
"Are you sure?" Robert asks.
You look at the door again. Perhaps...it looks a bit different than you remember. To be fair, you hadn't really remembered it at all until now.
You suppose you could [[try it]].
]
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(textcolor: white)[
It seems you also forgot there is no doorknob.
You press on the door. It rattles on its hinges.
"That's strange," you tell Robert, but you see he's not beside you anymore.
(live: 4s)[(transition: "dissolve")["What's strange?" You hear him call from behind you. You ought to [[turn around->see Robert]] to see where he ran off to.]]]
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You find yourself in the garden. Robert is standing a few paces away.
"It's strange," you continue, "the door wouldn't move last time, but now it seems ready to fall off its hinges."
Robert has gone over to a flower bed where a dozen or more sunflowers sway in the breeze. He pulls one out of the soil without much effort. "You keep calling it a door," he laughs.
You don't know what's so funny. Robert points [[behind you again]], using the sunflower like a wand.
]
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The door is gone, and only the frame remains. It's just an archway, really.
You look through it, but can't describe what it is you see on the other side.
"Tell me," Robert calls to you as you peer through the arch. "When is a door, not a door?"
"[[What?]]"
]
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(textcolor: black)[
"When it's ajar!"
Robert laughs, and the ground heaves under your feet, launching you through the archway.
(live: 3s)[(transition: "dissolve")[(text-style: "shudder")[ [[God save me!]]
]]]]
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(textcolor: white)[
(transition: "dissolve")[
(live: 1s)[(text-rotate:45)[(text-style: "rumble")[they conversed together in Visionary forms dramatic which bright Redounded from their Tongues in thunderous majesty.]]]
(live: 3s)[(text-rotate:117)[(text-style: "shudder")[in Visions In new Expanses, creating exemplars of Memory and of Intellect Creating Space. Creating Time]]]
(live: 2s)[(text-rotate:22)[(text-style: "rumble")[according to the wonders Divine Of Human Imagination. throughout all the Three Regions immense Of Childhood. Manhood and Old Age]]]
(live: 1s)[(text-rotate:100)[(text-style: "shudder")[and all the tremendous unfathomable NonEns]]]
(live: 3s)[(text-rotate:77)[(text-style: "rumble")[Of Death was seen in regerations terrific or complacent varying According to the subject of discourse and every Word and every Character]]]
(live: 2s)[(text-rotate:45)[(text-style: "rumble")[Was human according to the expansion or contraction. the translucence or opakeness of nervous fibres such was the variation of]]]
(live: 1s)[(text-rotate:134)[(text-style: "rumble")[#time and space] ]]
(live: 3s)[(text-rotate:7)[(text-style: "shudder")[which vary according as the organs of perception vary and they walked to and fro in Eternity]]]
(live: 2s)[(text-rotate:33)[(text-style: "shudder")[as one man reflecting each in each and clearly seen And seeing: according to fitness and order. And I heard Jehovah speak Terrific from his Holy Place]]]
(live: 3s)[(text-rotate:165)[(text-style: "rumble")[and saw the Words of the Mutual Covenant Divine On Chariots of gold and jewels with Living Creatures starry and flaming]]]
(live: 4s)[(text-rotate:20)[(text-style: "rumble")[With every colour.]]]
(live: 3s)[(text-rotate:40)[(text-style: "shudder")[Lion.]]]
(live: 1s)[(text-rotate:150)[(text-style: "rumble")[Tyger.]]]
(live: 2s)[(text-rotate:3)[(text-style: "shudder")[Horse.]]]
(live: 4s)[(text-rotate:27)[(text-style: "rumble")[Elephant.]]]
(live: 3s)[(text-rotate:111)[(text-style: "rumble")[Eagle Dove.]]]
(live: 3s)[(text-rotate:88)[(text-style: "shudder")[Fly.]]]
(live: 1s)[(text-rotate:19)[(text-style: "rumble")[Worm.]]]
(live: 2s)[(text-rotate:42)[(text-style: "shudder")[And the all wondrous Serpent clothed in gems and rich array Humanize In the Foregiveness of Sins according to the Covent of Jehovah, They Cry]]]
]
(text-style: "smear")[ [[PERCEIVE]] ]]
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(textcolor: white)[
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(live: 1s)[(text-rotate:24)[(text-style: "fade-in-out")[I am the Resurrection and the Life.]]]
(live: 3s)[(text-rotate:89)[(text-style: "fade-in-out")[I Die and pass the limits of possibility. as it appears To individual perception,]]]
(live: 2s)[(text-rotate:117)[(text-style: "fade-in-out")[Luvah must be Created And Vala; for I cannot leave them in the gnawing Grave. ]]]
(live: 0.5s)[(text-rotate:16)[(text-style: "fade-in-out")[But will prepare a way for my banished-ones to return Come now with me into the villages.]]]
==>
(live: 4s)[(text-style: "smear")[ [[PERCEIVE->PERCEIVE2]] ]]
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(text-style: "smear")[If Perceptive Organs vary: ](mouseover-replace: "If Perceptive Organs vary:")[(text-color: "yellow")[If the doors]]
==>
(text-style: "smear")[Objects of Perception seem to vary:](mouseover-replace: "Objects of Perception seem to vary:")[(text-color: "yellow")[of perception were cleansed]]
<==
(text-style: "smear")[If the Perceptive Organs close: ](mouseover-replace: "If the Perceptive Organs close:")[(text-color: "yellow")[every thing]]
==>
(text-style: "smear")[their Objects seem to close also:](mouseover-replace: "their Objects seem to close also:")[(text-color: "yellow")[would appear to man]]
=><=
(text-style: "smear")[Consider this O mortal Man: O worm of sixty winters](mouseover-replace: "Consider this O mortal Man: O worm of sixty winters")[(text-color: "yellow")[as it is,]]
==>
(text-style: "smear")[Consider Sexual Organization ](mouseover-replace: "Consider Sexual Organization")[]
=><=
(text-style: "smear")[and hide thee in the dust.](mouseover-replace: "and hide thee in the dust.")[#[[INFINITE->INFINITE2]] ]
]]
=><=
(transition: "dissolve")[
(live: 4s)[You stumble out onto the (text-color: "green")[grass].]
(live: 6s)[A (text-style: "rumble")[roar] still resonates in your ears. ]
(live: 8s)[ [[Where are you]]? ]
]
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You are in Hyde Park, by the Serpentine. The (text-color: "blue")[sky is clear] and people are strolling by, not taking much notice of you.
You see Robert in the distance. He is sitting on a lawn chair with a (text-color: "brown")[cup of tea].
A (text-color: "brown")[cup of tea] would be nice, [[wouldn't it]]?
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"Take a seat," Robert offers as you come closer. You sit and take a (text-color: "brown")[cup of tea] from a small table.
You sip your (text-color: "brown")[tea] and look out at the (text-color: "blue")[Serpentine]. Children are playing with small boats in the (text-color: "blue")[water]. You see a man and a woman surrounded by three energetic children. They remind you an awful lot of your parents.
"Where are we?" you ask.
"Where does it look like?" Robert asks in return.
You tell him. "Then I suppose we're in (text-style: "expand")[London]," he concludes.
You suspect he is making fun of you. But your brother [[knows you well.]]
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"Tell me what you saw," he says. "I am certain you're bursting to speak."
You laugh, because words seem too (text-style: "blur")[sluggish and contrite] to serve any real purpose. But you need to try.
"I saw no God, nor heard any," you say, "in a finite organical perception. But my senses discovered the infinite in every thing."
"Which senses were those?" Robert asks.
You will not tell him. "Man's perceptions are not bound by organs of perception," you remind him. "He perceives more than sense can discover."
"Fair enough," Robert says.
You [[finish]] your (text-color: "brown")[cup of tea].
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You feel as if you have spent enough time here, and stand up from your lawn chair.
"Do you know what you need to do?" Robert asks you.
"I do," you tell him. You feel very glad to be able to say so. "My business is to create."
Robert waves you off, and you step [[into your workshop]] again.
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Your writing desk stands at the ready, all the tools for composition resting on top.
By the window, a vase full of (text-color: "yellow")[sunflowers] catches the (text-color: "yellow")[sunlight].
You sit down at your writing desk and muse over the blank page, before writing a title: (live: 6s)[//[[The Tyger]].//]
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=><=
(live: 1s)[...]
<==
(live: 3s)[You are sitting nude in the (text-color: "green")[garden] with Catherine.
You have been reading from //The Book of Thel.// You finished it recently, and though Catherine knows the story already, you wanted to read it to her again.
You are hoping she starts to [[understand it]] the way you intended.]
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"The virgin started from her seat, and with a shriek, fled back unhindered till she came into the Vales of Har," you finish reading.
Catherine tells you it is a very interesting story. But she would enjoy it if you went back to reading out of //Paradise Lost//, as you had been doing earlier. Or she could take a turn reading aloud, if you'd prefer.
You hand her Milton's book.
When she reaches the part where Eve eats the (textcolor: "red")[fruit], you ask her to skip ahead to when Michael leads Adam to the (textcolor: "green")[high hill].
"'I yield it just, said Adam, and [[submit]]...'"
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You blink(live: 3s)[, and are standing at your bookshelf.
It is rather full, and none of them seem to have titles printed on them. That is strange.
Maybe you should [[read one]].
]
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You pick up a book at random off the shelf.
You flip it open.
//"It is a law of nature we overlook, that intellectual versatility is the compensation for change, danger, and trouble. An animal perfectly in harmony with its environment is a perfect mechanism. Nature never appeals to intelligence until habit and instinct are useless. There is no intelligence where there is no change and no need of change. Only those animals partake of intelligence that have a huge variety of needs and dangers."//
Some didactic tale? You flip ahead to [[another page]].
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The next page you open to says:
//"μετὰ ταῦτα δή, εἶπον, ἀπείκασον τοιούτῳ πάθει τὴν ἡμετέραν φύσιν παιδείας τε πέρι καὶ ἀπαιδευσίας. ἰδὲ γὰρ ἀνθρώπους οἷον ἐν καταγείῳ οἰκήσει σπηλαιώδει, ἀναπεπταμένην πρὸς τὸ φῶς τὴν εἴσοδον ἐχούσῃ μακρὰν παρὰ πᾶν τὸ σπήλαιον, ἐν ταύτῃ ἐκ παίδων ὄντας ἐν δεσμοῖς καὶ τὰ σκέλη καὶ τοὺς αὐχένας, ὥστε μένειν τε αὐτοὺς εἴς τε τὸ πρόσθεν μόνον ὁρᾶν, κύκλῳ δὲ τὰς κεφαλὰς ὑπὸ τοῦ δεσμοῦ ἀδυνάτους περιάγειν, φῶς δὲ αὐτοῖς πυρὸς ἄνωθεν καὶ πόρρωθεν καόμενον ὄπισθεν αὐτῶν, μεταξὺ δὲ τοῦ πυρὸς καὶ τῶν δεσμωτῶν ἐπάνω ὁδόν, παρ᾽ ἣν ἰδὲ τειχίον παρῳκοδομημένον, ὥσπερ τοῖς θαυματοποιοῖς πρὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων πρόκειται τὰ παραφράγματα, ὑπὲρ ὧν τὰ θαύματα δεικνύασιν.
ὁρῶ, ἔφη."//
Is that Greek? Too bad you don't know how to read it.
What about [[the next page]]?
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This page...well, this page is absolute nonsense, isn't it?
01000111 01000111 01101111 01100100 01100100 01100101 01110011 01110011 00101100 00100000 01110011 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01101101 01100101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100111 01100101 01110010 00101100 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01000001 01100011 01101000 01101001 01101100 01101100 01100101 01110011 00101100 00100000 01010000 01100101 01101100 01100101 01110101 01110011 00011001 00100000 01110011 01101111 01101110 00101100 00100000
The rest of the pages seem to be the same sort of thing. You close this book and put it [[back]].
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When you try opening other books from the shelf you have the same problem. There seems to be no rhyme nor reason as to what is written inside.
What's worse, they seem to keep changing each time you open them.
But you do find one interesting book. It has your name [[on the cover]].
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You open up the book and flip through it. It's a compilation of all the plates you've ever created - the ones with your own stories and poetry, at least.
When you read the end of //The Marriage of Heaven and Hell//, you can't seem to turn the page further, though you are not even halfway through the book.
Before you can try and force the pages apart, you hear Robert calling for you. Best [[put the book away]] and see what he wants.
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You find him in the (textcolor: "green")[garden]. He's sitting on a round rock with a net design carved into the stone. "What's that?" you ask.
"An (textcolor: "white")[omphalos]," he tells you. "But nevermind that. It's a nice day for a walk. Would you like to take a stroll?"
You [[would like that]].
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The (textcolor: "green")[garden] is overflowing with (textcolor: "yellow")[sunflowers] these days. Some variation would be nice, you think, but there is something optimistic about them.
Robert lets you pick the destination. You might go [[east]] or [[west]], or even [[south]] or [[north]].
You suppose there are other directions, too. An infinite number really. But your mind always seem divided into quadrants.
"By the by," Robert says, "just so you know, the road south is a particularly long one. Let's only go that way if you feel up to it."
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You and Robert walk in an easterly direction.
You take a well-trod path down through a (textcolor: "lightgreen")[meadow], and see the earth rises up in the distance.
When you climb to the top of the hill, you [[take in the view]].
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You and Robert set off towards the west.
There is a (textcolor: "brown")[town] at the end of the road. The (textcolor: "brown")[buildings] look unfamiliar, you've never seen this kind of architecture before.
Robert stops in front of one of the (textcolor: "brown")[buildings] as you walk past. "Shall we go inside?"
He opens the door and [[ushers you through]].
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You and Robert head towards the north.
In this direction, there is nothing but (text-color: "yellow")[sunflower] fields for miles. You can't see where they end.
"What are those animals running through the fields?" you ask.
"(textcolor: "darkblue")[Bulls]," Robert says. "There's always some up in the north."
You walk into the fields, pushing aside (text-color: "yellow")[sunflowers] as you go. They bend at your touch but spring back up behind you.
"Didn't you [[write a poem]] about these (text-color: "yellow")[flowers]?" your brother asks.
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You and Robert walk towards the south.
You scrabble among the foothills as the land rises up, up, and up.
"Is there anything up here?" you ask. "It's hard going."
"There's a (textcolor: "brown")[cave]," Robert tells you.
You stand at the entrace of the (textcolor: "brown")[cave]. A breeze blows from within. It sounds like [[something is inside]].
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Spread out before you are (textcolor: "navy")[seven oceans].
You're not sure how they are distinct from one another, but you're certain that there are seven of them here.
The salt air fills your lungs, and the enormity of the (textcolor: "navy")[sea] seems less overwhelming.
"What do you say?" asks Robert, who stands on the edge of the cliff with his hands on his hips. "Shall we go explore?"
"What are you talking about?"
But before you can stop him, Robert has jumped [[over the cliff]].
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It seems unwise, but you can't let your brother go alone.
You jump off the cliff, too.
The (text-color: "blue")[water] is (text-style: "shudder")[cold and deep].
How [[deep]] does it go?
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(textcolor: white)[
=><=
(live: 3s)[ [[Swim deeper]].
]]
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(textcolor: white)[
=><=
(live: 3s)[ [[Deeper.]]
]]
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(textcolor: white)[
=><=
(live: 3s)[ "[[Hello]]?"
]]
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(textcolor: white)[
Your feet are standing on solid ground.
It is dark, but you can see a (text-style: "smear")[(text-color: yellow)[glow]] in the distance.
That seems a [[good way to go]].
]
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(textcolor: white)[
You follow the light and see it shape into a doorway.
You can smell delicious foods and hear cheerful voices on the other side.
Better [[hurry through]].
]
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You are in a sweeping marble hall, and all around are partygoers. Some of them lounge on (textcolor: "orange")[couches], others converse in huddled circles, and most of them have (textcolor: "darkred")[cups of wine]. Their dress seems terribly antiquated.
Everyone seems in a fine mood and nobody minds when you walk among them.
Though one partygoer does stop you, eventually. "Χαῖρε, ὦ φίλε(mouseover-replace: "Χαῖρε, ὦ φίλε")[Hello, friend]!"
You still don't know Greek. "I don't know Greek," you tell him.
"Ποδαπὸς εἶ(mouseover-replace: "Ποδαπὸς εἶ")[Where are you from]?" he asks you. It sounds like a question, but you're not sure.
Where has Robert gotten to, anyways? You [[look around for him]].
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You spot him standing with some other people across the room. You excuse yourself from your confused friend, and go to Robert.
"You know Greek?" you ask, when you see him speaking easily with the others.
"Τὸ ἀεροπλοῖον ἐμὸν ἐγχελείων πλῆρές ἐστιν(mouseover-replace: "Τὸ ἀεροπλοῖον ἐμὸν ἐγχελείων πλῆρές ἐστιν")[My hovercraft is full of eels]," he tells you.
You're not terribly amused. "Where are we, anyway?"
"Ἀτλαντὶς νῆσος, the Island of Atlas," he says, finally in English. "But we ought to be moving along. Shall we continue our walk?"
You follow your brother as he leads you out of the crowded party and back to the [[omphalos]].
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You return to the omphalos. (text-color: yellow)[Sunflowers] sway in the breeze around you.
(if: (history:) contains "east")[](else:)[You could go to the [[east]].] (if: (history:) contains "west")[](else:)[You could go to the [[west]].] (if: (history:) contains "north")[](else:)[You could go to the [[north]].] (if: (history:) contains "south")[](else:)[You could go to the [[south]].]
You remember that Robert told you the road south was particularly long.
The room is fairly empty. A person sits with their back to you, with a glowing picture in front of them. It is very tempting to look [[over their shoulder]].
But more importantly, there are two great creatures sitting alongside this person. They have the faces of humans, but one has the body of a (textcolor: "orange")[lion], the other has the body of a (textcolor: "darkblue")[bull]. They both have wings like eagles, though they are folded up against their bodies in respect of the size of the room.
They are both [[watching you]].
You creep forward, keeping an eye on the creatures, and look over the person's shoulder.
[[What are they looking at?->west]]
These creatures seem familiar. You think you have imagined them before. They are cherubs, but why are they here?
One of the cherubs, the one with the (textcolor: "orange")[lion's] body, comes forth and offers you a plate of (textcolor: "brown")[honey-cakes]. Robert takes one politely. You do the same.
You're surprised that it tastes [[pretty good]].
The longer you stay here, the more you feel you are interrupting something.
You and Robert decide to leave, and return to the [[omphalos]].
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Did you? You can't recall if you wrote it or not, but the words come to you anyway. It's hard to tell if you're making it up as you go or not.
"(text-style: "smear")[(text-color: "white")[Ah Sun-flower! weary of time,]]" you recite. Your words take on a strange friction. It feels as if they are being flung through a distant space.
"(text-style: "smear")[(text-color: "white")[Who countest the steps of the Sun:
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the travellers journey is done.
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow:
Arise from their graves and aspire,
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.]]"
Robert gives you a polite round of applause as you finish.
You can hear [[something else]], as well.
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You push through the nearby sunflowers and see inside a small room. A man is there, hunched on the floor in front of a bookshelf.
Books are strewn around him, pages open. You aren't close enough to see what they are, but you can hear him muttering to himself as he frantically reads through each book on his shelf before exclaiming with joy, and tossing it on the floor.
He seems rather busy. You'll [[leave him to it]].
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"Shall we return to the [[omphalos]]?" Robert asks.
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(textcolor: white)[
You and Robert enter the (textcolor: "brown")[cave], watching where you step on the uneven ground.
The light of a (text-color: "orange")[(text-style: "smear")[fire]] glows in the distance. You can see a figure moving around, outlined against the light.
"Perhaps we ought to [[get back->get closer 2]]," you suggest. But Robert thinks you should [[get closer]]. It's hard to decide.
]
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(textcolor: white)[
Robert's never led you astray before, so you push onward.
As you get closer to the (text-color: "orange")[(text-style: "smear")[fire]], you are able to take in the scene before you.
Closer to the back of the cave wall, someone is chained to a rock. Their back is to you, and they appear to be looking up at the smooth wall they face.
Between the prisoner and the (text-color: "orange")[(text-style: "smear")[fire]], a man with a long white beard is playing with a puppet of a lion. A (text-style: "smear")[shadow] of the animal is cast across the far cave wall.
Something about the scene turns your stomach and you think again of returning to the [[omphalos->speak2]]. But Robert looks like he's about to [[speak]] to the man.
]
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(textcolor: white)[
"χαῖρε(mouseover-replace: "χαῖρε")[Hello]," Robert greets the old man.
He looks up from his puppet show. "χαίρετε(mouseover-replace: "χαίρετε")[Hello to you both]," he returns.
Ah, more Greek. You let them converse while you look around a little.
There is a pile of a great number of objects not too far from the (text-color: "orange")[(text-style: "smear")[fire]]. You presume these are more puppets. What a strange hobby.
You're a little worried about the prisoner, though. They haven't moved since you arrived.
"τί ζητεῖς(mouseover-replace: "τί ζητεῖς")[What do you seek]?" you hear the old man say.
Your brother replies, "επιδιώκουμε Λως(mouseover-replace: "επιδιώκουμε Λως")[We seek [[Los]]]."
]
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(textcolor: white)[
The old man shakes his head. "μόνο το παιδί είναι εδώ(mouseover-replace: "μόνο το παιδί είναι εδώ")[Only the child is here]," he replies, and points to the prisoner.
You're curious about who this prisoner is. And Robert seems to be distracting the old man with their incomprehensible conversation, so you might as well creep over.
You lean over to see [[their face]].
]
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(textcolor: white)[
...
(live: 2s)[(text-style: "shudder")[!!!]]
(live: 4s)[(transition: "dissolve")[Your arms are chained to the rock. Each wrist is sore, the manacle having worn your skin over time.
Darkness is all around you, and you can only stare at the wall ahead. (textcolor: "orange")[Orange light] illuminates a world of (text-style: "smear")[shadows].
You struggle against the chains, and call out for your brother. There is no sound other than those you make yourself.
There is nothing else to do but [[watch]].
]]
]
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(textcolor: orange)[Shadows move across the wall, orange with firelight.
The lion crosses the wall, its silent maw twisting in a roar.
Next comes a serpent, winding its way to the outline of a tree. It disappears into its branches.
Then a bird crosses the wall, its wings spread in flight. (text-style: "blurrier")[Were these not puppets? Where are the strings?]
The wall becomes an orange sea, burning with firelight. The form of a great whale swims across, slowly.]
<==
(textcolor: white)[
You howl and pull against the chains. Your voice echoes in the darkness, [[unanswered]].]
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(textcolor: orange)[
The firelit wall is a map.
It flickers with the word (text-style: "smear")[AMERICA].
The image shifts.
You watch with rapt attention as many things are unfurled before you.]
<==
(textcolor: white)[
You have seen a world that is easily believed. And yet you know it is not the real one. You have seen the real world.
[[Haven't you]]?]
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(textcolor: white)[
Something is changing in the cave. The (text-style: "smear")[shadows] are morphing into incomprehensible shapes.
A cloud, low and thick, rolls into the cave.
You can [[almost make out]] a shape within.]
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(textcolor: white)[
It is Catherine.
She is holding a tray of food, and she smiles at you.
(live: 3s)"I thought you might like some [[tea]]."]
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(textcolor: "white")[She sets the tray down on your workbench, taking care not to cover any of the papers you have been writing on.
"How goes your work?" she asks you.
You take one of the (textcolor: "beige")[biscuits] from the tray. Catherine's cooking is always oustanding. "Quite well, you can read what I have composed."
She sits in the chair by the window and reads your manuscript as you enjoy your (textcolor: "brown")[tea].
"A prophecy," she says, commenting on the title. "You've had a vision of the future, have you?"
"It's not quite so simple as that," you say, and leave her to [[finish reading]].]
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You are in the garden with Robert, sitting in the (textcolor: "green")[grass]. All around you are manuscripts you have been working on for several years. But they are still years from completion.
Desite the breeze, the papers do not fly away.
The garden [[always looks different]].
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(textcolor: white)[Robert stops you before you can leave. "Don't be such a coward. χαῖρε(mouseover-replace: "χαῖρε")[Hello]," he greets the old man.
He looks up from his puppet show. "χαίρετε(mouseover-replace: "χαίρετε")[Hello to you both]," he returns.
Ah, more Greek. You let them converse while you look around a little.
There is a pile of a great number of objects not too far from the (text-color: "orange")[(text-style: "smear")[fire]]. You presume these are more puppets. What a strange hobby.
You're a little worried about the prisoner, though. They haven't moved since you arrived.
"τί ζητεῖς(mouseover-replace: "τί ζητεῖς")[What do you seek]?" you hear the old man say.
Your brother replies, "επιδιώκουμε Λως(mouseover-replace: "επιδιώκουμε Λως")[We seek [[Los]]]."
]
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Out around the patch of (textcolor: "green")[grass] you are sitting on, the (textcolor: "yellow")[sunflowers] have grown as tall as trees. Their stalks rise high into the sky, and their round faces nearly block out the (textcolor: "yellow")[sun] above.
Your [[bookshelf->meadowshelf]] sits nearby.
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It's no use wasting time in front of the bookshelf. There's only one book on it.
[[Pick it up]]?
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You open the one book.
Everything is inside.
That doesn't mean you can access it all, though. Some pages stick together and you can't read them until you conceive of them yourself. You can't know something until you're aware it could even exist, after all - awareness is all it really takes.
Sometimes, at the end of a long workday, you find something new in the book.
But you could waste a lifetime here. Better [[stop putting it off]].
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You have your manuscript pages before you. You are having a hard time deciding how to organize them. You only have a faint idea of what the work is meant to be right now.
But you do know, you are ready to create something tremendous.
"Having trouble?" Robert asks, when he sees you [[brooding]].
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He already knows what is difficult about this task.
"I think you need a guide," he tells you.
"I thought you were guiding me," you say.
Robert stands in front of you.
"[[Who do you think I am]]?"
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You're confused by the question.
"I'm pretty sure you're my brother, Robert."
"[[Am I]]?"
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You blink (live: 2s)[and you are standing in front of yourself.
You look for the edges of the mirror but can see none.
Each movement you make is mirrored by the image before you.
Was it [[you]] all along?]
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You blink again (live: 2s)[and the person before you changes.
Standing before you is John Milton.
He looks as surprised as you feel.
"Our deceased friends," he tells you, "are more really with us than when they were apparent to our mortal part."
He urges you to [[gather up your manuscripts]].]
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Papers in arm, you follow as Milton leads you out of the meadow.
The (textcolor: "orange")[sunflowers] start to shrink around you, down to a normal height. Or are you only standing taller?
Below your feet lies Albion. You stand upon it like a giant.
"Did you ever [[find Los]]?" Milton asks you.
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"I did," you tell Milton. "He descended to me in the Vale of Lambeth."
"Good, good," Milton says. "Then you should be able to compose this."
You clutch your manuscript pages tighter and follow after him as he walks [[across Albion]].
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Before you is a (textcolor: "lightgreen")[vast plain].
"How do you reveal the infinite?" Milton asks you.
You think [[you know]] the answer. But perhaps you [[don't]].
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"To reveal the infinite, you must cleanse the doors of perception."
"Correct," Milton agrees. "And how do you do that?"
Now you're truly [[at a loss]].
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Milton shakes his head, and points down at your hands.
Your manuscript is gone, but you are holding some blank plates. Nothing has been engraved on the surface yet.
Thunder rumbles, closer than is comforting. You see storm clouds [[approaching]].
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(textcolor: "white")[The (textcolor: "grey")[clouds] fly forward faster than they ought to. You can see (textcolor: "lightblue")[rain] start to fall from them, the storm rushing towards you.
As the rain hits your skin, it burns. The clouds pour down (textcolor: "red")[corrosives] that feels like it is wearing away your flesh.
You cry out, and wait for the [[storm to pass]].]
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When the storm passes, you find your skin has not been burned away.
But when you look at the blank plates, images have appeared. The (textcolor: "red")[corrosives] have revealed them to you.
"[[I know the answer->you know]]," you realize.
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Milton insists that you do know. "You did it once, and you do not remember," he says. "But you do know the answer."
A (textcolor: white)[wind] picks up suddenly, and sheets of paper come tumbling past you. You catch one - it's a page from your manuscript.
Thousands of papers fly across the (textcolor: "lightgreen")[field], but seem to snag on invisible boundaries.
You watch as they begin to [[build something]].
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The papers adhere to the walls of a (text-style: "smear")[(textcolor: "gold")[great city]]. Its buildings and chimneys and quadrants are revealed before you as the pages are pushed through the streets.
When the wind dies down, the (text-style: "smear")[(textcolor: "gold")[city]] remains visible before you.
Milton leads you [[forward]].
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You walk through the (text-style: "smear")[(textcolor: "gold")[city]] with Milton.
You know the walls are paper, but you cannot help but see them made of (textcolor: "grey")[metal] and (textcolor: "grey")[smoke] one moment, and (textcolor: "white")[pearl] and (textcolor: "orange")[gold] the next.
The (text-style: "smear")[(textcolor: "gold")[city]] seems familiar, like all (text-style: "smear")[(textcolor: "gold")[cities]] do.
"[[Where are we going]]?"
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Milton leads you to the far side of the (text-style: "smear")[(textcolor: "gold")[city]] from where you began.
"To find a door," he explains, "you must first create a (text-style: "smear")[(textcolor: "gold")[city]]."
You stand before the far gate.
The door is closed, but has no handle nor doorknob with which to open it.
You try to [[approach it]].
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You are held back. "This one isn't meant for you."
You don't understand. If you build this door, why can you not go through it?
Milton laughs. "Haven't you crossed through enough doors already? Do you not claim to see the infinite in every thing?"
You turn away from the door and look at the city.
(live: 4s)[The (text-style: "smear")[(textcolor: "gold")[ [[city]] ]] begins to (text-style: "rumble")[shake.]]
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The (textcolor: "beige")[paper walls] begin to crumble.
They crash down around you, and you can only watch as they are swept together, the (text-style: "smear")[(textcolor: "gold")[city]] deconstructed. They circle in a column as if caught in a tornado, before gathering together and coming to rest in your hands.
You are holding a book.
You [[open the cover]].
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You lay the book down on your writing desk in front of you.
Inside are pages of finished coloured plates. It has been a tremendous effort of your artistic abilities.
Satisfied with the result, you close the book, and [[look around]] the room.
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The late afternoon sunlight pours into the room, illuminating the vase full of (textcolor: "yellow")[sunflowers].
An empty teacup sits nearby.
Your [[bookshelf->lastshelf]] stands against the wall.
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You take the book off your desk and place it on the shelf.
You think you feel like doing some painting.
=><=
(live: 4s)[
[[THE END]] ]
=><=
[[IMAGE CREDITS]]
[[TEXT CREDITS]]
=><=
IMAGE CREDITS
<==
“America.” Times [London, England] 23 Nov. 1785: 4. The Times Digital Archive. Web. 22 Mar. 2016.
Blake, William. All Religions Are One, Object 1. Illuminated Book, 1788. The William Blake Archive. Web. 9 April 2016.
Blake, William. All Religions Are One, Object 4. Illuminated Book, 1788. The William Blake Archive. Web. 9 April 2016.
Blake, William. The Approach of Doom. Illustration. The William Blake Archive. Web. 9 April 2016.
Blake, William. There Is No Natural Religion, Object 4. Illuminated Book, 1788. The William Blake Archive. Web. 9 April 2016.
Johnstone, J. “To the EDITOR of the TIMES.” Times [London, England] 14 Aug. 1788: 1. The Times Digital Archive. Web. 23 Mar. 2016.
“Letter From The Editor.” Times [London, England] 14 Aug. 1788: 1. The Times Digital Archive. Web. 23 Mar. 2016.
“Sales by Auction.” Times [London, England] 23 Nov. 1785: 4. The Times Digital Archive. Web. 22 Mar. 2016.
“Tea Shrubs.” Times [London, England] 14 Aug. 1788: 1. The Times Digital Archive. Web. 23 Mar. 2016.
“Theatre Listings.” Times [London, England] 23 Nov. 1785: 4. The Times Digital Archive. Web. 22 Mar. 2016.
[[TEXT CREDITS]]
=><=
TEXT CREDITS
<==
Blake, William. //The Complete Poetry and Prose of William Blake.// Ed. David V. Erdman. Los Angeles, CA: U of California P, 2008. Print.
Hawking, Stephen. //A Brief History of Time.// New York: Random House Publishing Group, 2011. Print.
Homer. //Iliad.// Trans. Alexander Pope. ebooks@Adelaide, The University of Adelaide Library. March 27, 2016. Web. Accessed April 8, 2016.
//King James Bible.// University of Michigan Digital Collections, Feb. 18, 1997. Web. Accessed April 8, 2016.
Lavater, Johann Caspar. “Aphorisms on man.” //The Complete Poetry and Prose of William Blake.// Ed. David V. Erdman. Los Angeles, CA: U of California P, 2008. 583-601. Print.
Milton, John. //Paradise Lost.// Ed. Thomas H. Luxon. The John Milton Reading Room. Web. Accessed April 8, 2016.
Plato. //Republic.// Ed. John Burnet. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1903. Perseus Digital Library. Web. Accessed April 8, 2016.
Wells, H.G. //The Time Machine//. ABDO, 2002. Ebook.
[[IMAGE CREDITS]]
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(textcolor: white)[
"Oh, don't fret so much," your brother says. Robert's never led you astray before, so you push onward.
As you get closer to the (text-color: "orange")[(text-style: "smear")[fire]], you are able to take in the scene before you.
Closer to the back of the cave wall, someone is chained to a rock. Their back is to you, and they appear to be looking up at the smooth wall they face.
Between the prisoner and the (text-color: "orange")[(text-style: "smear")[fire]], a man with a long white beard is playing with a puppet of a lion. A (text-style: "smear")[shadow] of the animal is cast across the far cave wall.
Something about the scene turns your stomach and you think again of returning to the [[omphalos->speak2]]. But Robert looks like he's about to [[speak]] to the man.
]
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You creep silently out of the bedroom so as to not disturb Catherine.
You enter your workshop, and examine the engravings you have been toiling over. Something is not sitting right with you, but there is [[work to be done]].