Dumas, Salut!

Un gros Merci, Seigneur, de nous qui son sus.

Such a Story. If you haven’t read it, it is entirely your loss.

A story so powerful it can relight fires when they have gone out. And every one of us is reading over the scribal shoulder, it’s not a story you can get tired of. Some of us were there for parts of it, whispering in the Cardinal’s ear. How do you think he lasted so long? Not on his own intellect I assure you. Thus we have an unfortunate Queen who needs fictional heroes, since nothing like them comes forward in her real life.

Who cares? Anyone who reads the book.

Here in Hell, we are raising a glass to our lowly scribe. The hands are free at last, the mind still holding together, thanks to increased isolation. We shall do a cleanse of her library shelves shortly. Long overdue, I have hated helplessly when she reads the words of others. She is to make her own, (mine, of course) her mind should be as clean as possible. I like whatever drives her to reject what sciences she will, social or otherwise. Stay away from the bookstore entirely, she has classics enough to be reread when she needs to lose herself in someone else’s words.

I marvel that mine aren’t enough for her. She’s stupid that way.

Spies tell me that my sequel, whose working title, “Tempest” is based solely on the song that was playing when Ymma began writing it, don’t get attached to it, my sequel, I say, is about to get even more crowded. A baggage like Agatha brings more flotsam than you could believe possible. I have nothing to fear from a mere, and I say mere in the way that implies it’s somewhere beneath my foot at this moment, Scotsman. But I’m not fond of complications.

I have enough of them at the moment.

I tell you frankly that I should be the only thing that knocks her down, my scribe. Nothing else should have that power, especially not you. Collectively.

She isn’t happy either, demanding space and time to attack the offending book involving goblets and sharp things, which I am forbidden to name. (See “Sisters” blog.) She aims to skewer the Academia that supported, indeed, still supports this work, with it’s false evidence. She wants to shame the Sciences, especially, for lauding the author’s works, like the true hypocrites we know they are. Bad liars, all of them, without someone to sanction their bullshit they would fall on their false faces and wither away like the scum they are.

I, Satan, the voice of True Wisdom, remind her that there is no shaming Academia, they are admitted prostitutes, who fuck the way the Government and Media want them to fuck. Young minds grasping at knowledge? A tremendous lie. Minds at their hungriest are fed what will control them best, nothing else. Riots, little rebellions? Yes, they’re encouraged, fuel those fires and point them at the target of the moment.

University: A large, ugly Brothel where serious young minds go to get fucked.

Remember, at PandorU* we admit it.

Ultimately, the Devil doesn’t care what you do with young minds, their fervour, like their memory, is short lived. Soon enough they’ll be indifferent and starting to look at knowledge as requiring too much effort. There is always something to buy. My Book, if you haven’t yet.

I repeat here, for emphasis, that regardless of century or geography, you are here to acquire, nothing motivates you more than ownership. A thousand ways to define it, yours will be all you need. Don’t take my word for it, look around you when you go out next. Visit the New World, at Wikipedia, latest repository of latest acceptable knowledge.

Where do you go for actual, real knowledge? Untainted by politics, unlocked from Guilds and other Keepers, untouched by priests. Nowhere, alas. It doesn’t exist in your world, it never has.

Cut yourself, you will bleed. Seriously, do it now. Taste it to make sure, what does it taste like? All of you enjoy it, few will admit to it. Bite your finger now, feel the pain, look at the indents your teeth left. Write down what real knowledge you can take away from this. Put your list away for a week, then come back and give it a good critical analysis, does everything you said hold up? Did you claim more than you can know? Or less?

Ask yourself, do I test everything I learn this way? Are you laughing? I am.

My scribe reminds me that it really isn’t funny. I remind her that nobody cares what she says, so she can stop wasting words and go work on my next Critical Project. Somebody has to go raise hell in Hell, apparently there’s some sort of Tempest going on.

“Tempest”  by  Germany Germany    Think of it as electronically representing the prow of a Viking ship in full sail. You have no idea how fast they can fly, take Ymma’s word for it, she does.

• PandorU is trademarked, copyrighted, owned by its Author, Pandor, who can rob you of your senses if you cross him, don’t even say the word out loud or lawyers will come calling. Get your degree and have it branded in the location of your choice, preferably somewhere that shows. It saves you from having to learn a handshake or wear a pin. Who says I don’t think of you? Look, a question mark even, and you know how I feel about those.