I leave for work, shutting the door and hoping it may, go more smoothly than it has done every other day. I listen to the trees and hear the morning birds sing and think it's a wonderful daybreak so far. But I know that can't last and I turn to wondering what on earth made me buy an intelligent car. As I open the door I pause, and offer up a quick prayer. "Oh please let today be different. This is utterly unfair." I duck my head, twist, then slide into the driver's side in a display of the car entering ballet "Good morning Dave," the car punctures my pride "So where do you wish to travel today?" "I'm going to the office," It's how I usually reply. I've given other responses but it matters not what I try. "I beg to differ Dave I've linked with your diary and analysed it to see where you go. The results state at this time you go to the infirmary Do you mind if I override Yes/No?" I call it an arrogant, moronic and worthless conveyance, knowing that whatever I say will not make any difference. I'm rapidly enraged and exit slamming the door. Just one time I'd like another outcome But I have to go to work so I count to ten before I open the door and again I succumb. "Please put on your seatbelt," the car says with some urgency. "Predicted time is ten minutes to accident and emergency." I flick any switch that I can find on the dash as the car starts and is off like a rocket. I hear the tyres' squealing chord as I suffer whiplash and it's halfway down the road before I can stop it. I try the handle but the door's been locked. Just once more as the diplomat. I say "Open the door please". "I'm sorry Dave. I'm afraid I can't do that." "You're not going to like this and may feel that it's petty but I don't want anything concealed. With your recent activity you're now hot and sweaty and climate control baulks if the car isn't sealed." I kick. I punch. I strike and I pound and I curse the car to damnation. But it has little effect and I finish by headbutting the wheel in frustration. And as the red starts to trickle over my eyes and I spy the blood on the dash, door, and seat then I think to myself "this wasn't so wise". and gradually come to accept my defeat. Then the world starts to spin and I place my head between my knees and just before I faint I utter "Take me to the hospital please."
ADAM CAST FORTH
Was there a Garden or was the Garden a dream? Amid the fleeting light, I have slowed myself and queried, Almost for consolation, if the bygone period Over which this Adam, wretched now, once reigned supreme, Might not have been just a magical illusion Of that God I dreamed. Already it's imprecise In my memory, the clear Paradise, But I know it exists, in flower and profusion, Although not for me. My punishment for life Is the stubborn earth with the incestuous strife Of Cains and Abels and their brood; I await no pardon. Yet, it's much to have loved, to have known true joy, To have had -- if only for just one day -- The experience of touching the living Garden.
Jorge Luis Borge (1899 - 1986) ---------------- ARGENTINA
Secrets in the Floating City
"Depart and cry,/As I know you will not find a homeland in which you sleep like my chest." The Challenges [Al-Tahahaddiyat] by Nizar Qabbani This is what I understand about the city: there is a man with a flesh door in his chest, with a brass doorknob only I can see. I go to him at night, a weevil in her chestnut shell. I have hung red curtains with white polka dots on the small window near his spine. Between spleen and liver, wedged an overstuffed lazyboy. Here the city can't sense me. The light through his skin is dim, but my own. I have found ground-- yet more air and more escape. The city's tethered chain surges and strains. The map on my hand burns--
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