Systemic review

^{Sarausa region, sicily - late autumn...}

Una manciata di ghiaia tra ogni movimento delle ruote - they continued in their revolutionary motion; inter-twined with the soft asphalt of the comfortably accommodating path stretched along the horizon - in itself, a medium of direction drawn across a graph of perspective envisioned upon an almost full canvas of atmosphere, architecture, culture and civilisation. Along its borders, a generous scattering of wooded oak and birch, with ever vigilant protection from the warmest of sunlight and strongest of winds by an extension of leaves shaded to a traditionally autumn-sepia from branches in wait for another such cycle of the sun and the moon, that they may once more nurture, encourage and inevitably share their fruits of creation with an eagerly awaiting flora, fauna and community of curiously compelled intellect and reason; themselves standing ready for just the right balance of nightfall and alignment of the stars to herald their presence with a similar tribute of altruistically artistic endeavour.

Through the darkness which had now befallen the surroundings, enveloping its conduct and structure in its veil of secrecy, intrigue and shadows - as a specter through the endless journey, differentiated from its natural habitat only by the inherent projection of a parallel set of eyes upon the road. Luminescent shades of inquiry able to navigate a course through the dense, encompassing fog which thickened its grasp on nothing but common sense as the night progressed; sharing in the safety of misdirection and uninformed speculation, an assortment of whispers, societies and creatures of complex creation, as varied in their definition and outline as could be explained or drawn by the most inventive of imagination - confined, for the moment, to a thick stock of files pressed neatly into a fold, just under the breadth of the under-side of the interior passenger assigned seating.

Above, and to the side, an array of measurements and displays - an outline of suggested location and indication of a cruising speed irrefutably ascendant of that which was customary. Seemingly, an expectation of simultaneous departure from travel and arrival at destination being almost another day's expenditure away - but with brightness seeping through the extravagances and excesses of a fiction wrought by the previous evening, complimentary in its forecast of exploration in accordance with the standards set-forth from the artificial illumination already having undertaken a venture of understanding- and as the contrails of dust whisked up from the rustically rudimentary lane of mercantile and commerce began to fade from the auspices of the rear-view mirror, the presence of what could only be considered by a thoughtful attempt of entirely nonsensical reasoning by the sole figure in the same reflection as compellingly compulsory became increasingly pressing.

Further into the intuitively unknown yet instinctively familiar, the immaterial method of transport veered from its pre-determined route of investigation and, instead, drifted smoothly to the side in a recognisable process of self-realisation, its speed decreasing moment by inch and second by mile until finally reaching a full stop at the end of an inherited sentence; the rotating machinery of maneuverability coming to a comfortable rest next to the asymmetrical base of a moderately tall fountain, carved to a sphere both in marble and in chalk - as informative of its origins through the depiction of contributory patrons and etching of renaissance literature; as indicative of its legacy of wealth in both acquisition and knowledge; inscribed below, and to the right, a passage, a full passage, long thought lost to the illusory passage of time.

'Come procede tutto, signore?'

'Io sto molto bene, e tu?'

There was an indication that there was someone within or near the sanctuary, earlier this morning. As you know, the site has been under surveillance for some time.

That certainly is a development. Is there anything missing from the shelves?

The priority being to ensure the safety of... well, not that we can see or has been reported. I'm sorry to have to ask, but...

... the document, of course. More of a letter, actually; from an acquaintance over seas. If you'd like to see?




Dear illegible...
... interesting how she found such substance to that which may seem otherwise ineffable to all but those who already inhabit it.

I recall a similar such co-ordination having been organised in the times of the pre-revolution of revelation in the manner of teaching which could be otherwise learned - that an investigation into, and knowledge could be retained of, what some would have as otherwise unknowable. An old scholar who'se name I find myself unable to bring to mind being one of the first. At least, recognised in an historical context, to have advocated the initialisation and subsequent continuation of an altogether international and, indeed, global organisation not so much providing for as ensuring a lasting peace. Peace in the sense of retaining the status quo. Again, the knowledge already held and being able to expand upon it rather than feeling that one would have to start again, each time, from the beginning in a long, drawn out, sentence of thought in order to progress to a partition of the map of feeling already explored.

A task which in itself, evokes a reminiscent sentimentality within even myself. A city from before - another time, another place, yet somehow as real and as malleable to me as this which lies before us, anew and unexplored. Though, rather than having been washed away, placed aside or cast asunder from the bows of that old, great ship; the likes of which might have seen service and purpose of being in such a time of the fleets of the oldest of trading companies, or to and fro the shores of the old colonies. The shores of which I find myself, presently. Strangely felt being an essence of familiarity. Effortlessly seamless to gather and impossibly notorious to scatter and even then, pieces and bits always fly back against you in the lightest of breezes and harshest of winds - the same ones which had and have given and give gust to the masts and sails of the tallest, most proud and smallest and retentively humble of vessels - and vassals...

Tied in tithe to the copper-topped girl from the back of a cab near the old oriental boardwalk and with nothing upon me of appraisal to tender in return, I cannot help but wonder of what form of compesation either she or this feudalistic metropolis may receive in turn. Our selves, our minds, our thoughts... an inner monologue of dramatis proportion, decrypted and deciphered by warm wine over a crushing of dry ice or slow afternoon with slower coffee and time to be taken; time to be spent and time to be traded upon the tick tock stock ticker across the side of city hall's wall, nestled at home among the graffiti, art, literature and prose of beatniks and street-poets. All of them gathered not as vultures to the plains or ravens to the nest but as eagles to the prairie from way out West, in tow with them a satchel, an attachment of wire mail and tale of the retired teacher from somewhere between here and Maine. With their arrival, unpacking some of those same ships docked at the harbour for refreshment and rekindling of their old fire, smouldering still upon the wax of a slow working wick burning ever stronger, the subtler the flame.

The announcement arrived with the force of the forefront of a freight train, each adjective of its delivery, in place of the structure of the tracks with which to carry its weight, each pause in the place of sleepers and with the same duration of stunned silence in reception as it struggled to slow, eventually, to a full stop. Each sentence as a carriage at full capacity, as they ploughed unchecked through the recesses of her mind, the circled cogs of coherency barely clinging to the rails of reason. Names, faces and places passing by as instants of flash photography from the windows as it flitted by the collected memories, garnered over more than a lifetime of experience. An animated scrap-book of self brought to life only through the speed with which each page flipped to the next. No more moments of recollection offered in more than the blink of an eye would allow.

Veins in full flow and arteries in excess operation in an effort to siphon at least some of the tension within. At the very heart, nuts and bolts began to shake in stress and shimmy loose from their fixtures; an exerted pressure in the extremities from a rising temperature fueled almost purely from emotion. Discontent in almost every possible consequence, no expertise in disaster planning could provide even close to an adequate outcome.


Running short of solutions, running further in each second than was even intimately comfortable. The irrefutable reality of what had set these events in motion beginning to take shape. At first a circle, then a square, then a rectangle followed by a fluorescent flash or perhaps a deserted darkness - in either case, far from the present and the malleability of the material realm and in to an abyss of eternity. Immediately, it was no longer what had been. It was, instead, precisely what she imagined, and in less than an instant, the past few moments had never happened, at all. Once again, they continued to exist, and just as before, she would continue to cope. The inevitability of the passage of time, no longer inherent.


The undoing of that which had already been done offering provision of the only substance strong enough to withstand the full force of what would eventually come to pass. Chance.

This close to the board, the smell of freshly brewed sea air was palpable, the taste as palatable as freshly ground coffee, in itself a sensation too long forgotten. Columns of opaque orange and more densely shaded yellow strewn in each and every direction as watercolour paints upon a canvas of inconceivable complexity and interconnectivity. The largest orb of illumination competing for provision of visibility with the newly kindled lantern, behind. Edging ever closer toward settling on a horizon which pushed far past the borders of the ocean, and onward, over the edge of the world and into the estuary of nothingness.

'Always around this time...'

A breathless air of appreciation in response speaking volumes of the adventure ahead, in the vastness of environment still unexplored. The scorching sun a stark reminder of the more pragmatic present and of the still unfulfilled immediacy of need for resources. The half-filled canteen and few packets of corn starch which remained unopened as a scarcely adequate source of sustenance all but having exhausted their contribution. It'd brought them this far on a diet of hopeful optimism and unrequited feast of possibility but with the best of intentions could only hope to provide one last stretch of hydration through the baking heat, before completely running dry.

So far outwith the concept of civilisation, the only rules which applied were those which anyone with any amount of influence could be bothered to enforce. It meant a wealth of opportunity but also a chasm of good conscience into which many a strong soul had been consumed. No maps or chart to plot the course most considerate or careful to sensibilities. The path best traveled was the one which meant survival.

'Do you remember the ice cream from the sandwich store, in town? The chocolate sauce, and warm pieces of hazelnut...'

'If you'd like, we could place an order for some but it'd most likely have melted by the time it arrived.'

'-- piece of work.'

With a knowing smile at the accusation, he turned ever so slightly to the side in an attempt to read her reaction. As impassioned as ever, the fiery auburn eyes suggested something of a compromise between aggravation and endearment. The difference of which, he could never be quite certain and most likely, neither could she.

As one of the last remaining, strongest and yet most easily breakable of bonds which kept the collective in cohesion, morale was almost as important as a full meal and refreshing drink - and equally as scarce. Acutely aware of of his position, having undertaken this expedition, he was not only welcoming but encouraging of his reception as a source of guidance, if at times sternness of structure.

In certain contexts, and some circles, a reputation which arrived well before its wielder. More often than not, serving to ease the process of transition and dialogue of introduction. Yet, a presentation of personality not without its peril. In times fewer still, galvanising the reaction of hostility in elements already decided upon a course of misfortune.

Such instance being not more than months ago, during harbour from the trail. Already well under way, the expeditionary group found themselves newly reimbursed from patrons unheard, no less spoken of. Whispered rumours of barely sanctioned privateerism echoed almost as far as the local press, but a pressed back against a barn door at the hands of their 'logistics operator' along with an unnecessarily thorough explanation of the potential velocity from almost three stories high, saw that the editor's cooler head prevailed.

In an abundance of supplies and from an excess of evening's entertainment saw that most of them were in no condition to be pressed into service of either apprehending or pursuing those responsible, when the first of the much needed, hard-bought provisions began to go missing with the clang of copper and scratch of stainless steel against portable metal boxes, early the next morning.

Everything at stake and nothing to gain but the avoidance of disfavour of the same unnamed deities whose coin had funded their first foray of folly. So desperate in their desolation, so protective of professional reputation, that the presumptive reward was requested preemptively and spent instead on the services of another member.

And he'd known each of them for just as long. Riding not quite ahead but even alongside meant that they had made a mistake which needed correcting. That their benefactors had taken a keener interest with a closer eye to the window and ear to the ground than was either comfortable or had come to be accepted.

Perhaps with good fortune, something of themselves would remain intact by the time they reached the end.

With even better luck, they'd make it there alive.