Saturday, January 14, 2012

Shadow Fax

The modem is able to whistle certain tunes.
One of them begins as a call to ShadowFax,
(who, without digging for the Silmarillion, but maybe quick Google-ing)
is the Lord of the mearas.

ShadowFax *happens upon* Arod and Hasufel, almost by accident.
Then returns to those who truly care for the horses.

It is a very natural and *real* world.
A world well left untouched by my virtual hands.
A fantasy with heart, fermented during those most depraved of days
when Squires would see their Arms in lakes
and lakes would see Arms gaze at their Squires

...what other madness could provoke a man to write?
but love or love, or love, my love?


Can't say I'll go through what Tolkein
did but then, so much was left unsaid.
Can't hope to mimick Sir Terry Pratchett,
unless it is to ape Rincewind.
Rowling, though I've only watched your movies
not out of shun, but due to time:
can see why readers young and old love you.
Can't hope to write that wizard's life.


In small fiddling with fires of revolution
where plastics may singe arms but wires

wherever you try to fit the best possible signals
or die teeth cracked and lips some cobalt,
I'll speak of the immense magic of evolution;
it was never your father's or mother's fault.

With gusts in rivers lined in moss
or cool blood of a newly eaten reptile,
could be swimming with Kurzweil or laser sharks


No. Not sharks with lasers on their heads,
Sharks made of lasers, that's Shadoo0FX.

Whistle now.

No comments:

Post a Comment