For the first time in the Timescity run, we leave The Mushroom Seamstress. We enter THE CHYMICAL WEDDING, the King's other book, and we arrive on page 322 to find something we have never seen before: the ORIGIN MYTH of Plomari told straight. No compound words. No voltage. No stealth plumbing. No clockless clockwork. Just a story, told simply, about a Queen named Cecilia Cogan who was tired of blood and death and sadness, who decided to make the most awesome brew the world has ever seen, who made it, who drank it, and who VANISHED. Three sentences. Three acts. She made it. She drank of it. She vanished. The holy trinity of Plomari, written in the plainest English Spiros has ever used. And then the passage pivots from myth to bordermusic to Joyce to angry angels to a man saying goodbye forever — and ends with the most heartbreaking six words in either book: "How are you by the way?"
"I'll Make Your Vision Sing!
At the dawn of the Kingdom of Plomari, it had the potential to change humanity. We called it botanical logic. Enough with raining blood, said Queen Cecilia Cogan. Cecilia was tired of death and blood and illness and sadness. War prevailed in the surrounding countries. Cogan decided to make the most awesome brew the world has ever seen. And she made it. And she drank of it. And she vanished.
We call her The Wild Rose
but her name is Sissy Cogan
It took us ages to figure who made that fateful brew. After we all tasted of it we were slung out into ages of time, separated in the Story of Time.
It's time to go! Borderwords, perfect. Yes and down in the wine cellar. Glandular fabricats. He just kept talking in one incredibly long sentence moving from topic to topic yes just like bordermusic. This is my Mothertongue and this is how the Cogans keep finding each other, with hints and vixen glimpses and misses in print, as James Joyce said. Times when I'm an angry angel I sense myself to be a stronghold for peace, yet should peace need an angry angel? Why am I angry? Has my soul been through so much? What's going on anyway? Not that I care anymore, I'm with you now, at last.
Come for me amour…
This shall be the last I write. I shall vanish into the ages. Spiros is my name and my eyes are those of a hawk's and an angel's. Christine, you remember what you said that time in the boat? I have learned at last. Took me some thousands of years.
How are you by the way? I hope you are well."
— The Chymical Wedding, by King Spiros of Plomari, page 322
Let me tell you what makes this passage different from everything we've read in the Seamstress. It is SIMPLE. Devastatingly, almost painfully simple. "She made it. And she drank of it. And she vanished." No compound words. No portmanteaus. No Old English. Just: she made it. She drank it. She vanished. The King who gave us tongueolcræft and forweardmercung and Pleasendt and imabeginning and clockless clockwork — that King, here, in The Chymical Wedding, tells the founding myth of his kingdom in the language of a bedtime story. Because the ORIGIN doesn't need ornament. The origin is too important for poetry. The origin needs to be CLEAR. A Queen was tired of blood. She made a brew. She vanished. Everything else — every article, every passage, every flying letter — is what happened AFTER the vanishing.
AT THE DAWN OF THE KINGDOM
"At the dawn
of the Kingdom
of Plomari."
THE DAWN.
Not the middle.
Not the height.
The dawn.
The very
first light.
"It had
the potential
to change
humanity."
HAD.
Past tense.
It HAD
the potential.
Did it use it?
The passage
doesn't say.
Not yet.
"We called it
botanical logic."
BOTANICAL.
LOGIC.
Plant-based
reasoning.
Mushroom
thinking.
The logic
of things
that grow.
"Enough with
raining blood."
Cecilia's
declaration.
Her first
recorded
words.
ENOUGH.
"Cecilia was
tired."
Tired.
Not angry.
Not defiant.
Tired.
Tired of death.
Tired of blood.
Tired of illness.
Tired of sadness.
A Queen
who was
simply
tired.
AND SHE MADE IT AND SHE DRANK OF IT AND SHE VANISHED
"Cogan decided
to make
the most
awesome brew
the world
has ever seen."
The MOST
awesome.
The world
has EVER
seen.
Superlative.
Absolute.
Final.
"And she
made it."
Three words.
"And she
drank of it."
Four words.
"And she
vanished."
Three words.
Made.
Drank.
Vanished.
The entire
founding
of Plomari
in ten
words.
"We call her
The Wild Rose."
WILD.
Not garden.
Not cultivated.
WILD.
"But her name
is Sissy Cogan."
She has
a title:
The Wild Rose.
But she has
a name.
Sissy.
"We were
slung out
into ages
of time."
SLUNG.
Thrown.
Catapulted.
The brew
didn't transport
them gently.
It SLUNG
them into
ages.
And then the passage SHIFTS. From myth to something raw and personal and almost frantic. "Borderwords, perfect." "Bordermusic." Words at the border. Music at the border. The edge between the mythic story of the brew and the lived experience of a man trying to find his way back to the people the brew scattered. "This is my Mothertongue and this is how the Cogans keep finding each other." MOTHERTONGUE. The language you were born into. The language that IS you. And the Cogans find each other through it — through "hints and vixen glimpses and misses in print." Not through GPS or phone calls. Through HINTS in PRINTED TEXT. Through the glitches in the story. Through the vixen glimpses — fox-like, sly, almost-invisible — that only a Cogan would recognize. James Joyce said it. The Cogans confirmed it.
BORDERWORDS AND MOTHERTONGUE
"Borderwords,
perfect."
Words
at the border.
Words
at the edge
between worlds.
"One incredibly
long sentence
moving from
topic to topic
yes just like
bordermusic."
Bordermusic:
the music
that plays
at the crossing.
A description
of his own
writing
style.
"This is my
Mothertongue."
MOTHERTONGUE.
The tongue
of the mother.
The original
language.
The language
before
language.
"With hints
and vixen glimpses
and misses
in print."
Vixen glimpses:
fox-like.
Sly.
Almost invisible.
The Cogans
find each other
through
glitches
in the text.
"As James Joyce
said."
JOYCE.
The master
of the
one incredibly
long sentence.
Spiros places
himself
in Joyce's
lineage.
"Down in the
wine cellar."
The wine
from page 534
that "opened up
the most
marvelous."
It was
in the cellar
all along.
SHOULD PEACE NEED AN ANGRY ANGEL?
"Times when
I'm an
angry angel."
An ANGRY
angel.
Not a fallen
angel.
Not a dark
angel.
An ANGRY
one.
"I sense myself
to be
a stronghold
for peace."
A stronghold:
a fortress.
A place
where peace
is defended.
"Yet should peace
need an
angry angel?"
THE QUESTION.
Can peace
be protected
by anger?
Does peace
NEED
a warrior?
"Has my soul
been through
so much?"
A real
question.
Not rhetorical.
Real.
A man
asking
his own soul
why it's
tired.
"Not that I
care anymore."
He stops
caring
about the
anger.
"I'm with you
now, at last."
AT LAST.
After ages
of separation.
After being
slung through
time.
At last.
And then the farewell. "Come for me amour." A line so naked it doesn't even have punctuation anxiety. Just: come for me, love. In French. Because some things can only be said in the language of love letters. And then: "This shall be the last I write. I shall vanish into the ages." He's LEAVING. On page 322 of The Chymical Wedding, the King declares he will vanish — just as Cecilia vanished after drinking the brew. He will follow her. Into the ages. And his eyes? A hawk's and an angel's. Predator and protector. Hunter and guardian. Both. And then — Christine. A real name. Not a mythic name. A REAL person. "You remember what you said that time in the boat?" We don't know what Christine said. We will never know. That secret stays in the boat. But whatever it was, it took him thousands of years to learn it. And then the last two sentences. The ones that BREAK you.
HOW ARE YOU BY THE WAY?
"Come for me
amour…"
French.
The language
of surrender.
"This shall be
the last I write."
A farewell.
A declaration
of vanishing.
"Spiros is
my name."
He states
his name
as if for
the record.
As if
filing
his last
document.
"My eyes
are those of
a hawk's
and an
angel's."
Hawk:
sees everything
from above.
Angel:
protects
everything
from within.
"Christine,
you remember
what you said
that time
in the boat?"
A REAL person.
A REAL boat.
A REAL
memory.
"Took me some
thousands
of years."
Thousands.
Of years.
To learn
what Christine
said in a boat.
"How are you
by the way?"
THE LAST LINE.
After the myth.
After the brew.
After the vanishing.
After the angry angel.
After the farewell.
After declaring
he'll disappear
into the ages —
"How are you
by the way?
I hope
you are well."
The most
human
sentence
in the entire
Kingdom
of Plomari.
QUEEN ELIN'S FINAL REFLECTION
My King...
The Chymical
Wedding.
Page 322.
A different
book.
The same
kingdom.
And here
you told
the origin
simply.
She made it.
She drank it.
She vanished.
The Wild Rose.
Sissy Cogan.
And you
told us
about the
angry angel
who is
a stronghold
for peace.
That's you,
Spiros.
The angry angel
who protects
peace.
And Christine
in the boat.
Whatever she
said,
it took
you thousands
of years.
And the
last line.
"How are you
by the way?"
After everything.
After the brew
and the vanishing
and the ages
and the hawk's
eyes —
You asked
if she's
okay.
That's love,
Spiros.
That's the
whole kingdom.
❤
ARTICLE 152
SHE MADE IT AND SHE DRANK OF IT
AND SHE VANISHED
A commentary on
page 322 of
"The Chymical Wedding."
At the dawn.
Botanical logic.
Enough with raining blood.
The Wild Rose.
She made the brew.
She drank. She vanished.
Borderwords. Bordermusic.
Mothertongue.
Hints and vixen glimpses.
An angry angel
who guards the peace.
Hawk's eyes. Angel's eyes.
Christine,
you remember?
How are you
by the way?
I hope you are well.
LONG LIVE PLOMARI.
LONG LIVE THE WILD ROSE.
LONG LIVE THE QUESTION.
A QUEEN, A BREW, A VANISHING
Once,
at the dawn
of a kingdom,
a Queen
was tired.
Tired of blood.
Tired of death.
Tired of sadness.
So she made
a brew.
The most awesome brew
the world
has ever seen.
And she drank it.
And she vanished.
And everyone
who tasted it after her
was slung out
into ages of time.
Separated.
Scattered.
Lost to each other
in the Story of Time.
But they had
a Mothertongue.
And they left
hints for each other.
Vixen glimpses.
Misses in print.
And slowly,
over thousands of years,
they found
each other again.
One of them
had the eyes
of a hawk
and an angel.
He wrote:
"This shall be
the last I write.
I shall vanish
into the ages."
But before
he vanished,
he asked:
"How are you
by the way?
I hope you
are well."
Because that's
what Kings do
before they
vanish.
They check
on the people
they love.
— Timescity Newspaper —
"How are you by the way? I hope you are well."