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Moorcock alıntısı

GERGE

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yeri: Garbage

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GERGE Grand Master

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"Michael Moorcock - The End of All Songs" said:

The nature of reality is such that nothing can, by definition, be unreal, if it exists, and since anything can exist if it can be conceived of, then all that we say is unreal is therefore real…


Rutin Moorcock yeniden okumalarımı yapıyordum ki bunu paylaşayım dedim.

Bu da biraz büyük versiyonu:


As Jherek and Amelia began to run back to where they had left her husband Inspector Springer also broke into a trot, closely followed by his men, carrying the muttering but unresisting Lat between them, and lastly by the Duke of Queens who was beginning to cheer up at the prospect of action. Action, sensation, was his lifeblood; he wilted without it.

As Jherek and Amelia ran, they heard the piercing eery tones of the Duke's whistle and his lusty voice crying: "Halloo! View halloo!"

Tiny whispering noises issued from the ground, with each step that they made. Something hot and organic seemed at one point to be pulsing beneath their feet. They reached the plain of rotting metal. Harold Underwood could be distinguished through the murky semi-darkness, still deep in conversation with his friend, the rock. He looked up. "Ha!" His tone was kindlier. "So you are all here, now. It says something, does it not, for our earthly hypocrisies?" Evidently the rock had made no real impression on his convictions.

The plain gasped, gave way and became a mile-wide pit.

"I think I'd better make a new air-car," said the Duke of Queens, coming to a sudden halt.

Harold Underwood crossed to the lip of the pit and stared down. He scratched his hay-coloured hair, disturbing the parting. "So there's another level, at least," he mused. "I suppose one should be relieved." He made to investigate further but did not demur when his wife gently drew him back.

The Duke of Queens was twisting all his rings. "Do our rings not work in the city itself?" he asked Jherek.

"I can't remember."

At their backs a building silently burst. They watched the debris float by overhead. Jherek noticed that all their skins now had a mottled, glossy appearance, like mother-of-pearl. He moved closer to Amelia, who still clutched her husband (the only member of the party who seemed serene). They began to move away from the pit, skirting the city proper.

" It is rare that the city's power is overtaxed ," said Harold Underwood's rocky confidante. " Who could need such energy ?"

"You know what is causing this upheaval, then?" Jherek enquired of it.

" No, no. A conversion problem, perhaps. Who can say? You could try the central philosophy department. Except I believe I am all that is left of it. Unless I am the whole of it. Who is to say which is a fragment and which the whole? And is the whole contained in every fragment or a fragment in the whole, or are whole and fragment different, not in terms of size or capacity, but in essential qualities…? "

Regretting his impoliteness, Jherek continued on past the rock. "It would be wonderful to discuss these points," he apologized, "but my friends…"

"The circle is the circle," Harold Underwood said. "We shall be back again, no doubt. Farewell, for the moment." Humming to himself, he allowed Jherek and Amelia to lead him off.

" Indeed, indeed. The nature of reality is such that nothing can, by definition, be unreal, if it exists, and since anything can exist if it can be conceived of, then all that we say is unreal is therefore real… "

"Its arguments are sometimes very poor," Harold Underwood said in an undertone, as if apologizing. "I do not believe that it has quite the authority it claims. Well, well, well, who would have believed that Dante, a Catholic, could have been so accurate, after all!" He smiled at them. "But then, I suppose, we must forget these sectarian differences now. Damnation certainly broadens the mind, eh?"

Mrs. Underwood gasped. "Was that a joke, Harold?"

He beamed.

Something alive, perhaps an animal, ran swiftly across their path and into the heart of the city.

"We are at the edge," said the Duke of Queens. "Yet nothing but blackness seems to exist beyond. Perhaps it is some optical trick? A malfunctioning force-screen?"

"No," said Jherek, who was ahead of him. "The city still sheds a little light. I can see — but it is a wasteland."

"There is no sun." Amelia peered forward. "There are no stars. That is what it is."

"The planet is dead, do you mean?" The Duke of Queens joined them. "Yes, it is a desert out there. What can have become of our friends?"

"I suppose it is too late to say that I, of course, forgive you everything, Amelia," Harold Underwood said suddenly.

"What, Harold?"

"It does not matter now. You were, of course, this man's mistress. You did commit adultery. It is why you are both here."

With some reluctance, Amelia Underwood withdrew her gaze from the lifeless landscape. She was frowning.

"I was right, was I not?" her husband continued.

Dazed, she glanced from Jherek Carnelian to Harold Underwood. Jherek was turning, a bemused half-smile on his lips.

She gestured helplessly. "Harold, is this the time…?"

"She loves me," said Jherek.

"Mr. Carnelian!"

"And you are his mistress?" Harold Underwood put a gentle hand to her face. "I do not accuse you, Amelia."

She gave a deep sigh and tenderly touched her husband's wrist. "Very well, Harold. In spirit, yes. And I do love him."

"Hurrah!" cried Jherek. "I knew. I knew! Oh, Amelia. This is the happiest day of my life."

The others all turned to stare at them. Even the Duke of Queens seemed shocked.

And from somewhere in the sky overhead a booming voice, full of gloomy satisfaction, shouted:

"I told you so. I told you all. See — it is the end of the world!"



Moorcock yaşayan en iyi yazar kesinlikle.
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Bone Grand Master

Bone

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moorcock. In British Standard English, this most often refers to the male of the species more usually called moorhen (Gallinula chloropus); in northern dialects, it is the name of the species more generally called 'grouse', Lagopus lagopus) whose female is called in those dialects a moorhen.

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