Thursday, May 20, 2010

Always For The First Time: The Brudach

"Always for the First Time," is a poem by Andre Breton.  You can find a copy of it online here.

Surrealism was originally primarily a literary movement.  Breton and his earliest collaborators and disciples were poets.  In fact they argued and discussed just what a surrealist painting would be or could be and if such a thing were even possible until a few painters showed them.  As poets and writers they lacked the visual vocabulary of the painters and so their arguments were stifled and stilted by their ignorance.

Ignorance, censorship and poetry are just a few of the myriad things that I had reason to contemplate during the last bit of unplanned and involuntary offline time around here.  They are curious things and strange bedfellows, especially in Riskail, as the Brudach exemplify.

The Brudach (Broo-Datch) are ambiguous crustaceans who traverse the various interstitial zones where two or more planar layers coincide, interpenetrate, overlap or intersect.  They are difficult to see beyond the most cursory of details due to their habit of never occupying one planar layer fully.  They are diffuse and fluid beings, constantly mobile and forever drifting upon subtle tides and currents few others perceive let alone can describe.  Even the Ochemru find the Brudach curious and peculiar creatures.  But the Ochemru prefer to leave these creatures to their spontaneous interplanar wanderings and endless recitations of poetry, for the Brudach are poets first and foremost, and they have never knowingly or willingly engaged in violence or harmed another sentient being...aside from subjecting them to their telepathic poetry.

Emotionless and passionless, the Brudach drift across uncounted vistas few other beings will ever see for themselves, all the while they recite the collected works of every known poet, in alphabetical and chronological order, in buzzing monotonous telepathic voices that echo across dozens of planar layers as they drift onwards, ever onwards, caught up in their eternal and monotonous recitations.  The one thing that the Brudach crave above all others is poetry, no matter how bad or how sublime.  For obscene limmericks, obscure marketing slogans or even the meanest bit of doggerel or purple prose delivered in iambic pentameter the Brudach will trade their one and only gift to all other lifeforms.

The Brudach can bestow ignorance with a single, mostly painless sting from one of their various spines and interphasial pseudopalps.  But this gift is not just some crude wiping away of unwanted recollections, nor do they merely flush the chemical memories of their trading partners.  That would be too crude and completely beneath their notice as any number of machines could do just that.  No, the Brudach grant a form of ignorance that is both elegant and poetic, a blissful emptiness that restores one's mind, brain and soul to a pristine and immaculate void-state of satori few could ever hope to achieve without their intervention.  The state of consciousness brought about by the sting of the Brudach does not eliminate memories, but rather it brings about a radical, deep and transfixing moment of clarity and emptiness that collapses all too soon into a feverish bout of inspiration that possesses the victim utterly and totally.  They lose much, but they also gain something incredible, wonderful and beyond anything that they could ever have imagined or accomplished in any other way.

And when the impassioned moment of sublime inspiration fades they are left empty, bereft and unknown even to themselves.  Their personality lost, their memories discarded, their identities unraveled to the very core of their being as the workings of the Brudach memetoxins spread across every instance of the victim's collective dataspheric profile and erase all entries pertaining to them, going so far as to expunge all records not sealed behind the blackest voidwalls of the deepest datavaults and even then, should those records ever be accessed there is a chance that the memetoxins will discover the instance and erase it, even after hundreds of years.  For all intents and purposes those who submit to the sting of the Brudach are lost forever, caught up in a nanological cloud of unknowing that grants them a brief shining moment of intense inspiration followed by a lifetime of obscurity in which they can never fully know themselves again.

For some it is a way to start over.

There is something alluring and intriguing in letting go of the past, forgetting yourself, and embracing each new morning always for the first time.

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