v2.0 プロスペロの堕落　the Fall of Prospero (English play)

(illustration: for Poe's "the Mask of Red death", where the name Prospero was borrowed from.
"The dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet". From Tales of Mystery and Imagination ... Illustrated by Harry Clarke, by Edgar Allan Poe. London : G. G. Harrap & Co., 1919. (British Library item 12703.i.43). Illustrating The Masque of the Red Death.)

……
annotations:
(plz skip ahead if you have not read the play. this formatting is for my own convenience's sake)

*1 Danaus:
"Diana"
This is a sort of game with etymons I like to play in my writing.
I attempted to find a rhyme for Janus when i wrote and my first intuition is to find a word which translates to the concept of Diana or Iana which is the supposed divine twin of Janus or Ianus.
I conflated a couple of interesting philological discoveries I encountered on rhymezone dictionary site while trying to come up with a rhyme for Janus, in hope of simulating the concept of Diana.


"manus" "nanus"
manus nānī "the-jealous-hand-of-dwarf" 

planus "flat, plain, intelligible"

Danaus Argi Panoptou "Danaus (born) of Argus the All-Seeing"

Danus "folk of Danu"

canus "froth, white"

Danube with a very interesting etymology section, the German name "Danau" can be latinized to form "Danaus" to rhyme with Janus. which is what i did.

also listen to plz listen to this if you have time and read the lyrics
it is amusing and ironic in context of my writing. but I only discovered this waltz score after i have finished writing everything.
The Blue Danube - Wikipedia

美しく青きドナウ - Wikipedia

*2"the golden nugget" that appears in the play

10th Century Anglo-Saxon gold pin head decorated with Ottonian filigree wiring in the shape of hearts, atypical of early medieval gold work.
(https://www.facebook.com/groups/anglosaxonsociety/permalink/7388030984549815/ retrieved from facebook, dec 30 2023)

*3
 Salii - Wikipedia
referring to the war-dance of salii, the leaping or 'salient' idiot-pontiffs of old Roman army whose dance symbolises the Martian marriage between commerce and battles, in which one is derived from and destined for the birthing of life, the other its destruction and annulment. the dance happens every year in March in spring.

and also mainly referring to these lines from wikipedia:

"The Salii honored the gods Jupiter,[15] Janus,[16] and Mars.[17][18] This dance was referred to as the tripudium. Horace describes the Salii performing this dance by stomping their feet three times. Their dance was also associated with leaping and jumping.[19]"

"Varro claimed that the Salian priests did not understand the meanings of the lyrics they sung. It is possible they contained older spellings and archaic words.[20] Plutarch describes them chanting and dancing with a quick rhythm. He also wrote that they would beat daggers on shields to create music.[21] These shields were known as ancile.[22] Other descriptions stated that used flutes to sing the songs.[23] The Salii wore embroidered tunics under purple trabeae with bronze helmets and belts during their festivals. They also wore garlands of white ribbons, a conical cap known as an apex,[24] and wheat sheaves. Some wore togae praetextae around their waists.[25] Their rituals took place in March, during the Spring equinox.[26] If a Salius was elected consul, flamen, pontifex, or augur, they would resign from their position in the Salii.[27]"
also plz read "Interpretations of the rituals" section of wikipedia, it is quite interesting
(from the wiki linked above, retrieved 30 dec 2023)
there is also the tribe of franks that contributed to the founding of France, whose name Salian Franks are not related. but it pops up during my research. quite interesting too. imagine to make a connection of them in a poem.
Salian Franks - Wikipedia
(salian franks, wiki. retrieved 30 dec 2023)

*4
I imagine that chanson sung by him would like something like this
https://youtu.be/YhX2R82YW88?si=b4A_0N7TQoZl0gmk

…
Dramatic Persons:



Otto, a wrinkled, lame, decrepit man, war veteran of unspecified age, but at least older than 50; caretaker and usherer for an illustrated household, cotton overcoat in blue (Polish zupan) with yellow vest (kamizelka), the heraldries of the household he serves is marked on his vest.
the heraldry: Azure, within a bordure Or, a serpent nowed Or biting a disc purpur, dripped Gules and facing to the dexter. (in a golden shield-frame, azure background, a golden serpent coils around a purple disc, with a drop of red blood, facing to the east)
black trousers (spodnie). sturdy leather boots, old and outworn.

Prospero, a young man in 20s, with walrus moustache unlikely for his age. red-haired. smooth, sickly skin that can almost be described as jaundiced. In yellow dressing gown with red overcoat above it (Kontusz), girded with dusty, blue and coarse Pas kontuszowy, white stockings but that for one leg is missing and the leg lies naked in cold December air. there also seems to be heraldry on his overcoat but it is severely defaced. oddly chose a pair of purple poulaines out of fashion. all of his clothing suffer from wearing and the colours are bleached out. apparently hand downs from within the family.

Agnes, nicknamed Annie, a beautiful woman, perhaps just before 20. dark-haired. unnaturally pale skin, and some unnoticeable speckles on the cheeks covered up with a touch of natural blush-hue artfully with make-up. in a big, black fur stole that look like made of gaudy raven feathers. tightly fit and thick rat-grey riding habit. warm, white cotton leggings. wears a chained, shiny ornament that is tucked into the collars, away from the viewer's eye. it could be a cross, or a locket, or an expensive jade-amulet with eastern apotropaic sign carved in red ink that wards off the "evil eye". black and polished, sturdy leather boots.

….
scenario description:
(the sky is dark grey; the night is deep.
outside the cold metal fences of a glorious mansion with a beautiful garden,
right next to the little watch house by the main gate, stand there:
those three humans converse and argue in front of the gate. 40-50 metres in front of the gate opens outside to a street that is full of student boarding houses, mansions for common bourgeoisie businessmen and bankers, public houses, gin and tobacco shops, gift shops and book shops, further ahead mews for humble working class, and a busy bazaar with varied noises and stench during the day hours when people would gather there for purchasing food and life essentials. 
beyond the gate for some reason, in place of the usual fountains it is a highly decorated puteal (wellhead), with bas-relief of some ancient Graeco-Roman gods hunting in wilderness, represented by blue and green painted mosaic tiles, and colourful bas-relief images of trees, grass, animals of game and prey. Against heroes and divine hunters, and due to age and wear, somehow all the tiles or carved parts that constitute the eyes of heroes and divines all lost colour or were all bodily ruined.
the Old Man attempts to offer the couple who plans for elopement some gold he had saved during his years as a war-veteran and later an usher and guard for the household he guards now, which he retrieved from under the watch house's floor-board. a notable sum of gold coins, but otherwise it is mostly silvers and worthless copper pennies, for the most part foreign or of dubious origin. along with some lone bank notes here and there. some mundane jewelries of passable worth and wrinkled IOU notes or something like bond deeds are sprinkled here and there but nothing amazing.
the Old Man of the Gate is the first to break silence, and broach the subject of the young man's and woman's, apparently ill-planned elopement.

…..
the play starts here.
 
Otto: "this I have saved up; it is a dragon's hoard; it were her redemption.
take it, it is yours. go. You need it."
Prospero: "but Old Man, what is it for?"
Otto: "O Prospero, You dumb and lame donkey. What have you witted till now that you ask me this? What have you not known till now that you ask me this? You have already seen what it is, you have already been a witness. Now bend down your fortunate back and start gathering the currency I gleaned unlawfully from each and every nation in war and collected into a broken jar under my floor-board. Now start collecting those coins of every-year's and every-place's mintage robbed of their origin, collect those golden drops of water into a little stream into your big leather fortune-pocket."
Prospero: " Old Man, I cannot carry so much.
We have no transport, I am not strong enough to carry it by myself."
Otto:
"O Prospero, You are a Stag; You must be strong. You are a man of land; learn to ride horses.
You Prospero, You are a Salmon; You must be swift. You are a man of ocean; learn to shoot arrows from a bow against wolves from horseback.
O Prospero, You are a swan; You must be steady. You are a man of Sky; when the wolves bit off your right hand You must learn to shoot arrows with your only left hand while holding the harness with Your feet. O Prospero, there will be transport. You must go with your fortune. Prospero…"
"Prospero, You must find a good place in the mountains. You are a boar and you must start digging and piling up a shelter from good things you dug up. You must build motte and bailey with this hoard of treasure I offered willingly though unwillingly. You must gather paid swords-for-hire and purchase good friendship. You must fortify Your bailey into a keep, and a keep into a castle. You must fill the motte with water into a moat with a flowing river. You must gather men of arms and train them in art of war, and when you are free and sore from exercise-woe, You must sing to them songs of Faith and Beauty. O Prospero, You must become a Knight. You must don the shining Armor, for Annie's sake, to protect her from wolves and evil men beyond the border wearing wolf-skin. O Prospero, You must build a wall against the wolf-skin wearing barbarians, and hunt wolves in the woods bordering Your castle with your men-in-arms and fellow gentlemen riders whose faith you purchased with gold. O Prospero, You must build fortified walls around the four corners of your big House, you must let in and out peasants, merchants, peddlers and soldiers and along with them the flow of commerce and death. O Prospero You must demarcate and divide fields into fiefs and collect years dues to build your house into good shape. O Prospero You must patrol your territory with arm-bearing gentlemen, along with far-seeing scouts on swift steeds, You must send courts of assizes under your decree to sort out the ills and troubles to prevent wolves or men like wolves rising from lambs and cows.
O Prospero You must learn how to joust and how to cut animals with knives, You must be able to kill when the wolves are hid in the boscage with a long thrusting polearm to deliver death, You must be able to kill when the wolves are ready to pounce on You and tear away your throat with fangs, You need to learn to wield an arming sword for self-defense and deliver death.
O Prospero You must learn to read, not only letters but the signs in the sky of birds' formation and their eviscerated innards that tell of decay, insurrection and corruption in the faith of the world.
You must be able to tell the signs in the trails, spoors and faeces of animals of the land that haunt the roads that tell of decay, insurrection and corruption in the mores and manners of the world.
You must be able to read the waves of the ocean and chart the voyages of the merchant or war vessels that sail upon them that tell of the decay, insurrection and corruption in commerce of souls and advancing time that announces death.
O Prospero You must take those gold upon Yourself.
O Prospero, You must don purple robes and wear a crown to frighten the wolf-men.
O Prospero You must declare faith and love for Your kinsmen, Your hunters and women, Your children, Your tradesmen and honourable slaughterers and butchers, Your beggars and criminals, Your plotters against You and your Kingdom, and Your would-be murderers.
O Prospero, You must take from me these golden coins, which was meant for her, my only love's redemption."
"Why does she need redemption, from gold out of all things?"
"For she, my only love and only lover I knew, introduced to me by my greatest friends and comrades in battle--- ever since the first victory I enjoyed in war after I was recruited into the army and trained to become a true soldier--- is a prostitute. This gold was meant for her freedom and therefore her redemption. But misfortune befell us. My son by her which we both doted on was killed in war and Annie's master had made the plan to retire me with a good sum total in pension for my soon coming death---but the sum was not enough for this and her redemption. And My son's daughter has no place to go, as there are only two of us for each other; and my son's daughter is to be sent to a prestigious training school for 'flower-girls fit for any society ', what they call 'courtesans or harlots for high and low'. And there are only two of us, and the redemption is not enough for all three of us. The entrance ceremony for the school starts in May, and my son's daughter has already passed the initial examinations in trials by a vulgar, bespectacled, gout-legged and fat examiner who is a famous entrepreneur that has good judgement for true golden character, and my son has already been killed in the war; the redemption is not enough for all three of us; I am an old veteran."
Prospero: "No, this must not be true.
Then for whose sake did I try to slay my father, but by mistake I had slain my exceptionally good and honourable brother?
the Brother that adores me and had often shielded me from my father's rod when he was wroth with alcohol and failed expectations?"
"For whose sake I released forth the unmanly black burden of my guilt of never being able to wed her as a groom upon the breast my love the innocent Annie, and also in unmanly shame I suggested we took love-poison together to escape from hell's furies like some fairy tales from England?
And for whose sake that Annie she, so pure and good, whose conscience when assailed with that doomed rumour, hesitated, thought, and hatched a better plot for greater benefit of both of us-- in which we were to murder both our parents and steal our household's own fortune in exotic jewelries and sheafed bank-notes, antique artefacts and land deeds, vintage, spices and illustrated books? We planned for the murder; I were to stab my father in the back with a dagger 14 times, and Annie were to put sleep medicine in her grand-matron's supper wine and hang her neck from the window like a scarecrow in the country. We had planned to bar out the doors, discharge and free all the servants and have all the fortune we can carry loaded into a decorated and comfortable coach-wagon, driven by a well-fed pair of carriage-horses and carry everything away like riding upon fortunate winds? We had planned to evade Annie's old chaplain woman and care-taker; and I my own brother whom I had put to a swooning coma by burning an expensive ink-coloured, dried and bunched eastern camphor incense---Camphora officinarum treated with some black eastern medicinal oil and bug-herbs--- I especially purchased from a reputed oriental apothecary among the very, very knowing and experienced students and professors, that would knock even a strong and virile man like him unconscious for the whole night like his having released everything that resembles manly virtues into the womb of a whore. For whose sake that the eastern incense was a sham and my own noble, helpful and caring brother found me with a dagger and an improvised blackjack by placing the golden nugget*2 our father was so fond of that I snatched away last time from his study table, into my own sock ready to knock upon our father's door, and while in a drunk stupor from the wine he partook in supper and the strange inebriation of the fake anointed eastern medicine herbs that were burnt ineffectually from the incense, that he mistook me for a common burglar and cried out
'Thief! to arms!
There is a Thief in our House!'---
which drove me into such a barbarous frenzy that I immediately struck upon his sagacious and worthy crown our governess, the school's professors and father often praised for and compared mine with, by using that doom-purposed blackjack meant for elsewhere like a drunk gen d'arms' night-baton or a mad caveman's war-club? that I stabbed his heart from the front 14 times in unstoppable rage, and to spite him--him and his sham kindness and consideration further I stuck the dagger into the point between the brows above his illustrious eyes that always seemed to me had a tinge of destined goldenness? and as if that is not enough, I punched with my right fist upon his tender and meek left temple, and in excess of rage I slapped his right cheek and spit foul venom into his mouth? And after the deed is done and roused the whole household, while I had forgot to grasp in that mad confusion anything of worth, I ran out from the back door like a coward in the face of misfortune---and when I told in a flurry of slurred words of what transpired again to my innocent and meek Annie, whose plot in an oddly coincidental fashion had also failed as her famous grand-matron was yet again out for a private supper feast with another one of her unworthy young gigolo admirers; as I exposed every act of cruelty and folly I did in my own household without mercy or self-possession to Annie in boyish fear, fury and anticipation---she simply nodded and swallowed the hard truth, and bade me to wait for twenty minutes. And after twenty-minutes she had come back, and said to me she had hanged her gentle and blind old chaplain and caretaker woman from the window of her own room, and had snatched from that old woman's purse----as everything else of monetary worth was under lock and key under the firm decree of her tyrant of a grand-matron and the decree was followed to every detail jealousy by one or two of her many unlearned and readily submissive old matron and servants in the household; who were fearful of anyone who disturbs the peace and the tyrant's whimsically distributed affluence of the house, and in order so to purloin for herself fortune in misfortune---even those with blood relations? 
For whose sake that I made a blunder in my burglary of my own very much likewise deserved fortune that my father denied me due to my what he perceives as unmanly character and 'unstable nervous condition' that seems to him unfit for stewardship of a large fortune?
And for whose sake that Annie must succeed in her robbery in her household for a pittance that is too, too unworthy of her illustrious lineage and glorious family name, and of her own virtue and character? She who was also forced to hatch plans for disgrace and downfall owing to her possession of unwavering virtue in face of despair and difficulties in life, and her most unselfish and absolute devotion to her love towards me----that she must thus become a murderer of an innocent old woman with whom she bears no relation apart from that one of the employer and the employee? this must not be so. this must not be the way of the world.
O blame be mine, or ours.
For t'was all pomp and ended all in folly.
O t'was all sick and ill, this much ados without enough to-dos.
Sick, ill, and foolish. Like the yell of a Master to his slave coolie.
the world is sick; the world is ill.
the bidding is black and unforgiving.
this story is sick, and the plot is ill.
the taskmaster yells, and administers the horse crop cruelty.
the God is sick, and the Good is ill.
the vine envelopes the bullies' gem-adorned black sceptres
And the playwright that found humour even in a line grave like this,
needs must by God also be found sick, needs must also be ill.
for he has become only a Tyrant, a merciless bidder cum task-master.
towards sickness and illness who has administered just salve and troches
of mortal doom and folly."

Annie: "O Prospero. Misuse us and yourself no further.
We must depart. We must leave at once. There is no recourse or use for dialogue--- for a man and a woman in love and misfortune.
O Prospero, there is no further resource to extend this dialogue any longer---for there is no more to say than that it says a man and woman are in love and in misfortune.
We must take away the gold and ply our ways through the dangerous waves of world on a rickety boat.
There is only so much fortune to use against a world that always causes tragic loves unfulfilled except in death, and a world carrying away fortune like we would carry away those gold coins---that only such a pitiable sum total of human fortune to be found by tragic lovers must be the greatest universal misfortune."
Otto:" O Prospero, how you have shamed yourself, you lazy and unphilosophical swine.
You dumb and lame ass who wasted yourself away each day in a mud-puddle. What excuses must you provide for yourself, when you forced a woman you love to speak words of encouragement in favour of war in your stead? what excuses do you have when a woman needs must become the consolation of philosophy, when the world is still naive, young and not yet dead to you (as thou wert not yet a King or a Prisoner on death row)? What excuses do you have when you, through your ineptitude in executing and lack of commitment to murdering your own father and stealing your own deserved fortune as the righteous elder heir, you have forced innocent and blameless Annie spared from the sin of murder and burglary from mercy of the Maker, to rise against the might of that most august and imperial kingdom of heavens like a female chieftain of a forgotten isle in the north against the kingdom of heavens' southern senator-chieftains and Caesers? that you need an unwedded and unpenetrated woman to don armour and wield lances in your honour's stead to defend your national state and its appointed estates when barbarian hordes from a northern isle finds an opportunity to invade, solely due to your lack of diligence in practicing war and pillage against your barbarian foemen that provided them the good chance ----and above all for aught reason that by yourself you had too brought misfortune and dishonour to the woman of the realm you swore as a knight-in-shiny-armour and Lord-of-the-realm to defend from the invading hordes of evil barbarian killers and good eunuch rapists? What is the excuse for the decay of morals, and corruption in powers that has happened to your management of your and your lover's personal condition that had led it to such a peril that you had become the insurgents in a rebellion against your native soil and people who provided for your nurture and nature?
O Prospero, You dumb and lame donkey. You are supposed to be a strong and beautiful black stallion; You were supposed to be the strong and beautiful barbarian rider upon the strong and beautiful black war-stallions.
O Prospero, You were supposed to know arts in the bows which make music and arts in the lances which make death.
O Prospero, You were supposed to declare faith for the marriage between music and death, You were supposed to be the pontiff-embodiment of human's sorrowful music and joyful death.
O Prospero, you were supposed to adorn yourself in a garment of gold-filigreed purple like a wisp of gilded purpureal smoke, and guide the lost and vulnerable lady, who is constantly suffering the shame of heroic nudity inside your dream, you were supposed to guide with crafty concealment and steadfast protection born of the dark red-blue clouds that are the rising and falling clumps and coppices of your sinews with pulsating capillaries and arteries,
---extended muscles from a strong arm to ward away from her those her would-be gentlemen murderers, rapists, pillagers and those who would wish her utter ruin for the sake of ruin itself.
O Prospero, You have neglected your diligence. O Prospero, You have forsaken the duty to know and face evil.
O Prospero, your boyish innocence had ruined you. And when you attempted to commit murder and burglary against yourself and your commonweal, it is your own boyish innocence that had prevented its success, and it is your own good that, by preventing you from doing evil, you had caused misfortunes in others, and thus you had made innocent and helpless Annie to commit evil and cause misfortunes in your instead. O Prospero, You innocent, harmless donkey and ass. O Prospero You pig.
O Prospero, you were supposed to murder your father and steal the entire fortune of the household from your esteemed but useless brother. O Prospero, how far you have fallen, by trying to hold onto good grace."
Prospero:" Old Man… I… I…"
Annie:" Prospero, the deed is done and our misfortune is the proof of it.
There is no escape from its consequences, but we still have hope if we pull with great strength, upon the harness of the steeds driving our body-chariot--- to a easily foreseeable ruin and doom,
beyond the edge of that cliff inclining steeply upwards.
Prospero, we must act swiftly;
we have to act with due force and overdue strength;
Prospero, even in failings and disgrace, we must have faith.
Prospero, we must steal from this old man and his only hope for his daughter's and her wife's redemption--from another hell born of the marriage of the sinful lust in human desires for musical unions,
and the guiltless fear in human wishes for escapes and escapades from union with death---
which the paltry sum total of both of his entire decorated civilian and soldierly life is not worthy enough to provide---
that is how deep that abyss of desire for the music is, that is how shallow that abyss of wishes for the redemption against death is.
Prospero, that is the abyss that had beckoned to us when we came to know love.
Prospero, it is the wishes for redemption against death drove you to plot for murder and burglary against your own kin, and it is the music---and your secret desire for the music, that drove you to fail in that worthy endeavour---and thus You condemning me to my own abyss… but my love for you bade me to bear it and refuse call of all the music;
and I took up the path of redemption---Prospero, I would not regret aught or feel slightly shameful if you were to have condemned me to the constant destiny of a courtisan or a harlot in others' harem for the sake of golden things, and yourself the tragedy of an eternally returning eunuch with no manly hands to hold them.
O Prospero, in spite and disgust of the on-stage music must the players in the show intone----rise and fall;
in grand and hollow waltz of a blissfully fake unlife they must pace---
and in desire and lust of the music and the musical the impotent playwright wrote that condensed and vulgarized uprise and downfall
of Man upon several pages and stages, and condemned himself to the abyss that drove himself to refuse the path of redemption
and call out in vain hopes to the eternally implacable mistress that is the Muse-of-Times-that-came-to-pass.
For the playwright who is writing this line I am speaking now knows not, that the beauteous, gracious and wonderful deaths up to their fulfilment and down to their surfeitness, that the majestic deaths the actors and actresses in the intricately formatted hopeful and lively intrigues in bliss hatefully enjoys, against the willpower of all-mighty Maker and thinker of their stories---can only be experienced,
when one's own line is under the influence---dictated, by a writing and dreaming sad pen driven by lust for the music and the musical and through one's denial against salvation of his own soul.
that is the hell we are being placed under by the will of the pen.
Prospero, that is the tragic path we must take."
Prospero:" Annie, my woman.
You are sometimes too level-headed for you are very good.
What gave you the illusion,
that the writer and playwright is not me?
Am I Prospero---or the pen that wrote him out?
What symbolism would the Masters of letters say I am?
What symbolism would the writers say?
'that for I am Prospero, and thou art the pen?'
then if I were to erase or superimpose here one line against the wish of those that had made me,
what will you try to speak?
You human, over there.
that cannot imagine even one line,
without seeing your own reflection coloured in ink?
I am ink-faced Prospero, and 'Thou art the Man'."
Annie: "Prospero, No!"
Otto: " This man has gone utterly mad. Well suited for his purpose and destination.
The world is a place running with wolves chasing mad and vulnerable men. We need more lunatics to keep the wolves at bay.
This man is still young of age and his body and mind can be trained to master the rhythms and schemata to control his noble barbarian fury into righteous power and knowledge to defend his and his love's own rights in accordance to the mandates of true Law.
He needs to learn the letters and learn to hunt; he needs to learn to laugh and learn to cry while laughing.
He need to have faith in the evil and have doubts for the good.
He must become a knight in shiny armour in constant mad crusades against the rabid disease that is this inconstant and merciless, sane yet cruel universe. Nature is a disease that must be cured.
Life must be a process to kill nature so to give birth to music, and in doing such a vain and meaningless task we needs must too condemn life itself to the very own barbaric nature that gave birth to its desire for counteracting God's meddling hand and his ill thought out, messy inky pen.
that is the case of which I am one of the many plaintiffs from the guilt of war, but of sin of murder and pillage we are guiltless, for we were unworthy victims of rapatio by becoming the rapists, ---though thus we deserve no mercy and should know wrath of Man and God in justice--- and justly your wrath shall too continue the Progress of our War. And as every act I do and every word I speak would cause complicity---of both Man and God, I rest my case in sombre self-reflection."

Prospero: " what use are gold and bubbles,
what joy is in the lame world that learns to walk and tumble? 
if all I know and can see, is Your own double-faced reflection?
across the gaping mouth of Janus,
the image of those that who make and bumble,
across his gaping backside mirror'd Danaus*1
of those that who the obnoxious noises came to know.
the words I spoke and wrote here.
'bubble, double, gold.
tumble, bumble.
old.
priority and posterity.
proclivity and productivity.
prosperity and procreation.
High and Low,
Up and Down,
Ruin and shambles'
"
Annie: "Prospero, No!"
Otto: "Prospero, You must ride. I have an 'orse.
You must hide; the night is worthy of darkness.
You must disguise, crude joke the cupids would play upon ye.
that upon the first night of your most high and noble wedding to-be,
you must appear to each other like leprous beggars.
none would even guess, that under the crude hempen regalia's' covering dress,
lies there on dusty earth the ragged King in Yellow
enjoying his wedding with his virtuous and venerable Pallid Queen.

Prospero: " I will ride eastwards.
Perhaps an island nation to find.
Mayhap there be an eastern Eden,
No earthly laws, men and women to bind.
untainted by lust for gold and bubbles,
undreamt of by shades of blood,
knows ne might nor evil of swords and daggers,
observes no decaying morals and fears no bad-manners,
worships no unworthy forebears' cursed blood,
kneel to no rites decreed by celestial-landowners and slave-drivers.
speaks no honorifics and addresses each other not as Masters or Slaves,
where men have no fear of impotency and cuckoldry,
and women enjoys love to its sum-total completion beyond old Age,
even beyond death would have no anxiety for amorous competition,
that ever brings love to its downfall in disgrace.
and none dainty or beauteous shall know the tyranny of being locked,
under lock and key, in a rotting noble cage, decorated with waxen titles and rosy ex-votos,
selling their own red and pale wonders and virtues for lovers' bargain.
I will ride eastwards, until I find cure for my unmanly illness of unman…
for the manly illness of Man.
Ah, so Above-Man.
Ah --Übermensch, how I desire the music
that is the pearly cackling laughter of your babe-birth?
I have heard of tales of tell, from travelling nuns and monks
that came westwards from the easterly.
of a land where in praying, it is as if
"One were to drink empty the dim-flickering light
of wisdom-lust(re) and -dust."
from the Orient-bounded demarcations of the east;
that I have heard---- from the bard who is horny
---green-tined, rosy-pointed Ossian,
O to me he sang, to me he told, of that "beauteous and
strange rotary"
---of the "Lock-cutting, Crown-querning,
Foam-shifting";
the "Eastern-Pure-and-Clean-Ultramarine",
-"Lapis-Lazuli-Medicine-Wonder-World."
----Where, there is the world lives as a green transparent gem,
to cure the gouty, redness- and blueness- infested heart---O the heart
of wandering and lost western women and men.
O Übermensch,
from the easterly horizon, dimly
I see mayhap your rise,
innocent and guilty,
of murder and burglary, 
slain your father and stole from your brother,
instead of driving the woman to crime,
burning down the whole noble ruin, 
driving out all the masters and slaves,
defended your honour and lady, in shiny armour,
on a black, strong steed riding eastwards far away.
O Übermensch,
thy form…I could see,
reflected in the dawning Morning-Red.
O Übermensch,
who knows the words of birds and lance,
refused music-and-kneeling,
but sings a happy song.
O Übermensch,
if of thee I could only learn to write,
or if thou wert to be the fountain of my pen.
O Übermensch,
ther'above the surging and swelling,
tides of ebb and flow, of bubbles and
golden dreams…O the one who rises,
above the foamy Ocean. O Son of Ossian,
Father of the Sea-Giants. the Wonder-Strider.
I.O.U 
Io! Übermensch,
Those things we could have thought of,
and in cold and solid could've deeds done.
Io! Übermensch,
Did we did undid done?
Before You,
both the Music,
and death itself,
fall silent in disgrace.
For thou art their deserved Doom,
and marking mankind's last worthy Downfall."
Annie:" Prospero!"
Otto: " Go!
Woe, Go!
Once More!
Noch Einmal, Time!
Die! Time to die!
Time, to die!
in this dead Aeon, Even Time may Die!"
Annie: " Prospero, I choose silence over disgrace, in my devoted love to thee.
This is my case of which I am the sole and many plaintiffs. For I only know and many times know the sorrow of love, and in knowing so, desiring it the more.
I rest my case."
Prospero fell into silence.
Otto arranged for them the black-coated steed he has promised and together the three of them loaded all the gold they would possibly need into the riding satchels, leaving behind mostly the coins minted and used in their own native country, and corresponding bank-notes and IOUs thereof, and also leaving behind a large portion of silvers and the almost entirety of coppers save for some for change, which gravity and weight would probably never benefit their current situation at all. When they are both ready and seated upon the black thoroughbred Otto stole from his master's and mistress' stable, he waved towards those two who turned back to look at the Old Man, and then he made a quick back-and-forth swiping posture urging them to go. When they turned to the front once more, he slapped with brute force upon that black beast's backside and yelled aloud "hut! hut!" and off the horse starts gaiting forwards.
The couple moved on without turning back. unbeknownst to them, while he told them he was to fetch a horse, Otto also sneaked into Prospero's unremarkable family estate that is falling into gradual disrepair due to negligence of the Master of the household, and retrieved from the chest of dead brother of Prospero the dagger used for his murder, and the blood-stained blackjack nearby. then he stained his blue overcoat with the puddle of blood oozing from the chest wounds of the brother of Prospero on the ground. after that with great stealth in swift pace, through the exertion of muscles to move and kill off the noise of motion, he stole like a dark panther or a black cat into the mansion he swore to guard from thieves, ill-meaning vagabonds and burglars, and went directly to the unguarded perfumed private chamber of the beautiful Annie, and carefully laid opened that door to expose that maiden's inmost secrecy---in which a blind, dead and ugly hag was hanged with smooth, shiny, wonderous silken scarves, worthy of a good deal in gold and status, partly due to its make and due to the reputation of the beautiful and virgin owner. And he promptly cuts the scarves up, in the process dropping the dead old woman, and into an adequate length that is able to enwrap his neck for one or circles, and the rest of the scarf into bands 15-25 cm long, and wiped each and everyone of them with ichor-black blood from the dagger, until the colour turns red, and when he further on wipes the red blade with the silk toilettes, until hardly any red stain can be left on the bands of silk, and at the end it becomes a faint and incomplete dark orange impression that seems like a ring of the orange sunlight at dusk, upon the final silky band. He hid all of those things in the big pockets of his yellow cotton overcoat before he went to the stable and stole the horse.
After having confirmed the couple is at least a mile away, at the breaking of dawn, he opened the grand gates and entered the marvellous garden of that decaying great household and proceeds to carry everything with him while he passes through the view of phantasmic pageantries of flowers and green bowers, seared into a tinge of yellow through the golden ray. He circumambulated in a half circle around the grand puteal---and just as fancies would strike him, he bethinks himself to go round the other half of the circle, too, so he traced back and begun the circle on the opposite direction once more---for it is a good breaking dawn and things should go lucky and joyful that morn, and come to completion in any and all circles men should draw.
Then he walks with his trawl in front of the doors leading to the mansion, just where through the window panes his form might be visible and his sounds can be heard.
And then spontaneously he starts to sing a quaintly accented eastern European chanson*4 that he forgot where he picked up. It is a song with chirping and ululating sounds like a bird. it is full of the scorn of a spring bird flying over the field or even the farther wild steppe---while holding perhaps a belly full of digested or half-digested seeds, ready to…well, blast away against the dim and dumb green landscape that has never changed for thousands of years in its tyrannical rule with only shifting face-images of dictators that do change---and in mockery of the whimsical distribution of fortunate or misfortune fate, over and above mortal wishes of all and every kind of animals those birds might have attempted their air-raid bombing with no fear nor sting of conscience. For from all the Kings on the solid ground the birds had learnt to escape by taking up wings, though in doing so they are also forever doomed to only be able to bear food as long as they are about digested and suffer from more frequent urges of incontinence than other land animals. The Old Man sings such a song of birds---imitating that strange joy in the sky, even, in factual truth, people like him are doomed to never possess, or purchase wings and their associated joy of detachment from the worries of the earth.
He sings, when the golden ray of Sun breaks open the blushing dawn, and
as Sun rises:

"the setting Sun brings to gather the foreturning purple-clouds"

He then picks out the blood-stained silken bands and strands; first he wrapped the longest unbroken and unsullied silken stand along his neck as what is actually supposed to be --- an expensive scarf. and then he suddenly let out a ferocious--- a booming, thunderous roar that is like a mine in the field being denoted by an unwitting school child going home from school; in the field where there was once a great battle with rifles, mortars, air raids, chlorine gas and landmines. That school boy was in a rush to take a shower and prepare for a gathering society of like-minded literati, philosophers, painters and artists friends in a pub---there will be foreign belles too, that do pose nue for the painters…
and the landmine denoted---it was a black roar like a prideful lion's or ---a dark (eastern) tiger in the forest of the night.
Otto then attempted to imitate the howling of wolves of the woods but failed. So he repeated the roaring of lions of the savanna and tigers from the jungle---and out of all things he also took out from the watchhouse the gong used to warn the grand-matron and the lords of the House of ill-intending thieves and intruders. He struck with an hammering drum-stick treated with red lacquer against the brazen surface, but due to his brute force and exhaustion in muscles it broke while glancing the rims.
After a brief moment of ceremonial reflection, he took out the blood-stained blackjack, disclosed the sizeable spheric chunk of gold nugget within, lightly dyed in red and smelling of gore and sweat. Without any hesitation he promptly struck it against the gong while grasping it with his dirty hands, which made a big and ugly dent in that round, bumpy and uneven surface of that perfect globe of solid gold.
thus announcing himself in thunders, he roared vocally again for three times,
 

"O!"
"O"!
".."
"O--"

and after that formally begun His barbarous singing:

"--Corpse-flowers abloom in mighty blessing-shower pass't by sober
..O Deep, last night was equinox!"

the mansion was abruptly startled into wakefulness by the Old Man's roaring and singing. the Grand Matron was disturbed and she was not amused. the hurrying feet of the servants and major-domos, in fear of being the first ones to be blamed for allowing a thing such as a war alarum to disturb the overall pax and prosperity of their miniature Realm under sceptre of the Grand-Matron. Giglo-Lords, minor male paramours, one-night stands woke up in confusion and exhaustion as always---both their squandered manly virtues and age are starting to show---some in grey hair, some in worse places. Some guests of distant nepotistic relations that had far overstayed their welcome were startled, and squeezed themselves into a corner for they thought it is time for war again, of which blood history in that country they read during their research in their conniving of a plot to receive some small alms-contribution from the grand-matron through pity or empathy or snatch some real things of value when no one is looking---while they wait eternally in that Xanadu purgatory between weal and destitution entertained only through frail nepotistic guestfriendship.
The Grand-Matron herself, unusually enough, decides to take upon herself without the aid of a servant to behold what foul-mannered dark and ill-humoured beast it is that roars and knocks numbly before the very gate of her grand residence at the wee small hours of ghosts and goblins that people would rather just shun walking outside or avoid waking up at all---even it's only superstition. But she is a very aged woman and not strong of constitution, and there is a kind of lameness and palsy-like effects upon her aged frame too---which many a distinguished medical doctors, reputed snake oilers, famous quacks and peddlers of eastern herbs and charms were consulted----with no hope for a cure, as it is the effect of old Age. She only was able to manage to the landing whereupon she attempted descending from the stairs, but completely went out of breath and had to sit on top of the steps like a lone and tired pilgrim upon a mountain path. Then the dark and doomed brazen Gong before her own residence was struck by that restless Beast born from the fear against power and ill-will towards it, of deserted or insurrected soldiers:

"by profuse water-falling struck dead were
flies, mites and fleas' numinous corp,
chili, pepper-and-salt and green hag-grass---unctum-dissolving haoma
scatter-studded gems of flame."

One of the Gentleman admirer of hers, who still knows some mild and courtly manner, rushes on fleet feet to help the old woman up. He carries in his left hand half a glass full of fragrant and full-bodied red fruit-wine he wanted to pour for himself a glass in the early morn for no apparent reason before the whole clamour business. and after having helped the old woman up, he gently holds her with his slender, long arm, and gazes together outwards from the high landing, down the stairs…all the way to where the front doors are supposed to be over there in the west-facing avenue, by the light of dawn he saw out of the window pane of the door brightly illuminated thereof, and said:

"Ah-Oh."

"what such BA-ffling buFF-oonery,
OH-, and what a total ME-ss,
TH-is whole business -IS"

he could see out of the window pane of the door vaguely of the form of a man whose visage is blasted out by the blinding golden ray of the dawning Sun into quizzical and chimerical blends of all shades of undistinguishable bluish-red and yellow; apparently holding an elongated shiny bladed thing too----though it changes in length and breadth all the while, and becomes something that resembles either a pam-sized dagger or a very long and hefty looking arming-sword or a bill or spear. And in the other hand what seems like a big disc that radiates the pale and bright daylight. in the air through the window pane of the door the white and silky bands and strands reflect the bright light of day like small ribbons of mirrors or a shower of falling silver coins---but floating and dancing too, like unto very pale cherry blossoms that are almost completely extinguished of life. Against those dancing and falling glittering gold and pale, the man whose visage cannot be seen strikes with the gleaming silver long- long- and then long-short polearm-serrator that look almost like outstretched long-and-short arms threshing at the empty space above him frantically in rapid frolicking capers, and spins sidewise too then in a mad and swift waltz, though maintaining perfect balance and strikes home the floated pieces of shining dead coins---perhaps in some old and foreign ritual as joss money offered to some dead Gods.
he paused all of a sudden, and there is then another sound of the Gong. the long-and-short stick or spear like penetrating silver light converges momently with the radiating disc of pale daylight.*3

"Io!"

the grand matron and the gentleman paramour both saw the dancing mad man. the matron rushed towards where the grand matron was and was thinking of ways to curse while being polite, and means to teasingly misuse the servants a little to vent after this clamour is over. and she caught a glimpse of him too when she found the grand matron staring at the direction of the gate dumbfounded. though it is blocked by grand mahogany or oaken furniture, tortuously winding corridors and the commerce of the busy and panicking shadows or bodily forms of servants and blood-related officials and functionaries, and with them the muffled, slipper-shod sounds of a sort of unrhythmic war dance… 

"Ü!"
(O Boar-Fanged hell-rider Horkos
thou always comest when it is too late)

"sham and bubbles, 
ruin and rumbles.
gold, bleached old.
grew dead for dead men grew cold.
world's shambles and worlds' tumbles.
arms long stretched and shadows lengthened short,
mist and miasma dance in yellow, red and purple,
over the lake of Carco-- Cathay,
solemn and archaic Cathay,
in the east, the crowns were sown and harvested like yellow grains
through the many dei ex machina of the stage
a turning millstone for querning the crowns of Kings.
the dynasties shift and change,
upon the ground the white-powder remain,
----blown winnowed by Autumn's august wind,
the illusion of Kings' gilded-purple empire dreams--
floating flour softly veils and disguises--
--blowing imperial phantom white and pallid in the air
phantom flour-dream
while on querning the conquering grindstone of the Kings,
the actors and actresses leave, one by one from the exitus of the stages
likewise the Kings perish like the powdery snow falling inside the mill
while the mad grain-slaves' long-long- and short-long- silver-arms, a-glistening
manacled with shining torcs and burdened by burning torches
in the air threshing dance to the rhythm and schemata
of celestial hub a-bub, spoke, shuttle and doom
hoping to catch, down with their gyved hands,
the
King's tatters in the strong winds.
the
King's broken tatters floating in the wild, strong winds.
the
King's blood-stained yellow tatters blown broken by
the
drifting worldly-winds."

the man across the Gate seems to the spectators within the house to be a foreign prince in brilliant regal garments from another land, with a beaming and youthful face, and chanting in a strange oriental accent some weird verses that no one bothers to remember now---weird verses that people find daft and not so well-adjusted for especially western social occasions--- that kind of grandeur and dolor in speech feels always out of touch from history, especially it feels like to have been put in a quite a ridiculous manner, for the verses are about the dark and brooding midnight and the burning night-stars after the Sun sets in the westmost horizon, and is completely immersed in the big, yawning aery cavern below the land of the black soil, beyond the boundaries of one's perspective when one gazes eternally westwards in anticipation----while, obviously, the dawn is just breaking and a new Day is just starting, for all honest and humble busy folk of the earth that in their salt-humour deserve their salt:

"Trimillion star-dusts were shaken; in the vast expanse of blightful benighted heavens was revealed a wild blue yon milky-way.

the esteemed banker and business father of Prospero, was the man built the commendable fortune of their esteemed household from nothing to something even worthy of some degree of consideration and has a bit of reputation for those dying old noble houses. Those old houses are continually being gradually impoverished and suffering decay from inclement economic and political conditions in the country and general lack of insight or science to understand modern politics, markets and minds of the people. For those who are in dire need of venal connections and influx of capitals and estates to re-establish the old family names, the household of Prospero seems like an innocent and gullible lamb for those old dracons to prey upon; but in inverse the capitals and business connections are the bait for the rising fortune of house Prospero. The Master of the house Prospero was a calculating man, apart from being an absolute miser in even the wage and daily bread of servants and educators, he is fast to apply liberal usage of verbal deceptions and bodily dissimulations that tricks people he would like to con into signing binding contracts which advantage obviously teetered towards his side. And that he believes all reasonable men should adopt for the benefit of their offspring, the wolf-like opportunity-grasping philosophies of old Roman military education in which one is imbued with courage and ambition for any or all kinds of warfare that leads to career advancements and improvement of one's status and weal, though a general fear for the authority and readiness to obey order to the death are to be expected, and habits for transgressions and desires for insurrection are cured by liberal application of vine-wrapped horse-crops to cause pain and shame especially when in front of guests or strangers, banishment from the dinning table during the meal times for half a day or more to purvey solemn reflection on guilt or sin that has caused one's own starvation, and confinement in the unused study filled to the ceiling with dust and lint, cheap and useless sundries and old and mouldy books he collected but discarded after having found to he was conned, and consigning to that dark confinement of the room devoid of any light when he orders the servants to board every window and fill in every seam, nook and cranny with stuffings and glue--so one imprints into his mind the fear of having nowhere to escape. He believes this regime of harsh discipline-training would turn naughty and faint-hearted children into a member of the legendary ranks of the Roman legionnaires, who obviously killed, burnt, looted and took away the women, livestock and children from all the unmanly, unruly, weak and impotent barbarian tribes and drove the rest of the able-bodied men they did not kill to become slaves. That was his little southern Roman fantasy---that perhaps one day through the instilling of those Roman virtues in learning from the horse-crops. starvation and confinement in dark, cramped places doing nothing but shudder in fear----
his children would perhaps one day become the legion of conquering Roman legionnaires and go forth to his old native land he was driven out of due to poverty and some bad blood with neighbours---something political and something of tribal feuds, and perhaps the children of his children would have a graceful turning chance, so they grow up to learn how to kill, burn, loot and take away the women, livestock and children, and drive the rest of able-bodied leftovers of mankind into slavedom.
And perhaps build an empire too, but that might be a bit of a stretch for an upstart dreaming boor like him and his scions.
Upstart bourgeois houses are always seeking a way to purchase lineage to consolidate their commercial success into something that has lasting effects past several generations through taking a hold of the most important connections in the financial and political world. And there are also always those with lineage, that had fared badly in financial and political struggles for advantage, attempt to sell their lineage for energy and resources to get back on to their feet.
---a marriage proposal, between from the once illustrious but decayed household one of the unfavoured daughter born of a male concubine, with the elder son of that passably prosperous house should cement the deal and allow the house Prospero to willingly offer up all the financial prowess the impoverished nobles could only dream of in their dire condition, and make house Prospero place the financial powers obediently with its own hands into that of theirs… through the consummation of the two houses' nuptial union. which unfortunately had to be postponed once indefinitely when both families came to recognizance of the elder son's unstable nervous condition and weak constitution---and sometimes prone to give in to an untamable, barbarous kind of rages and tantrums---making the deal far too risky. but the deal had become merry and beneficent once more, when after the parents of both houses reconvened, discussed and reconsidered this matter---in fine, they concluded it could be easily resolved and all the risks avoided by marrying the second oldest girl of marriable age of the noble house in question, Agnes anon Annie, to the younger son instead of the elder one.
but in retrospect this deal had yet again failed miserably. the younger son was killed. Agnes ran away with the elder son. the servants of house Prospero found out the aforementioned facts, and in their panicked attempt---for they do not wish to taste the wrath of vine-bound horse-crops, a cut in wages or meals or being thrown into that dark room which they call "petit dungeon for the little master" helplessly wasting away hours when others lock up the door---
but in thankful gladness they find their Master had died. not of a dagger from the back or poison. He was too fat and ate and drank against his doctor's advice; while he was suffering from gout he was the more driven to eat the delicacies he did not have the chance to taste in youth--his gout-laden leg is swollen as that of an elephant's---and of course he almost drowned himself in wine for that he thought, cultivates an imperial mindset and manly virtues--that celebrated Italian grape-fetor that Caesers knew. He thought he could conquer and that he is a conquering man, and so even diseases like gout, diabetes and frail heart condition would not kill but kneel to him, for he who was a smart businessman and entrepreneur with a truly good eye for golden character.. his gold-trimmed spectacles fall aside upon the study desk, on which he buried his big, plump, groovy and distorted face downwards…he was not able to see where he was going and he died----he died of a sudden heart seizure, which is oddly coincidental with the period of Prospero's downfall in his failed plan to assassinate this man--- but it has long been expected, for the heart failure to be a worthy doom for him, he who was ill and needful of medicine, but acted in his fully knowing good conscience against medicine's and doctor's extended helping hand---and thus, welcoming in with open arms his well-overdue demise…And thus this fortunate-and-misfortunate happening too drove the servants to happily rob everything of worth from the household with the master keys provided by kind the loyal, considerate and hopelessly disappointed and disgruntled butler who was underpaid, while each and all in and out of the study room decide upon themselves to leaving the poor sod's weighty frame to rot naturally as is. though one of the younger servant girl had the courtesy to report to the police…
there is no heir apparent to the house Prospero. And the House of Agnes is decaying and crumbling without any acts of malicious push or pull from outside. All the grandsons of Annie's house had already been married. And out of all the granddaughters, the oldest had already been married and divorced twice, Annie the second oldest granddaughter eloped with Prospero, the third granddaughter committed suicide years ago when she was informed that not only her former youthful, well-lettered and passionate lover and admirer, changed the object of his love's eternal devotion to that of her mother---in the hope of a yet swifter and more direct chance to grasp the fortune the illustrious lineage and reputation could provide---which was still barely tolerate--- later on, he even changed his devotion once more to her grand-matron when he heard of the truth that that woman was the one pulling the strings of the purse..
the fourth granddaughter is 6 year old. the blind chaplain and care-taker is dead, who worked while receiving almost no wage at all--- only a dim-lit dark room, lettuces, morsels of bread and a spoonful of cheese twice a day, water. And nothing else. And she was dead, leaving no responsible and capable adult to look after the granddaughter.
thus the house of Prospero, and the house of Annie are forever doomed.

"if the impermanently mutable pure-land of flowering Sunwheels above eight-layers of clouds,
is to know the wit-sense of the carcass of lions or boars.
in his awakening roars."

…
…
far in the distance, Prospero and Agnes made their escape from the long and over-drawed, all-enveloping flowing mantle of night; the meadow-heath upon which the black horse had trodden left upon the iron-shod hooves indelible bite marks of voracious little blackhole that yawns in each and every drop of cool morning-dew. they had rode far away; the nightmare is perhaps about half-over. They were fortunate, though they failed everything in their plot---they had met a good friend, and from his misfortune which he self-willed and accepted with noble resignation out of his humanity and friendship--- they were permitted to rob their fortune for their future from the Old Man's misfortune. They left that dark yawning mouth of a cavernous Hell that is like the Karst landscape with many subterrain rivers and flows end up in sudden and inexplicable sinkholes all the way down to the abyss. They were born in that dark and damp microcosm-in-a-cave but never knew that they were its captives, nor that there is a world of daylight outside where the shades of colours and scents are allowed by divine or human decree, in differently configured pre-established harmony, to be as right what they are, at the moment---even in great disuse, decay and even dissolution---to be able to live as what human feels, thinks and loves. That there is no drive to look back like in the unfortunate katabasis of Orpheus and his wife, towards Hell---which held for them perhaps---a strange sort of charm that makes life and thinking more real and colourful even with morbid, destructive humour----that the living knew not. In hell there are things better than mediocrity and maudlin rehashes of sentiment prevalent in the troubled aged of old Greece, in the society, populace and communes ---stifling pre-defined sentiment values basing upon common empathy or pathos towards a subject demanded by some unwritten, old draconic Laws.
In Xanadu there is no sinful enjoyment in life like those of Greeks and Romans.
Indeed in Xanadu, perhaps the only Law for Xanadu is to never speak of it to outsiders (like what the villagers of "Peach-Bloom Shire (桃園縣) " told to Tao Yuan Ming (陶淵明) in the "Record of a Journy to Peach-Bloom Shire （桃花源記）"， that the only way people can still find their path to that utopia out of time where every day is eastern festival feast full of grilled and honeyed swine flesh and unfiltered rice-wine without slightest fear over manners or moderation---and certainly through feasting and breaking restraints in unoppressed humane festivity it eternally estranges the soul in a weirder and more ancient form of Sabbath--the starvation of spirit through fulfilment. ---yet if you were to define and devise physical , temporal and moral laws for a kind of existence that is meant to be a general musical upheaval and a learned, barbaric dancing, the violent waltz cycles self-affirmations---you would let that utopian existence slip away from your fingertips, and thus forever breaking the eternal Sabbath, for you desire hunger and thirst now…that the best things such as eternal fulfimentof purpose and soul cannot be described for we know so little in science and wise language, and we are simply children who cannot benefit from true demystifying science and poetry that cure the universal human illness which is called the drive to transcendency and ascendency---two very primal animal traits to escape from the present and now--for we want perfection and completion---which means our present and now are imperfect and incomplete----it is dark, ugly, disgusting, submissive and ambitions to overthrow one's submissive state, it is full of upcoming violence and turbulence roiling beneath a tranquil surface of the lake that is peace---it needs a strong arm to defend oneself from coming evil, and knowledge to find ways to escape from immediate physical and intellectual dooms or impasses that block the path of the continued living existence and experience. and yes, this state cannot be described as anything other than purgatory itself…we are the antipodal animals that live in inverse to the erect and upright form of a supposed normal and good human upon the soil---we live as black-winged vampire-bats with feet glued to the ceiling, and perhaps became even a little wiser and more imaginative for the men live in that of shadow is bound to know more ways of evil in the pull to humanity's downfall and also how to avoid those draws to disgrace than the pure, innocent and righteous men… and we those who are especially misfortunate are often hanged upwards down like a hanged demigod. Perhaps a total Fall after counting through all the sum total of life is a greater mercy. in that downfall maybe we shall find a realm where we can actually stand upright….
…
far in the distance, the sound of Otto's roar was blocked out by the hum and buzz of pedestrians and carriages passing by in the bright midday, the clamouring and hawking in the bazaar, the riots and cahoots from the student boarding houses. the muffled sound of treading feet of servants, businessmen, government functionaries and their endless march for no purpose save for continuing the flow of commerce itself. the sound of lower class labourers whelping and moaning in workshops and foundries who secretly plead some Power to grant them cool and enjoyable death they can never have by being labourers who would not die. some soft and prim huffs and puffs from bespectacled rich men and jewel-decorated women unsatisfied with life due to how incredibly dull the colours and scents in their native soil feel like to them---as they do not know private shades of colours and personal mode of scent exist and they thought poetry is public property.
and there are parents watching lame and confused children learning to walk for the first time. and the confusion of the child is further compounded when they have walked what their parents construe as a great distance, of 1 and an half metre or more, that is about the length with which a torn strand from a silken scarf tainted with murder blood can envelope and coil around the neck for about exactly one or two circles and so---and when they tumbled and fell---that was when the parents blurted out with joy and rushed to their side to celebrate---for what a good fall that was, and what a good and priceless thing to celebrate, when those who struggle so much, after having made a bit progress, again or forevermore made their downfall!
….
…
far in the distance, the roars of the eternal old and lion-like prince Otto could never be heard, and therefore Prospero immediately knows through pessimistic instinct that for certes---the lion had roared and he had definitely heard it---as he is doomed in his eastwards escapade to never hear from the west again. this strange belief is called 'faith', and that faith is a baseless and intangible thing incumbent upon the blessed ignorance and fear of humanity.
towards the roaring lion in the westmost horizon from the backside of his horse, he turned, and having never heard the roar of the west lion and is thus forever guilty of his oriental innocence. He replies, with human pride and warmth, and a sense of wistful melancholy---an answer to that human cry of pain, an answer born of another form of human pain that dwells eternal in his chest…
it is condensed and vulgarised into three syllables,
as he thus says;

Prospero: " D.T.O"

…pause…
 

"D. T. O"


"Dionysos-Tresmegastus-Omnidoloris"

D.T.O: "I am called Dionysus-Tresmegastus-Omnidoloris.
My name means Dionysos; Thrice-Great; Hewing-Madly-from-All-Sorrows.
Which is known to you by the name 'Human'.
With lust for the music and spite for the cost of redemption,
I wrote down this piece, which was put into my tongue by my own Willpower,
against my Will-to-Power, and Will-to-Love;
in my devoted love to P___tasm-Gaia,
This is my case of which I am the sole and only plantiff,
I rest my case.
Dionysos, Tresmegastus, Omnidoloris…
Tres-Meg(a)-Astus.
'Omnidoloris'---created from All Sorrows…
of Human.
D.T.O"