Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Picar


A richly vibrant, sometimes insanely paranoid and cruel palimpsest, Picar has been tightly woven over thousands of years into layers of progressive architectures. The lower levels of its structure are carved from the Plateau itself, whilst successive strata dilute the symbols of ancestor magic becoming ever more rational, dispassionate, frail, and cynical, the further one stood from its birth stone the brighter and cheaper its neon became.

Gangs of warrior monks dressed as Catholic priests and adorned with black gold kept check on the so-called radicals, peace seekers, punks and immigrants. The fundamentalist vigilantes struck for order. Outbreaks of civil unrest between the priests, who believe that true liberty is a pollution of the human spirit and the Polemites, secularists who believe that no true enlightenment can take place unless the sacred is re-marketed, has become more and more frequent.

On the outskirts of the city walls dispossessed ragamuffin’s and exiles slice at each others flesh for scraps of food filtered from the sewers that drain effluent into the Efflit river and on into the lakes. The landscape is dotted with small fires, nests for metal buckets that boil down discarded fish bones for the purposes of making sniffing glue, a vile, yellow residue of poor oblivion.

Once a month warrior monk outreach team’s venture into the slums to offer work instead of charity. Those that accept and there are many, march to the discipline of the hard chapters, brigades of highly skilled fighters that push into the Libertines, neutrals and Polomites. ‘Covert or overt, podium or sword,’ this is their cry.

Amongst the romance of the cafes, the neutrals sip coffee and keep the flames of Picars powerful oral traditions alight under the glow of Absinthe and whisky until the soporific effects of opium level excess and filter out fools. Certain whispers rouse excitement and debate; sometimes there is talk of an army or some mythic garrison of peace crusaders from the UN, but they laugh. There was never anyone coming, no aliens to save us, great truths or absolutes, that god forbid would snuff out the mysteries. We had all heard the stories before and we’d laughed then too. But still, talk was different now and the gossip had turned to something new, people were talking about ‘The Ten.’

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