Project, Farm, Worship

by Marcus Jonathan Chapman

Behold the great sheep, humble and woolly, providing cotton for all of us. Let us raise our hands and lower them to gently sweep the grasses on which the sheep graze. We shall write songs of its soothing bleats, its gently spirit and that wool that keeps us warm when the god of ice exacts his wrath.

Let us erect a statue in the image of the sheep, a ram and a ewe. The pair representing the balance between protection, violence and calm, gentleness. We shall conduct the lambing as a sacred rite. A new lamb represents the Spring, life, growth, harvest. Let us cut the grasses as gently as we sheer the wool, for us the wool, for the sheep, the grasses.

We shall project our needs and desires onto the careless bleating of the sheep. We shall make our most important decisions upon which direction the flock chooses to graze. Let us not take responsibility for our actions but place the burden of our actions on the paths our flocks choose to tread. Through bad harvest and good, all blame and credit will be given to the sheep.

Why? Because we need the wool to stay warm in the Winter’s, to maintain our temperatures during the winds of Fall. We need not take responsibility when we can hoist our burdens onto the sheep. All praise the sheep!

Let us remove our shoes and walk upon their dung to feel the earthly wisdom that is excreted from their nether regions. Let us hold golden goblets to their golden showers and drink of their peace.

Nothing is our fault. We are blameless. We are humble servants of the sheep as the sheep humbly provide their wisdom through their very nature.

Let us sacrifice our children if the sheep suffer from illness or disease. Let us kill one another when there is dispute over the treatment of the sheep. We shall not bother with our own doubt. Let us ignore them as the sheep ignore the sandy earth. Let us dismiss the questions that forever run through our minds of whether the sheep belong to us or whether we belong to the sheep.

Let us remember that when one sheep dies, we must kill one of our own to make up for the loss.

Let us never forget that we belong to the sheep!

Let us write down our decrees and thinking at this moment and forever follow them blindly, as the flock follows their ram. No matter what changes befall us, no matter what discoveries we make, let us never forsake the wool and the wisdom of the sheep.

Let us raise our goblets of sheep urine and drink to the wool and the wisdom of sheep, never to think for ourselves but only to remain faithful to the sheep.

Amen!

Slippery, Provide, Flesh

3 things to inspire 1 story written in 20 minutes. #story320
words/phrase provided by https://wordcounter.net/random-word-generator
Story inspired from sketches by mapka_dgjargorn9

Back then dreams were loosely contained, if at all. The structure of nightmares were slippery and sometimes the subconscious came to life; what in the world of the woke were referred to as myths, legends, fables. These were the makings of story.

Sometimes, like a finger dipped in hot candle wax, flesh was wrapped around those things which drive men to create art; giving form to emotion and feeling.

In this dream walked a procession, four deep. They had come from the hill shaded by the Samanea Saman tree at its summit. They walked; the Cloaked Ruby leading her troupe, stretching and yawning at the sky.

The short but Groovy King of Clash and Bang staring at the Cloaked Ruby’s back.

Towering over the Groovy King was William I, King of Scots. He extended his hand which held the souls of all the picts. The energy of their vibrant spirits and blue bodies radiating around William I.

Snarling at the rear of the parade was the gentle Bovix, carnivorous, yes, but only of that dead meat provided by vanquished enemies.

They marched towards the entrance formed by two gnarled tree trunks. Deformed by the wizardry and witchcraft of so many practicing sorcerers passing by. The tree’s marked the entrance into the waking world, tethered by a tangled wire.