Liège-ure

Dearest readers, the absence of journal entries may be attributed to a great many things, things great and many indeed which will scarcely be writ over in this hallowed blog. However, pray hear my tale of woe and redemption in the fair city of Liège, or is it Liége. I never can recall.

The Calliope of the Future travelled for some time amidst a family of somewhat filthy Velocipedists until I, Tovio by name, accordionographer by trade, didst feel a pinch, nay a searing burning pain in such a joint commonly referred to as a knee. A friendly Englishman was apt to do me the favor of pulling me by cord some 5000 cubits before I was in dire need of walking. Oh tall bike, why hast though forsaken me with tendonitis??

After a 30 kilometer walk (near 30000 cubits, if thou canst imagine) I found myself in the Chauve Souris, a delightful house upon a hill in the fair, dare I use this word again...Citadel of Lièége, Belgium. Kayne continued on the with the Velocipedists from here and I stayed to recuperate and build an herb spiral in the garden.

I have played too much Starcraft, as that is the pasttime of fair Lisa and Jerome. I have eaten much bread and slept oft.

I expected to rest only a matter of days before returning to the 123 Rue Royale in Brussels to help Reginald with his political party entitled Velorution (there is an accent in there somewhere, but as we all know, truly gentile personnages know inherently the accents of words without the need for an errant apostraphe). But somehow I have overstayed not my welcome but my schedule and I must now by foot traverse the path to Dijon to meet again withst Kayne and finally rescue my beloved from the cruel grasp of the great Inquisitor De Gaulle, who byst his very strange winged contraptions hast captured dear Sarah.

Fare thee well readers of ramblings, shall we again traverseth the fair fields together upon steeds of pedalled metal, after my fucking knees heal.

And So Kayne Deletes His Myspace....

my dear, dear friends

troubled times characterize the world around us these days. highwaymen and bands of brigands are prolific in these parts. the local publichouse is astir with many a tavern tale that which would make the blood in one's veins run cold. the queues for the dole stretch meters upon meters; all awash with the commonry waiting to receive their measly pittance. their wry, humourless grins and pain-filled grimaces are visible under dirt and grime covered faces, all aglisten with tears and sweat. riding on our mounts, half dead from exhaustion and dehydration, through the countryside, we daily glimpse farm labourers collapsing under the oppressive heat radiating from the impenetrable clouds of methane and carbon which more and more block the sun from our view, causing widespread vitamin D deficiencies and existential dilemna epidemics. Is there naught we can do but sit and watch as our homes are fore-closed and our sextants repossessed, just because we could not satisfy the local tax collecter? But, ere one relinquishes all in the face of grim defeat, we must admit that, mayhaps, there is a glitter of hope here. So we shall paint our arbalests black, rubbing dirt on them to reduce their shimmer, and plunge into the night, towards the campfires which indicate the enemy's encampment. And the rest shall be history.


Thus, my friends, I delete my Myspace. But Wait! I have one final request of you all, before we are cut off from one another forever, only to meet again at Hood's gates, where all souls must go one day. Valar Morghulis. Email Alistair Reynolds, well-known Welsh sci-fi writer, and request of him that he allow The Calliope of the Future to play the golden lute at FinnConn 2009. His email is dendrocopus@yahoo.co.uk And if you would like to keep in contact with me, my email is la.jacasse@gmail.com Thank you for your time.


Kayne
The Calliope of the Future