Was it the tale of Artaxander and Alexoraganes? The gallium annealed swordsmiths from Temnellerophon and Apokritheon. Or of Eithne Eulalius and Nahehapes the Bristol-Shaker who defended the Sintered Statues of Corzellen from the Apists and their electromechanical steam impeller machines? Brigands and Apparition-Artists! Revolting isotopologues and crimminsmiths. Or Veitnar Rasalbalom, bearded, blind, and daft, wielding a buckycarbon blade at the entire 251st Platoon of the Great Syrevian Army during the Battle of Brontemps, in the ancient Wilzbonian wars? Nobody seems to remember the old times, and we find ourselves accosted by the conflicts of the age: these ancient scuffles find their ways into mythologues and countryside contentments, in books greatly scarred with age and non-acid-safe paper. The antitenebrous lilting of the treebirds over these battlefields reflects upon the gone-to-thusness which these fiercesome, ancient, and forgotten fighters now enjoy: we have forgotten their battles so that their fight would have some meaning: to remember would be to let a wound fester for centuries, so they are better as evanescent neutrino diffractions rather than echoing standing waves in the cenotaph of our collective subconsciousness.
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