Mordred Ruminates (Sometimes Postulates, Possibly Fulminates) In Hell

It is generally supposed we come to this place

As a just reward for treachery and traitorousness.

Indeed, nothing could be farther from the truth;

Most of my compatriots her have blindly hitched their fortunes

To some flag, some shining dogma, our fates sealed

By the unwillingness to be sufficiently self-interested,

The refusal to abandon ship once it became apparent

That the experience upon the rocks

Would be neither enabling nor ennobling

My own case is illustrative of the rule;

My father, that noble sovereign

Ascending to the throne via parlor tricks

And the rustic embrace of folk legend,

(The fornication resulting in my birth brushed aside

As some accident of mistaken identity or enchantment)

Is celebrated, beatified really, in song and legend,

Yet I, who pulled myself up by my own bootstraps as it were,

Winning his queen’s hand and defeating him on the field,

Am consigned here in perpetuity, suffering demons

Who hiss Bastard! and Usurper!

As they put my through my paces

(One takes their rebukes with a grain of salt;

They are all mad, the likely result of dealing

With the glut of madmen here.)

As I noted, the presence of myself and my brethren in this place

Serve as a testament to the merits of fidelity,

Which we often commemorate (I confess it seems a touch silly,

But the necessity of creating distractions

When one is pestered constantly

For such a period as time is still time) by staging caucus races,

Where each participant addresses the asshole in front of him directly,

Paying it fealty–My liege! My liege!

Which is answered in turn

By a cannonade of noxious farting

(We assume the smells to be offensive,

As the atmosphere here is somewhat deleterious at all times),

All to the great amusement of those sprites observing our machinations,

They in turn guffawing madly and urinating downward upon us

While we, as the acidic waste corrodes us,

Also cackle like lunatics,

Fairly shouting Ah, the gentle rain of Heaven!

Thank you, my Lord!

Though, oddly enough, our laughter at times

Seems somewhat more restrained.





6 thoughts on “Mordred Ruminates (Sometimes Postulates, Possibly Fulminates) In Hell

  1. Hey WK… Have been remiss in reading your stuff, and reading this reminded me that your flow, melody and language make me want to write better. Hope things are good on your end.

  2. Well, after reading this, I started thinking for a while bit that hell is up and not down, contrary to what traditional, allegorical and church friendly point of view might say. I was a cartoon fan during my childhood of the tragedy of Tom and Jerry. It was one of the later versions, I must believe, the cat was rocketed down–now it’s coming to me slowly–after either diving in an empty bucket and descnding as in an elevator down to the lowest zone where it is hell, or after being hit with a trunk of the mouse-petting elephant. The elevator took a shift up this time carrying Tom to the surface with a little fork plucking his bottom. Tom takes out the fork that the devil stuck in his ass and the devil giggles, only slightly telling us that he is up for something when we are up to it. The gigantic symbol of love, goodness and kidness portrayed in the elephant could not be missed, and the mouse could not be pittied less after the elephant is put in a cage and taken away. Evil and good, hell or heaven, patriotism or treason, love and hate, up or down, today or yesterday, and as it goes I assume that the writer in your writing is trying to find a way out of the oppression of these contrary couples whose coercive coexistence has always offered hope for mankind by the logic of destroy and build again. No one wants to see that this is not different than sitting on a gambling table with tons of dollars about you. The game may have lasted long, but this shouldn’t mean it won’t end. When you give the matter a gram of sober thought, anybody can find in himself the foundation to reject concepts like hell and heaven as nonsensical. We’re basically talking about an end-of-the-world that we fear more than one that we look to happen with an eye of certainty. . All that acid rain with all the smoke causing it. . It is disgusting. Your villain here is provoking me to think. He’s no prophet and I don’t think his situation is promising, on the other hand. But, well, at least he is alive. If only his wife agrees to join him in the same chemical neutrality that he bears, I think they will be well set up for eternity.

  3. The voice that you used here was dead on and perfect. The style rolled and flowed perfectly, without a single hitch which is harder that most could fathom when writing in this voice. I could hear and feel and smell…I never enjoyed the thought of being urinated on…lol, but this was fun and period and prose…wonderful.

  4. I have read this before today, but it is such a powerful piece that I was thrilled to get the opportunity to read it again. In some ways the Arthur-Mordred story says much about many father-son relationships, when issues of abandonment, resentment and desire to usurp come into play.

  5. This totally amused me! The notion that dogma built the many roads to hell is not a new one to me. And the paternal relationship gone sour, a famous literary theme. You’ve built a poetic tale on solid planks.

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