A History of the Period
There is a range of mountains that spreads into Tajikistan, Afghanistan, Pakistan, China and Kyrgyzstan, a place Marco Polo once called the Roof of the World; from a particular shelf in the snow, all five countries can be seen at once. It is the place that gave birth to humanity as we know it, and that would be a fine place to dwell indeed if this narrative were concerned with people and how they came to be. However, this is the story of the creation of something else, a meager but mighty dot, a point that echoes through all our writings and readings, through our stories and letters, the simple mark that concludes this sentence and ends any composition that we assemble in language: the period.
That place in the mountains is called Pamir. It is a bestial place, where bulldozers are stationed on the roads to clear landslides and the Afghans train their sniper rifles on any headlight they see after sunset. There is a narrow band on the mountains, perhaps 300 m wide, where the humidity and temperature is optimal for the growth of crops; above this strip, all is dry, and below, all too shaded from the sun to bring fertility. Climate change will alter the outlook for this swath of land, stretching it up and down the mountain until the delighted farmers will be able to pass on ever larger patches of land to sons and daughters. But this is also not the story of Pamir, at least as it is now.
Four millennia ago, a young farmer of sheep sat in his home on the side of a Pamiri mountain, cramming patches of thatched grass into the cracks in the wood that let the snow of a storm into his house. The fire was burning low. Between his attempts to hold off the elements, he wrote on a sheaf of paper – for this was not a simple herder of sheep or a grower or hemp, no this man was a composer, a gentleman who relished the isolation of the deep snows; indeed, this man was a writer, a man whose thoughts raced day and night as they tried to express the meanings he had gleamed in the passes and the valleys. Alas, the poor sop, this unextraordinary farmer of sheep, never assembled a collection of words sufficiently memorable that someone chose to preserve them; we have no record of his writings. Though he sought to express his thoughts, he ended up merely punctuating them.
The farmers found him soon enough, frozen hands curled around his quill. They would have left him there to rest, but one, a stumpy coal miner, chanced to look upon the unremarkable words that had been built up on the sheaf, and there saw something astonishing adorning the last sentence. It was a mark, unexceptional, plain, even insipid perhaps, but powerful all the same in the way that it gave clarity to the words that preceded it. As the others began to ransack the home, this gentleman took the piece of paper and tucked it into his skins.
At the bottom of the mountain, he showed the paper to the erstwhile shaman of the tribe. At once, this behemoth of a man understood what he had in his possession, the meaning this thing would give to words, any words, a multitude of words – his words. “Mine!” he said, and took the thing from the miner. That night, the shaman lay an offering in his fire and inhaled the fumes, knowing that his ascension was finally at hand – after the cold and bone-breaking wind of forty years, he had his salvation. Little did he know that the coal miner had taken ill to this turn of events and gone to a neighboring tribe, to whom he described his incredible discovery. No sooner had that night set than did howls echo through the mountains of Pamir, as savages stormed the village of the shaman. Thus began the first battle of the period.
39 thoughts on “Burst – A History of the Period”
Loving this, Trent.
Dare I say it? Chance a french revolution? Sure, why not…the first battle of the period had no sooner begun when, hark, upon yonder hilltop, a voice did sound….”“There’s not much to be said about the period except that most writers don’t reach it soon enough.” Period! 😉 (nice burst!)
It may at that. I suspect this one is not exactly finished yet.
ok…american foot in american mouth. kicked my own arse for ya. 🙁
Well I didnt intimate continuing. I would like to get a bit crazier on this. Possibly tomorrow but crime the time is always slipping. But please Rhonda, kick away my friend.
figured you’d allow me to do it. thanks a bunch. I wasn’t trying to be mean ya know. but…the kicking continues…this ONCE.
I only want what’s best for you dude.
hmph…don’t you have something else to do? is it snowing up there yet? go shovel something will ya? I like to kick my own arse in private.
Um. Sorry first I read that, I thought you wrote ‘lick’. Gross yo. No, no snow up here but it’s cold. We’ll be sure and send a storm your way.
got one already…no snow (boo) but lots of rain and wind. want some? I can probably blow hard enough to push it up your way. and….ewwwww. no lick!
I’ll take the rain over snow any day. Ugh I gotta sleep. Supa early morning cause like us Canadians are wicked industrious.
guffawing lewin. but fair enough, sleep well, you need your strength, apparently
You don’t know the half of it. Keep it on the floor Rhonda, you rock. I will deny I ever said that, if asked. Mustn’t be too chummy with the downstairs neighbors after all.
Yeah yeah, I know the drill. and btw canada…you don’t visit the south near enough. i’m always headed north. you should come by more often…we have a mutual friend who you may learn a bit more about in my most recent post…but it’s not a shorty and not sure your attention span can handle it, but if so, come read it. it might surprise you a little.
I read it, will respond on the page.
a good choice…better than on the floor.
what’s the point? lmao
Ouch. Good one. The period’s story must continue.
Hope you build on this. It’s got a mythic quality
Yup, will post more inane gibber next couple of days. Curious to see where this goes.
heh. Wait until the comma wars begin. Then it is a fight to the last man standing.
Yup. But the period’s story cannot quite be completed as yet.
The opening paragraphs of this are truly gripping and so wonderfully stylish and sucks you in. I love the story and the character. And actually can relate to it even though it’s 2012 and I live in Virginia haha Great morning read
My favourite, but favourite area of the world! And your flow of words…..!!! Wonderful! A magical story unfolding…..
Publish..publish!!! Hope you’re going to make us buy the book! I think its great to read excerpts here..
Well it’s really just for fun. It is after all about a punctuation mark.
Ah…in the ”we fooled you all, the walrus was Paul” vein’…! Publish and be damned!
Kinda. More just fooling around than anything. I guess I should finish the last part. Have to find some more wine first….
There’s a book there! Stock up on the wine, opium, lock yourself in a small cliffside cottage for a year or so…
Don’t tempt me! I would also bring much scotch.
There you are, throw in some tea bags – you’re all set…!
You’re a sick man, sir, inserting such thoughts into my mind while I am in such a delicate state. I will however honour your praise by releasing the last installment of this story of the period. It will, I promise, be intensely stupid.
its moving correctly, though for historicity see the following
The Birth of Papermaking
AD 105 is often cited as the year in which papermaking was invented. In that year, historical records show that the invention of paper was reported to the Chinese Emperor by Ts’ai Lun, an official of the Imperial Court. Recent archaeological investigations, however, place the actual invention of papermaking some 200 years earlier. Ancient paper pieces from the Xuanquanzhi ruins of Dunhuang in China’s northwest Gansu province apparently were made during the period of Emperor Wu who reigned between 140 BC and 86 BC.
seems four millenia stretches the bounds of historical accuracy
Yes, that may be. However, the period transcends all such history, and its true story is only now being revealed.
now i am intrigued!!
Yes, well, the period is not to be trifled with. He can sneak up on us when we least expect him, especially when we are writing and writing and writing and writing… He is the ultimate warrior, too, for he has been bred in all the arts of battle. That he transcends the conventional tellings of history should come as no surprise to you. Beware! And don’t ever look back – he may be gaining on you.
Your math is overwhelming my brain capacity.