Tonight I’ll be showing off. Not that my writing is any good, because in this story it’s entirely the opposite. I currently have no books waiting for me to scribble words about them. I’m currently on page 532 of a book of short stories, there’s only 1,229 pages in this book and as I mentioned last week it will take me a little while to finish. There’s a half a chance I’ll finish in time to scribble some words for next week. But for tonight I’m going to give you one of my assignments for uni. We were studying experimental writing and our teacher showed us a translated page of a book called A Void written by Georges Perec and translated by Gilbert Adair. This book has no instances of the letter ‘e’ in it, and the translation is similarly devoid of the same letter. Absolutely brilliant writing! For one of my assignments I decided to take a really bad short story I’d written and try to edit it to remove all instances of the letter ‘e’. Getting the grammar and tense right were impossible so I focussed on more words and getting rid of those pesky letters. The result is 1,242 words, I was aiming for 2,500! Good luck reading them:
‘His burial situation was not found.’ A man’s vocal sounds coming across various ruins occupying a wild morass of woodlands vibrating from TVland had ominous intonations. Such intonation sounds caught in our minds. That man dropping off from this mortal coil about two thousand durations ago, making it thoroughly probably that annihilation of his tomb was transpiring many durations ago. My lady voicing thoughts out loud anyway.
‘Sugar, did you pick that up? ‘His burial situation was not found.’ How about that?’
At this point I was thankful for my lady’s quirk of not waiting for sassy thoughts during our watching of rational and naturalistic broadcasts on TV. Looking around at contortions on our mugs would show us basically looking guilty.
It was a night at uni. All should admit to a lack of studying for our finals; to a lack of scrutinising past writings. Although our plans had an inclusion of passing said finals, our thoughts look firmly towards an inclination of drinking alcohol. Our drinking wasn’t too much, it was what our brains had thoughts towards imbibing. Chili liquor jam Shots. Built to go down quickly, and to accomplish a wish for said dipsomaniac to want additional drinks to assist with capsaicin disruption within our mouths from chilis. Following a third shot I was undoubting in my mind it was most ominous that a human had an inclusion of ghost chilis within this jug of concoction. I caught up a portion of an adjoining potion to cool my mouth.
At that point situational affairs put into motion. Possibly a difficulty was launching a handful of durational instants prior. I had cast off my multifocals abutting to our computational calculator. If I had had visual acuity as to what I was lunging I would not allow it in my hand or down my mouth. This additional jam shot obviously had too much vodka with a major amount alcohol. It hit my brain quickly. Notions burst from alcohol without allowing for much thinking. Words my study pals should not admit into any brain but, jam shot sustaining our brains, all did.
Shortly following our finals our thought of introducing holiday work took hold. Our brain dump during said jam shots still had distinct logic and our holiday occupation took a smooth format. Maths piloting to composition laying groundwork to an actual construction. Final culmination including an amazing innovation providing a vast amount of voltaic output.
Jam shots ran out again. Not duplications of our original jam shots but a distinct kind. This jug would hold vodka, a Polish vodka with flavouring and much high alcohol. Watching that this jug had no doctoring to boost any alcohol all sat down to discuss our first stop.
‘Giza. I wish to sight pyramids. I wish to find out if any human can talk with a pharaoh.’ Bravo said.
‘Avalon, I want to find out how King Arthur saw his kingdom! I wish to find his burial situation.’ Tony said.
‘You should know history with accuracy. King Arthur’s burial plot is at Avalon not a position of his casualty,’ Moira said.
Jam shots did rounds again and it was at this point that Mayan history was in discussion. It was thought that facts could surround humanity’s thought of Yaxchilan city. Would it turn out a most mighty city in full Usamacinta district? Conclusion of that thought took us into major maths.
Dialing back to about 359 BC to find an original patron of Yaxchilan city, Yopaat B’alam, all of us ran into our apparatus. Had our group built a TARDIS? So much room intramural. Pushing a button on an unfamiliar control faculty that contraption did a small vibrating disco.
Dancing to a conclusion our contraption shutdown. Migration towards that door was an introduction to starting a vacation of our contraption. All thought anybody should go forward through that door first. Finally, a human did. Proximity to that door showing a vow of such rapid thorough faring. Sticking to all good film axioms that door was ajar.
‘So many luscious plants.’
Words burst softly through an almost shut door. A draft of distinct vapor puffing its way around our limbs.
It is not logical that our TARDIS actually might show promising for working.
‘Our TARDIS is standing in a hub of a drought, in a car-park, how can anything grow that quickly?’
Draft through that door was hiking upwards, sounds of hooting, a low hooting totally dissimilar to car horns nudging its way into our brains. Aural vibrations of smooth and cordial rustling of lush, abundant stalks and fronds had intrusion into a spotlight of our minds.
Glancing at all in shock it was hard to go out of that contraption with simplicity. Falling through a door was mandatory at that instant to concur with basic film axiom.
Looking around our group could spot shrubs with an odd volcano partially showing amidst high topiary. Asparagus, avocado and mantis colours warring with blossoms and buds of flora with chroma blazoning to us that a car-park had withdrawn from our sight. On a hot 40°C day our vision did show us this vision of plants. A majority of humans had not had sight of such plants for many a span from a climb of civilisation. A downpour of blossoms and buds with a display illustrating action from fauna high in its canopy.
A sound of ululation was caught by us. It is mourning? Possibly sounds of a burial? Was our timing spot on? Had our group got to this city of Yaxchilan in good timing for Yopaat B’alam I’s burial by its inhabitants? Would our group find this city is a mighty city in this Usamacinta district?
All saw civilians of this city working hard. Our group found it hard to obtain information as all had outcast any thought of knowing any Spanish. Walking through groups of civilians our group saw a man watching this industry. Our action was to hand him two jam shots walking him back to our TARDIS as alcohol hit his brain hard and quickly.
On arrival back at our car park it was with difficulty a translator was found. This woman was sworn to privacy as a translation was built of our situation. Following translation all had confirmation this man our group had found was Yopaat B’alam, patron of this Yaxchilian city. Civilians working hard on his burial situation prior to his passing as was custom on that occasion.
Guilt must show on our mugs as my lady said ‘his burial situation was not found’. Why dig a tomb for a man who has not had occasion to drop off a mortal coil within a city? Yopaat B’alam was now staying in my digs. It was not within our skills to obtain workings for our TARDIS again a solo trip was all our group could work on. It was not fortuitous for us to bring Yopaat B’alam back to his own city. What was a possibility for us to find that bang-on hour with Yopaat B‘alam walking into our multifunctional chronoscopic illuminatory box of tricks?
Yopaat B’alam would stay with us until an hour for him to pass on. Our group had much information from Yopaat B’alam for a history of his district. A book was writ to show what was of import in that location at that hour, proof was hard so it had a warrant as if it was fiction.