From “Language, Lies, Magic”

 

by Pjetër Mamrick

 

 

We, Humanity, with our fleshy bodies, our faces, our personalities, our life histories, and our fallible thoughts, are caught between the microscopic world of atoms and molecules and the macroscopic universe of stars and galaxies, the two kingdoms where everything is the same. But on our scale, it is possible to see individual differences between every object, and everything is full of meaningful, and attractive, and subjective details, and teeming with emotions. In fact, it is as if the All-World is weaving stories full of characters, events, symbols, and themes, in which we act without knowing it, for the most part. We inhabit, therefore, a twilight realm between the literal and the metaphorical, where everything is slippery, and nothing is as it appears.

 

 

From “Comedic Chronicles

(with emendations, adaptations and additions

by Elfan Baldrog Bacster)”

 

In “Collected Works of Daud Pekar,

also known as David Baxter

and Dá∙hwyth Oh·fé,”

by P Mamrick (ed.)

 

With the unexpected death of the Yarl Edom of blessed memory, whom everyone loved so much, at almost a hundred years old, in the Blue Zone, after an accident whilst hunting rebels in his ultra-modern war-chariot, the old Yarless also resigned immediately too. That was something that had not been heard of before, because they tended to kill each other, the nobs, rather than die, with barbed words on the ubiquitous televisual screens usually, in today’s enlightened age, but also with radioactive poison if they could afford it. And although the Black Hordes had first reached the shores of Pretany with the Yarl Aber-Dygdhar and the Black Hordes centuries ago, taking oaths in the names of all the Old Gods to reign over these blasted islands forever {Híppos, Equus, Aśva, Hross}, the Great Woman chose to withdraw from the Cruel Eyrth without naming a successor, and refused to speak another word from then on [0]. The fact that the EGO declared the Yarl (who was famous for being a keen anti-conformer, and a full member of the Oppressed Society of Independent Tabernacles) a Sacred Martyr and Defender of the One True Faith, had a great deal to do with it, perhaps [1].

 

Things have got so bad on our Fruitful Planet these days. Indeed, most people use that ridiculous name now, the Cruel Eyrth, under the unholy influence of the EGO. We, the immature Human Race, the foolish wretches, have strayed from the path, and got lost in a primal space full of concepts that circulate like the vast reservoirs of molten rock churning ferociously below the Planet’s surface; or like ingredients in a cooking pot, that mix and influence each other, constantly changing their colour, and taste, and texture. Here existence is governed by the greed of Tholos the glutton, who promises to provide stacks of money, rivers of strong drink, and an endless supply of pleasure. And he strolls hand-in-hand with a deceptive Elevith, that flirtatious gambler who claims she will halt the flow of time, abolish all moral rules, and satisfy every appetite.

 

Principles are principles, of course, even among the gentry, who are not bound by the same laws as the rest of humanity, more than likely, in the Islands of the Disunited Kingdoms at least. And due to the countless scandals arising from amongst the members of the Great Family, as well as the personal failings, the ridiculous foibles, and the unseemly bickering, no one worthy of following the beatific old couple was to be had, according to their own perplexing ordinances. The grieving relatives (who were also competitors for the Yarl’s High Seat) were not even so good as to kill each other this time, according to the old practices of the Wýkingren, I am sorry to say.

 

Of necessity, because of poverty, and oppression, and ignorance, most of the time, the majority of people live disconnected from the World, in seeing only through their eyes, and understanding the World literally, and trying to delimit it logically. And scarcely do we manage to do that. We don’t waste time on complexity, or imagination, or empathy. As we try to grasp ourselves, define who we are, and put our stamp on the World, using logic to understand, to unify, and to explain, our personality flows away in the playful rivers of language, with the acrobatic words, so that we are always giddy strangers to ourselves. Our thoughts fight to connect with the World, but we can’t embrace it. Although we are desperate to know the truth about the essence of existence, when we focus our consciousness on problems, we can see but half-truths delivered through shared hallucinations.

 

Maybe because of the terrifying coughing infection that had begun to spread around the four corners of the World, killing some large percentage of the population here each month (according to the Numerological Agency in Government House), a year or two before that, the EGO had succeeded in extending its talons, becoming increasingly influential on the Star Chamber. After all, many said that the Government in the Big, Bad City had created the pestilence in the first place, or that the People’s Representatives had chosen to let it get worse to feather their own nest, what with their intransigence, their venial, self-seeking nature, and their rank stupidity. And so there they were, the two oppressive organizations, like two heinous twins, isolating the common-folk from one other by banning public meetings of all kinds, controlling broadcasting and publishing, and denying freedom of the press, freedom of speech, freedom of opinion, and freedom of expression, in the name of social cohesion during this period of unprecedented upheaval.

 

And then, because of our faulty intelligence and erroneous ideas, and despite our great but misplaced pride, reality always outstrips us, as logic cannot see anything outside itself. Blind reason alone cannot create a symphony, or a picture, or a poem, and it doesn’t give birth to magic, either. In addition, in order to see the World aright, one must appreciate context, relationships, and emotions, and accept that it is possible to believe two contradictory things at the same time. As a result of these failings, civilization is on the brink of destroying itself through the might of science and technology. Of course, it is not these methods themselves that cause the problems, but how they are used. And increasingly, those in the upper ranks of society are striving to get rid of everything human, by uniting it completely with the realm of objects, fusing the inorganic with the living, and the fleshy with the prosthetic.

 

I shiver remembering the fact, and even more when I talk about it. But there’s something forcing me to say it, and “zin-degí na mi-legí do-bara,” as they say in the Sintu Valley Language, “You don’t live twice” (There’s a little joke for you, maties, but I’m not going to explain, it would spoil everything! And I’m not too sure about it myself, anyway.) Seven is the EGO’s number, because it’s so powerful, and because it’s to be found everywhere all over the World –

 

“It was the Seven Martyrs of the Etruscan Empire who defeated the Seven Wise Warriors of the city of Thebe [2] in the Seven Years’ War, by pronouncing the Seven Deadly Words, before building the Seven Wonders of the world over the Seven Days of the Week, all of which were coloured in the Seven Colours of the Rainbow. And the names of the Wise Warriors were Filzathu, Kwilandu, Mazilnu, Mizlu, Pondanu, Pyeryu, and Zalmu; but of the Martyrs, only Shaman-no we know today.”

 

We have unleashed sadistic imps to despoil the Planet, and society is now suffering from a spiritual illness, as the black shadow of despair rises like a devouring dragon. As we battle these monsters, nature has retreated, leaving us scared, alone, and homeless, in the middle of a huge, empty desert. We have stared at the abyss, and embraced the infinite void, but by doing this, and feeling the cold breath of oblivion freezing our faces, we have been ripped to shreds, and exhausted. And then we melt, possessed by demons, before falling backwards, sideways, in all directions at the same time. 

 

“Remember the Seven Seraphic Founders of the Sacred Nations. But the Seven Sleepers are they now, slumbering beneath the Seven Seas because they committed the Seven Mortal Sins. And so, they wait until the Son of Prophecy who possesses the Seven Virtues, steeped in the Seven Gifts of the Cosmic Power, performs the Seven Acts of Mercy, whilst singing the Seven Penitential Psalms.”

 

(Or maybe it’ll be the son of the Son of Prophecy, or his grandson or someone; the hallowed text is so abstruse.)

 

“For, as it is stated in the Old Book of the Proverbial Revelator, ‘Seven times shall the justified fall, and EGO shall lift him up again’.”

 

Oh, dear, dear, sweet Lushfé, I gotta shut it, I‘m starting to sound like the Public Voice, and who knows who’s listening? Walls have ears, after all!

 

Then, very slowly, we come to our senses in a landscape of insufferable isolation. And there, there’s no choice between up and down, death replaces life, mysterious objects appear randomly, and imaginary things are equivalent to real ones. We reform as half-beings, chimeras with hard hearts, stuck due to our dissatisfaction and our sorrow in high-walled prisons on unbridgeable islands {Whingeing}.

 

With fine words, obscure threats of dispossession, disappearance, and torture, as well as empty promises about a brilliant future, and large doses of mushroom juice in the water supply, they incited about half of the nation to comply, probably. Without fail one of these tame sheep would win a big prize in the Glorious Lottery that appeared every day on the televisual screen in the heart of every home. And then they could use the title “Elevated Lord” or “Incomprehensible Lady,” when they joined the ranks of the Plebeian Consuls, that is, that all-important focus group that would debate fiercely about hot topics such as the colour of the wallpaper in the Silver Chamber, and the make of the toilet paper in the Presidential Privy.

 

Only the individual can promote change, one step at a time, but ultimately, he will be able to overthrow nations. The true Wizard is a spark wandering amidst the endless kingdom of death and loneliness. He challenges the forces of the Cruel Eyrth to fight in the eye of the storm, rather than to exist safely on the shores of the Underworld. His Great Work is to mould the World in order to stop the chaos and protect Humanity from the horrors of the night. He must taste life’s marrow, committing to sucking up every drop of it, no matter how bitter it is. And then he will undergo a metamorphosis, to become a divinity by taking control of principles and symbols and uniting things that have no inherent connection between them.

 

And then, complete carnage, or a heavenly miracle, when the Chief Minister and Father of the Nation, Leskov (“Battered Bonce”) bel-Shoní, fell at the hand of his former best friend Cwmin Keen-eye after the Confessions of the Confidential Communications and the Scandal of the Sex-Crazed Servitors [3]. (Cwmin was an evil genius, if ever there was one. And like the seeds of the same name, he had a penetrating aroma, but a bitter taste. Rumour had it that he could drive a bus full of lies hundreds of miles without being able to see. He became notorious when he removed all the experts from the White Hall, establishing the Committee for the Analysis of Ideas and Examination of Methods. The unelected counsellor’s greatest achievement was to devise and build an enormous and hellishly complex logical machine using magnets and sand, and smoke and mirrors, which would solve every problem asked of it, but immediately delete the answers. Only Cwmin could gaze at it as it worked its magic, humming and rumbling behind a sumptuous, silk, curtain, and so he was the most powerful man in the Kingdom, and the most frightening, for a while, at least.).

 

It is the shortness of life that motivates the Wizard to throw himself into the mysterious beauty and ineffable horror of the All-World, reading his death in its patterns, and writing his life there as well. He knows that folly is every wise action, and in order to rule his fate and bring his desires to fruition, he will have to follow his heart’s promptings with zest, accepting that eternality loves short-lived and futile things. In the Wizard’s imaginary world, which is more fantastically real than the Cruel Eyrth itself, all the things he perceives are strangely unique, as if each were its own species. He must tell the truth about them, describing them with language as precise as possible, and incorporating this insight in gestures and chants. But he lets this truth appear in its own time, without labouring or forcing it, and then he’s in his element. His creations can look as weak as gossamer, but they are immortal, and they become a substantial part of the World, so that they do not just describe or reflect experience, but begin to restructure awareness, and overturn the logical order of events.

 

But Cwmin Keen-eye fell, too, as a result of interference by the Honourable Kasyandra Veykhvezh, Mistress of the Soft Furnishings, incomparable campaigner, and dearest lover of Leskov, who wished to control everything behind the scenes and under the sheets (literally, according to some). Cwmin was exiled to the Air Castle of Varanath in the Blue Wall of the North, to broadcast self-justifying messages, ceaselessly criticizing his detested one-time co-workers, and his former highly-esteemed minions alike. As a result, several of the Faithful Inner Circle came to the fore to denounce the serpentine traitors, take up the reins, and freely indulge their desire for promotion, as heard in the old verse, “No rage in Heaven lives, like love to hate transformed; / Nor fury in Hell's depths, like old advisers scorned.“

 

*             *             *             *             *             *             *             *

 

[0] The title, “Edom” (“Edh·óm” originally), refers to an area in the Great Eastern Wilderness (“Idowmaía, Idwm,” or “Údumi,” that is, the “Salty, Sanguinary Swale”). There, on the shores of the coal-tar lake, the Chief-Priest Ishakí Zlnklé attempted to sacrifice his first-born, hairy, ginger son, Hé·sháow Gzwamo, on the order of the Terrible Old Gods, to prove the commitment, discipline and obedience of the peripatetic inhabitants of the Red Desert, who had been saved from extirpation by them. Without being too coarse, the enormous, muscly Hé·sháow was not like his blessed but ruthless Father in the slightest (in terms of visage or stature), nor to anyone else in the tribe either. For some inexplicable reason, this lump of a son was not willing to be killed (or injured in any way). He fled, therefore, enraging the Seven Thelohofopu, the Seven Delkvovim, the Seven Zv-m’lkvu, the Seven Kulí·vóth, and drawing down an eternal curse on his people. (They would be successful and flourish without ever being happy or satisfied; they would become very well-known but infamous and hated; and no-one would ever set eyes on them from then on.) How Hé·sháow managed to scarper both from under the noses of such vengeful spirits and such overly-zealous mortals, no-one will ever know. But get away he did, in the midst of a huge thunder-storm that threatened to fry the bacon of anyone foolish enough to venture out in it. (“Hidden are the ways of the Cosmic Power,” according to the sages, of course!) Anyway, instead of the original plan, Ishakí had to pretend to grovel with his second-born son Adauvam Dlndva before the Merciless Masters, before thrusting a dagger into the chest of the lad who should have escaped, taking away the sins of his kinsfolk with him. As all that happened, Hé·sháow reached the Gelid Garrisons of the Wýkingren, having run until he could run no more. And there. he assumed the name Edom, learned the barbarous tongue, fought like a “nihilālis” from some otherworldly planet to win his place as clan-leader [t], killed an extensive number of important men, married many widows, and spawned a line of fierce, pagan pirates. These would sail down the River The·avoz in due course, raping and pillaging, before establishing the great family of the Yarlen in the barren, backward land of Ilknuld [ª]. — D.B.P. [t] That is, “annihilative monster.” — P.M. [ª] That is, “Elk-land” (from “elkena + waldr” in Primitive Ay·landic), meaning “Lout-land,” probably. The Northishfolk and their vassals supposed that these large creatures belonging to the red deer family were exceptionally stupid, wilfully unruly, and inexcusably awful (that is, “louts”). — P.M.

 

[1] The Most Worshipful Lambent Ambience, Impartial Wool-gatherer of the Proletarian Palace, Official Toady to the Peoples’ Representatives, and Lost Sheep amongst the Voracious Wolves in Government House, declared this event to be the most important thing in the history of Pretany, the Expectant Eyrth, and the All-World itself that ever was, or which ever will be. All things considered, maybe his unbelievable hyperbole was right. After all, this is what led to the establishment of the offices of Kyning and Kwén, which in turn caused a revolution in the Heart of the Continent, and the disintegration of the Independent Commonwealth in Northern Meryk-land under the atrocious influence of Leskov the Incontinent. — D.B.P. [And after that, well, what might happen in due course (or will happen – time is so complex, isn’t it?), but the end of the World under rivers of stinking, black liquid, and eternal green fire? — P.M.]

 

[2] This is “Théybē” in Old Heladic. I have kept the spelling as in the original documents. — P.M.

 

[3] Some say that Leskov Börslavr Pfpfelyuk jon-Stanlíy was his real name in his original homeland, so far away. After trying to claim the credit for providing non-functional weapons to both sides in the Internecine Insurgencies in the Slavish Empire (a mistake that would lead to the Incalculable Tragedy), some of his supporters declared that the meaning of the name was "war-glory of the stocky cunning snow-leopard." (Others at home muttered that they did this to distract attention from the Disgrace of the Perpetual Parties and the Unrelenting Untruths that shook the Purple Paternalistic Party to its core and sparked Civil War.) — D.B.P.

 

 

O “Iaith, Celwyddau, Hudoliaeth”

 

gan Pjetër Mamrick”

 

Rydyn ni Ddynolryw, gyda’n cyrff cnawdol, ein hwynebau, ein personoliaethau, ein hanesion bywyd, a’n meddyliau ffaeledig, wedi’n dal rhwng byd microsgopig atomau a molecylau a bydysawd macrosgopig sêr a galaethau, y ddwy deyrnas ble mae popeth yr un peth. Ond ar ein gradd ni, mae’n bosibl gweld gwahaniaethau unigol rhwng pob gwrthrych, ac mae popeth yn llawn manylion ystyrlon, a deniadol, a goddrychol, ac yn heigio o emosiynau. Mewn gwirionedd, mae fel petai’r Holl Fyd yn gwau straeon yn llawn cymeriadau, gweithgareddau, symbolau, a themâu, yr ydym yn actio ynddyn nhw heb yn wybod i ni gan amla. Rydyn ni’n byw felly mewn bro gwyll rhwng y llythrennol a’r trosiadol, ble mae popeth yn llithrig a does dim byd fel yr ymddengys.

 

 

O “Croniclau Cellweirus

(gyda chywiriadau, addasiadau ac ychwanegiadau

gan Elfan Baldrog Bacster)”

 

Yn “Holl Weithiau Daud Pekar,

a adwaenid hefyd fel David Baxter

a Dá∙hwyth Oh·fé,”

gan P Mamrick (gol.)

 

Gyda marwolaeth annisgwyl yr Yarl Edom o barchus goffadwriaeth, yr oedd pawb yn ei garu gymaint, bron yn gant oed, yn y Parth Glas ar ôl damwain wrth hela rebeliaid yn ei gerbyd rhyfel tra modern, ymddiswyddodd yr hen Yarles yn y fan hefyd. Dyna oedd rhywbeth na chlywyd amdano o’r blaen, am eu bod yn tueddu i’w lladd ei gilydd, y bonheddwyr, yn hytrach na marw, gyda geiriau bachog ar y sgriniau teledol hollbresennol fel arfer, yn yr oes oleuedig hon sydd ohoni, ond hefyd gyda gwenwyn ymbelydrol os gallen nhw’i fforddio fe. Ac er i’r Ficingiaid gyrraedd glannau Pretania gyntaf gyda’r Yarl Aber-Dygdhar a’r Llu Du ganrifoedd yn ôl, gan dyngu llwon yn enwau’r Hen Dduwiau oll i deyrnasu dros yr ynysoedd felltith ‘ma am byth, fe ddewisodd y Wraig Fawr ymneilltuo oddi wrth y Ddaear Greulon heb enwebi olynydd, a chan wrthod siarad gair arall o hynny ymlaen [0]. Roedd a wnelo’r ffaith i’r EFE ddatgan yr Yarl (oedd yn enwog am fod yn wrth-gydffurfiwr brwd, ac yn aelod llawn o Gymdeithas Orthrymedig Tabernaclau Annibynnol) yn Ferthyr Sanctaidd ac Amddiffynnwr yr Un Wir Ffydd, gryn dipyn â’r peth, falle [1].

 

Mae pethau wedi mynd mor ddrwg ar ein Blaned Ffrwythlon ni y dyddiau hyn. Yn wir, mae’r rhan fwya o bobl yn defnyddio’r enw hurt ‘na bellach, y Ddaear Greulon, dan ddylanwad dieflig yr EFE. Nyni’r Ddynolryw anaeddfed, y trueiniaid ffôl, sydd wedi crwydro o’r llwybr, a mynd ar goll mewn gofod yn llawn cysyniadau sy’n cylchdroi’n debyg i’r cronfeydd dirfawr o graig tawdd yn corddi’n ffyrnig dan wyneb y Blaned, neu fel cynhwysion mewn crochan sy’n cymysgu a dylanwadu ar ei gilydd, gan newid eu lliw, a’u blas, a’u gwead yn gyson. Yma rheolir bodolaeth gan drachwant Tholos y glwth, sy’n addo darparu creigiau o arian, afonydd o ddiod gref, a chyflenwad di-ben-draw o bleser. Ac mae e’n rhodio law yn llaw ag Elevith dwyllodrus, y gamblwr fflyrtlyd ‘na sy’n honni bydd hi’n atal treigl amser, diddymu pob rheol foesol, a bodloni pob chwant.

 

Egwyddorion yw egwyddorion, wrth reswm, hyd yn oed ymhlith y bonedd, nad ydynt yn gaeth i’r un deddfau â gweddill y ddynoliaeth, debyg iawn, yn Ynysoedd y Teyrnasoedd Anghytûn o leia. Ac o ganlyniad i’r sgandalau fyrdd yn codi o blith yr aelodau o’r Teulu Mawr, yn ogystal â’r diffygion personol, y mympwyon gwrthun, a’r ffraeo aflednais, doedd neb yn deilwng i ddilyn yr hen gwpwl gwyn eu byd i’w gael, yn ôl eu deddfiadau dyrys eu hunain. Doedd y perthnasau galarus (oedd hefyd yn ymgeiswyr am Sedd Uchel yr Yarl) ddim hyd yn oed gystal ag i ladd ei gilydd y tro hwn, yn ôl hen arferion y Ficingiaid, mae’n flin ‘da fi ddweud.

 

O reidrwydd, o achos tlodi, a gormes, ac anwybodaeth, y rhan fwya o’r amser, y rhan fwya o bobl sy’n byw wedi datgysylltu o’r Byd, wrth weld dim ond trwy eu llygaid, a deall y Byd yn llythrennol, a cheisio’i amffinio’n rhesymegol. Ac o’r braidd dyn ni’n llwyddo i wneud hynny. Dyn ni ddim yn gwastraffu amser ar gymhlethdod, na dychymyg, nac empathi. Wrth i ni drio cydio ynon ni’n hunain, diffinio pwy ydym ni, a rhoi’n stamp ar y Byd, gan ddefnyddio rhesymeg i ddeall, i uno, ac i egluro, mae’n bersonoliaeth ni’n llifo ymaith yn afonydd chwareus iaith, gyda’r geiriau acrobatig, fel dyn ni wastad yn estronwyr penysgafn i ni’n hunain. Mae’n meddyliau i’n brwydro i gysylltu â’r Byd, ond dyn ni ddim yn gallu’i gofleidio. Er ein bod bron â marw i wybod y gwirionedd am hanfod bodolaeth, pan fyddwn ni’n ffocysu’n hymwybod ar broblemau, fyddwn ni ddim ond gallu gweld hanner gwirioneddau wedi’u dosbarthu drwy rithweledigaethau a rennir.

 

Falle o achos yr haint besychlyd, ddychrynllyd oedd wedi dechrau ymledu ym mhedwar ban y Byd, gan ladd rhyw ganran helaeth o’r boblogaeth yma bob mis (yn ôl yr Asiantaeth Rifoleg yn Nhŷ’r Llywodraeth), flwyddyn neu ddwy cyn hynny, roedd yr EFE wedi llwyddo i estyn cortynnau, gan ddod fwyfwy dylanwadol ar Lys y Sêr. Wedi’r cwbl, roedd llawer yn dweud taw’r Llywodraeth yn y Ddinas Fawr Ddrwg oedd wedi creu’r pla yn y lle cynta, neu i Gynrychiolwyr y Werin ddewis gadael iddo waethygu er mwyn pluo’u nyth eu hunain, rhwng eu cyndynrwydd, eu natur hunangeisiol a bitw, a’u hurtrwydd rhonc. A dyna lle’r o’n nhw, y ddau sefydliad gormesol, yn ddau efell anfad, yn ynysu’r werin bobol oddi wrth ei gilydd, trwy wahardd cyfarfodydd cyhoeddus o bob math, rheoli darlledu a chyhoeddi, a gwarafun rhyddid y wasg, rhyddid llafar, rhyddid barn, a rhyddid mynegiant, yn enw cydlyniad cymdeithasol yn ystod y cyfnod hwn o chwalfa heb ei thebyg.

 

Ac wedyn, o achos ein deallusrwydd ffaeledig a’u syniadau cyfeiliornus, ac er gwaetha’n balchder mawr roddwyd ar gam, bydd realiti bob amser yn mynd y tu hwnt i ni, gan na all rhesymeg weld dim byd y tu allan iddo’i hun. Dyw rheswm dall ddim yn gallu creu symffoni, na llun, na cherdd, ar ei ben ei hun, a dyw e ddim yn esgor ar hud, chwaith. Ar ben hynny, er mwyn gweld y Byd yn cywir, mae rhaid gwerthfawrogi cyd-destun, cysylltiadau, ac emosiynau, a derbyn ei bod yn bosibl credu dau beth croes yn gydamserol. O ganlyniad i’r methiannau hyn, mae gwareiddiad ar fin ei ddinistrio’i hun drwy nerth gwyddoniaeth a thechnoleg. Wrth gwrs, nid y dulliau hyn eu hunain sy’n achosi’r problemau, ond sut maen nhw’n cael eu defnyddio. Ac yn gynyddol, mae’r rhai yn rhengoedd uchaf cymdeithas yn ceisio cael gwared ar bopeth dynol, trwy ei gyfuno’n llwyr â byd gwrthrychau, wrth asio’r anorganig â’r byw, a’r cnawdol â’r prosthetig.

 

Dw i’n crynu o gofio’r ffaith, a hyd yn oed yn fwy o sôn amdani. Ond dyna rywbeth yn fy ngorfodi i i’w weud, a “zin-degí na mi-legí do-bara,” fel y meddan nhw yn Iaith Dyffryn Sintu, “Dych chi ddim yn byw ddwywaith” (Dyna jôc fach i chi, bois bach, ond dw i’m yn mynd i esbonio, fe fyddai’n sbwylio popeth! A dw i’m yn siŵr amdani’n hunan, ta be.) Saith yw rhif yr EFE, achos mor nerthol ydy, ac am ei fod i’w weld ym mhob man ledled y Byd –

 

“Saith Merthyr yr Ymerodraeth Etrwsgaidd a drechodd Saith Ryfelwr Doeth dinas Thebe [2] yn y Rhyfel Saith Mlynedd, trwy ynganu’r Saith Air Angheuol, cyn adeiladu Saith Rhyfeddod y Byd dros Saith Niwrnod yr Wythnos, a phob un ohonyn nhw wedi’i liwio’n Seithliw’r Enfys. Ac enwau’r Rhyfelwyr Doeth oedd Filzathu, Kwilandu, Mazilnu, Mizlu, Pondanu, Pyeryu, a Zalmu; ond o’r Merthyron, dim ond Shaman-no rydym yn ei nabod heddiw.”

 

Rydym wedi rhyddhau pwcaod sadistiaeth i reibio’r Blaned, ac mae cymdeithas felly yn dioddef bellach o salwch ysbrydol, wrth i gysgod du anobaith godi fel draig ysol. Tra’n bod ni’n brwydro yn erbyn yr angenfilod hyn, mae natur wedi encilio, gan ein gadael ni wedi dychryn, ar ein pennau’n hunain, ac yn ddigartref, yng nghanol anialdir enfawr, gwag. Dyn ni wedi syllu ar yr affwys, a chofleidio’r diddymdra anfeidrol, ond trwy wneud hyn, a theimlo anadl oer ebargofiant yn rhewi’n hwynebau, dyn ni wedi cael ein rhwygo’n garpiau, a’n diffygio. Dyn ni’n toddi wedyn, wedi’n meddiannu gan gythreuliaid, cyn cwympo’ llwrw’n cefn, yn wysg ein hochr, i bob cyfeiriad ar yr un pryd.

 

“Cofiwch Saith Sefydlwr Seraffaidd y Cenhedloedd Cysegredig. Ond y Saith Gysgadur ydyn nhw bellach, yn huno o dan y Saith Fôr am iddyn nhw gyflawni’r Saith Bechod Marwol. A dyna nhw’n aros nes i’r Mab Darogan sy’n meddu ar y Saith Rinwedd, wedi’i drwytho yn Saith Nawn y Pŵer Cosmig, wneud Saith Weithred y Drugaredd, wrth ganu’r Saith Salm Benyd.”

 

(Neu efallai mai mab y Mab Darogan fydd ef, neu’i ŵyr, neu rywun; mor astrus ydy’r testun sanctaidd.)

 

“Oblegid fel y dywedir yn Hen Lyfr y Dadlennwr Diarhebol, ‘Seith-waith y syrth y cyfiawn, ac EFE a’i cyfyd drachefn’.”

 

O, diar, diar, neno Lushfé, rhaid i fi dewi, dw i’n dechrau swnio fel y Llais Cyhoeddus, a pwy a ŵyr pwy sy’n gwrando? Mae clustiau gan gloddiau a llygaid gan berthi, wedi’r cwbl!

 

Wedyn, yn araf, araf, dyn ni’n dod at ein coed mewn tirwedd arwahanrwydd annefodol. Ac yno does dim dewis rhwng i lan ac i lawr, mae marwolaeth yn cymryd lle bywyd, gwrthrychau cyfrin yn ymddangos ar hap, a phethau dychmygol yn gyfartal â rhai real. Dyn ni’n ail-ffurfio’n hanner bodau, yn gimerâu â chalonnau caled, wedi mynd yn sownd o achos ein hanniddigrwydd a’n dolur mewn carchardai â muriau uchel ar ynysoedd heb bontydd.

 

Gyda geiriau teg, bygythiadau aneglur ynghylch difeddiannu, diflannu, ac arteithio, yn ogystal ag addewidion gwag am ddyfodol disglair, a dognau mawr o sudd madarch yn y cyflenwad dŵr, ro’n nhw’n cymell tua hanner o’r genedl i gydymffurfio, siŵr o fod. Yn ddi-ffael byddai un o’r defaid dof hyn yn ennill gwobr fawr yn y Loteri Ogoneddus a ymddangosai bob dydd ar y sgrin deledol yng nghalon pob cartre. Ac wedyn fe allen nhw ddefnyddio’r teitl “Arglwydd Dyrchafedig” neu “Arglwyddes Anghymharol,” wrth ymuno â rhengoedd y Cynghorwyr Gwerinol, hynny yw, y grŵp ffocws hollbwysig hwnnw fyddai’n dadlau’n danbaid dros bynciau llosg fel lliw’r papur wal yn y Siambr Arian, a mêc y papur toiled yn y Tŷ Bach Arlywyddol.

 

Dim ond yr unigolion all hybu newid, un cam ar y tro, ond yn y pen draw, bydd e’n gallu dymchwel cenhedloedd. Mae’r wir Ddewin yn wreichionyn yn crwydro ymhlith teyrnas ddi-ben-draw marwolaeth ac unigrwydd. Mae’n herio grymoedd y Ddaear Greulon i frwydro yn llygad y dymestl, yn hytrach na bodoli’n saff ar lannau’r Isfyd. Ei Waith Mawr yw moldio’r Byd i atal y caos ac amddiffyn y Ddynolryw rhag arswydau’r nos. Rhaid iddo flasu mêr bywyd gan ymroi i sugno pob diferyn ohono a sdim ots pa mor chwerw ydy. Ac wedyn fe fydd yn ddioddef metamorffosis, i ddod yn dduwdod trwy gymryd rheolaeth ar egwyddorion a symbolau ac uno pethau heb fod cysylltiad cynhenid rhyngddynt.

 

Ac wedyn, cyflafan lwyr, neu wyrth nefol a fu, pan gwympodd y Prif weinidog a Thad y Genedl, Leskov (“Pen Pwdr”) bel-Shoní (a sawl aelod arall o’r Weinyddiaeth Wael fel mae’n digwydd), ar law ei gyn-ffrind gorau Cwmin Lygadlym wedi Cyfaddefiad y Cyfathrebu Cyfrinachol, a Gwarth y Gweinidogion Gorchwantus [3]. (Athrylith drygionus oedd Cwmin,  os bu un erioed. Ac fel yr hadau o'r un enw, roedd e'n dreiddgar yr aroglau ond yn chwerw'r blas. Bu si ym mrig y morwydd ei fod yn medru gyrru bws yn llawn celwyddau dros gannoedd o filltiroedd heb fod yn gallu gweld. Daeth e’n ddrwg-enwog pan gafodd e wared ar yr holl arbenigwyr o’r Neuadd Wen, gan sefydlu’r Pwyllgor er Dadansoddi Syniadau ac Archwilio Dulliau. Llwyddiant mwya’r cynghorydd anetholedig ‘ma oedd dyfeisio ac adeiladu peiriant rhesymegol dirfawr ac andros o gymhleth a ddefnyddiai fagnetau a thywod, mwg a drychau, fyddai’n datrys pob problem a gofynnwyd iddo, ond yn dileu’r atebion yn syth. Dim ond Cwmin allai rythu arno wrth iddo weithio’i hud gan hwmian a grymial tu hwnt i len sidan, foethus, ac felly yntau oedd y dyn grymusaf yn y Deyrnas, a’r un mwyaf brawychus, am dipyn bach, o leiaf).

 

Byrder bywyd sy’n ysgogi’r Dewin i’w daflu ei hun i harddwch cyfrin ac arswyd anhraethadwy’r Holl Fyd, gan ddarllen ei farwolaeth yn ei batrymau, ac ysgrifennu’i fywyd yno hefyd. Mae’n gwybod mai ffolineb yn y pen draw yw pob gweithred gall, ac er mwyn rheoli’i dynged a dod â’i ddymuniadau i fod, bydd rhaid iddo ddilyn gorchmynion ei galon gydag afiaith, gan dderbyn bod tragwyddoldeb yn caru pethau byrhoedlog ac ofer. Ym myd dychmygol y Dewin, sy’n fwy ffantastig o real na’r Ddaear Greulon ei hun, mae'r holl bethau mae'n eu canfod yn rhyfeddol o unigryw, fel petai pob un yn rhywogaeth ynddo’i hun. Rhaid iddo ddweud y gwir amdanyn nhw, gan eu disgrifio gydag iaith mor fanwl â phosibl, ac ymgorffori'r sythwelediad hwn mewn ystumiau a llafarganeuon. Ond bydd e’n gadael i’r gwirionedd hwn ymddangos yn ei amser ei hun, heb lafurio neu’i orfodi, ac wedyn bydd e wrth ei fodd. Mae ei greadigaethau’n gallu edrych mor wan â gwawn, ond anfarwol ydyn nhw, ac maen nhw’n dod yn rhan sylweddol o’r Byd fel nad ydyn nhw’n disgrifio nac adlewyrchu profiad yn unig, ond yn dechrau ailstrwythuro ymwybyddiaeth, a dymchwel trefn resymegol digwyddiadau.

 

Ond cwympodd Cwmin Lygadlym ‘fyd, o ganlyniad i ymyrraeth gan yr Anrhydeddus Kasyandra Veykhvezh, Meistres y Carpedi a’r Llenni, ymgyrchwraig ddigymar, a chariad anwylaf i Leskov, oedd yn dymuno rheoli popeth y tu hwnt i’r llenni ac o dan y cynfasau (yn llythrennol, yn ôl rhai). Cafodd Cwmin ei alltudio i Gastell Awyr Varanath ym Mur Glas y Gogledd, i ddarlledu negeseuon hunangyfiawnhaol yn di-ball feirniadu’r hen gyd-weithwyr atgas, a’r hen weision bach uchel eu clod fel ei gilydd. O ganlyniad, fe ddaeth sawl un o’r Cylch Dethol Cywir i’r adwy i ladd ar y seirff o fradwyr, cymryd yr awenau, a rhoi ffrwyn i’w hawydd dros ddyrchafiad, fel y clywir yn yr hen bennill, “Does gan y Nefoedd lid, fel bet fuodd unwaith serch; / Na chaclwm gan y Fall, fel gan hen gynghorwyr erch.”

  

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[0] Mae’r teitl, “Edom” (“Edh·óm” yn wreiddiol), yn cyfeirio at ardal yn yr Anialdir Mawr Dwyreiniol (“Idowmaía, Idwm,” neu “Údumi,” hynny yw, y “Dyffryn Gwaedlyd, Hallt”). Yno, ar lannau llyn y col-tar, ceisiodd y Prif Offeiriad Ishakí Zlnklé aberthu ei fab pengoch, blewog, cyntaf-anedig, Hé·sháow Gzawmo ar orchymyn yr Hen Dduwdodau Erch i brofi ymrwymiad, disgyblaeth ac ufudd-dod trigolion crwydrol y Diffeithdir Coch, a achubasai rhag difancoll ganddynt.  Heb fod yn rhy aflednais, nid oedd Hé·sháow enfawr, cyhyrog yn debyg i’w Dad bendigedig ond didostur o gwbl (o ran wynepryd a maintioli o leiaf), nac i neb arall yn y llwyth chwaith. Am ryw reswm anesboniadwy, nid oedd y clamp o fab ‘ma mor fodlon cael ei ladd (na’i niweidio mewn unrhyw ffordd). Ffoes e felly, gan ffyrnigo’r Saith Thelohofo, y Saith Delkvoví, y Saith Zv-m’lkvo, y Saith Kulí·vá yn enbyd, a dwyn melltith dragwyddol ar ei bobl. (Fe fyddent yn llwyddiannus ac yn ffynnu heb fyth fod yn hapus nac yn fodlonus; fe ddeuent yn adnabyddus iawn ond yn ddrwg eu henw, ac wedi’u casáu; ac ni welai neb mohonynt fyth oddi ar hynny.) Sut y llwyddodd  Hé·sháow i’w baglu hi oddi dan drwynau ysbrydion mor dialgar a meidrolion mor or-selog fel ei gilydd, ni fydd neb fyth yn deall. Ond ei heglu hi a wnaeth e, yng nghanol storm ddirfawr o fellt a tharanau a fygythiai flingo croen oddi ar unrhyw un mor dwp ag i fentro allan ynddi. (“Cuddiedig ffyrdd y Pŵer Cosmig,” yn ôl y doethion, wrth reswm!) Beth bynnag, yn lle’r cynllun gwreiddiol, roedd yn rhaid i Ishakí ffugio ymgreinio gyda’i fab ail-anedig Adauvam Dlndva gerbron y Meistri Anhrugarog, cyn gwthio dagr ym mrest  y llanc a ddylai fod wedi dianc gan fynd â phechodau’i dylwyth ymaith â fe. Wrth i hynny oll ddigwydd, cyrhaeddodd Hé·sháow Garsiynau Iasoer y Ficingiaid, wedi rhedeg hyd nes na allai redeg mwy. Ac yno, cymerodd e’r enw Edom, dysgu’r iaith farbaraidd, ffrwydro fel “difodfil” o ryw blaned annaearol i ennill ei le fel pennaeth clan [t], lladd nifer helaeth o wŷr pwysig, priodi sawl gweddw, a hilio llinell o fôr-ladron paganaidd ffyrnig. Fe hwyliai’r rhain ar hyd Afon Theafos maes o law gan dreisio ac anrheithio cyn sefydlu teulu mawr yr Yarliaid yn wlad annatblygedig, anghyfannedd Ilkendir [ª]. — D.B.P. [t] Hynny yw, “anghenfil distrywiol.” — P.M. [ª] Hynny yw, “Gwlad yr Elciaid”  (o “elkena + waldr” mewn Ynyseg Cyntefig), yn golygu “Gwlad y Llebanod,” siŵr o fod. Tybid gan y Norsmyn a’u taeogion fod yr anifeiliaid mawr hyn yn perthyn i deulu’r carw coch yn eithriadol o dwp, afreolus o wirfodd, ac anfaddeuol o ofnadwy (hynny yw, “llebanod”). — P.M.

 

[1] Fe ddatganodd yr Anrhydeddusaf Hinsodd Lyfol, Gwlanydd Amhleidiol y Palas Proletaraidd, Llyfwr Swyddogol i Gynrychiolwyr y Werin, a Dafad Golledig ymhlith y Bleiddiaid Barus yn Nhŷ’r Llywodraeth, mai’r peth mwyaf pwysig yn hanes Pretania, y Cyfandir Gogleddol, y Ddaear Ddisgwylgar, a’r Holl Fyd ei hun a fu erioed, neu a fydd fyth ydy’r digwyddiad hwn. Rhwng popeth, efallai fod ei ormodiaith anhygoel yn gywir. Wedi’r cwbl, dyma a arweiniodd at sefydlu swyddi Kyning a Kwén, a achosai yn ei dro chwildro yng Nghalon y Cyfandir, a chwalu’r Gymanwlad Annibynnol yng Ngogledd Gwlad Meryk dan ddylanwad ysgeler Leskov Anllad. — D.B.P. [Ac ar ôl hynny. wel, be a allai ddigwydd maes o law (neu a ddigwyddiff – mae amser mor gymhleth, on’d ydy?), ond diwedd y Byd dan afonydd o hylif du, drewllyd a thân wyrdd tragwyddol? — P.M.]

 

[2] Dyma “Théybē” mewn Hen Heladeg. Rwy wedi cadw’r sillafiad fel yr oedd yn y dogfennau gwreiddiol. — P.M.

 

[3] Mae rhai'n dweud mai Leskov Börslavr Pfpfelyuk jon-Stanlíy oedd ei enw go iawn yn ei famwlad wreiddiol, mor bell i ffwrdd. Ar ôl ceisio hawlio'r clod am ddarparu arfau nad oedd yn gweithio i'r ddwy ochr yn y Ysgarmesoedd Ymddinistriol yn yr Ymerodraeth Slafaidd (camgymeriad a arweiniai at y Drychineb Anghyfrifadwy), datganodd ei gefnogwyr mai ystyr yr enw oedd "gogoniant rhyfel llewpard yr eira ystrywgar byrdew." (Yr oedd eraill gartref yn browlan iddynt wneud hyn i dynnu sylw oddi ar Waradwydd y Partïon Parhaol a'r Celwyddau Cyson a ysgwydodd y Blaid Baternalistig Biws i’w seiliau a thanio Rhyfel Cartref.) — D.B.P.