According to current theories, as human beings, we create a sense of reality that can be shared with other people, through interpreting external sense-data. This is the ‘perceived world.’ On the other hand, through imagining we fashion images, ideas, and feelings in the mind, without using sense-data directly, to create an internal, personal, sense of reality. This is the ‘imagined world.’ In some mental conditions, it is difficult to differentiate between the perceived world and the imagined world. On top of that, there are some belief-systems which claim that the whole perceived world is an illusion in any case; and several cultures believe that imaginary worlds are just as real as the perceived world. Observations of this kind notwithstanding, imagining helps us to learn new things, integrate varied experiences, and use information. We can train the imagination through tale-telling, listening to stories, and acting. The extent of a person’s imagination is increased through taking particular psychedelic drugs; practising meditation or using hypnosis; or having the brain stimulated with electricity, for example. Furthermore, it appears that remembering and imagining affect each other. Usually (and bearing in mind the effects of several mental conditions), people do not allow their imaginations to affect their actions too much; but their beliefs, to the contrary, strongly steer how they behave. Having said that, since imagining is not restricted by external factors, it can bring enormous pleasure from time to time; but, then again, it is possible to suffer from terrible imaginary worries, also. 

 

Oh, Jelena, Helen, Elen, Eilidh, Helena, Aileen, Alyiona: my sister, my shadow, my strength, my trouble, my life – behold your faithful brother, your gallant knight, Daud, singing your praises! What a girl! She’s been such a gracious, and solid, and enchanting custodian (or perhaps it would be better to say jail-keeper, to tell the truth) all my life up to now. I remember her sidling round the door, to stare at me with pity but full of love, when I was but a stinky kid who’d just awoken from a nightmare once again, having peed the bed. 

 

I’ve been so fortunate ‘cos she’s always been caring for me after Mam went to sleep forever. And she’s so beautiful, just like Mam, but despite that, she can behave like some kind of alien monster, the sleeper in the pitch-dark, the lurker in the shadows, who’ll go raving nuts if anyone tries to harm us. Of course, that was before I discovered how to do magic, to make things happen, to defend myself from vile monks and evil spirits, getting what I want, most of the time at least. Some Old Soldier (I dunno his real name, friend of Dad’s), has been teaching me when Dad’s off. It’s really complicated, believe me! 

 

Well, there we are. We’re all growing up so quick, aren’t we? She’s a tall, strong, graceful girl now, who’ll be flying the nest soon enough. I think she’ll be going off with my friend the Wýkinger because everyone needs someone besides them to set the world to rights, and the rest, when they get to be adults, and she writes poems and sends them to him on the sly. She’s mad for him, that’s the thing, she’s fallen head over heels in love with the old bugger. That’s what my spies, the two wise but unreliable seagulls I've tamed, Hedkés and Vandl, tell me, anyway. (“Kaw, kavé, kankwrí, kaké,” say they, all the time!).

 

I can scarcely imagine being without her, what am I going to do? But then again, life must go on, mustn’t it, and with problems come opportunities. P’rhaps if she does escape, well, then, probably, I can find another girl somewhere over the rainbow, even if I have to sail there in a Wýkingish ship without anyone else’s help, or fly under my own steam on some bed which gets flung there by a humungous explosion. After all, a lovely sister is one thing, but lots better would be a Princess in the flesh, the real deal, right? Oh, my Immaculate Virgin, seven-times blessed, come to me, your Charming Prince awaits! 

 

She’ll be a girl so pretty, so clever, so distant, and I’ll dote on her so fervently. She’ll be a nurse, or something like that, the spitting image as Mam who’s gone away, anyway. I don’t know her yet, although I dream about her every night. When we meet each other for the first time, I’ll claim the right to stay with her, in the tower of pearl, in a land far over the sea, wherever that shall be. And she’ll take me under her wing as if she was an angel from another world. 

 

And there we’ll cavort under the evergreen pines in the phantom vales of Aberdydd, where my ancestors came from originally, or where they went to, in that land full of goblins, and fairy-folk, and unicorns, and dwarves, and giants. To begin with, she’ll behave like an older sister, looking after me, and then, several months later, she’ll get angry with me every time I talk nonsense. And then she’ll escape from me, running off when I get closer, only to chase after me when I retreat {Crisis Lovers}. 

 

She’ll be able to read my thoughts, trying to find all the secrets about my personality that have been hidden so deep inside me, like she has some special powers. She’ll recite such strange tales to me, about love-making, and about death, and do sexy things, the little vixen, and I’ll love talking to her so much! I’ll never want to leave her side. 

 

I shall dare to speak out loud the old sweet names of carrot-love, tyrannical passion, sortatory abandon, plain forever-fondness, locksmith-scorning lust, conjugal delight, and fair-faithful friendship. And we’ll play games with each other – I love you, I love you not, I do love you, no I don’t love you – the same thing over and again. I’ll never understand her completely, as she’s so intense, so serious, sometimes. But I shan’t be able to keep myself from thinking about her, and my feelings towards her’ll grow stronger every day. 

 

Without a shadow of a doubt she’ll want to urge on my emotional development, helping me to transform my anger into peacefulness, and everyone says that that kind of thing is very important. And I imagine she’ll look at me so intently on occasions, like a professional Mentalist, but then mock me until I almost cry.

 

Before asking her parents, the Wizard and the Lady, for permission to marry her perhaps I’ll have to undergo trial-by-ordeal like in the Old Book, putting my hand in boiling water, or holding onto hot iron. It’ll be like she’s put me to the test, with the help of her brother, the Wýkinger, and I’ll need to fight contests against terrible enemies like the Red Priest, and go in quest of things like the Cauldron of Rebirth, the Sword of Sorakados, the Coat-of-Many-Colours, and the Holy Grail. 

 

And then when I’ve seized the day, like a knight in shining armour, I’ll win her love, and snatch her heart too. After all, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, says someone, that Old Soldier, probably. And in the end, she’ll yield to my charms, and we’ll wed, without blathering on about babies and families, so that we shall be able to make love, and then some more, cuddling and kissing like in all those soppy films! Oh, waiting is such sweet sorrow indeed! 

 

I can’t predict the future, that isn’t one of my many talents (and that’s just as well, s’pose!), but that’s my constant dream: a glittering world full of peace, plenty, fun, naughtiness, play, and nookie. The magic doesn’t work all the time, that’s the only problem, the fly in the ointment, but I’ve got to give it a whirl [1]. Time of the full moon’s best for it, and that’s when Dad’ll be off, too, thank goodness {Tides}. He’s getting worse all the time, the old bully. Maybe he’ll get killed this time, and come back in a body-bag. Fair to say I won’t be trying to bring him back if that’s what happens. 

 

I shouldn’t waste time, that’s what the Old Soldier says. And the first step is thinking about what you want as hard as you can. I gotta be careful, then, with what I think about, as my dreams always tend to come true. I’m getting used to the rituals now, and the magic words, and the cutting myself, and the blood. And I know I’ll feel sick as a dog after finishing, like I’ve died, in a way, so the ceremony’d better succeed. I wonder if the two wishes count as one, mun? Keeping hold of the sis and getting a girl too? Well, I’ll live in hope. Bye-bye for now. Let us see, as they say, you old mongrel, you!

 

*             *             *             *             *             *             *             *

 

[1] Well, that’s not what happened, of course. Dai Baxter’s magic failed to bear fruit, it appears, in the fantastical matters being described here, anyway – more’s the pity. I am sorry, I can’t avoid the acerbic amusement. And although Dai rejected the idea of adding the Eyrth’s suffering by being a father and bringing another child into the World, there was some irresistible force or urge working to frustrate him regarding that desire, too. To give you a taste of what’s to come, then, here’s Elfan Baldrog Bacster summarizing the history of the Planet from his point of view before he came into his full strength. (See “Atha-lanthé’s Indigo Child” – I myself have interpolated the titles referring to the festivals of the old EGO. Hopefully you’ll forgive me, an old pagan, for this small indulgence in my black sense of humour!). — P.M.

 

The Feast of the Holy Submission of the Hibernal Solstice. How far away they seem, now, those long hot Summertides in Aberdydd by the sea when the roads melted, and the air was thick with the smell of coal-tar [ó]. When I was no longer a child, but not quite a man either. Not a foreign country, exactly, although things then certainly appeared quite different from how they are now, and they surely were. Other feelings, other odours, other thoughts. More immediate, intense, real. Fresher. More vibrant. More painful (or less)? But still getting ever further away, now. A microcosmic Universe inside me, expanding outwards, changes accelerating faster and faster away from me, in every possible direction. Of course, even then people complained heartily about the degenerate present and lamented for the morals of the golden age gone by, a period I was given to believe I’d missed by a whisker. Anyway, there was I, swinging semi-naked from the trees in the wild back garden of the ramshackle Manse, childish nostrils tickled by warm salty sea-spray, shoulders burned by the too-kindly Sun. And, as I played in the Garden of Eyrthly Delights, the sound-track for the culmination of the latest era in the Thorlin’s history (although no-one knew it yet) blasted out from the speakers of an old transceiver thrust through a downstairs window into the heat-wrinkled air.

 

Who can know at the start of any year what’s going to happen further on down the inexorable tracks of history? Would you want to know? Who can predict in one week what will happen in the next, let alone a month down the line, or in a decade? Should any one of the Thorlin foresee the future? Think of the Seeress of Théybē taunted in her basket, begging for death which cannot be hers. Would she have anticipated the widescale production of miniature automatic comprehension engines (ACEs); the first flight of the Behemoth intercontinental airship, or the bombs set off in Taviston by the KKKK (allegedly)? I return to the drudgery of the Training Centre in the cool, crisp days of Inconceivable Invigoration, after a hectic (and of course, excitingly illegal) mid-Wintertide Quickening Jubilee full of forbidden presents. I am delighted with the titillatingly gory animated book (“Rambunctious Romances of el-Rābí”), a brand-new mind-sketching gizmo, and a copy of Faland·ashé's “Folk Medicine from Around the World: Fruit and vegetables to harm and heal.”

 

My first intoxication-inducing sip of must-mead still shimmers in my memory, as I see myself swimming through life’s seas with no direction, happy as a bio-engineered llama on a sanctuary in North Kimbria. I would have used a dirtier, piggy metaphor, but I was supposed to be a good boy. In fact, I only swore for the first time when whingeing on about my lack of understanding of anti-conformal outcome-propagation to my stunning and so sexy best male mate (who was totally untouchable, well, without a little “encouragement” of a mentalist nature from me) when I was a hormone-sloshed teen. Anyway, we didn’t “do” pork in our crazy so-called “family” (at least not on Firedays!). Something to do with ridiculous goings-on involving emancipation of half-persons in the Southern Continent according to my habitually right-on Mother, who was always up to her cleavage in contumacy and campaigns. And we (I mean most thinking people in Pretany the Great – that is the Land of the Repugnant Knaves to the rest of the World) were just about still doing lips-service to the EGO at that point. Having said that, time’s tide changed direction at last and swept those oh-so cherished but suffocating beliefs and behaviours away too, in the end (thanks to whatever Power governs the All-World’s clockwork and dice-throwing, ha, ha – but, when all authority above and below resides in you, it can be so hard knowing what to do!).

 

I suppose, as the years’ threads begin to unwind from the Xnethokegw’s spindle, I must have seen, or heard, reports of events like the following, bubbling up from the state-of-art televisual screen taking up most of my bedroom wall. The tens of thousands killed in the civil war in Ralvu-mono; the attempted (but unsuccessful) resignation of Kyning Kalkevork to stand as a People’s Representative (that is to buy his way into the Sānctum Sānctōrum of the House of the Undisputed Government of the United Zones of Pretany the Great), followed without delay by his founding of the Universal Union of Unelected Autocratic Overlords in a fit of pique; the deposition and execution of Thefano Thahafothu in the new Free-State of se-Líyra; and the eventual detention of Cumin Keen-eye, the ruinous reptile, in a palatial, purpose-built prison for one in the middle of the Toxic Theme-Park. (There, his bile-production is prodigious. But although he dreams of a ravenous world-wide audience for his unrestrained outpourings, and believes he is achieving this, his blogs, pamphlets, and broadcasts are all intercepted and none allowed to reach beyond the impenetrable walls of the exquisite jail.)

 

The Feast of the Violent Exposal of the Vernal Equinox. Perhaps, as children, we are lucky to be spared understanding of those randomly destructive Acts of the Power Imponderable; of the tyranny of nature; and of the Thorlin’s utter inhumanity, that would otherwise drive us mad. But, without adulthood’s steely rationality, we may, in fact, comprehend too much, after our fashion. I can’t be sure now. After all, I always sucked up and digested so much more than everyone else, both otherworldly brats and stinky old blighters. And the inexplicable things that happened around me – or that I caused – left everyone, including me, utterly bemused, to start with, at least.

 

In between my bouts of introspection, I play in parks, on beaches, and around the town, starting fires and exploding things, and going invisible and pilfering from the shops. And on occasions, believe it or not, I help to tend to the younger inmates in the Centre (and teach them special techniques on the sly!). And then again, there are the priceless times when I sneak mentally into people’s brains, forbidden places, the memories of landscapes, and alternate realities. I am always watching, listening, borrowing, ceaselessly integrating, categorising, differentiating, organising all the hard-won knowledge in an impregnable internal castle. To try and curb the power of the UUUAO after Leskov’s flight (at home, at least), the Undisputed Government of Pretany the Great creates new titles and offices, trying to unite the armed forces’ most powerful officers, the academies’ most small-minded sages, the churches’ most vengeful clerics, the most avaricious magnates, and the most ambitiously incompetent politicos. The Indubitable Mediator, the Lord of the Isles, the Mighty Thanes, the High Steward, the Highborn, and the Wellborn are very popular in terms of pomp and circumstance, but as useful as a dickless, spayed Lothario in terms of doing anything but shouting, feasting, stealing, lying, cheating, and killing.

 

Even then, I was able to discern secrets hidden from the common herd, and gain insight through practices I believed I was inventing from scratch, but which had possibly been lost to the Thorlin’s Sorcerers millennia before. I felt (and feel still) as if I was born knowing, as if the flux of time starts within me and emanates outwards, rather than pulsing around me. No surprise then that I can rarely get to sleep, and always dread the hour when the Illustrious Islands’ Astounding Anthem pours from the speakers as each of the hundreds of channels, full of disgusting and debased content, dies in turn. How I wish that the static hiss and monotone burbling would numb my mind rather than talk to me incessantly in all the tongues of the Eyrth and the Nw Yrth too, since, despite my powers, I can never extinguish the screen. As to what follows that, memory fails me now, but at least today the Kimbric Anthem is no longer illegal.

 

I do recall some of the channels displaying a “test broadcast” though. A cartoon of some old geezer called Less-kop Barmy-brain dressed as a Burlesque Clown (or something like that) getting abused, beaten up, and killed in a multitude of ingenious ways but always playing the fool. How weird is that? Oh, how easily later generations laugh at the foibles of those gone before whilst not attending to their own. Motes and splinters, I suppose. I have to say I love it, though. After a smidgeon of the old vicarious mindless violence, I regularly sneak out of bed in the dead of night to the site of the Pagoda of Perfect Purity where I can extend my feathery psychogenic filaments as far towards the stars as possible. And sometimes it’s as if I’m transported to some inside-out World in the Southern Reach where I can forget being one of the verminous, murderous Thorlin, and become a mutant baby that turns into a wonderful beast, free of all everyday constraints and common concerns.

 

Anyway, one month, one year, bleeds into the next, as my experience, discernment, and judgement slowly build. But still, it is only now, much later, that I appreciate the importance of some historical events. Take the formation of Pomegranate Apperception Modelling, for instance, an organization dedicated to the production of revolutionary thought-simulators. The name, of course, recalls the tale of Elena and Davuth who conspired creatively with Xlotlringku Vlaltanlu-tnalzse in the Grove of Xatlaltvazsu, ending the Old World, and starting the New One. In the Impenetrable Dominions of the Uttermost East the Enigmatic Emperor orders the slaughter of thousands of his own people at the Reliquary of the Righteous Radical Revolutionaries. He wishes to provide a blood-atonement with which to anoint the Great Wall of Celestial Savagery in an attempt to placate (or feed) the insatiable war-divinity Shnethle Khwolkho. In the background, the Spirited Sorority’s defiant love-lament “Don’t Waste Your Kisses on Me” plays non-stop, and this drives top tragi-comedian Jim Sidney to his death, depriving the world of a wealth of abysmal laughter. For my part, I do not weep. Neither do I titter.

 

The Feast of the Sombre Solemnization of the Summertide Solstice. I wish I could say I am filled with further joy as Pretany the Great and the Principalities of the Nether-regions of the North-West formally end the Thousand-Year War, and that I shake my head in dismay whilst watching the bloody end to the riots against discrimination, disenfranchisement, and enslavement in Streylya. But neither do I tut-tut as the trial of the Stocky Cunning Snow-Leopard begins in Meryk-land, nor do I shed frustrated sporting tears as Slowenshtíno win the first Heart of the Continent Death-Tag Cup. Another year ends. I listen more intently to the words weaving worlds around me; I gulp down more of the images impinging on my eyes. The temperature increases. The pressure builds.

 

Now, as the heat-wave gets worse than ever before, the Periodic Global Physical Torments Challenge begins in the enormous, newly-independent Efranké-speaking state of Mathlenvíl in Northern Meryk-land. Beyond its sacred borders, the comparatively immature (in the eyes of the rest of the World), but nevertheless exceedingly powerful and jingoistic Independent Commonwealth celebrates the centenary of its tempestuous separation from the Pink Empire. In the Southern Continent, High and Low Krongvyuhtl reunite. To me at home, the colours in the garden are exceptionally vivid, real reality abetting the blood and thunder and thud and blunder, the multicoloured clouds of toxic gases, and the mangled bodies and melting bones and guts beamed live and non-stop onto the televisual screens. I cannot avoid the news from the numberless towns in Insubria devastated by the fallout from an explosion in a chemical-weapons plant. I’ll never forget the pictures from the Impenetrable Dominions of the Uttermost East where an earthquake kills a quarter of a million people overnight. Is it Shnethle Khwolkho who chooses to annihilate some and save others?

 

I am fascinated and terrified by the reports of the self-powering space-probes launched by the Indomitable Wýkingish League to investigate (and infect) the All-World, carrying some kind of imperishable, self-replicating, self-modifying seeds encoding the Thorlin’s image, ideas, drives, and desires. And this opens the gateway to a fantastic realm of imagination inside my head. But still I love swinging from tree to tree in the garden using old tyres dangled too high up for Mother’s liking, by ropes probably too frayed to hold my ever-increasing weight, from branches that creak so pleasingly as I fling myself back and forth. I fall often, a nut-brown monkey covered in bruises, and I love it. I love it all. I am free. I am, for a still photographic moment, frozen in sugar-frosted satisfaction. Now, I can look back and conjure up images of myself there, then, smelling the cut grass and my own sweat, and tasting the blood from my scuffed knees and elbows. Where, then, am I now – and who, or what? The taste – and the effects – of the musk-mead have never gone away, I realise.

 

It is inevitable, perhaps, that the bell in the highest purple tower of the Palace of Federal Splendour stops, and remains stopped for nine months, as ten thousand children, women, and men, fervent adherents of the EGO and declared anti-conformists alike, protest for enfranchisement, equality and peace throughout the Islands of the Disunited Kingdoms. In the meantime, a new flesh-dissolving pathogen called “ez-oghra baíl” is discovered in Faraqand by the Inhuman Doctor. The zealous religious conformist and inquisitor inadvertently releases it during his experiments, and the “doom-spores” soon spread across the World, causing a disease called “yucky-face.” Since the Eyrth is already on its knees, shaking and wailing uncontrollably, no-one in authority takes the sparest sliver of notice of this latest outrage. (Or at least if they do, they do nothing but work like the devil to try and protect themselves at the expense of everyone else.)

 

Yet another year begins its inexorable wind-down with the usual build-up to the undercover but joyous Quickening Jubilee followed by the pubic and bittersweet Undeserved Rejuvenation. Well, “hririn alowvelkí” – “life is bittersweet” – as they say on the Nw Yrth. I am utterly captivated watching the bloody birth-pangs of cyber-ascension mind-melt performances, as a new angst-ridden noise-form is released upon the World. Perhaps I should have been more worried as Richard on the Cliff-edge and his silver tongue sinuously slithers into the imagination of a beleaguered and unsuspecting public. I’ll always prefer old-school seyko-punk, though, to be honest. In the Impenetrable Dominions of the Uttermost East, on the other side of the World, some old man called the Biggest Little Brother Buvank Moa dies, triggering an orgy of pillaging, raping, vandalism, arson, persecution, blood-letting and genocide, worthy of the best bits of the Old Books.

 

The Feast of the Abyssal Expiation of the Autumntide Equinox. Later in life I quite enjoy travelling the metallic highways, mingling with the semi-human creatures and manufactured beings, and experiencing the most conflicted thoughts and feelings. That’s when all goes according to plan, of course: I hate all the much too frequent messing about, delays and cancellations. Looking back, I think I must have watched with considerable interest the inception of magnevectors, and especially all the spectacular carnage they caused before they were perfected. More often than not, now, however, when I am so unbelievably busy, I just project my consciousness from wherever I am to where I need to be. Back in the childhood realm, more happens in the Impenetrable Dominions of the Uttermost East. The Populist Uprising in Thought and Deed to Overthrow Individual Oppression and Liberate Collective Responsibility captures the counter-revolutionary traitors who’ve been the instigators, sustainers and helmspersons of the Uprising. They are subjected to “unveiling, censure and correction,” and sentenced to public evisceration. Fortunately for them, a vision of the Yellow King materializes, and the punishment is commuted to being blinded and deafened, having their tongues cut out, and their limbs amputated.

 

Across the Blustery Brine, the Grand Goobermeister becomes Elected Autocrat of All Meryk-land and moves his headquarters to Continental Congress Hall. Simultaneously, an ACE company calling itself “Eytsluhn” is registered. How – I do not wonder at the time – will it ever compete with the Pomegranate Thought-Simulators? Nevertheless, Eytsluhn starts to inseminate the whole World with its temping, insidious, and inescapable technology. The year ends scandalously, although I remain unaware. Hazgfo Gunogw the master world-musician is shot dead whilst protesting against the segregation and exploitation of indigenous peoples in Streylya and the enslavement of semi-humans throughout North Meryk-land.

 

The Nookie-muskets unleash mayhem as they revive the whole lexicon of Old Ilknish terminology for bodily functions like poets mullered on annihilative amrita in their first televisual performance (which is illegally hacked over the airwaves into every home in the land). Another year to the Field of Rushes is played out by Pey-kíla’s “Terakha-líyfa Inn.” I am entranced and repulsed (I now realise) by the half-formed, flickering vision that it is my mind’s steely knife-edge that is destined to complete the transformation of the Thorlin. That it’s me who’ll awaken and release the beast inside every one of them, destroying society but averting the utter annihilation of the species. But then, after all, what do you expect from a year of artificial plenitude, a year when roads melt with a smell of coal-tar soap that I’ll never be able to forget to the end of my days (whatever that means)?

 

The next year, Mother extricates herself from her responsibilities in the beautiful new Training Centre. She ends up in a seedy guest-house in Tatterdemalion Towers on Seaview Way, further down the hill and within a stone’s throw of the all-consuming waters. I am left alone to begin life with my “surrogate family” (I always like scientific terminology, although I never really understand it). The departure of my fave old witch is extremely sudden, but not unexpected (by me at least), although nonetheless wonderfully histrionic. There she stands on the green gravel at the end of the imposing driveway, in a fit of hysterics that would make Lady Meykbeds proud, threatening her imminent demise whilst insisting she is leaving me for my own good. (In fact, of course, Uncle had intimated that it might be in everyone’s interests if I “persuade” the pathetic old dear to vacate the newly done-up premises statim, so she’d make the right decision. This was easily enough done, with some relish on my part, I must say. But then, having started doing these little acts of beastliness, things go on under their own steam and get worse and worse. I feel like I’m always fire-fighting to keep some kind of order on the ungovernable events and the unexpected consequences.) Without warning, childhood ends, on the eve of my sixteenth birthday. I can see it still, as clear as day. I inherit my full power – I act instinctively – I cannot turn back. I begin to understand all, I think: moods, and motives, and morals. A living pattern emerges. I internalise the World, I break inside, I grow up. I wish, later, that I had not. The remembered smell of old, sour musk-mead constantly makes me want to chuck up.

 

Now my Grandma’s dead (here is neither the time nor the place to tell you why, or how, this happened, but sometimes, they say, “needs must, when the World’s on fire”). My Uncle’s in every-day operational control of the Manse and the Centre, while the Dithering Doc gets up to goodness-knows-what in his potting shed. The trees were long ago withered by sap-rot caused by the surreptitious slimy scourge that began eradicating an extensive proportion of the plant-life throughout the World years ago, and had to be chopped down. If I remember (and can be bothered), I visit my Father’s grave on the anniversary of his supposed death. And in the bleak Wintertide evenings, I think about those long, dry, scorching Summertides. At the coast, Mother lives like a wild pig, communes with the waves and the wind, performs private dramas, wails, and mourns.

 

The Ultimate Feast of the Dissolution of Sin and the Releasing of Life. Ah, isn’t life strange, aren’t memories as malleable as melting roads? Surely someone in my genetic history said something like that sometime, didn’t they? And if they didn’t, well, here’s me saying it now. Talking of redesigning and updating reality and manipulating meaning, I’ve learned so much regarding alternative ethics, creative accounting, unofficial legal-currency manufacture, and obstacle-elimination (animate and inanimate) from Thethalu Mother of Ithru, the abominable and homicidal, but clever and absolutely enthralling mistress of the macabre. And, come to think of it, I’ve gleaned at least as much from Ithru himself, in terms of twisting reality and using Element-K to slide through time-space, the nasty little tyke! So, maybe I’ve imaginated all this. It’s difficult to tell when your slightest thought can send ripples through the World around you (let alone every word and gesture) unless you take the utmost care. It could be that the true memories have been displaced by volcanic eruptions in my psychic landscape caused by later formative events that have shaped me in the intervening years. The future sluicing through the present to create the past, as it were. And there was plenty of trouble and strife, given my – rather special – pedigree and abilities. Sometimes I dream or imagine (or remember?) that I am an unsavable demon-baby in the womb (as the soon-to-be-toothless EGO would say), plotting to overthrow the entire World, unhinge the order holding everything together, delete existence as we’ve know it up until now. But I don’t think that’s what I want, really. At least not just now.

 

So, here we are. On the Feast of P’hug’hul and P’hug-huluol last year the era of The Council of Revolving Doors was inaugurated in the Undisputed Government [ø]. And now no Magnificent Minister remains in the same post for more than a week in order to “alleviate administrative inconvenience” and “enhance institutional efficiency.” In between the stints of back-breaking work, the whippings, the wrestling with conscience, and so on (according to the Archive of the Administrative Annalist), they are sent to the Teeming Jungles of Vnayvntnk on full pay for a year. There, they celebrate their achievements, their virtues, and their bravery; meditate about burning topics such as stamping out illegal immigration and solving the failure of the economy; and consider at their leisure the greatest problems of the day like strengthening criminal justice and national security, controlling terrorism, and subduing the intractable proles. In order to discipline the body and help the mind to concentrate, they must chow down on delicacies like sea-squirt pies, fried giant water-bugs, seagull stew, zebu offal, and musk-rat jelly; quaff drinks like stag-semen beer, baby-mice wine, panda-dung tshay, and cow-pee pop; and wash in vulture-vomit thrice every day. And still, they carry on fiddling while Théybē burns, getting fatter, more foolish, and richer with every poisoned instant that slips by.

 

Professor Mow-káhta Káhzwel, Vice-chancellor and Chief Executive Officer of the UIEIAR has just concluded his damning enquiry into the so-called Venerable Institutes of Higher Education and released the report. In his words, they have “utterly abrogated the responsibilities set out in excruciating detail in their Charters and Statutes to be venues of education, learning and research, promoting honour and wellbeing, but have instead given themselves over to becoming vile and degenerate partisan mills for the production and propagation of the most divisive and disgusting political, social and religious propaganda.” He therefore ordered their immediate closure, the defrocking of all their scholarly staff from the highest to the lowest, and the re-education of all the disciples in centres of chastisement, discipline and remediation. To top it all, the constables of the Manager of National Revenue and Lord of the Sacred Seal marched in to seize all their financial assets (including stocks, bonds and cash), as well as all their real assets (including real estate, infrastructure and commodities).

 

And so, I act out my fantasies, working on, and working out, whatever it is that’s plaguing me, playing with what it may mean now, or may have meant then. I realise (that is, I hope), that by giving in to the deluge, and then trying my very best to express, control, and use the multiple personas, selves, and shadows within me, I can re-write my own life-story – in fact, re-wire the World. I am here now, very much alive and thriving, despite the uncertainty and pain. That is my birth-right and my burden as I strive tooth and nail to succeed to where all others have failed, making sure I move so slowly so that I do not shake existence apart too soon. But how I wish I could open up, make contact, share; give to others (and take from them) in the normal way. Instead, I observe them, eavesdrop on their stories, steal from them, influence them; always pushing outwards, creating, living life through them, and exorcising old demons at the same time.

 

In the Northern Continent, the Principalities of the Nether-regions of the North-West have united at last under the very unwise and interfering patronage of Kalkevork the Canny. Totally fed up with the previous oppression, they have established a military dictatorship to conquer the whole landmass, forming the Cooperative Republican Alliance of Trans-Rúvya. Talk about Leskov’s Glorious Revolution! Damn him and every misbegotten “majesty”! In the South, the Immaculate Regnality of New Ostreylya and the Confederated Free States of the Most Celebrious Vnayvntnk attack each other like ferrets in a sack. The Homogeneity of Jinvetagr (which was previously known – in the West at least – as the Impenetrable Dominions of the Uttermost East) is working as hard as possible to poison the seas and the air, and to addict every member of the Thorlin race with its literally un-put-downable technology. It’s interesting to note (with perfect hindsight, of course), how the all the captains, chiefs, gaffers, guides, head-honchos, and leaders from Trans-Rúvya (who’re always so bumptious), the inscrutable warlords from Jinvetagr, and the sadistic drug-barons from Vnayvntnk, are so alike as almost to be members of a single mammoth extended family.

 

In secret laboratories deep underground, half-people have managed to breed with artificial beings, creating offspring much stranger that the progenitors to terrorize the World. In the wake of all this turmoil, criminal gangs have free rein to swarm about everywhere, transporting and selling illegal drugs and prohibited devices, and trafficking outlawed beings. In Pretany the Great, the KKKK are running amok, scoring more and more damaging points against the Government every week. My existence revolves around mastering or re-inventing ancient tools and techniques for imposing my will on the chaos all around me. (Although, in a way, I should be grateful to all the miscreants roaming the World for supplying the Training Centre’s – and my own – particular needs, I suppose.) In Pretany the Great, there's been a hellish backlash when it was discovered that the Services of the Sacrament of Communal Mortification (amongst all the others) in the overcrowded and ill-ventilated Houses of Repentance have been responsible for spreading so much deadly infection. On top of that, we've seen rioting on the streets once again when it was revealed that the incorrect words are being used in the Rite of Public Washing, with the proles claiming that the EGO was summoning demons to torture them.

 

As soon as one problem is solved, one ghost laid to rest, another one pops up out of the blue to vex poor old me. There’s one thing left to me. One frightful thing whispering, calling, enticing, and pulling. One thing I’m dying to use, but I’m battling to avoid like it was the latest blight plaguing the Planet (until the fifty-ninth second, in the fifty-ninth minute, in the twenty-third hour, at least) as it fills me with so much angst and fear. And that’s the old cauldron of green brass – and the living sea of thick, black liquid in it – and, waiting there impatiently, the unknown midnight paths towards, and away from, alternate universes, divergent timelines, and utterly foreign forms of life.

 

[ó] Coal-tar is a type of creosote, a thick, black liquid created as a by-product when turning coal into coke and coal-gas. It is used as a treatment for psoriasis and dandruff together with ultraviolet light; as a preservative for rail-ties; and to make road-surfaces.

 

[ø] These were the twin fanatics who used to preach about the Cosmic Power millennia ago whilst making shoes for the poor from lizard-leather in the Nether-regions of the North-West. Their popularity amongst the masses led to the self-immolation of most of the population of the Commune of Downo-nowyo. This enraged the Markgrávo who ordered that the brothers be tortured, thrown into the river with mill-stones round their necks, and then beheaded. Over its extensive and heinous history, the EGO (until its complete moral bankruptcy and intellectual dishonesty tore it apart from within), alternately venerated and reviled them. And so, the Supreme Father-Church expended substantial amounts of time, much psychological energy, and large sums of money on devising, promulgating, and enforcing the conclusions of the arguments and counter-arguments, with deadly results for hundreds of thousands of individuals.

 

Yn ôl theorïau cyfoes, fel bodau dynol, yr ydym ni’n creu synnwyr dirwedd a ellir ei rannu gan bobl eraill, trwy ddehongli synhwyrion allanol. Dyma’r ‘byd canfyddedig.’ Ar y llaw arall, trwy ddychmygu yr ydym ni’n llunio delweddau, syniadau, a theimladau yn y meddwl, heb ddefnyddio synhwyrion yn uniongyrchol, i greu synnwyr realiti personol, mewnol. Dyma’r ‘byd dychmygol.’ Mewn rhai cyflyrau meddyliol, bydd yn anodd gwahaniaethu rhwng y byd canfyddedig, a’r byd dychmygol. Ar ben hynny, rhai systemau cred sydd yn honni mai rhith yw’r holl fyd canfyddedig beth bynnag; ac mae sawl diwylliant yn credu bod bydoedd dychmygol yr un mor real â’r byd canfyddedig. Er sylwadau o’r fath, mae dychmygu’n ein helpu i ddysgu pethau newydd, cyfuno profiadau amrywiol, a defnyddio gwybodaeth. Gallwn ni hyfforddi’r dychymyg trwy chwedleua, gwrando ar straeon, ac actio. Bydd maint dychymyg person a gynyddir trwy gymryd cyffuriau seicedelig, neilltuol; ymarfer myfyrio neu ddefnyddio hypnosis; ynteu gael ysgogi’r ymennydd gan drydan, er enghraifft. Ymhellach, ymddengys bod cofio a dychmygu’n effeithio ar ei gilydd. Fel rheol (ac wrth ddwyn mewn cof effeithiau sawl cyflwr meddyliol), ni fydd pobl yn gadael i’w dychmygion effeithio’n ormod ar eu gweithredoedd; ond eu credau, i’r gwrthwyneb, a fydd yn llywio’n gryf sut y byddant yn ymddwyn. Wedi dweud hynny, am na chyfyngir dychmygu gan ffactorau allanol, fe allant ddwyn pleser enfawr o bryd i’w gilydd; ond, eto i gyd, bydd yn bosibl dioddef o bryderon dychmygol, erchyll, hefyd. Wedi dweud hynny, am na chyfyngir dychmygu gan ffactorau allanol, fe all ddwyn pleser enfawr o bryd i’w gilydd; ond, eto i gyd, bydd yn bosibl dioddef o bryderon dychmygol, erchyll, hefyd.

 

O, Jelena, Helen, Elen, Eilidh, Helena, Aileen, Alyiona: ‘yn chwaer, ‘y nghysgod, ‘y nghryfder, ‘y ngofid, ‘y mywyd – wele dy frawd ffyddlon di, dy farchog dewr, Daud, yn canu dy glodydd. Dyna ferch yw hi! Mae hi ‘di bod yn warchodwraig mor rhadlon, a solet, a chyfareddol (neu falle byddai’n well dweud ceidwad y carchar, a dweud y gwir) drwy gydol ‘yn oes hyd yn ‘yn. Dw i’n ei chofio hi’n sleifio rownd y drws, i syllu arna i’n dosturiol ond llawn chariad, a finnau’n ddim ond crwt drewllyd oedd newydd ddihuno o hunllef unwaith eto, wedi pisio’r gwely.

 

Dw i ‘di bod mor ffodus achos bod hi ‘di bod yn ‘y ngharco i bob amser ar ôl i Mam fynd i gysgu am byth. Ac mae hi mor brydferth, jyst fel Mam, ond er gwaetha’ ‘ny, mae hi’n gallu bihafio fel rhyw fath o anghenfil arallfydol, y gysgadures yn y fagddu, y llechwraig yn y cysgodion, fydd yn mynd yn gacwn gwyllt os bydd unrhyw un yn ceisio’n hanafu ni. Wrth gwrs, dyna oedd cyn i fi ddarganfod sut i fwrw hud, i ‘neud i bethau ddigwydd, ‘yn amddiffyn ‘yn hunan rhag mynachod ffiaidd ac ysbrydion drwg, gan gael be’ dw i eisiau, ran fwya’r amser o leia’. Mae rhyw Hen Filwr (sa i’n gw’bod ei enw go iawn, ffrind i Dad), wedi bod yn ‘nysgu i pan fydd Dad bant. Cymhleth iawn ydy, cofiwch chi!

 

Wel, dyna ni. Dyn ni i gyd yn tyfu i lan mor gyflym, on’d ydyn ni? Merch dal, gref, osgeiddig yw hi bellach, fydd yn gadael y nyth yn ddigon buan. Wi’n credu bydd hi’n mynd bant gyda’n ffrind y Ficing achos bod pawb angen rhywun ar eu hochr nhw i roi’r byd yn ei le, a’r gweddill, pan fyddan nhw’n dod yn oedolion, ac mae hi’n ‘sgrifennu cerddi ac yn hala nhw ato fe ar y slei bach. Mae hi’n gwirioni arno fe, dyna’r peth, mae hi ‘di cwympo dros ei phen a’i chlustiau mewn cariad â’r hen gono. Dyna beth mae’n ysbïwyr i, y ddwy wylan gall ond chwit-chwat wi di'u dofi, Hedkés a Vandl, yn ddweud wrtha i, ta be'. (“Kaw, kavé, kankwrí, kaké," meddan nhw drwy'r amser!).

 

O’r braidd galla i ddychmygu bod hebddi hi, be’ fydda i’n mynd i ‘neud? Ond, eto i gyd, bydd yn rhaid i fywyd fynd yn ei flaen, on’ bydd, a gyda problemau daw cyfleoedd. Falle os dianc a ‘naiff hi, wel, wedyn, siŵr o fod, fe alla i gael hyd i ferch arall yn rhywle draw dros yr enfys, hyd yn oed os bydd yn rhaid i fi hwylio yno mewn llong Ficingaidd heb gymorth neb arall, neu hedfan ar ‘yn liwt ‘yn hun ar ryw wely wedi’i hyrddio yno gan ffrwydrad anferth! Wedi’r cwbl, chwaer hyfryd yw un peth, ond llawer gwell fyddai Tywysoges yn y cnawd, y peth go iawn, reit? O, fy Morwyn Ddihalog wedi’i bendigo saith gwaith, dere di ata i, eich Tywysog Swynol sy’n disgwyl!

 

Fe fydd hi’n ferch mor bert, mor glyfar, mor bell, ac fe fydda i’n dwlu arni hi mor frwd. Nyrs neu rywbeth fel ‘ny, yr un ffunud â Mam sy wedi mynd, fydd hi, ta be’. Dw i’m yn nabod hi ‘to, er mod i’n breuddwydio amdani hi bob nos. Pan gwrddwn ni â’n gilydd am y tro cynta’, fe fydda i’n honni’r hawl i aros yno gyda hi, yn y tŵr o berl, mewn gwlad yn bell dros y môr, ble bynnag bydd ‘ny, ac fe fydd hi’n ‘y nghymryd i dan ei hadain fel ‘sai hi’n rhyw angel arallfydol.

 

Ac yno fe fyddwn ni’n prancio, dan y pinwydd bythwyrdd yn nolau lledrithiol Aberdydd, o ble ddaeth ‘y nghyndadau’n wreiddiol, neu i ble aethon nhw, y wlad ‘na llawn pwcaod, a bendith y mamau, ac uncyrn, a chorachod, a chewri. Yn y dechrau, bydd hi’n bihafio’n debyg i chwaer hŷn, gan edrych ar ‘yn ôl i, ond wedyn, sawl mis yn hwyrach, bydd hi’n gwylltio arna i bob tro bydda i’n siarad lol. Ac wedyn, bydd hi’n dianc oddi wrtha i, gan redeg bant pan fydda i’n dynesu, dim ond i gwrsio ar ‘yn ôl i pan fydda i’n encilio.

 

Fe all hi ddarllen ‘yn meddyliau, gan drio dod o hyd i’r holl gyfrinachau ynghylch ‘y mhersonoliaeth sy wedi’u cuddio mor ddwfn tu mewn i fi, fel ‘sai pwerau sbesial ‘da hi. Fe fydd hi’n adrodd chwedlau mor rhyfedd wrtha i, am garu, ac am dranc, ac yn ‘neud pethau secsi, y genawes fach, ac fe fydda i’n dwlu ar siarad â hi gymaint! Fydda i byth eisiau gadael ei hochr.

 

Ac fe fyddwn ni’n chwarae gemau gyda’n gilydd – rwy’n dy garu di, sa i’n dy garu di, dw i’n dy garu di, nid wyf yn dy garu – yr un peth drosodd a thro. Falle fydda i byth yn ei deall yn llwyr, achos bydd hi mor ddwys, mor ddifrifol, o bryd i’w gilydd. Ond fydd hi’m yn bosib cadw ‘yn hunan rhag meddwl amdani hi, ac fe fydd ‘y nheimladau ati’n tyfu bob dydd.

 

Fi fydd yn beiddio gweud yn uchel enwau hen a melys cariad moron, traserch gormesgar, afiaith amhûr, hoffter tragwyddol syml, nwyd chwardd am ben gofaint cloeau, hyfrydwch priodasol, a chyfeillgarwch ffyddlon teg. Heb gysgod o amheuaeth bydd hi'n moyn symbylu’n ffyniant emosiynol, gan ‘yn helpu i i drawsffurfio’n llid yn heddwch, ac mae pawb yn dweud bod y fath beth yn bwysig iawn. A wi’n dychmygu bydd hi’n edrych arna i mor astud ar achlysuron, fel Meddyliaethydd proffesiynol, ond wedyn ‘y ngwawdio fi nes i fi bron â wylo.

 

Cyn gofyn i’w rhieni hi, y Dewin a’r Foneddiges, am ganiatâd i’w phriod i falle bydd yn rhaid i fi ddiodde’ diheurbrawf fel yn yr Hen Lyfr, gan roi’n llaw mewn dŵr berwedig, neu ddal haearn poeth. Bydd fel ‘sai hi’n ‘yn rhoi i ar brawf, gyda help ei frawd y Ficing, a bydda i angen ymladd gornestau yn erbyn gelynion erchyll fel yr Offeiriad Coch, a mynd i gyrchu pethau fel Pair Dadeni, Cleddyf Sorakados, y Siaced Fraith, a’r Seint Greal.

 

Ac wedyn pan fydda i wedi mynd â hi, fel marchog ar farch gwyn, fe fydda i’n ennill ei serch a chipio ei chalon hefyd. Wedi’r cwbl, a ddioddefws a orfu, medd rhywun, yr Hen Filwr ‘na, siŵr o fod. Ac yn y pen draw, fe fydd hi’n ildia i’n swyn i, ac fe fyddwn ni’n priodi, heb glebran am fabis a theuluoedd, fel gallwn ni garu, a charu, a dyna ni’n cwtsio a chusanu’n ffyrnig fel yn y ffilmiau gwirion ‘na i gyd! O, hir yw pob aros yn wir!

 

Sa i’n medru darogan y dyfodol, dyw ‘ny ddim yn un o’n aml dalent (a dyna lawn cystal, sbo!), ond dyna ‘mreuddwyd gyson: byd disglair yn llawn o heddwch, llawnder, hwyl, direidi, chwarae, a charu. Dyw’r hud ddim yn gweithio drwy’r amser, dyna’r unig broblem, y drwg yn y caws, ond rhaid i fi roi cynnig arni [1]. Amser y lleuad lawn fydd orau iddi, a dyna pan fydd Dad bant, hefyd, diolch byth. Mae e’n mynd yn waeth drwy’r amser, yr hen fwli. Falle fe fydd e’n cael ei ladd y tro hwn, a daw yn ôl mewn bag corff. Teg dweud nage ceisio dod â fe’n ôl a wna i os dyna fydd yn digwydd!

 

Ddylwn i’m gwastraffu amser, dyna beth mae’r Hen Filwr yn ddweud. A’r cam cynta’ yw meddwl am be’ ti eisiau mor galed ag y galli di. Dw i angen bod yn ofalus, ‘te, gyda be’ wi’n meddwl amdano fe, achos bod ‘y mreuddwydion wastad yn tueddu i ddod yn wir. Dw i’n dod yn gyfarwydd â’r defodau nawr, a’r geiriau hud, a’r torri ‘yn hunan, a’r gwaed. Ac fe wn i bydda i’n teimlo sâl fel ci ar ôl cwpla, fe ‘swn i wedi marw, mewn ffordd, felly well i’r seremoni lwyddo. Tybed fydd y ddau ddymuniad yn cyfri’ fel un, w? Dal gafael yn y chwaer a hefyd cael hyd i gariad? Wel, fe fydda i’n byw mewn gobaith. Ta ta tan toc. Gad i ni weld, fel y gwedan nhw, yr hen frithgi di, w!

 

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[1] Wel, nage dyna ddigwyddodd, wrth gwrs. Naeth hud Dai Baxter ffaelu dwyn ffrwyth, mae’n ymddangos, o ran y pethau y sonnir amdanyn nhw yma, beth bynnag – gwaetha’r modd. Mae’n flin da fi, dw i’m n gallu osgoi’r chwerthin chwerw. Ac er ymwrthodai Dai â’r syniad o ychwanegu at ddioddefaint y Ddaear trwy fod yn dad a dod â phlentyn arall i’r Byd, roedd rhyw rym neu chwant anwrthwynebol yn gweithio i’w rwystro o ran y dymuniad ‘na ‘fyd. Er mwyn rhoi blas i chi o’r hyn sydd i ddod, felly, dyma Elfan Baldrog Bacster yn crynhoi hanes y Blaned o’i safbwynt e cyn iddo ddod i’w lawn nerth. (Gweler yma “Plentyn Indigo Atha-lanthé” – fi sy wedi rhyngosod y teitlau’n cyfeirio at wyliau’r Hen EFE. Gobeithio byddwch yn maddau i fi, hen bagan, am yr hunanfoddhad bach ‘ma wrth fynegi fy synnwyr hiwmor du!). — P.M.

 

Gŵyl Ymostyngiad Glân Heuldro’r Gaeaf. Mor bell i ffwrdd ydyn nhw bellach, mae’n ymddangos, yr hafau poeth hir yn Aberdydd ar lannau’r môr, pan doddai’r ffyrdd, ac roedd yr awyr yn drwchus o arogl col-tar [ó]. Pan do’n i ddim yn blentyn rhagor, ond ddim yn hollol yn ddyn chwaith. Ddim mewn gwlad estron, yn enwedig, er bod pethau’n i’w gweld yn gwbl wahanol i sut maen nhw bellach, ac yn sicr eu bod nhw. Teimladau eraill, gwyntoedd eraill, meddyliau eraill. Mwy uniongyrchol, mwy dwfn, mwy real. Mwy ffres. Mwy nwyfus. Mwy poenus (neu lai)? Ond yn dal i fynd yn bellach, bellach ymaith erbyn hyn. Holl Fyd microcosmig yn ymagor oddi mewn i fi, newidiadau’n cyflymu glouach, glouach oddi wrtha i, i bob cyfeiriad posib. Wrth gwrs, hyd yn oed bryd hynny, byddai pobl yn cwyno’n daer am y presennol dirywiedig a galaru am foesau’r oes euraidd ddiflanedig, cyfnod, weden nhw wrtha i, ro’n i wedi’i cholli o drwch blewyn. Ta be, dyna ro’n i, yn siglo’n hanner noeth o’r coed yng ngardd gefn fawr, wyllt y Mans dadfeiliedig, ‘yn ffroenau plentynnaidd wedi’u cosi gan ewyn y môr hallt, poeth, a’n ysgwyddau wedi’u llosgi gan Haul rhy dwymgalon. Ac wrth i fi chwarae yng Ngardd y Pleserau Daearol, roedd y trac sain ar gyfer diweddglo’r cyfnod diweddarach yn hanes y Thorlin (er na wyddai neb hynny ar y pryd) yn ffrwydro o seinyddion yr hen drosdderbynydd wedi’i hwpo drwy ffenest lawr staer i’r awyr yn grych gan y gwres.

 

Pwy all wybod ar ddechrau’r un flwyddyn beth ddigwyddiff ymhellach ar hyd cledrau anorfod hanes? Pwy all ddarogan mewn un wythnos beth fydd yn digwydd yn yr un nesa, heb sôn am ym mhen mis, neu ddegawd? Pwy fyddai’n moyn gwybod? Ddylai unrhyw un ymhlith y Thorlin ragweld y dyfodol? Cofiwch Broffwydes Théybē yn cael ei gwatwar wrth hongian yn ei basged, gan fegian am farwolaeth na all fyth brofi. Fyddai hi wedi rhagwybod cynhyrchu cyffredinol peiriannau amgyffred mecanyddol bychain (PAMau); hediad cynta’r awyrlong ryng-gyfandirol o’r enw “y Behemoth”; neu’r bomiau a osodwyd yn Nhredafwys gan yr KKKK (yn ôl yr honiadau)? Dw i’n mynd yn ôl i slafdod y Ganolfan Hyfforddi yn nyddiau ffres, oeraidd Adnewyddiad Anhaeddiannol, ar ôl Jiwbilî Adfywhau Trymder Gaeaf sy’n gynhyrfus (ac, wrth gwrs, yn dra anghyfreithlon) yn llawn anrhegion gwrthodedig. Dw i wrth ‘yn modd gyda’r llyfr wedi’i animeiddio sy mor aflednais a gwaedlyd (“Rhamantau Afieithus o el-Rābí”), teclyn darlunio meddwl newydd sbon danlli, a chopi o “Meddygaeth Werin o Bedwar Ban Byd: Ffrwythau a llysiau i andwyo ac iacháu” gan Faland-ashé.

 

Mae’r diferyn cyntaf o fedd llwydni meddwol yn dal i lewyrchu yn ‘y ngo, a dw i’n ‘ngweld ‘yn hunan yn nofio drwy foroedd bywyd heb gyfeiriad, mor hapus â lama wedi’i fiobeiriannu ar warchodfa yng Ngogledd Kimbria. Fe fyddwn i wedi defnyddio trosiad bryntach, mwy mochaidd, ond ro’n i i fod yn fachgen da. Mewn gwirionedd, nes i regi am y tro cyntaf dim ond wrth rwgnach i ‘nghyfaill gorau i (llanc oedd yn bisyn ac mor secsi, ond yn hollol anghyraeddadwy; wel, heb dipyn bach o “anogaeth” feddyliol gen innau) am ‘yn niffyg dealltwriaeth am ledaenu canlyniadau gwrth-gydffurfiol yn laslanc yn gorlifo o hormonau. Beth bynnag am ‘ny, doedd fy “nheulu” bondigrybwyll, gorffwyll i ddim yn ymbleseru mewn bwyta porc (ddim ar Wendid-ddydd o leia!). Rhywbeth yn gysylltiedig â helyntion gwrthun yn cynnwys gwaredigaeth hanner-personau yn y Cyfandir Deheuol yn ôl fy Mam oedd bob amser yn cadw ei bys ar y pwls, a hyd at rigol y bronnau mewn anufudd-dod ac ymgyrchoedd. Ro’n ni (dw i’n golygu’r rhan fwya o’r bobl ddeallus ym Mhretania Fawr - hynny yw Gwlad y Cnafon Gwrthun i weddill y Byd) yn dal i dalu gwrogaeth arwynebol i’r EFE, mwy neu lai, bryd hynny. Wedi gweud ‘ny, newidiai llanw amser gyfeiriad o’r diwedd ac ysgubo’r credau ac ymddygiadau ‘na, oedd mor hoff ond mor fyglyd, ymaith hefyd yn y pen draw (diolch i ba Bŵer bynnag sy’n rheoli clocwaith yr Holl Fyd a sut mae’n taflu’i ddisiau, ha, ha - ond, pan fo pob awdurdod uchod ac isod yn byw ynoch chi, gall fod mor anodd gwybod be i neud!).

 

Dw i’n tybio, ac edafedd y blynyddoedd yn dechrau dad-ddirwyn o werthyd y Xnethokegw, fod yn rhaid fy mod i wedi gweld, neu glywed, adroddiadau o ddigwyddiadau fel y canlynol yn byrlymu ma’s o’r sgrin deledol o’r radd flaenaf yn cymryd holl wal fy ffau fwystfilaidd, mwy neu lai. Y degau o filoedd wedi’u ladd yn y rhyfel cartref yn Ralvu-mono; yr ymgais (aflwyddiannus) i ymddiswyddo gan y Kyning Kalkevork i sefyll fel Cynrychiolydd y Werin (hynny yw, i brynu’i ffordd i mewn i Gysegr Sancteiddiolaf Tŷ Llywodraeth Ddiamheuol Parthau Unedig Pretania Fawr), a ddilynwyd heb oedi gan sefydlu Undeb Unifersal Uwch-arglwyddi Awtocratig Anetholedig ganddo, wedi mynd i’r pwd, disodli a dienyddio Thefano Thahafothu yng Ngwladwriaeth Rydd newydd se-Líyra; a chadw terfynol Cwmin Lygadlym, yr ymlusgiad andwyol, mewn carchar un person, palasaidd a godid i’r pwrpas yng nghanol y Parc Thema Tocsig. (Yno, mae’n ffynhonnell i lifogydd aruthrol o feil. Ond, er ei fod yn breuddwydio am gynulleidfa fyd-eang wancus ar gyfer ei arllwysiadau hunanfaldodus, ac yn credu ei fod yn cyfathrebu â nhw, rhyng-gipir pob un o’i flogiau, ei bamffledi, a’i darllediadau, ac ni adawir i’r un basio’r tu hwnt i furiau anhydraidd y carchar cain.)

 

Gŵyl Cyffesu Gwyllt Cyhydnos y Gwanwyn. Falle, fel plant, ein bod ni’n ffodus dyn ni ddim yn deall y gweithredoedd ‘na wedi’u cyflawni gan y Pŵer Anhybwys sy mor ddamweiniol o ddinistriol; na chreulondeb natur; nac erchyllter llwyr y Thorlin; pethau fyddai fel arall yn ein hurtio ni. Ond, heb resymeg dduraidd oedolaeth, mae’n bosib ein bod yn deall gormod mewn gwirionedd, yn ein ffordd ein hunain. Alla i’m bod yn siŵr nawr. Wedi’r cwbl, fi oedd wastad yn amsugno a threulio cymaint yn fwy na phawb arall, boed nhw’n gryts annynol neu’n hen gonos drewllyd. Ac roedd y pethau anesboniadwy yn digwydd o ‘nghwmpas – neu a achosid gen i – yn gadael i bawb, yn cynnwys fi, mewn penbleth lwyr, i ddechrau, o leia.

 

Rhwng y pyliau o fewnsylliad, dw i’n chwarae yn y parciau, ar y traethau, ac o gwmpas y dre, gan gynnau tanau ac achosi i bethau ffrwydro, a mynd yn anweledig a mân-ladrata o siopau. Ac o bryd i’w gilydd, credwch neu beidio, dw i’n helpu i ofalu am breswylwyr ifancach y Ganolfan (a dysgu technegau sbesial iddyn nhw ar y slei!). Ac eto i gyd, dyna’r amseroedd amhrisiadwy pan fydda i’n sleifio’n feddyliol i ymenyddiau pobl, i lefydd gwaharddedig, i gofion tirweddau, ac i ddirweddau amgen. Dw i bob amser yn gwylio, gwrando, benthyca, yn di-baid integreiddio, dosbarthu, gwahaniaethu, a threfnu’r holl wybodaeth a enillwyd drwy fawr ymdrech mewn castell mewnol anhreiddiadwy. I geisio ffrwyno pŵer cynyddol UUUAAA wedi fföedigaeth Leskov (gartre, o leia), mae Llywodraeth Ddiamheuol Pretania Fawr yn creu teitlau a swyddogaethau newydd wrth geisio uno swyddogion mwya nerthol y lluoedd arfog, doethwyr mwyaf bychanfrydig yr athrofâu, clerigwyr mwyaf dialgar yr eglwysi, y mentrwyr mwyaf trachwantus, a’r gwleidyddion mwyaf anghymwys o uchelgeisiol. Mae’r Eiriolwr Diamheuol, Arglwydd yr Ynysoedd, y Brehyrion Grymus, yr Uchel Ddistain, y Dyledogion, a’r Rhai Gwellfaeth yn boblogaidd iawn o ran rhwysg a rhodres, ond mor ddefnyddiol â merchetwr disbaidd a heb bidyn o ran chyflawni unrhyw beth ond gweiddi, cyfeddach, dwyn, dweud celwyddau, twyllo, a lladd.

 

Hyd yn oed pryd ‘ny, ro’n i’n gallu dirnad cyfrinachau wedi’u celu rhag y gyr dynol, ac ennill sythwelediad drwy ymarferion ro’n i’n credu mod i’n eu dyfeisio o ddim, ond roedd wedi’u colli gan Swynwyr y Thorlin filenia cyn hynny. Ro’n i’n teimlo (ac yn teimlo eto) fel petawn i wedi cael ‘ngeni’n gwybod, fel petai llif amser yn cychwyn oddi mewn i fi ac yn ffrydio tuag allan, yn hytrach na churo o ‘nghwmpas i. Dyw hi ddim yn syndod felly taw bron byth na alla i fynd i gysgu, a bob tro’n arswydo rhag yr awr pan fydd Anthem Ansbaradigaethus yr Ynysoedd Ysblennydd yn tywallt o’r seinyddion wrth i’r cannoedd o sianeli, yn llawn cynnwys ffiaidd a diraddiol farw fesul un. O na bai’r hisian statig a byrlymu undonog yn merwino fy meddwl yn hytrach na siarad â fi fel pwll y môr yn holl ieithoedd y Ddaear a’r Nw Yrth hefyd, gan na alla i fyth ddiffodd y sgrin, er gwaetha ‘mhwerau. O ran yr hyn sy’n dilyn hynny, dw i’m yn gallu cofio bellach, ond o leia nad yw Anthem Kimbria’n anghyfreithlon mwyach.

 

Cofio dw i, fodd bynnag, fod rhai o’r sianeli’n arfer dangos “darllediad prawf.” Cartŵn o ryw hen daid o’r enw Llesg-gop y Brên Boncyrs, wedi gwisgo fel Clown Bwrlésg (neu rywbeth tebyg), yn cael ei gam-drin, ei guro, a’i ladd mewn lliaws o ffyrdd dyfeisgar, ond bob tro’n chwarae bili-ffŵl. Pa mor od yw ‘ny? O, mor hawdd y dilorna cenedlaethau diweddarach fympwyon y rhai wedi mynd o’r blaen, tra anwybyddant eu gwendidau eu hun. Trawstiau a brychau, sbo. O’m safbwynt i, dw i’n dwlu arno fe, ta be. Ar ôl tamaid bach o’r hen drais disynnwyr dirprwyol, dw i’n rheolaidd snecian ma’s o’r gwely gefn trymedd nos i safle Pagoda Purdeb Perffaith, ble galla i ymestyn ‘yn ffilamentau seicogenig pluog cyn belled at y sêr ag sy’n bosibl. Ac ar adegau, mae fel petawn i wedi ‘nhrawsgludo i ryw Fyd Plith-draphlith yn yr Hyd Deheuol ble dw i’n medru anghofio bod yn un o’r Thorlin llofruddgar, pryfedog, a dod yn fabi o fwtan sy’n troi’n fwystfil rhyfeddol, yn rhydd o bob cyfyngiad pob dydd a gofidiau cyffredinol.

 

Ta be, mae un mis, un flwyddyn, yn cymysgu ,â’r un nesa, wrth i ‘mhrofiad, ‘nghraffter, a ‘mhwyll dyfu’n araf. Ond eto, dim ond nawr, yn llawr hwyrach, fy mod i’n amgyffred pwysigrwydd rhai digwyddiadau hanesyddol. Ceir sefydlu Modelu Arwybod Pomgranad, er enghraifft, corff wedi’i ymrwymo i gynhyrchu efelychwyr meddwl chwyldroadol. Mae’r enw, wrth gwrs, yn dwyn i gof hanes Elena a Davuth, a gynllwyniai’n greadigol â Xlotlringku Vlaltanlu-tnalzse yn Llwyn Xatlaltvazsu, gan ddod â’r Hen Fyd i ben, a chychwyn yr Un Newydd. Yn Nominiynau Anhreiddiadwy’r Dwyrain Pellaf, mae’r Ymerawdwr Enigmatig yn gorchymyn lladdedigaeth miloedd o’i werin ei hun o flaen Creirfa’r Chwyldroadwyr Radicalaidd Cyfiawn. Mae’n dymuno darparu cymod o waed i eneinio Mur Fawr Cynddaredd Nefol â fe, gan geisio tawelu (neu fwydo) duwdod rhyfel anniwall Shnethle Khwolkho. Yn y cefndir, mae’r alarnad garu gan y Chwaeroliaeth Chwareus, “Paid Bradu dy Swsys Ar Fi”, yn cael ei chwarae’n ddi-stop. Mae hon yn gyrru’r digrifwr trasicomig blaengar o’r enw Siâms Sidni i’w farwolaeth, gan amddifadu’r Byd o doreth o chwerthin affwysol. O’m rhan i, ni wylaf. Nid wyf yn piffian chwerthin ychwaith.

 

Gŵyl Sancteiddio Difrifddwys Heuldro’r Haf. Hoffwn i pe medrwn weud mod i’n orlawn o lawenydd pellach wrth i Bretania Fawr a Thywysogaethau Rhanbarthau Isaf y Gogledd-orllewin roi ben ar Ryfel y Fil o Flynyddoedd, ac yn ysgwyd ‘mhen yn ddigalon wrth wylio diwedd gwaedlyd ar y terfysg yn erbyn gwahaniaethu, difreinio, a chaethiwo yn Streilia. Ond dw i ddim yn twt-twtian wrth i dreial Llewpard yr Eira Ystrywgar Byrdew ddechrau yng Ngwlad Meryk, na gollwng dagrau o siomedigaeth fel cefnogwr chwaraeon brwd o sylweddoli i Slowensituno ennill y Cwpan Mig Farwol Calon-Gyfandirol cyntaf. Fe orffenna blwyddyn arall. Dw i’n gwrando’n fwy astud ar y geiriau’n gwau bydoedd o ‘nghwmpas; ac yn llyncu mwy o’r delweddau’n ardaro ar ‘yn llygaid. Mae’r tymheredd yn codi. Mae’r pwysau’n crynhoi.

 

Nawr, a’r boethdon yn waeth nag erioed o’r blaen, fe ddechreuiff y Campau Artaith Gorfforol Byd-eang Cylchol yn nhalaith enfawr Effransieg Mathlenvíl sy newydd ennill ymreolaeth, yng Ngogledd Gwlad Meryk. Y tu hwnt i’w ffiniau glân hi, mae’r Gymanwlad Annibynnol, sy’n gymharol anaeddfed (o safbwynt gweddill y Byd), ond yn eithriadol o rymus a jingoistaidd serch hynny, yn dathlu canmlwyddiant ei gwahanu oddi wrth yr Ymerodraeth Binc. Ar y Cyfandir Deheuol, Krongvyuhtl Uchaf ac Isaf yn ail-uno. I fi gartre, mae’r lliwiau yn yr ardd yn dra chryf, a realedd go iawn yn cynorthwyo’r colli gwaed a gweiddi, y cymylau enfysliw o nwyon gwenwynig, a’r cyrff drylliedig a’r esgyrn a pherfeddion yn toddi a ddarlledir yn fyw a heb ball ar y sgriniau teledol. Dw i’m yn gallu osgoi’r newyddion o’r trefi rif y gwlith yn Insurbia wedi’u difrodi gan yr alldafliad o ffrwydrad mewn ffatri arfau cemegol. Anghofiaf fi fyth mo’r lluniau o Ddominiynau Anhreiddiadwy’r Dwyrain Pellaf ble lladdiff daeargryn chwarter miliwn o bobl dros nos. Ife Shnethle Khwolkho yw e, a ddewisiff ddifa rhai ac achub eraill?

 

Fe ga i ‘nghyfareddu a ‘mrawychu gan yr adroddiadau am y gofodennau hunanysgogol a lansiwyd gan Gynghrair Anorchfygol y Llychlynwyr i archwilio (a heintio) yr Holl Fyd, yn cario ryw fath ar hadau sy’n hunanaddasol, hunanatgynhyrchiol, ac anhreuliol, ac ynddynt god yn cynnwys delwedd, syniadau, ac ysgogiadau’r Thorlin. Ac mae hyn yn agor y porth i fro anghredadwy dychymyg y tu mewn i ‘mhen i. Ond dw i’n dal i ddwlu ar siglo o goeden i goeden yn yr ardd, gan ddefnyddio hen deiars yn hongian yn rhy uwch o lawer at ddant Mam, o raffau’n rhy dreuliedig i ddal ‘mhwysau bythol gynyddol, siŵr o fod, o ganghennau sy’n cricio mor ddymunol wrth i fi ‘nhaflu fy hunan ymlaen ac yn ôl. Dw i’n cwympo’n aml, yn fwnci lliw’r gneuen yn gleisiau i gyd, a dw i’n dwlu arni, dw i’n dwlu arni oll. Dw i’n rhydd. Dw i, am ennyd ffotograffaidd, lonydd, wedi’n rhewi mewn boddhad siwgraidd. Nawr, dw i’n gallu edrych yn ôl a chonsurio delweddau ohono’n hunan yno, bryd hynny, gan glywed y gwair wedi’i dorri a’n chwys fy hunan, a blasu’r gwaed o ‘mhengliniau a ‘mhenelinoedd curedig. Ble, felly, ydw i bellach - a phwy, neu beth? Dyw blas - nac effeithiau - y medd llwydni ddim wedi cilio, dw i’n sylweddoli.

 

Mae’n anochel, falle, fod y gloch yn nhŵr piws uchaf Palas Rhysedd Ffederal yn stopio, ac yn aros ar stop am naw mis, wrth i gannoedd o filoedd o blant, menywod a dynion, yn ymlynwyr angerddol yr EFE a gwrth-gydffurfwyr addefedig fel ei gilydd, brotestio dros ryddfreiniad, cydraddoldeb, a heddwch drwy gydol gwledydd y Teyrnasoedd Anghytûn. Yn y cyfamser, ceir darganfod pathogen newydd sy’n toddi cnawd o’r enw “ez-oghra baíl” yn Faraqand gan y Doctor Annynol. Mae’r cyd-ffurfiwr crefyddol selog o chwilyswr yn ei ryddhau’n ddiofal wrth arbrofi, ac yn fuan mae’r “storau tranc” wedi ymledu i bedwar ban y Byd, gan achosi haint o’r enw “wyneb ych-a-fi.” Gan fod y Ddaear eisoes ar ei gliniau, yn crynu ac ubain yn afreolus, does neb mewn awdurdod yn cymryd unrhyw sylw o gwbl o’r arswyd diweddarach hwn. (Neu o leia os ydynt, dyn nhw ddim yn gwneud dim byd ond gweithio fel yr andros i geisio’u hamddiffyn eu hunain ar draul pawb arall.)

 

Dyna flwyddyn arall eto’n dechrau dirwyn i ben yn ddiwrthdro, gyda’r paratoadau arferol ar gyfer Jiwbilî Adfywhau gudd ond gorfoleddus wedi’i dilyn gan Adnewyddiad Anhaeddiannol cyhoeddus ac angladdol. Wel, “hririn alowvelkí” - “chwerwfelys bywyd” - fel maen nhw’n gweud ar y Nw Yrth. Dw i hollol dan gyfaredd wrth wylio gwewyr geni gwaedlyd perfformiadau meddwl-doddadwy seiber-esgyniad, wrth i ffurf newydd ar dwrw’n berwi o ing gael ei rhyddhau yn y Byd. Falle dylwn i fod wedi bod yn fwy pryderus wrth i Rhisiart ar Fin Dibyn a’i dafod arian lithro’n sarffaidd i ddychymyg cyhoedd dan warchae a hygoelus. Fe fydd y seico-pynk hen fasiwn bob amser yn well ‘da fi, er ‘ny, a bod yn onest. Yn Nominiynau Anhreiddiadwy’r Dwyrain Pellaf, ym mhen draw’r Byd, marw y mae rhyw hen fachgan o’r enw’r Brawd Bach Mwyaf Buvank Moa, gan sbarduno gloddest o anrheithio, treisio, fandaleiddio, llosgi bwriadol, erlid, a gollwng gwaed a hil-laddiad, yn deilwng o rannau gorau’r Hen Lyfrau.

 

Gŵyl Cymodi Affwysol Cyhydnos yr Hydref. Yn nes ymlaen yn ‘yn oes, dw i’n eitha hoff o deithio ar y penffyrdd metelig, gan ymgymysgu â’r creaduriaid lled-ddynol a bodau gwneuthuredig, a phrofi’r meddyliau a’r teimladau mwyaf gwrthdrawol. Dyna pan fydd popeth yn mynd yn ôl y bwriad wrth reswm: dw i’n casáu’r holl ffidlan, oedi a chanslo’n digwydd yn rhy aml o lawer. A bwrw trem yn ôl, dw i’n meddwl bod rhaid mod i ‘di gwylio â chryn ddiddordeb gychwyniad magnefectorau, ac yn enwedig yr holl laddfa aruthrol a achoswyd ganddynt cyn iddynt gael eu perffeithio. Yn amlach na pheidio, bellach, fodd bynnag, a fi mor anghredadwy o brysur, dim ond ymestyn ‘nghydwybod wna i, o ble bynnag dw i i ble dw i angen bod. Yn ôl ym mro maboed, mae mwy’n digwydd yn Nominiynau Anhreiddiadwy’r Dwyrain Pellaf. Mae’r Gwrthryfel Poblyddol o ran Meddwl a Gweithred i Ddymchwel Gormes Unigol a Rhyddhau Cyfrifoldeb Cydweithredol yn dal y bradychwyr gwrthchwyldroadol sy wedi cynhyrfu, cynnal, a llywio’r Gwrthryfel. Maen nhw’n gorfod dioddef “datgelu, cystwyo a disgyblu,” ac yn cael eu dedfrydu i ddioddef diberfeddu cyhoeddus. Yn foddus iddyn nhw, mae gweledigaeth y Brenin Melyn yn ymrithio, a’r ddedfryd yn cael ei gyfnewid am gael eu dallu a’u byddaru, torri’u tafodau allan, a thrychu’u haelodau.

 

Dros y Gwerydd Gerwin, mae Uchel Feistr y Cnau Mwnci’n dod yn Awtocrat Etholedig Holl Wlad Meryk, ac yn symud ei bencadlys i Neuadd y Gyngres Gyfandirol. Yn gydamserol, cofrestrir cwmni PAM yn ei alw ei hun yn “Eytsluhn.” Sut - dw i’m yn tybio ar y pryd - fydd e fyth yn cystadlu ag Efelychwyr Meddwl Pomgranad? Serch ‘yn, mae Eytsluhn yn dechrau semenu’r holl Fyd a’i dechnoleg ddeniadol, ddichellgar a diosgoi. Mae’r flwyddyn yn gorffen yn gywilyddus, er mod i’n aros yn ddiarwybod. Fe gaiff Hazgfo Gunogw, y meistr ar gerddoriaeth fyd, ei saethu’n farw wrth brotestio yn erbyn arwahanu ac ecsbloetio’r llwythau brodorol yn Streilia a chaethiwo hanner dynion drwy gydol Gogledd Gwlad Meryk.

 

Mae’r Mwsgedi Nwci yn rhyddhau hafog wrth adfywio holl eiriadur o derminoleg Hen Ilkneg ar gyfer gweithredoedd y corff fel beirdd o’u cof ar amrita angheuol yn ystod eu perfformiad teledol cyntaf (a gaiff ei hacio’n anghyfreithlon dros y tonnau awyr i bob cartref yn y wlad). Mae blwyddyn arall yn nes at Faes Brwyn yn cael ei chyfeilio at ei diwedd gan “Tafarndy Terakha-líyfa” Pey-kíla. Dw i’n cael ‘yn hudo a ‘ngwrthyrru (sylweddola i bellach) gan y weledigaeth grynedig, wedi’i hanner ffurfio taw llafn duraidd ‘yn meddwl i sy wedi’i dynghedu i gwblhau trawsffurfio’r Thorlin. Taw fi fydd yn dihuno a rhyddhau’r bwystfil oddi mewn i bob un ohonynt, gan ddileu cymdeithas ond troi heibio golledigaeth lwyr i’r rhywogaeth. Ond eto, beth ddisgwyliai dyn gan flwyddyn llawnder artiffisial, blwyddyn pan doddiff ffyrdd ag oglau sebon col-tar, na alla i ei anghofio fyth hyd ddiwedd ‘yn oes (beth bynnag mae ‘ny’n olygu)?

 

Y flwyddyn nesa, mae Mam yn ei datglymu’i hunan o’i chyfrifoldebau yn y Ganolfan Hyfforddi newydd hardd. Yn y diwedd, mae hi’n glanio mewn gwesty aflêr yn Nhyrau Tlodaidd ar Rodfa Gwelfor, bellach i lawr y bryn, ac o fewn tafliad carreg i’r dyfroedd hollysol. Dw i’n cael ‘ngadael ar ‘mhen ‘yn hunan i ddechrau bywyd gyda “nheulu benthyg i” (dw i wastad yn lico jargon gwyddonol, er dw i fyth yn ei ddeall e, mewn gwirionedd). Mae ymadawiad ‘yn hoff hen wrach yn dra sydyn, ond ddim heb ei ddisgwyl (gen i o leia), er yn rhyfeddol o theatraidd. Dyna hi’n sefyll ar y gro gwyrdd ar ben y dramwyfa urddasol, mewn pwl o sterics a wnâi’r Arglwyddes MacBeth yn falch, gan fygwth darfod ar ei hunion, a mynnu’i bod yn gadael er ‘yn lles innau. (A bod yn onest, roedd Wncwl wedi lled-awgrymu ei bod er budd pawb os byddwn i’n ei “pherswadio” yr hen greadur truenus i adael yr adeiladau newydd eu moderneiddio heb ragor o lol, fel dôi hi i’r casgliad cywir. Fe gwblhawyd hyn yn ddigon rhwydd, a finnau’n ymhyfrydu gryn dipyn, mae’n rhaid i fi weud, Ond wedyn, wedi dechrau gwneud y gweithredoedd bychain mochynnaidd ‘ma, mae pethau’n mynd ‘mlaen heb gymorth neb arall a gwaethygu fwyfwy. Dyna fi’n teimlo mod i bob amser yn ymateb i argyfyngau a lleihau’r difrod wedi’i achosi gan y digwyddiadau anhydrin a’r canlyniadau annisgwyl.) Heb rybudd, daw plentyndod i ben, noson ‘mhen-blwydd yn un ar bymtheg, dw i’n gallu’i gweld o hyd, mor olau â’r dydd. Dw i’n etifeddu ‘ngrym llawn - dw i’n gweithredu’n reddfol - dw i’m yn gallu troi’n ôl. Dw i’n dechrau deall pob dim, greda i, yn dymherau, a chymhellion, a moesau. Daw patrwm byw i’r golau. Dw i’n mewnoli’r Byd, dw i’n torri oddi mewn, dw i’n tyfu lan. Dymunaf, yn nes ymlaen, na wnaethwn i. Mae gwynt wedi’i gofio’r medd llwydni sur, hen yn neud i fi moyn twlu lan drwy’r amser.

 

Nawr, mae’n Mam-gu i wedi marw (nage dyma’r amser na’r lle i weud wrthoch chi pam, na sut ddigwyddodd hyn. Ond rywbryd, meddan nhw, “angen a yrr yr hen i redeg”). Mae’n Wncwl i wrth y llyw o ran gweithgareddau bob-dydd yn y Mans a’r Ganolfan, tra mae’r Doc Dryslyd yn neud pwy-a-ŵyr-beth yn ei gwt potiau. Roedd y coed wedi crino amser maith yn ôl o sudd-falltod achoswyd gan y llygredd llysnafeddog lladradaidd a ddechreuodd ddileu rhan helaeth o’r llysiau a phlanhigion dros y Byd i gyd flynyddoedd yn ôl, ac roedd yn rhaid iddyn nhw gael eu torri i lawr. Os cofiaf fi (a gallu mynd i’r drafferth), dw i’n ymweld â bedd ‘Nhad benblwyddi ei farwolaeth dybiedig. Ac yn nosweithiau oerlwm yr haf, dw i’n meddwl am yr hafau hir, sych, crasboeth. Ar yr arfordir, mae Mam yn byw fel moch gwyllt, gan gyfathrebu â’r tonau a’r gwynt, perfformio dramâu preifat, udo, a galaru.

 

Eithaf Gŵyl Diddymu Pechod a Rhyddhau Bywyd. A, on’d yw bywyd yn rhyfedd, on’d yw cofion mor hydrin â ffyrdd yn toddi? Mae’n siŵr i rywun yn ‘yn hanes genetig i weud rhywbeth fel ‘ny ar un adeg, on’ naethon nhw? Ac os na ‘naethon nhw, wel, dyma fi’n weud nawr. A sôn am ailgynllunio a diweddaru realedd a thrin ystyr yn ddeheuig, dw i di dysgu cymaint am foeseg amgen, cyfrifeg greadigol, bathu arian cyfred cyfreithlon yn answyddogol, a chael gwared â rhwystrau (yn fyw ac yn ddifywyd) gan Thethalu Fam Ithru, meistres y macâbr sy’n anwar a llofruddgar, ond clyfar a hollol swynol. Ac erbyn meddwl, dw i di lloffa cymaint o leia gan Ithru ei hun, ynghylch aflunio dirwedd a defnyddio Elfen-K i sleifio drwy amser-ofod, y lleban bach sbeitlyd! Falle taw darfelydd yw hyn oll, te, a finnau’n ei greu. Mae’n anodd gweud pan all eich meddwl lleia’ yrru crychdonnau drwy’r Byd o’ch cwmpas (heb sôn am bob gair ac ystum), oni bai’ch bod chi’n ofalus iawn. Fe fedrai’r cofion gwir fod wedi’u disodli gan echdoriadau folcanig yn ‘y nhirwedd seicig achoswyd gan ddigwyddiadau sylfaenol yn nes ymlaen sy wedi’n ffurfio i yn y cyfamser. Y dyfodol yn golchi drwy’r presennol i greu’r gorffennol, fel petai. Ac yr oedd digon o helbul a helynt, o wybod ‘ngwehelyth a ‘ngalluoedd - pur arbennig. O dro i dro dw i’n breuddwydio, neu ddychmygu (neu gofio?) fy hun fel cythraul o faban anachubol yn y groth (fel y dywedai’r EFE a gaiff dynnu’i holl ddannedd cyn hir), gan neud cynlluniau i oresgyn y Byd i gyd, dadfachu’r drefn yn dal popeth at ei gilydd, dileu bodolaeth fel rydyn ni’n gyfarwydd ê fe. Ond dw i’m yn meddwl taw dyna be dw i’n moyn. Ddim ar unwaith o leia.

 

Felly, dyma ni. Ar Ŵyl P’hug’hul a P’hug-huluol y llynedd y sefydlodd cyfnod Cyngor y Drysau Troi yn y Llywodraeth Ddiamheuol [ø]. A bellach, na fydd yr un Gweinidog Gorchestol yn aros yn yr un swydd am fwy nag wythnos er mwyn “lleddfu anawsterau gweinyddol” a “chynyddu effeithlonrwydd sefydliadol.” Rhwng y cyfnodau o waith yn ddigon i dorri cefn dyn, y chwipiadau, yr ymlafniwn gyda chydwybod, at ati (yn ôl Cofnod y Croniclwr Clercaidd), anfonir nhw i Jyngloedd Toreithiog Vnayvntnk ar dâl llawn am flwyddyn. Yno maent yn dathlu eu gorchestion, eu rhinweddau, a’u dewrder; myfyrio uwchben pynciau llosg fel dileu mewnfudo anghyfreithlon a datrys methiant yr economi; ac ystyried heb frys broblemau mwyaf y dydd fel cryfhau cyfiawnder troseddol a diogelwch cenedlaethol, rheoli terfysgaeth, a gostegu’r werinos anhydrin. Er mwyn disgyblu’r corff a helpu’r meddwl i ganolbwyntio, mae rhaid iddyn nhw fwyta danteithion fel tartennau chwistrell fôr, pryfed mawr dŵr wedi’u ffrio, cawl gwylan, offal sebw, a jeli mwsglygoden; drachtio diodydd fel cwrw semen hydd, gwin llygod bach, te cachu panda, a phop wrin buwch; ac ymolchi mewn chwŷd fwlturiaid dair gwaith y dydd. A dal i chwarae’r crwth y maent, a Théybē yn llosgi, gan fynd yn dewach, yn ynfytach, ac yn gyfoethocach gyda phob eiliad.wenwynig yn llifo heibio.

 

Yr Athro Mow-káhta Káhzwel, Is-ganghellor a Phrif Swyddog Gweithredol SAAUC newydd orffen ei archwiliad deifiol i’r Hybarch Sefydliadau Addysg Uwch bondigrybwyll, a rhyddhau’r adroddiad. Yn ei eiriau ef, maent wedi “llwyr anwybyddu’r cyfrifoldebau a bennir yn arteithiol o fanwl yn eu Siartrau a’u Statudau o ran bod yn lleoliadau ar gyfer addysg, dysgu ac ymchwil, yn hyrwyddo anrhydedd a lles; ond yn lle hynny, wedi ymollwng i fynd yn felinau pleidgar sydd yn ffiaidd a dirywiedig ar gyfer cynhyrchu a darlledu propaganda gwleidyddol, cymdeithasol a chrefyddol sydd gyda’r mwyaf rhwygiadol a chyfoglyd.” O ganlyniad, gorchmynnodd iddyn nhw gloi’u drysau ar unwaith, i’r staff ysgolheigaidd anghlodwiw i gyd gael eu diurddo o’r uchaf i’r isaf, ac i’r disgyblion oll gael eu hailaddysgu mewn canolfannau cystwyo, disgyblu ac adfer. I goroni’r cwbl, brasgamodd cwnstabliaid Rheolwr Cyllid Cenedlaethol ac Arglwydd y Sêl Sanctaidd i mewn i atafaelu’u holl asedau ariannol (yn cynnwys stociau, bondiau ac arian parod), yn ogystal â’u hasedau gwirioneddol oll (yn cynnwys eiddo tiriog, isadeiledd a chynwyddau).

 

Ac felly, dyma fi’n actio’n ffantasïau i (neu’n gadael i’n hunan gael ‘nhynnu ‘mlaen gan gysgodion y dyfodol), gan weithio ar, a cheisio datrys, beth bynnag sy’n ‘mhlagio i drwy chwarae gyda’r hyn allai olygu nawr, neu be allai fod wedi olygu bryd ‘ny. Dw i’n sylweddoli (hynny yw, dw i’n gobeithio), taw drwy ildio i’r dilyw, ac wedyn neud ‘ngorau glas i geisio mynegi, rheoli, a defnyddio’r personâu, yr hunain a’r cysgodion oddi mewn i fi, fe alla i ail-ysgrifennu stori fy mywyd i - mewn gwirionedd, i ail-wifro’r Byd. Dyma fi nawr, yn wirioneddol fyw a ffynnu, er gwaetha’r ansicrwydd a’r boen. Dyma ‘ngenedigaeth-fraint a ‘maich i wrth i fi ymdrechu hyd eitha ‘ngallu i lwyddo ble mae pawb arall wedi methu, wrth sicrhau mod i’n symud mor araf nes dw i’m yn ysgytio bodolaeth yn gareiau’n rhy fuan. Ond cymaint dw i’n dymuno bod yn agored, creu cysylltiadau, rhannu, rhoi i bobl eraill (a chymryd ganddyn nhw) yn y modd arferol. Yn lle ‘ny, dw i’n arsylwi arnyn nhw, clustfeinio ar eu straeon, dwyn oddi wrthyn nhw, dylanwadu arnyn nhw, bob amser yn ymagor, creu, byw bywyd trwyddyn nhw, a bwrw hen gythreuliaid ma’s ar yr un pryd.

 

Yn y Cyfandir Gogleddol, mae Tywysogaethau Rhanbarthau Isaf y Gogledd-orllewin wedi uno o’r diwedd dan nawddogaeth dra angall ac ymyrgar Kalkevork Gall. A sôn am y Chwyldro Gogoneddus! Damo fe a naw wfft i bob “mawrhydi” diwerth! Wedi danto ar y gormes blaenorol, maen nhw wedi sefydlu unbennaeth filwrol i goncro’r ehangdir i gyd gan ffurfio Clymblaid Weriniaethol Cydweithredol Traws-Rwfia. Yn y De, mae Brenhiniaeth Ddifrycheulyd Ostreilia Newydd a Gwladwriaethau Rhydd Cydffederal Clodwiwiaf Vnayvntnk yn ymosod ar ei gilydd fel ci a hwch. Mae Cydrywiaeth Jinvetagr (a adwaenid yn flaenorol – yn y Gorllewin o leia – fel Dominiynau Anhreiddiadwy’r Dwyrain Pellaf) yn gweithio cyn galeted ag sy’n bosib i wenwyno’r moroedd a’r awyr, a chaethiwo pob aelod o dras y Thorlin gyda’i thechnoleg lythrennol afaelgar. Diddorol nodi (gydag ôl-ddoethineb perffaith, wrth gwrs), sut roedd yr holl arweinyddion, capteiniaid, gafferiaid, marsialiaid, penaduriaid, a thywyswyr o Draws-Rwfia (sy bob amser mor frolgar), y arglwyddi rhyfel difynegiant o Jinvetagr, a’r barwniaid cyffuriau sadistaidd o Vnayvntnk yn perthyn mor agos at ei gilydd, fel petaent yn rhannau o’r un teulu estynedig dirfawr.

 

Mewn labordai cudd yn ddwfn dan y ddaear, mae hanner pobl wedi llwyddo i gyplu â bodau artiffisial gan greu epil yn rhyfeddach o lawer na’r cenhedlwyr i derfysgu’r Byd. Yn sgil yr holl drybestod hwn, mae gyda gangiau troseddol dragwyddol heol i heidio ym mhob man, gan gludo a gwerthu cyffuriau anghyfreithlon a dyfeisiadau gwrthodedig, a masnachu bodau ar herw. Yn Mhretania Fawr, mae KKKK yn rhedeg fel peth gwyllt, gan sgorio mwy a mwy o bwyntiau niweidiol yn erbyn y Llywodraeth bob wythnos. Mae’n holl fodolaeth i’n ymwneud â meistroli neu ail-ddyfeisio taclau a thechnegau i orfodi’n ewyllys i ar y caos o ‘nghwmpas. (Er taw, mewn ffordd, fe ddylwn i fod yn ddiolchgar i’r holl drwgweithredwyr yn crwydro’r Byd am gyflenwi anghenion neilltuol y Ganolfan Hyfforddi – a’n rhai innau’n enwedig, gwlei.) Ym Mhretania Fawr, cafwyd adlach uffernol pan ddarganfuwyd mai Gwasanaethau Sagrafen Marwhad Cymunedol (yn ogystal â’r lleill i gyd) yn y Tai Edifeirwch gorlawn ac wedi’u hawyru’n wael sy wedi bod yn gyfrifol am ledaenu cymaint o haint marwol. Ar ben hynny, rydym wedi gweld terfysg ar y strydoedd unwaith eto pan ddatgelwyd bod y geiriau anghywir yn cael eu defnyddio yn Nefod Golchi Cyhoeddus, a’r werinos yn honni bod yr EFE’n galw ar gythreuliaid i’w harteithio.

 

Cyn gynted â chaiff un broblem ei datrys, neu un bwbach ei dawelu, dyna un arall yn codi’n hollol annisgwyl i ‘mecso innau druan. Un peth sydd ar ôl i fi. Un peth erch yn sibrwd, yn galw, yn denu, ac yn tynnu. Un peth dw bron â marw o isie’i ddefnyddio, ond dw i’n brwydro i’w osgoi fel sai’r salwch diweddaraf yn stelcian drwy’r Blaned (tan y nawfed eiliad a hanner cant, yn y pum deg nawfed munud, yn y drydedd awr ar hugain, o leia) am ei fod yn ‘yn llenwi â chymaint o ing ac o ofn. A dyna’r hen grochan o bres gwyrdd - a’r môr byw o hylif du trwchus yn corddi ynddo - ac, yn aros yno’n ddiamynedd, y llwybrau hanner nos, anhysbys tuag at, ac oddi wrth, fydysodau amgen, llinellau amser dargyfeiriol, a ffyrdd ar fod hollol ddieithr.

 

[ó] Mae col-tar yn fath ar greosot, hylif du, trwchus a grëir fel isgynnyrch wrth droi glo’n gôc a nwy glo. Fe’i defnyddir fel triniaeth i soriasis a chen pen ynghyd â golau uwchfioled; fel cadwolyn i drawstiau rheilffyrdd; ac i ffurfio wynebau ffyrdd.

 

[ø] Yr eithafwyr o efeilliaid oedd y rhain, a arferai bregethu am y Pŵer Cosmig wrth wneud esgidiau i’r tlodion o ledr madfall yn Rhanbarthau Isaf y Gogledd-orllewin. Arweiniodd eu poblogrwydd ymhlith y dorf at hunanaberthu’r rhan fwyaf o boblogaeth Comiwn Downo-nowyo mewn tân. Gwylltiodd hyn y Margraf a orchmynnodd i gael arteithio’r brodyr; iddynt gael eu taflu yn yr afon a meini melyn am eu gyddfau; ac wedyn iddynt gael eu torfynyglu. Drwy gydol hanes helaeth ac ysgeler yr EFE (nes i’w diffyg moesoldeb llwyr a’i hanonestrwydd deallusol ei thynnu’n yn garpiau oddi mewn), yr oedd hi’n eu hedmygu a’u diarhebu bob yn ail. Ac felly roedd y Dad-Eglwys Oruchaf yn treulio cryn amser, llawr o egni seicolegol, a symiau aruthrol o arian yn dyfeisio, lledaenu, a gorfodi canlyniadau’r dadleuon a’r gwrthddadleuon, gyda deilliannau marwol i gannoedd o filoedd o unigolion.