Kimon & Myrtias

We are Kimon and Myrtias, or sometimes, Myrtias and Kimon, spawn of Cavafy, and revered guardians of the fictional writer’s guild. We do not exist. But we do create, and what we create exists in our place. We will write, quarrel, and discuss, and through this constant din of dissenting voices, produce material for you, the reader, to enjoy and ponder upon. And while we are but a puff of smoke, trailing through the endless skies, nothing would please us more than converting even a single one of you, from the realm of reality, to that of faceless thoughts.

An elegy for Gaudi

His lines are straight and bold are his strokes
As the hasty hand moves to create stillness
        The poor fool, flying so close to the sun!
        His certainty, the opium of his senses

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The Salvage

Oh, to be back in the fine days of my youth, there were beautiful ships – clippers with tall masts touching the sky, challenging God himself. Fine strong men in them, men that were sons of the sea.

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A one-man dialogue

My grandmother’s favourite story was that of my birth and she would tell it to anyone who would listen. For I was born beneath a rainbow and she would always cherish the fascinated eyes moving along her crooked finger, while tracing its line through the air, from the river to the fields, with the entire village under its arc.  

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Poznan, 1939

The following is an extract from a conversation I recorded in 1939 in the outskirts of Poznan, Poland. At the time, orders to go to the front-line had just been given and despite being conscripted as a Grenadier in the 3rd Battalion, I immediately fled from the camp.

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