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    Sedartis: EDEN miniatures, #8
    Sedartis: EDEN miniatures, #8
    Sedartis: EDEN miniatures, #8
    Ebook54 pages47 minutesEDEN miniatures

    Sedartis: EDEN miniatures, #8

    By FREI

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    About this ebook

    "I'm not sure I like this about Sedartis. His clarity. His straightforwardness. His unreconstructed linearity. Aren't we supposed to have moved into the Age of Diffusion? Of vulnerabilities and fluidity, of connectedness, in all directions; of openness and of infinite potentialities? I probably don't understand him, yet."

    Sedartis is the interlocutor from another reality who—unbidden and welcome in equal measure—looks at this world with a curious mixture of concern, outrage and wonder, and voices about it the things that can be known by anyone, though they be seldom expressed.

    EDEN miniatures are twelve texts from EDEN by FREI – a concept narrative in the here & now about the where, the wherefore and forever, first published online.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOptimist Books by Optimist Creations
    Release dateJul 7, 2018
    ISBN9781386402015
    Sedartis: EDEN miniatures, #8
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      Book preview

      Sedartis - FREI

      Sedartis

      Sedartis appears out of nowhere and joins me on my train journey from Zürich to the unfortunately named Chur, making his presence felt in the empty seat next to mine, as I glance out of the window.

      (When I say ‘Zürich,’ I mean a small lakeside town outside Zürich, some ten minutes along the route, where I had boarded the train, having spent the night on the other side of the hill with friends and colleagues, talking mainly about things I am only ever half sure I half understand, but which nevertheless never fail to feed my hunger for thought, invigorate my imagination and massage my malleable mind.)

      Where did you suddenly come from, I want to ask him, and how is it I know your name; but before I can speak we are already in conversation:

      ‘So,’ asks Sedartis, ‘wouldn’t you like a boat on Lake Zürich?’

      ‘Most certainly not,’ say I in reply, though the question seems scarcely to warrant one.

      ‘Why not?’ Sedartis insists.

      ‘Why,’ retort I, ‘what would I with a boat on Lake Zürich?’

      ‘Whatever you fancy,’ Sedartis enthuses: ‘sail on the water, enjoy it, splash about in it a bit!’

      The puppy dog wag of his voice wearies me.

      ‘I enjoy water much as I enjoy women,’ I say in measured tones, unsure of the ground I’m suddenly skating on, without consciously having made any decision to foray at all, onto ice thick or thin: ‘from a distance. To look upon and marvel at their splendour, be it shallow or deep. I have no need to sail upon or splash about in them.’

      Sedartis seems saddened by my lack of alacrity and produces an apple, far too symbolically. He contemplates it for many a long second and then takes a bite from it in a manner that could, though perhaps it ought not to, be described most accurately as ‘hearty.’

      He vaguely reminds me of a character in a book I undoubtedly once would have read, but I don’t remember the book or the story (not least as I’m unsure I’ve even done so yet, or whether this is something I am still to do), and I feel that now he’s here it would be rude of me to dismiss, blank or reject him, or to send him away; and so part of my onward journey, simply, unassumingly and innocuously enough, he becomes.

      Lesson

      What, I wonder to myself in a manner that brings to mind Morrissey, complete with a hint of a self-pitying whine, as I sit by another waterside—this time the almost too picturesque, too pristine Windermere—if life suddenly became real? Would I recognise most of it, still?

      I had not intended to involve Sedartis in this query, but since joining me on a train from a small town outside Zürich towards my least favourite city in Switzerland, he has never entirely left my side, and he has honed to an art the disconcerting skill of hearing my thoughts before I’ve had a chance to formulate them, and responding in kind: he never says a word, yet his pronouncements are crystal clear.

      I’m not sure I like this about Sedartis. His clarity. His straightforwardness. His unreconstructed linearity. Aren’t we supposed to have moved into the Age of Diffusion? Of vulnerabilities and fluidity, of connectedness, in all directions; of openness and of infinite potentialities? I probably don’t understand him, yet.

      If I had a life, I would be that much happier sharing it, I surmise, almost as an afterthought, and Sedartis now latches onto me:

      ‘Liberate yourself,’ he urges, ‘from the Tyranny of Opinion. Yours and other people’s.’

      The expression on my face betrays doubt continued.

      ‘Banish that.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Don’t banish doubt, of course,’ Sedartis clarifies, as if the idea of doing so were preposterous, though he himself comes over so doubt-free: ‘and make allowance for their doubting too; but banish weariness and eagerness to please.

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