The Logic of Folklore and Storytelling

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WRITER'S NOTES

Ideas float through the mind of the Earth, as the air so does.

These ideas, as spores, fall into our minds and grow, if there is no one to attend to them. How did all the stories of yesterday come to be? Where did they come from? I believe something had to take place for someone to witness and tell about as folklore. So is the story of vampires and werewolves. Deep in the past and perhaps during our present these things existed and cultivated among themselves for survival. After all, do we not cultivate within the protection of cities and villages, so that we too may survive and grow?

Rather than I tell you what is or is not, let us travel to the past.

The year is twenty ninety-two. It is not much different than today; of course things are a little high tech, but the same problems exist today that existed then. The problems of hunger in certain parts of the world still exist. The police still fight the crimes of drugs, theft, and domestic disputes. People still argue over the issues of abortion and economy. Though we are living in common times after the video revolution of video teaching and video libraries, with minor human assistance for the answering of complicated questions, requiring the reason rather than recorded information, the world is very much like twenty ninety-two.

So now it is up to me to use this old forgotten digital typewriter, to tell this folklore or true reality that soon passed away. In either case, what is important is that I tell this story now while it is fresh in the memory of my mind, for I may forget it someday and not be able to tell it correctly. That is how most things are lost; if you are anybody with any type of deductive reasoning, you'll soon be able to follow this story and learn to understand the people involved. There is little use for large words like `Kool-Aid' and `Mayonnaise.' Stories that need to be understood are best when they are kept in simple form, so that everyone can understand them.

If you would ever try to write a book about why man does anything, you would find that you could not truthfully say exactly why man did as he did. There are four hundred thousand ninety-two different choices and with each choice another four hundred thousand ninety-two possibilities, which lead into rivers and avenues branching out leading into other countless sequences of events. If you could keep this in mind next time you are faced with a decision, you'll understand why it is that you hesitate before coming to some type of conclusion and thus, changing your mind when seeing that the first conclusion has not produced the results you had expected. I tell you this now because, like the video teachers, this is a book. It is information written down and recorded. You cannot ask it any questions. So when someone does something you find internecine you must rely on the information of the story and the knowledge you possess of the characters. If you are still frustrated with the results, then let it be. Who's to declare what the characters do as right or wrong? Are there not four hundred thousand and ninety-two possibilities, of which you can only select one and follow the river of consequences that flow with that decision?

As most stories open, it is a dark and gloomy night, but that's only because of normal weather conditions or at least that's all I took from it. There he was, alone with nature . . .

CHAPTER I

Business As Usual

Darkness sets across a lonely house along the coast. The house, erected near the sand, is the symbol of solitude. Standing firm, a storm surrounds the house. To him the storm is a symbol of himself and of his suffering. It makes for subtle changes before unmasking its true intention. A glistening sabre with swirling motion dances the form of a ballet within the hands of a man on the balcony of this house. Despite the stormy winds coming from the distance, his words are clear and distinguishable. As clouds approach the house, covering everything in their path, the wind becomes stronger. The man,
naked, awaits the storm that is yet to come. The breath of storm blows across the balcony and the sounds of thunder rapidly arrest the silence of the night.

Shadows of the night darken the man, breathing deeply and clenching his fists. He speaks, "So many lives have perished within easy time. People, they have wondered how or what caused their deaths, but at last they found contentment in knowledge as they gained, for it was not them."

Pausing, a streak of lightning races across the sky and so, like the lightning, his rage races to his temper. "As the calm before the storm's final victory, I ask that you lead my weapon to my victory! If there is to be death, let it be justified, and if there is to be life, let is serve well." His words come through like a text from a knight in the historical aspect. He speaks as if enraged with God and the Land. Novak holds his sabre against the edge of night, with closing eyes. Another lightning bolt fluoresces his body against the outline of darkness. The wind carries a stronger current now. The lids of his trash containers surrender to the force of the wind, overturning the cans and spilling their contents. "Come, great act of God!" he says welcoming the weather.

"Touch a man who suffers because he cannot touch his Maker." Tears form and roll down his face and the storm comes over him, bringing the rage of the wind and the rain. "My Maker has made of me an outcast and so has abandoned me, as he did with you. You are who I call rain and weather, brief enough that she turns around and catches the look. Novak throws his hands  up in the air and blushes.

They step into her fairly nice car, custom design favoring a Porsche 944, with the whale spoiler and the wrap-around flair kit. It is a fashion statement that has wealth written all over it and she is proud of it. The ignition key is turned and the car roars. To him it leaves no impression. A Japanese auto is just as efficient. She leans over to the radio and pushes a switch, changing the Citizens Band to radio. Looking in a pouch of music cards; he pulls one out. He places it in and turns up the volume to a comfortable listening degree. 

"That's an interesting melody. I like it! The words hold a strong sense of urgency. It's beautiful!" she says, almost enchanted by the melody of the words and the music. "Mr. Darte, how is it that you manage to get such lovely things? I am beginning to think that you compose many of these items yourself," she takes a breath of air. Her chest rises and then she continues. "If you're the Maker of such things, I believe you could handle another business on the outside of your normal job. You could share these things with the rest of the world." 

"If I select the items that are in my home, as anyone else can, then am I not the composer? I need not be the creator to be a composer. Besides, not the entire world is always as eager as you to see the different light."

"I see your point."

"Most people take hostile attitudes against the things that are not common." The melody of the music rises and a silence grows within the car.

"I have something that I know you would like. I had a pretty good friend of mine record and superimpose it just so you could have something to listen to."

Novak looks at the passing billboards and returns his attention to Karis. The music starts and Novak relaxes. He sees another billboard and smiles at the sight of the legendary Batman symbol.

"Would you take me out to see the movie Batman, if I would ask you?"

"For you, Mr. Darte, anything!"

She pulls into an underground garage. "You're very kind. You have been for the last few months. It is hard to believe that here in the middle of Park Avenue, there could be a lovely being such as the one you are." He leans over and kisses her. Her lipstick covered lips remain closed. Her eyes close until all but a gleaming spark can be seen. The kiss is too short for her. By her deep breathing and by the way she leans forward, it became clearly evident that this moment is another let down.

"I'd take you to the end of this world if I only knew where it was." Her breath is shortened by a deeper breath. Her hands fall on her chest and her breasts rise.