Look, said the Raggedy Man.
Looking back over my shoulder, I can see in your eye. I see, like bricks in a wall, the images of times that are me, bits me, like parts or pages in a book took out, or eggs in a basket fall out, or jars on a kitchen shelf slip down, or posts in a fence push over, or other things in a row all skew whiff. Or arranged or not arranged or disarranged.
Making of time is all upset, some images bigger than, whilst yet others are downside up or obscured, so that I cannot. I see a house, a roof, a hut. A child’s play, with a dog, with a ball. A bed all rumpled, hurt knee, soft clothes, playing, running. I see a child without, alone and ragged to run the rocks without, round and round. I see a small pool of water, where the animals don’t drink. I see faces without end.
Time lies in pieces at my feet, in lines upon the dusty trail. Time lies in pieces, pieces broken and refixed unto each, such that I am crazy paving of memory, broken into small, like a stained glass, broke upon a chosen day and put back all wrong, by an idiot, with a blindfold. Pieces all this and that until it is of no sense or use.
It is a mess, my memory, I am all at sea in it.
When I was but a, I was alone, one day in the rocks, and the rocks were all. I was afeared and ran about the rocks, through, and so they called at me the Ragged Rascal. My clothes were not of the best.
A woman in a great blue dress came each day, (although her dress may be normal and I small), with a basket of, so that I might not. She was kind and spoke so soft to. Then I was safe in and the rocks became my. Alone, I saw the rocks like people to me, faces graven in grey and limbs all frozen, were to became my family and acquaintance. Then I stories flooded in me of the people, rocky people whom I must story with not so alone anymore, ha! A poet, a Raggedy man.
I shall tell you, I shall tell you. These are the pieces of me. This piece is my foot calling to you, this piece is my mother in cloak who I have forgot, the piece of my father is missing but is reflected. In this, I am alone and boyish, in this my friends the rocks gather around, in this the Blue Woman’s dress is smelling sweet of washed. Here I don’t recognise, maybe a brother or cousin. Here a going away and a coming home. Many pieces are colour with bits, an elbow, a tree trunk, a cooking pot handle, someone’s cat, not mine, I have no cat companion. A sunset, a morning.
There are travels, eating, illness, misery, laughing.
You have a mind full of memories, said the Sphinx, It seems to me, correct me if I’m wrong, that you have too many memories with which has become a burden to you and would be best if they might be gone somehow. If I might make a suggest, perhaps we could use the memories in build a Memorial to the Fallen. We could use emotion for the cement and memories for memories.
Then, when a person or people or creature had need to express some sadness or exultation, they might come to the Monument of the Fallen to emote.
I myself have an ocean of memories so wide and deep that it is far beyond my knowing. I would be happy to donate a good proportion of them as they are to me almost forgot. Five thousand years is along, so now I don’t use my memories because they are million.
That is a great idea, said the Raggedy Man, where shall we build it and who will help us.
Let us come close unto the Great City of Az, said the Sphinx, the old Elders there might have a place set aside.
So, the Darkest Knight, the Raggedy Man and the Sphinx of the Attractive Tail, returned to the City of Az, ensemble.
The Guardians of the Cave 