Nescio (22)

NESCIO (22)

In the grip of uncharacteristic self-confidence, the priestess enrolled on an evening class.

Having always loved pottery she thought she would chance a slab-pot, a coil-pot; throw the odd bowl. (Like making bread, clay was good for the soul.)

But, though she appreciated fine porcelain, her own efforts were hideous; got under the skin.

Some kind of ceramic premonition?

The priestess considered the possibility. (Was the woman correct or just being silly?)

And, then.

Something inside her finally snapped. She'd had more than enough of countering bad. Her energy and optimism were utterly sapped.

The priestess felt suddenly wretched and tired; the world remained miserable despite how she tried. (And substance abuse had left her brain fried.)

The priestess lay down and curled up in agony.

The priestess finally accepted that life was a tragedy.

The priestess gave in and gave up and then, suddenly, the priestess just cracked up and cried.

Nescio (21)

NESCIO (21)

The priestess was pleased with her last intervention. The sister was now centre of attention from a man who considered her more than kindly; a man who knew better than to love her blindly.

His intention was only to love her for who she was. (It was a difficult task and a lot to ask.)

He succeeded in it.

The priestess revelled in it.

The sister really wasn't that bad. It was probably due to the life that she'd had. With the right kind of guidance, the girl would be fine.

The priestess reached for another bottle of wine.

Nescio (20)

NESCIO (20)

Inspired by a cocktail of champaign and coke, the priestess located an older bloke. A kind gentle man who knew melancholy: modest and loyal and wickedly funny.

The priestess contrived that the two come together: the older man and the child-like sister.

A marriage made in heaven.

The man loved the girl unconditionally. Once a troublesome child, she now functioned fully. Secure in his presence she learned true independence - dependent, of course, on his affection and patience.

She knew she was nothing without him.

Nescio (19)

NESCIO (19)

The priestess considered this new conundrum as she stuffed her face with Portobello mushrooms.

Convinced her enquiry had uncovered a lead, she poured a large gin and snorted some speed.

The key to her thinking was this:

The sister might demonstrate an academic intelligence, but her emotions were determined by a childish innocence.

The priestess concocted her plan.

Nescio (18)

NESCIO (18)

But one day while reading tarmac, the priestess was brought up short.

The priestess was all for empirical proof but when she encountered the drawings of children in chalk on the pavements of the nearby park, she found herself feeling out of sorts.

How does an adult make sense of the intelligence of innocents?

Nescio (17)

NESCIO (17)

But, the priestess continued to search with tenacity. (It was, after all, a case of great necessity.)

And, before long, reading tarmac became her preoccupation.  It was now the priestess' primary daytime occupation.

While she privately longed for her own salvation, she'd all but given up hope. But, the signs on the tarmac had provided her with scope for interpretation: skid marks and painted straitions.

She really appreciated the aesthetics of these configurations, too.

She was turning into a connoisseur.

Wherever she looked she saw significance and clarity. The semiotics of tarmac leave no space for ambivalence or ambiguity.

Nescio (16)

NESCIO (16)

The priestess lay comatose in her back yard.

Deciphering tarmac had always been hard. The meanings of road markings didn't come easy regardless of one's appitude for semiotics and theory.

The priestess had once known a thing about things but, as her knowledge increased, she'd also stopped thinking. Too often she'd sat with her heart all but sinking as her colleagues recited received information: contrived parley, convoluted hyperbole. All nonsense (as far as the priestess could see).

In the end, she'd quit listening.