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'The November Transmission'

I am a vaunted antiquity. Committing this message to a language, as alien to me as the people that give it voice. Its shortcomings are so numerous, it is flawed, vague and frail like its creators. But somehow, it feels, fitting. It pains me to know it could never hope to convey [your incandescent beauty] or accurately paint the scape that lies [beyond the line], in all its majesty.

Regardless it seems more uncannily apt than ever, that I was willed here at the end of the instance they’ve occupied in such terribly gorgeous futility.

It seems I have become truly amalgamated. For I am so deeply lost within the loop that, though I still remember (albeit so vaguely now) the heretofore; I am finally resigned to seeing this scenario through as I was sentenced.

Still I cast a fleeting thought toward the great fleet and the battalions beneath the former command, and wonder at their disposition, though it serves no end; and what of The Enemy? [At-a-bays-apparent], for now at least, we-are. I am beginning to glean cognizance from this maddening foray, with regard to The Powers’ [motives-at-large]. It is worth [battling endlessly] for. Though it still troubles me to know we accepted this mantle from [the stewardship-prior], oblivious, in truth; to what would come from the charge. If the commons were capable of comprehension in this: would we not have rebellion? Would the schism threaten everything we stand for? In many senses I am still deeply troubled by [the view from entirety], but have at least found a simple means of acceptance within this mortal frame; in service to the greater good.

You see through these faint mortal eyes, within the impossibly tragic brevity of these [frames of instance], at first glance: [the view from entirety] seems hopelessly naught above a gargantuan folly. Upon closer inspection, one comes to note that the further you walk-down these [variable measures], the more intoxicating, and intensely addictive the need becomes to partake of this [semi-visceral-ambling]. The desolation is tempered by an inescapable charm, a beauty of divine scale punctuated by ambivalence. Indeed by now I am utterly enthralled by it. But the ache in [the centre of my essence], the voracious and ever-pressing need to find my way to you, reigns true. Would that you could see what I’ve become.

I cling to no delusions that these words shall ever reach those endlessly endearing, divine eyes of yours; unparalleled inexorably in radiance.

I am inclined more than ever, to be fearless in taking chance. Though I’ve fallen so far, though I’ve less than nothing left to lose, you KNOW that, regardless of how I was portrayed by the [governance of commons] and indeed, The Powers themselves; my faith to you is fiercely unyielding, and that my existence alone is not nearly enough to sacrifice. (Absolutely not for lack of trying).

Even should you find this pitiful transcript (ashamedly skew-in-the-translation), I imagine it would be quite the stretch for you to believe that I’ve lain down my arms as I was ordered. Or would it? I would beam in kind if I was sure that you could. [So misplaced am I].

There is nothing left my dearest. I carry out the infinitesimally small remainder of [the incessant march] toward the rally point at [Twilights-End<\>Ref_err.?Source?], in the remaining hope that I might find my way back to a home I can no longer recall; and thus to you.

I have never stopped loving you.

Forgive me I beg you, for everything that I am; that makes us subject to, all of this.

Yours eternally unflinching,


'The November Transmission'

Laszlo Totka

Sydney, Australia

  • Artist
Laszlo Totka

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