Find somewhere to sit, children, says Mrs Bennett. Mr Kierkegaard will talk to you while you eat lunch.
Kierkegaard is beset by anxiety.
He knows little of children. What will he say?
He stands, thinking.
You'd better start talking soon, says the girl who looks like Lily. We eat fast.
Leanne! says Mrs Bennett.
Perhaps the children would like to ask questions, says Kierkegaard.
Perhaps, says Mrs Bennett. But usually one gives a talk, then invites questions.
Of course, says Kierkegaard. I shall commence by speaking of the importance of subjective truth and self-becoming.
Perhaps you could use terms suitable for children, says Mrs Bennett.
Certainly, says Kierkegaard. I shall describe an imaginary situation. Let us say, I am engaged to be married.
Who to? asks Leanne.
Is doesn't matter, says Kierkegaard.
It does, says Leanne.
The lady is imaginary, says Kierkegaard.
Then how about we make up a name, says Mrs Bennett.
Angelina, says Leanne's best friend, Chloe.
That's my name, Chloe, says Mrs Bennett. Is it all right if you are engaged to be married to Angelina, Mr Kierkegaard?
Kierkegaard is not at all happy being engaged to Angelina. But it seems impolite to object.
Angelina, says Kierkegaard. We are engaged. We are happy. But then I start thinking. I'm happy now but if I get married I will cut off all other possibilities. Perhaps this is not who I am.
It isn't! says Terence. You said you were imaginary.
Ha ha! laugh the children.
Stop laughing, children, says Mrs Bennett. It's rude. Mr Kierkegaard is a philosopher. That means he likes to think about different possibilities. In this story he is thinking about whether or nor it is right for him to get married. It's a big decision.
Thank you, Angelina, says Kierkegaard. Shall I go on?
I think the children have finished their sandwiches now, says Mrs Bennett. It's time to pick up sticks and return to our school.
I thought this was your school, says Kierkegaard.
Mount Compass School is our school, says Mrs Bennett. This is our School Swamp. We're very lucky to have it.
Indeed, says Kierkegaard. And now, I suppose I should be getting back to my colleagues.
Did you get married? asks Mrs Bennett.
No, says Kierkegaard.
Oh, says Mrs Bennett. Did you instead self-become?
I'm still in the process, says Kierkegaard.
Aren't we all, says Mrs Bennett.
The children start closing their lunch boxes, and packing them into their back packs
Will one of them drop a pencil?
Terence is waiting.
Tuesday, June 30, 2020
Monday, June 29, 2020
Ticked Off Three
What is the School Swamp? asks Kierkegaard.
Where they drop pencils, says Terence.
It's a strange concept, says Kierkegaard.
They don't do it on purpose, says the emu-wren. They're not meant to leave anything behind.
Oh, says Kierkegaard. So, if we find a pencil....
We can keep it, says Terence. Come on!
Soon they hear sounds of children, not far away.
The emu-wren stops.
What time is it?
Almost midday, says Kierkegaard.
They'll be having their lunch soon, says the emu-wren.
Will they have dropped their pencils? asks Terence.
It's not that simple, says the emu-wren.
Do we make ourselves known? asks Kierkegaard.
You can, says the emu-wren. I never do. But they sometimes spot me.
Don't you want them to? asks Terence.
I don't care, says the emu-wren.
Maybe you should, says Terence. They might give you crumbs.
I don't eat crumbs, says the emu-wren.
They are now close enough to hear what the children are saying. They are sitting together, comparing their lists.
I've ticked off three, says a girl who looks like Lily, ( but isn't).
Which ones? asks her friend, who looks like her.
Let's see! says a boy who looks like most boys.
Hello! says Terence.
Why aren't you wearing your school hat? asks the one who looks like Lily but isn't.
Don't have one, says Terence.
The boy who looks like most boys taps Terence's cement head with a ruler.
That's enough! says Kierkegaard, stepping forward.
What's going on here? asks Mrs Bennett, the teacher, also stepping forward. Who are you?
Sören Kierkegaard, says Kierkegaard. Forgive me if we've trespassed. I have been following this infant.
O have you? says Mrs Bennett. Are you his dad?
No, says Kierkegaard. But he's with me and my two colleagues. We're bird spotting in Stipiturus Conservation Park.
Really? Any luck? asks Mrs Bennett.
An emu-wren, says Kierkegaard. A few parrots.
The class is bird spotting today, says Mrs Bennett. Children, this is Mr ..... what was it?
Kierkegaard, says Kierkegaard.
That name rings a bell, says Mrs Bennett. Are you a poet?
No he isn't, says Terence. He's a scientist.
Not at all, says Kierkegaard. I'm first and foremost a philosopher.
Whoa-ah! says Mrs Bennett. What an interesting person. May I prevail upon you to talk to the class while they're eating their sandwiches?
Kierkegaard is flattered.
Where they drop pencils, says Terence.
It's a strange concept, says Kierkegaard.
They don't do it on purpose, says the emu-wren. They're not meant to leave anything behind.
Oh, says Kierkegaard. So, if we find a pencil....
We can keep it, says Terence. Come on!
Soon they hear sounds of children, not far away.
The emu-wren stops.
What time is it?
Almost midday, says Kierkegaard.
They'll be having their lunch soon, says the emu-wren.
Will they have dropped their pencils? asks Terence.
It's not that simple, says the emu-wren.
Do we make ourselves known? asks Kierkegaard.
You can, says the emu-wren. I never do. But they sometimes spot me.
Don't you want them to? asks Terence.
I don't care, says the emu-wren.
Maybe you should, says Terence. They might give you crumbs.
I don't eat crumbs, says the emu-wren.
They are now close enough to hear what the children are saying. They are sitting together, comparing their lists.
I've ticked off three, says a girl who looks like Lily, ( but isn't).
Which ones? asks her friend, who looks like her.
Let's see! says a boy who looks like most boys.
Hello! says Terence.
Why aren't you wearing your school hat? asks the one who looks like Lily but isn't.
Don't have one, says Terence.
The boy who looks like most boys taps Terence's cement head with a ruler.
That's enough! says Kierkegaard, stepping forward.
What's going on here? asks Mrs Bennett, the teacher, also stepping forward. Who are you?
Sören Kierkegaard, says Kierkegaard. Forgive me if we've trespassed. I have been following this infant.
O have you? says Mrs Bennett. Are you his dad?
No, says Kierkegaard. But he's with me and my two colleagues. We're bird spotting in Stipiturus Conservation Park.
Really? Any luck? asks Mrs Bennett.
An emu-wren, says Kierkegaard. A few parrots.
The class is bird spotting today, says Mrs Bennett. Children, this is Mr ..... what was it?
Kierkegaard, says Kierkegaard.
That name rings a bell, says Mrs Bennett. Are you a poet?
No he isn't, says Terence. He's a scientist.
Not at all, says Kierkegaard. I'm first and foremost a philosopher.
Whoa-ah! says Mrs Bennett. What an interesting person. May I prevail upon you to talk to the class while they're eating their sandwiches?
Kierkegaard is flattered.
Sunday, June 28, 2020
Not Nearly There Yet
Gaius ponders the arrow which Terence has made.
No doubt it means something.
He will seek a second opinion.
Gaius walks back to the bird hide.
Remembered where you left your pencil? asks Vello.
No, says Gaius, but Terence has left me an arrow. Come and see it.
Can't, says Vello. I'm in the middle of texting the office.
I'll come and look at the arrow, says Kierkegaard.
Gaius returns to the arrow, with Kierkegaard.
Are you sure it was left by Terence? asks Kierkegaard.
These are his footprints, says Gaius.
There are one or two visible footprints, with toes.
And look! says Kierkegaard. Bird footprints, going off in the same direction.
Gaius peers at the bird prints.
One of us should follow, says Gaius.
Yes, says Kierkegaard. Me or you?
You, says Gaius. You may borrow my phone. Call Vello, if there's a problem.
Very well, says Kierkegaard.
He takes Gaius's phone and starts following the footprints, which soon become fainter.
I'll continue in this direction, thinks Kierkegaard. And call out his name.
Terence!
Terence is not far ahead. He hears him.
So does the emu-wren.
MAN! says the emu-wren. Keep your head down!
Okay, says Terence. Are we nearly there yet?
Nearly there yet! scoffs the emu-wren. We can't be nearly there YET.
Kierkegaard crashes through the understory.
There you are! What are you doing?
Keeping our heads down, says Terence.
You and who else? asks Kierkegaard.
Me and him, says Terence.
But him is not there. Him has hidden under a soft water-fern.
He was here, says Terence. He's taking me to the School Swamp.
Whatever for? asks Kierkegaard.
To find Gaius a pencil, says Terence.
Kierkegaard laughs. He had not expected that answer.
I'll come with you, says Kierkegaard. Where is this School Swamp?
The emu-wren decides that the MAN is not threatening. He emerges.
Follow me, says the emu-wren.
Terence and Kierkegaard follow the emu-wren.
Kierkegaard hums, and fingers the phone in his pocket.
Until recently, life has been uneventful.
No doubt it means something.
He will seek a second opinion.
Gaius walks back to the bird hide.
Remembered where you left your pencil? asks Vello.
No, says Gaius, but Terence has left me an arrow. Come and see it.
Can't, says Vello. I'm in the middle of texting the office.
I'll come and look at the arrow, says Kierkegaard.
Gaius returns to the arrow, with Kierkegaard.
Are you sure it was left by Terence? asks Kierkegaard.
These are his footprints, says Gaius.
There are one or two visible footprints, with toes.
And look! says Kierkegaard. Bird footprints, going off in the same direction.
Gaius peers at the bird prints.
One of us should follow, says Gaius.
Yes, says Kierkegaard. Me or you?
You, says Gaius. You may borrow my phone. Call Vello, if there's a problem.
Very well, says Kierkegaard.
He takes Gaius's phone and starts following the footprints, which soon become fainter.
I'll continue in this direction, thinks Kierkegaard. And call out his name.
Terence!
Terence is not far ahead. He hears him.
So does the emu-wren.
MAN! says the emu-wren. Keep your head down!
Okay, says Terence. Are we nearly there yet?
Nearly there yet! scoffs the emu-wren. We can't be nearly there YET.
Kierkegaard crashes through the understory.
There you are! What are you doing?
Keeping our heads down, says Terence.
You and who else? asks Kierkegaard.
Me and him, says Terence.
But him is not there. Him has hidden under a soft water-fern.
He was here, says Terence. He's taking me to the School Swamp.
Whatever for? asks Kierkegaard.
To find Gaius a pencil, says Terence.
Kierkegaard laughs. He had not expected that answer.
I'll come with you, says Kierkegaard. Where is this School Swamp?
The emu-wren decides that the MAN is not threatening. He emerges.
Follow me, says the emu-wren.
Terence and Kierkegaard follow the emu-wren.
Kierkegaard hums, and fingers the phone in his pocket.
Until recently, life has been uneventful.
Saturday, June 27, 2020
Strange Lives Of One
Terence and the emu-wren set off through the low vegetation.
Coral fern, soft twig rush, pithy sword-sedge.
How come there's only one of you? asks Terence.
How come there's only one of YOU? asks the emu-wren.
Because I'm me, says Terence.
Same here, says the emu-wren. Why are you asking?
Science, says Terence. Gaius and Kierkegaard came here to count you.
One, says the emu-wren. That's me.
But, says Terence, have you got friends here?
Yes, we sometimes have foraging parties, says the emu-wren.
With balloons? asks Terence.
No balloons, says the emu-wren. That would be stupid.
Why stupid? asks Terence.
We're foraging, says the emu-wren. That means looking for insects and spiders. You shouldn't alert them, with balloons.
No, says Terence. Not when you're foraging. What about after?
We go our own ways, says the emu-wren.
Terence thinks about that for a minute.
Have you ever floated away? asks Terence.
No, why? asks the emu-wren.
A parrot of mine didn't, but his brother did, says Terence. I just wondered.
Wondered what exactly? asks the emu-wren.
If you had, says Terence. He floated away and Saint Roley never saw him again. We think he followed a finger.
Like Gaius, following your arrow? asks the emu-wren.
No, says Terence. YES! Maybe we should go back to meet him.
He won't be floating, says the emu-wren. So there's no danger.
They move through the low vegetation in silence.
Thinking of the strange lives of others.
Meanwhile Gaius has discovered the arrow.......
Coral fern, soft twig rush, pithy sword-sedge.
How come there's only one of you? asks Terence.
How come there's only one of YOU? asks the emu-wren.
Because I'm me, says Terence.
Same here, says the emu-wren. Why are you asking?
Science, says Terence. Gaius and Kierkegaard came here to count you.
One, says the emu-wren. That's me.
But, says Terence, have you got friends here?
Yes, we sometimes have foraging parties, says the emu-wren.
With balloons? asks Terence.
No balloons, says the emu-wren. That would be stupid.
Why stupid? asks Terence.
We're foraging, says the emu-wren. That means looking for insects and spiders. You shouldn't alert them, with balloons.
No, says Terence. Not when you're foraging. What about after?
We go our own ways, says the emu-wren.
Terence thinks about that for a minute.
Have you ever floated away? asks Terence.
No, why? asks the emu-wren.
A parrot of mine didn't, but his brother did, says Terence. I just wondered.
Wondered what exactly? asks the emu-wren.
If you had, says Terence. He floated away and Saint Roley never saw him again. We think he followed a finger.
Like Gaius, following your arrow? asks the emu-wren.
No, says Terence. YES! Maybe we should go back to meet him.
He won't be floating, says the emu-wren. So there's no danger.
They move through the low vegetation in silence.
Thinking of the strange lives of others.
Meanwhile Gaius has discovered the arrow.......
Friday, June 26, 2020
School Swamp
Keep him talking, says Gaius. I'm going back for my notebook.
Okay, says Terence.
Where's his notebook? asks the emu-wren.
In the bird hide, says Terence. But he won't have a pencil.
Ha ha, laughs the emu-wren. Want to come somewhere with me? There might be a pencil.
Why do I want a pencil? asks Terence.
To give to him, says the emu-wren. So he can write in his notebook.
About what? asks Terence.
About me, says the emu-wren. Come on.
Why will there be a pencil? asks Terence.
A kid might have dropped one, says the emu-wren. They drop things they're not supposed to.
Terence understands this. He drops things he's not supposed to as well.
How far is it? asks Terence.
As far as the School Swamp, says the emu-wren. I'm a bird, but I'm not a fast flier. We could run through the low vegetation.
Okay, says Terence, but I should tell Gaius.
Leave an arrow, says the emu-wren. That's what the kids do.
Terence would love to leave an arrow, pointing in the direction of the School Swamp, so Gaius will know where he's gone.
Where's the arrow? asks Terence.
Are we equals? asks the emu-wren. Find your own arrow.
Terence looks about for an arrow. There isn't one.
Make one, says the emu-wren. You can use stones or sticks. Or draw one in the mud with your finger. But if it rains the mud will close up and your arrow will be useless.
Terence decides to use sticks.
To find the right stick, break it and form an arrow, then place it so it points to the School Swamp, takes ages.
You would think Gaius might have returned with his notebook.
But no. He can't find a pencil.
Okay, says Terence.
Where's his notebook? asks the emu-wren.
In the bird hide, says Terence. But he won't have a pencil.
Ha ha, laughs the emu-wren. Want to come somewhere with me? There might be a pencil.
Why do I want a pencil? asks Terence.
To give to him, says the emu-wren. So he can write in his notebook.
About what? asks Terence.
About me, says the emu-wren. Come on.
Why will there be a pencil? asks Terence.
A kid might have dropped one, says the emu-wren. They drop things they're not supposed to.
Terence understands this. He drops things he's not supposed to as well.
How far is it? asks Terence.
As far as the School Swamp, says the emu-wren. I'm a bird, but I'm not a fast flier. We could run through the low vegetation.
Okay, says Terence, but I should tell Gaius.
Leave an arrow, says the emu-wren. That's what the kids do.
Terence would love to leave an arrow, pointing in the direction of the School Swamp, so Gaius will know where he's gone.
Where's the arrow? asks Terence.
Are we equals? asks the emu-wren. Find your own arrow.
Terence looks about for an arrow. There isn't one.
Make one, says the emu-wren. You can use stones or sticks. Or draw one in the mud with your finger. But if it rains the mud will close up and your arrow will be useless.
Terence decides to use sticks.
To find the right stick, break it and form an arrow, then place it so it points to the School Swamp, takes ages.
You would think Gaius might have returned with his notebook.
But no. He can't find a pencil.
Thursday, June 25, 2020
The Opposite Of Me
MAN! squeaks the emu-wren.
That's just Gaius, say Terence.
What's he doing? asks the emu-wren.
Coming, says Terence.
Then I'm off, says the emu-wren.
He's probably coming to get me, says Terence. Not you.
Are you endangered? asks the emu-wren.
Not these days, says Terence.
That's the opposite of me, says the emu-wren. I am these days.
We should stick together, says Terence.
Why? asks the emu-wren. What would that do?
We'd be equal, says Terence. I'd be me, and you'd be my parrot.
I wouldn't... begins the emu-wren.
He is interrupted by Gaius.
Wonderful, Terence! says Gaius. The emu-wren lets you come close.
We were looking for the poo, says Terence. I don't want it, but he does.
Fascinating. Ask him why, says Gaius.
Because it's going to be on the weather, says Terence.
And it might win a prize, says the emu-wren.
It's the photo that might be on the weather, says Gaius. And there are no prizes.
What about for the original? asks the emu-wren.
We're looking for the original, says Terence.
Let me see the bottoms of your feet, says Gaius.
But Terence won't. He doesn't want anything discovered.
He shuffles his feet on the grass.
Never mind, says Gaius. It's not important. What is important is this breakthrough.
Yes, says Terence. This breakthrough. I'll have to feed him. He only eats ants.
I don't, says the emu-wren. I eat insects and spiders.
And how many would you estimate there are of you, in this area? asks Gaius.
One, says the emu-wren. Wait, is it August?
Not yet, says Gaius. By my reckoning it's not yet July.
One then, says the emu-wren.
What happens in August? asks Terence.
Hey-hey! says the emu-wren You don't want to know.
Breeding season, says Gaius. You needn't be coy around Terence.
No, says Terence. I know about breeding seasons. You have to NOT ruin the eggs.
That's a nice thing to say, says the emu-wren.
I know, says Terence.
That's just Gaius, say Terence.
What's he doing? asks the emu-wren.
Coming, says Terence.
Then I'm off, says the emu-wren.
He's probably coming to get me, says Terence. Not you.
Are you endangered? asks the emu-wren.
Not these days, says Terence.
That's the opposite of me, says the emu-wren. I am these days.
We should stick together, says Terence.
Why? asks the emu-wren. What would that do?
We'd be equal, says Terence. I'd be me, and you'd be my parrot.
I wouldn't... begins the emu-wren.
He is interrupted by Gaius.
Wonderful, Terence! says Gaius. The emu-wren lets you come close.
We were looking for the poo, says Terence. I don't want it, but he does.
Fascinating. Ask him why, says Gaius.
Because it's going to be on the weather, says Terence.
And it might win a prize, says the emu-wren.
It's the photo that might be on the weather, says Gaius. And there are no prizes.
What about for the original? asks the emu-wren.
We're looking for the original, says Terence.
Let me see the bottoms of your feet, says Gaius.
But Terence won't. He doesn't want anything discovered.
He shuffles his feet on the grass.
Never mind, says Gaius. It's not important. What is important is this breakthrough.
Yes, says Terence. This breakthrough. I'll have to feed him. He only eats ants.
I don't, says the emu-wren. I eat insects and spiders.
And how many would you estimate there are of you, in this area? asks Gaius.
One, says the emu-wren. Wait, is it August?
Not yet, says Gaius. By my reckoning it's not yet July.
One then, says the emu-wren.
What happens in August? asks Terence.
Hey-hey! says the emu-wren You don't want to know.
Breeding season, says Gaius. You needn't be coy around Terence.
No, says Terence. I know about breeding seasons. You have to NOT ruin the eggs.
That's a nice thing to say, says the emu-wren.
I know, says Terence.
Wednesday, June 24, 2020
Super Tiny Poo
Ant legs! says Terence. In the bird poo!
Yes indeed, says Gaius. It's not that unusual.
Come on! says Vello. Ants in the poo might not be unusual, but it's a good capture. An emu-wren shitting at close quarters. And it's good of the tail feathers.
Of course, says Gaius. I admit it's good of the tail feathers.
Well done, Terence, says Kierkegaard. Perhaps you should enter it in a competition.
I will, says Terence. How do I do it?
You could send it to the ABC weather, says Gaius. They often use photographs that people send in.
So they do, says Vello. Imagine. And now for the weather. Tonight's photo of a rare emu-wren crapping has been sent in by Terence, of Barcelona.
Not Barcelona, says Gaius. He'd be disqualified. Terence of Adelaide.
What's the prize? asks Terence.
I don't think there is one, says Gaius. But everyone will see it.
Woop, says Terence.
He stomps out of the bird hide and over to the bush where he took the famous no-prize-winning photo.
The emu-wren has come back.
How did I look? asks the emu-wren.
I thought you could only say squee, says Terence.
You thought wrong, says the emu-wren. How was the photo?
It was mainly of poo, says Terence.
My poo? asks the emu-wren.
Yes, says Terence. And it had ant legs in it.
Tell me about it, says the emu-wren.
It might win a prize, says Terence.
(He knows that it wouldn't).
My poo? asks the emu wren.
It'll be on the weather, says Terence.
I wonder where it is now? says the emu-wren.
In the sky, says Terence.
Not the weather, says the emu-wren. It'll be somewhere down there.
What do I care? says Terence. I've got a photo.
But I produced the original, says the emu-wren.
Poo isn't original, says Terence.
I beg to differ, says the emu-wren.
They both start looking in the low vegetation.
Emu-wrens are very tiny. They weigh seven point five grams at most.
Their poo must be super tiny.
Nevertheless, Terence soon puts a foot in it.
Yes indeed, says Gaius. It's not that unusual.
Come on! says Vello. Ants in the poo might not be unusual, but it's a good capture. An emu-wren shitting at close quarters. And it's good of the tail feathers.
Of course, says Gaius. I admit it's good of the tail feathers.
Well done, Terence, says Kierkegaard. Perhaps you should enter it in a competition.
I will, says Terence. How do I do it?
You could send it to the ABC weather, says Gaius. They often use photographs that people send in.
So they do, says Vello. Imagine. And now for the weather. Tonight's photo of a rare emu-wren crapping has been sent in by Terence, of Barcelona.
Not Barcelona, says Gaius. He'd be disqualified. Terence of Adelaide.
What's the prize? asks Terence.
I don't think there is one, says Gaius. But everyone will see it.
Woop, says Terence.
He stomps out of the bird hide and over to the bush where he took the famous no-prize-winning photo.
The emu-wren has come back.
How did I look? asks the emu-wren.
I thought you could only say squee, says Terence.
You thought wrong, says the emu-wren. How was the photo?
It was mainly of poo, says Terence.
My poo? asks the emu-wren.
Yes, says Terence. And it had ant legs in it.
Tell me about it, says the emu-wren.
It might win a prize, says Terence.
(He knows that it wouldn't).
My poo? asks the emu wren.
It'll be on the weather, says Terence.
I wonder where it is now? says the emu-wren.
In the sky, says Terence.
Not the weather, says the emu-wren. It'll be somewhere down there.
What do I care? says Terence. I've got a photo.
But I produced the original, says the emu-wren.
Poo isn't original, says Terence.
I beg to differ, says the emu-wren.
They both start looking in the low vegetation.
Emu-wrens are very tiny. They weigh seven point five grams at most.
Their poo must be super tiny.
Nevertheless, Terence soon puts a foot in it.
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