Sanditon Sandman Sentiments

However, the narrative's warp drew me unwillingly into the spotlight. I suppose I should start at the beginning.  There had been a raucous and rude young man by the name of Theostophnes who bore a passing resemblance to myself. It was remarked by many, including his later girlfriend,, much to my confusion and chagrin.  I thought myself nothing like him, if he was a whirlwind leading an oncoming, i was a calm ocean breeze on a warm summer day. 

He followed my twitter account, but I chose not to reciprocate. I did not wish to encourage the connections and gossiping tongues. If he wanted to learn from my civic example, so much the better, but I did not have reason to be overly concerned with his activity.

That is, until a few months ago when he disappeared from the town premises, leaving a vague note about flying with the angels.  Some hours later, a body was discovered in the woods along the highway.  I was called to the scene as the local undertaker extended to a coroner's license and responsibility for the county area.  Upon arriving, I found the body sprawled amid broken branches at the bottom of a roadside cliff. It was likely that he jumped in some delusion that he actually could fly.  Like that purple & green toy astronaut in that animated film, his dose of reality concerning the possibility of anthropomorphic levitation was discovered faulty.

The young man was babbling about danger & dark shapes. I tried to sedate him to ease his pain when a shadow passed overhead. Somehow, I lost consciousness for nearly half an hour, only to wake to find blood everywhere, the paramedics and policemen dead.  And the crazed young man was clutching a staff & looking down at me. Why I was spared, I may never know. Even more inexplicable was his sudden recovery. He claimed that some brothers in a 70's Impala had arrived on the scene with an angel & staked some Fairy-blooded vampires.  I was willing to placate this unstable individual, & carefully nodded and listened to his fantasy narrative while I looked for an opportunity to drive back to town. He insisted on taking my phone, insisting that his own was lost & ordered me to drive him home, telling me I owed him that much.  I obliged his demands, & it was a tension-filled ride back to Sanditon for me. He looked pleased with himself, & oblivious to my heightened state.

It was hardly a week later when that mysteriously recovered young man started yelling in an argument with himself in front of Main Street.  Apparently, it was some sort of mating ritual, in the course of which he fell unconscious and awoke to declare undying love for Hazelle Evans.  This lady in her 20's owns the local Dress Fanditon shop & was the single mother to a teenager by early adoption.  That this lady & young man fell in love adds credence to C.S. Lewis's observation in the Silver Chair. "I guess beetles fancy other beetles."

My sense of paranoia only deepened in the aftermath of this. He explained that the rationale behind his erratic & dark behavior was that he had been possessed of an ancient entity known as the Faemon. This only deepened my suspicions and wariness of & around the fellow. I wanted to avoid any connections with such a person, & was relieved when he appeared to oblige. I felt a vague sense of unease each time I buried another citizen of Sanditon, as if another presence was watching over me in my duties.  I had many restless nights, waking early to have chamomile tea to calm my nerves.

Whenever I tweeted, some new citizen would declare the resemblance, so I limited my tweeting to the late hours of the night, when most were sleeping. It gave me peace to channel my thoughts into pithy & thoughtful distillations or observations of my day. I felt that I was going mad, I heard whispers at night & unexplained urges to midnight marathon the original Star Wars trilogy. Yoda's voice kept echoing in my head, with quotes I didn't remember hearing despite my almost weekly viewings of the series.

Thankfully, the young Theostophnes left town again, because he claimed that his newborn twins by Hazelle were acting unusually.  The news of the children & his departure filled me with unexpected rushes of joy & contentment. My anxiety levels dropped & I was able to sleep soundly once more at night, as if a weight had been lifted off my mind.

This sense of bliss and freedom was short-lived, as Isulraine the Huntress arrived in Sanditon. She claimed to be the bloodsister of Theostophnes. She informed Theo's friends that he had been defeated in a series of demented parodies of common board games by herself.  Isulraine's presence immediately reawoke the danger warning impulses of my psyche, only louder even than her brother's aura. At least he was subtle about his eccentrities, while Isulraine paraded hers openly as a Hunter-For-Hire.  The local Mafia was contracted by the girlfriend to negotiate for Theo's release by the sister's hand.  The talks went sour as the two parties quickly established mutual distrust of each other's tactics and motives.

Last night, when my mind reached a breaking point of frenzied activity, I blacked out into a lucid hallucination in which my mouth spoke with terrible words not my own in a speaking cadence similar to the ancient green-midget jedi master.  My only consolation was that it must be a dream, I was relieved that this madness was in the privacy of my home. I hoped it was a fever from working too many hours and watching the original trilogy too many nights.  Imagine my dismay to wake from this distressing nightmare, hyperventilating in my easy chair, with the Huntress and Mafia spokespeople in my house.  As I checked my twitter feed, a transcript of my dreaming was posted for the town to see.  I was crestfallen to see my crest fall so publicly. I apologize for any of the words which appear on my profile. I was not in my right mind at the time.  It took 4 cups of raspberry mango tea to settle my breathing.

I am beyond abashed for this unfortunate occurrence, which might lower faith in a pillar of the community of myself.  It only takes a scandal of this caliber to make hash of my reputation, rendering it to be a laughingstock.  I wonder if I should invest in a dunce cap as a proactive measure, & play the whole debacle off as an ill advised jest. I am fond of hats.

Again, I deeply regret any whom I have offended with my waking nightmare. I hope you will find it in you to forgive a foolish and tired old man his follies. I wish to take a vacation and rest up. 

How curious, Edward Denham was being positively loquacious and flirtatious with Miss Gigi Darcy today. This was the most I have ever heard him speak in sequence.  Perhaps if I was an attractive young lady, I might be heard by him, or if I was one of his aunts, that I would be heeded.

Mr. Denham is a bit reckless with his position as assistant to our haplessly beloved mayor, Tom Parker. I suspect that Denham is trying to hitch his train out of town to Domino. If we were a more disagreeable town, we might ride him out on the rail. However, that is too much fuss and flummox to merit our general attention.

While I am slightly disapproving of his tactless tactics displayed today, I am far more overruled by quiet amusement.  He does have a certain charmed life about him.  I am slightly curious by how it will affect Tom.

My search for an apprentice has been fruitless so far.  It may be that I am not applying myself very heavily to this position's fulfillment.  However, I thought with the swelling of the working population come summer, surely some brave young soul would be a willing employee. I would like to think myself a fair minded person, but my ability to connect to youth is impaired by my profession and its propriety.

While I enjoy visiting with local students over tea, scones, or happenstance encounter, I believe it to be unwise to express an incautious interest in the lives of youth.  As an undertaker, my dealings with death discomfort the living, and make them slightly suspicious as to my intentions in cultivating a relationship.  There are tall tales as to my colleagues shaking hands with a fellow and sizing them up for their funeral suit and coffin dimensions.

However, I endeavor to be careful and gracious to all whom I meet.  I do not condone careless tones and words, but do not mind lighthearted jests.  Cleverness and turns of phrase amuse me, and poetry grants a lovely voice to emotions and other intangible elements.  When my friends are saddened and depressed by the weight of life's obligations and responsibilities, I strive to encourage them.  They are important to me, and I am not insincere in my compliments.

When one has seen as many broken lives, and how they end, I earnestly hope to repair where I can the damage which is wrought.  I have been proxy witness to the scatter-chart of emotions brought to the surface by the spotlight of the Domino testing.  Some are thirsty for fame, for an escape from perceived mediocrity in an unremarkable existence in this town.  There are some who are uncomfortable with the vulnerability of exposing their private lives to the world's scrutiny.

Social media makes us citizens of a broader network, whose territories are unfamiliar and full of potential.  It is a frightening and exciting world in which connections are formed quickly, and lost just as suddenly.  Netiquette in communications is often superseded by the ease and rapidity of making oneself heard.  But, just because your messages are seen, does not mean that they are understood.  Especially in the brevity of Twitter, in which special care must be taken to convey your intended message.

I visited Sanditon Books today, and picked up various novels of interest to me.  It is not as cozy and designed as Figments, but SB has a quiet charm of a church yard, disturbed only by the shuffling of feet and shifting of books.  The music is mostly acoustic or instrumental, like the light pull of harp strings, it is background to let the patrons know that they are not alone in the silence.

For silence is fearful responsibility - it forces people to be alone with their thoughts. All their insecurities and unanswered questions come burbling to the surface, requesting address to reconcile accounts.  I chose a paperback copy of the Name of the Wind, by Patrick Rothfuss. It is an excellent semi-fantastical narration of a legendary folk hero in retirement, carving through the cobwebs of fictions that have crept into his actual adventures.  I also found a copy of The Return of Don Quixote, by G.K. Chesterton.  I have a particular fondness for this novel - there is an estate librarian who has a mental discipline of a branch of Hittite tradition and culture.  He is roused from his simple life of research and contemplation by the daughter of the lord of the manor.  She requests that he fill a role in a play she is staging in the coming months.  At first, Michael Herne defers to this arrangement - he protests that he is afraid that it isn't his field of study and he shall ruin the verisimilitude of the setting.  This is a man who takes history so seriously, that his humility requires that he not involve himself in attempting to recreate a period character in a production set in an unfamiliar era.

Eventually, Michael Herne consents to be in the play, but on the self-imposed condition that much period research is required to understand his character and be accurate in actions.  This role he assumes to such an investment, that he refuses to leave it even when the last curtain falls.  It is beautiful the way Herne lives out the philosophy he so recently studied - it is not pretension for attention, as much as it is empathy with the character though wearing its skin.  Herne extends beyond the written lines and breathes the role to reality.

It is a powerful natural magic to meet such passionate people, even though they are commonly held to be boisterious and loud about it.  Herne is quiet and unassuming, he stands alone with such dignity, that it draws the curiosity of the area and persuades them to follow.

"Noise proves nothing. Often a chicken who has merely laid an egg cackles as if she laid an asteroid." - Mark Twain.

Today, most of the town settled down in the idea of Domino, with the demonstration by the lovely Clara Barton of "Trick or Treat" ice cream. While this is one great mystery solved, I visited the source of another one: Dolphinton.  Despite the ill publicity afforded by Miss Becky's trial over Jawsica's death, they have decided to continue discussion over the installation of a nuclear refinery.

As the coroner for the area, it is within my duties to represent my profession's interests and offer counsel. The argument in favor claims it will create jobs, setting an example for others to follow, and building town's awareness of security.  It is with the last portion that I take issue. So soon after one of their own was found to be mentally unstable, it raises the question of whether there are further undiagnosed cases.

While not a psychologist, I am a student of human nature through my interest in natural philosophy.  These two events paint Dolphinton's carefully crafted "paradise" community reputation from their brochures.  A nuclear site, no matter how safe and cleanly run, causes pause to tourists' plans to visit.  Also, it exacerbates the tension with Sanditon & surrounding towns. The possibility of a domestic arsenal being constructed under our watches would make for a darker tint to our traditionally athletic"Suburban warfare."

If it was in better timing and correlation, I might have applauded Dolphinton's initiative as a progressive measure to pioneer a brave new world. As it is, the counsel has moved to postpone the issue to a later date.  They agreed with my supposition that it was "too soon," but want to keep negotiations open with the international energy company Amegi Enterprises. This young corporation is eager to expand to the states, & has an award-nominated human resource structure. It is also praised for its highly interactive & integrative Tesla Movement marketing branding which donates a portion of profits to help set up cheap energy in impoverished communities.

I am not sure how to contextualize today.  Cecil the Seagull died, and the people of this town are mourning again.  It is both touching that we value the life of one of God's creatures so highly, & sad that businesses feel the need to shut down after each instance.

Death is a part of life.  It is the period, the full stop where the readers of history pause and consider the sentence which just ended.  What did we learn from the words used and the arrangement of its contents?  But it is just that - a pause.  History is an ongoing tale, where sentences build upon one another.  Some are lost in the sweep of the story, but their effect is remembered as if a shadow.  Others burn bright and lovely, touching the hearts of any who witnessed that person's portion.

It is my job to act as a sort of editor to the life which was lost - collecting the dangling participles of the rough draft and smoothing them into an shortened eulogy which can comprehended.  It is not a sin of omission, because the whole story would swallow the time of others.  No man can recall all the details of his own life. God alone keeps a full account.  I want to remember the good times publically, and muse over the difficult portions in private.  It is considered imprudent to speak ill of the dead, because the subject is in no position to argue.

However, I am sure that my experiences with the deceased is incomplete, subject to interpretation, and muddled by the tide of time.  Some flotsam is bigger and creates a deep impression which sticks in the shore of my mind.  It is the same with others. This is why we invite those present at the wake, showing, and funeral to share their stories of the recently departed.  The picture becomes clearer when the notes are collected, organized, and shared.

I know that a seagull is one of God's creatures, and will handle it with the respect which it deserves.  But if we weep and shut down after the death of our avian friend who did not talk, eat, argue, cry, dance, sing, or smile with us, how much more will we mourn for our neighbors with whom we do these things?

A life is a life, no matter how small

Pauper or rich, He cares for them all.

Equally started, equal in end.

Today marked the young Miss Gigi's arrival in Sanditon.  Our beloved mayor, Tom Parker, had a conversation with her via the Domino Application.  As fine a leader as he may be, his expertise did not extend to the technological aspects.  Tom has even managed to open a twitter account, which his assistant talked him through.  This assistant,Edward Denham, has the hearts of most eligible young ladies in the area.  He did our town proud with his fleeting appearance.

Clara Breton, owner of the ice cream shoppe "Sanditon Scoops" was remarkable eloquent under the spotlight.  She announced through Domino that she plans on offering the promotion of "Free sprinkles" on every order placed tonight.  Meanwhile, Tom talked of revitalizing the look of the downtown area: Integrating the "new Sanditon" with our traditional small town charm.

I understand that he is a visionary with plans to put us on the map.  I know how much he's worked to smooth the Pemberley Digital beta testing team's arrival.  But we are a town not used to sudden changes to our way of life.  Novelties such as this Domino application have piqued our curiosity and allowed us an opportunity to showcase Sanditon.

I spoke to Sanditon History's Genevieve Derrick & Luke Gendry concerning their dispute over the issue.  I would advise a wait-and-see mentality when it comes to change.  People don't like being driven with a cattle prod of law and command. However, if they are coaxed, persuaded, and given incentive or a proper perspective? They will arrive at their destination before they realize how they reached it.

It was a fine sunday morning for me. I leisurely browsed social media as new accounts awakened and new friends were made.  Among these was the mysterious "Sanditon Spider," a rogue brown recluse who has settled in the town.  Our beloved local Private investigator, Rammi Glomp, took its arrival as a personal inquiry.  Her well-documented hunt for the Spider has an official spotify playlist provided by Sanditon Records.

I fear that this unfortunate first impression has only worsened the situation with the intelligent arachnid.  This eight limbed spinner of intricate masterpieces has established an online presence on the interwebs.  Already, it has been mentioned in Sanditon News One broadcasts and Sanditon 911 reports.  The tone of these messages are tinged with a flavor of species profiling which is unbecoming of our charming community's image.  

I would prefer to avoid prejudice when it comes to meeting any individual, and am willing to communicate with this clever recluse.  It appears to be provoked by the mutterings of fear and suspicion, living an elusive lifestyle while being preemptively aggressive in its ominous tweets.  This only reinforces the stereotype of the Spider as unreasonable and having something to hide.

I propose to break this cycle of paranoia and biting criticism.  I am willing to hear the Spider out, to understand how it intends to live in Sanditon, and how we might help.  Just like Becky Dolphinton's trial concerning the untimely demise of Jawsica Sharkson by curling iron, she is an exception to the rule.  Dolphinton residents are not our enemies, & neither are spiders.  There are outliers from the general trends in behavior, and we can make a change by choosing to hear out those whose lives are unfamiliar to our own experience.