Michael Scott Hand

Author Archives: Michael

• Starry Flow

  Posted at 10:38 am by Michael, on July 6, 2020

  As above; so below,
  Between them winds a starry flow.

  

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• Wall of Tet

  Posted at 9:46 am by Michael, on July 2, 2020

  “You and your ridiculous ideas,” Alice’s voice lilted as the carriage rumbled across the rough, unpaved roads. Magnavius ignored her and instead concentrated on the other sounds: the way the carriage groaned and creaked around them as it struggled to absorb the impacts of the road.

  The carriage leaned and all three passengers were forced to bend in the opposite direction so as to stay upright on their seats. This forced Chisholm to glance up from the book he was reading and he glanced between his travelling companions with a wry smile.

  “The ruin forms part of a larger structure in honour of Asmeph,” said Alice. She didn’t add hmmpf to the end of her sentence because it was—indisputably—inferred. Asmeph was a fertility goddess worshipped long ago in the Nacreev.

  For years, the region had been closed off to foreign visitors, but thanks to a gradual thawing in tensions between the Nacreev and its surrounding nation-states (all of which were in thrall to the Great and Glorious Empire of Her Royal Highness) these restrictions had lessened. In response, universities from Caladon had started sending students in battered carriages across unpaved roads in order to study sites in the area.

  In only three years there had been several major discoveries. A stone monkey (no monkeys lived in the Nacreev now), dozens of rusted metal mechanisms (their utility unknown) and at least one shrine in honour of Asmeph.

  The first photographs of the fertility goddess had caused quite a stir when they had appeared in the newspapers; for even in blurry half-shadow on grey paper, the image of the hitherto unseen Goddess was certainly provoking: her broad shoulders, enormous breasts and erect nipples spoke of a fierce, independent sexuality.

  And although neither Magnavius or Chisholm could not wholly understand why (though, of course, Alice understood) the statue had become a sort of feminist icon back in Caladon, such that Her Majesty’s government was already in talks to “procure” the statue for the state museum. Of course, several politicians from the Nacreev region would be compensated.

  Alice had already started writing her thesis on Asmeph, which was why she was so determined that the ruins they were heading to investigate would be dedicated to the goddess. Should her wishful thinking prove accurate she would almost be guaranteed grant money in order to conduct her research.

  The lads, however, were of a different mind. Magnavius believed the newly-unearthed structure was, perhaps, a greater temple devoted to a number of different deities. Chisholm, on the other hand, well… nobody ever really knew what Chisholm thought. He spoke little and his face was usually hidden by the cover of some obscure book.

  In truth, none of them were certain what to expect from the ruins. Only a few muddy photographs had made it out from the dig site and even the descriptions had been vague: the one thing that they had in common was that they referred to the ancient structure as a wall: the Wall of Tet they called it, for Tet was the name of the village above the ruin.

  Magnavius thought back to Professor Emlin’s notes:

  A brick wall buried beneath the ground, each brick inscribed with numerous letters from a runic alphabet that is yet to be identified.

  Although the façade of the wall itself is said to be impressive, granting as it does a vision of a completed structure from another time, your studies are to focus not only on the wall and its construction, but also to seek out such signs of habitation, ritual devices, or other inscriptions within the vicinity.

  Magnavius knew at least three additional tunnels had been excavated so far—all of them leading away from the wall. Each attempt to dig in the areas directly around it had revealed only more bricks; indicating that the Wall of Tet was much larger than first suggested.

  Then, at last, the carriage stopped and they were being ushered out by men wearing rifles on their backs and ceremonial swords at their waists. A plump woman beamed at them as they exited the carriage.

  “Yes, yes,” she said. “And here are the fine students from Caladon.”

  Continue reading →

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• Black Lagoon

  Posted at 9:47 am by Michael, on June 23, 2020

  

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• Instructions

  Posted at 10:58 am by Michael, on June 22, 2020

  Amongst Great Grandfather’s box of old things was:

  A carved wooden duck
  A paper-weight
  An oddly shaped knife with a dancing man engraved on the hilt
  Three paperback books
  An unmarked bottle of what I presumed to be wine, but did not have the courage to open
  An antique toy bi-plane
  A drawing of a giraffe
  Four different keys with no indication as to what they opened
  An old leather notebook filled with indecipherable scrawls and also containing…
  A brown paper envelope, upon which was written:

  INSTRUCTIONS AS TO MY RESURRECTION IN THE EVENT OF MY DEATH

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• Sketch of an Old Road

  Posted at 10:13 am by Michael, on June 13, 2020

  

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• The Muse

  Posted at 9:56 am by Michael, on June 12, 2020

  An ancient cave painting of a woman rendered as text.

  The muse is fixed in time and space,
  Pigment faded smile eternal,
  She watches with one eyebrow raised,
  And when she moves,
  If she were to do so,
  (Although that would be impossible)
  It is merely the shifting of a leg,
  Or a flick of a wrist,
  Or a twist of her neck,
  To glance back across her shoulder.

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• Overgrow

  Posted at 11:54 am by Michael, on June 10, 2020

  

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• The Grid

  Posted at 12:48 pm by Michael, on June 2, 2020

  

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• Meandering Wastes – First Reversion

  Posted at 12:47 pm by Michael, on June 2, 2020

  What follows is believed to be the first ever inscription of the recursive poem “Meandering Wastes” by the 21st Century writer, Michael Scott Hand. This fragment was recovered using the latest in digital archaeological equipment, wherein data can be extracted from the sedentary level of matter formed during that which we refer to as “Event X”.

  beyond the far meandering wastes
  an eager writer takes his place
  scratching words with a fountain pen
  when he ends each line he starts again

  Combining this fragment with the only other known version of this poem (the so-called sixth recursion), we hope to be able to reconstruct a final “seventh recursion” representative of the author’s original intent.

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• And You’ll See Me

  Posted at 11:46 am by Michael, on June 1, 2020

  Hearts are breaking
  Pain that’s stored
  Now enraged and flaming: soars
  Skies grow dark
  Spirits darker
  The sound of fury
  Turns to laughter
  The sound of laughter
  Turns to screams
  Those screams now wake you
  From your dreams
  And skies lit up
  Reveal the schemes
  Police line streets
  Their visors gleam
  Smoke and water
  Shattered glass
  Remnants of society cast
  Aside
  Aside
  The gulf grows wide
  Soon you’ll need to pick a side
  A side
  Inside
  Inside
  You know
  Reflected by the fires glow
  That spark of revolution seems
  So far away and yet it gleams
  Like visors worn by armed police
  In the eye of the protester and the thief
  The light of revolution speaks
  The light of revolution shows
  And in the streets the fires grow

  Posted in Poems | 0 Comments

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