5.5.583
Today was a milestone in my life. I will never forget today. I must write this again, lest I forget the importance, lest I sink into idle contentment—though contentment be what I seek. I will never forget what happened today. For today, on the shore of the Phosphorus, I was told that I had passed the final obstacle at the end of my apprenticeship and that I was to be put forward for the citidenizen test. Seven of the eight others in my thawer group were also put forward. One was not. He was of insufficient standard. Interestingly, he was a rebel, and he refused to blend himself with what the thawer masters wanted. At first I felt equally rebellious, but then I realised that I had to balance progress with principle. The important thing is that my principles remain locked in my mind, which is a place where I can store things until they are needed. Because this store is metaphysical, I feel safe. Only memory loss can foil me. I fear memory loss. As a consequence I am fascinated by the obsession citidenizens have with stopping all forms of erasure.
When I am a citidenizen—I am absolutely certain that I will be one—I will undertake a research project into the origins of this obsession. It seems to me that the repose I so desire may be located in the peace generated by zero erasure. It may be that the form and structure of the Mavrosopolis is well suited to one such as me. It may even be that this explains why I feel that I must become a citidenizen.
Or there may be another explanation. As yet I do not know enough details. But this is no worry to me. Though I am young, and feel young, I also feel old. I do not know what it is like to be old, but I have spoken with old people and I feel that I know the state well. Many characteristics of the elderly apply, bizarrely, to me: wise, or so I hope; aware of my path and direction; conscious of the greater scheme of things; thankful for the delights of the non-physical life, such as reading, composition, and conversation and debate. It would be nice to debate with the cimmerian girl who has been assigned to me.
I see that it is a paradox to both want contentment and realise that such a state may be dangerous, but in one sense it is no paradox. I am alive with suspicions and desires about the citidenizenry. The chaos of gutter life is not for me. Thus I seek peace and all its associated pleasures. But in peace stagnation may be found. Thus I have decided to be aware of this danger, and always to seek a peace that is dynamic. Dynamic peace can be found in such places as the leaves of a book of poems, in the carnal embrace of a lover, in the satisfaction of a task completed with style, with grace. Where is stagnant peace? In the drunken, odious, repetitive chants of the innkeeper and his flock, in the casual coupling of a harlot unloved, in the clumsy handling of a task that may have been completed, but which exudes bad feeling like inns exude noxious air.
When I am a citidenizen I will do my best to tell people of the dangers of alcohol. Raki is a mind befuddler and it should be banned. Perhaps I will devise a method of banning it. I would also ban graceless copulation, smudged or otherwise imperfect lettering on public signs, prose that refers to ugly things, lists of all sorts (since the list, lacking grace and style, even proper meaning, is inherently static), and I would also try to get rid of whatever it is that allows nogoths to remain in the gutter.
I wonder if this is in any way at odds with the need to halt erasure? If I ban something, do I erase it? I suppose I do. These desires of mine must remain secret, until I am in a position to do something. In a nutshell, what I need is power.
I can see even now, before I have begun the test, that my rise to citidenizenship will bring difficulties. There is wrong in the Mavrosopolis. But I know that I am right, since I have lived the horrors of the street. I will therefore come into conflict with the Mavrosopolis. I both welcome that and fear it. In truth, I fear it more.