The Black Piglet and Solitude
"Who is the Stranger who breaks and distorts? Open isn't broken. The Reader is the stranger. Let him in. [Why him?]"
"We need immigrants to Babel. It's a necessity that Queen Alice never dealt with properly."
"Yes, builders for the buildings, skilled artisans, visitors to the site, hard working cultivators of memes and things."
"How attract them?"
"As flowers do, sister. As flowers attract visitors: with beauty and bribery."
"So Babel on the Internet? Babel on disc? How publish? How broadcast? How make the site known and seen?"
"By the use of Bulletin Boards, blank pages, wide margins, freeware and shareware, interactive modes - anything or something."
"But is this cultural imperialism on our part; and an encouragement to thievery and plagiarism on the part of babblers as yet unknown and unseen?"
"They won't plagiarise. Memes mutate. They will build new buildings."
"The domes of Babel will turn into towers, obelisks, all manner of obscenities. They will twist and crumble. All that we worked for turn into dead and forgotten memes. The Text is sacred. Do not distort it!"
"The text is alive. Text is the drapery and finery of Crone Kronos. It lives. It breathes."
"Look I'll show you. Here are some Bulletins."
"Where did you find them?"
"In the alleyways and back gardens, and just lying about on the streets."
The Black Piglet sighs. Solitude sulks: scraps and tatters have been dumped in her lap. [Laptop?] Some the wind carries away. The rest remain. She begins to read.