An excerpt from the novel:
Dog's Plot by
David S. Warren
Before Man-God, back before dinosaurs and chickens, even before dirt and fungi, long before the uncontrolled proliferation of words, and before Man turned the Word of Dog around, there was one Word and the Word was Dog. It was a one Dog World.
For many Dog Years, Dog ruled this whole Earth ball all alone.
Dog was so big that Dog contained all of life except the Fungi, and he ate them.
Dog was so big that he could run all the way around Earth in an afternoon and, arriving at the place he started, would eat some mushrooms and lay down exhausted, though Dog’s mind ran on in darkness.
Each morning Dog stretched, shook off sleep, then looked around and saw that all was good; but Dog wanted more.
Maybe Dog wanted family. He had no way of knowing, because he had no word for family, and because there had never been a dog family, to say nothing about the Cat Family, or the Family of Man, or yours, or mine.
Every day, Dog produced piles, and cairns, and unique figurines consisting of his own good poop, which in those times was more like bread dough than like the degraded poop of today, which is put into plastic bags and sent away to be buried with radioactive waste and disposable diapers in somebody else’s back yard.
Sometimes one of Dog’s dough piles might seem to resemble a turtle, a bear, or a star-nosed mole, but they were all unrecognized and accidental, because Dog had no ideas, or models, and also because Dog had no hands for detailed molding.
Occasionally Dog’s works seemed to him to be strange and threatening beings in themselves and he barked at them, but they only slumped and fell over.
But Dog had an infinity of time, and in a world of infinite accidents, every thing eventually happens into being.
One day during the Early Dog period, Dog faintly recognized something like his own reflection in one of the polymorphous poopings, so Dog nosed it about a bit to make it more closely resemble Dog’s self.
Great though Dog was, Dog was only a dog and without hands, so the poop Dog prodded into more finished shape still only had two legs that were long enough to touch the ground, and the front feet waved vainly in the air.
It was not all that good, and clearly not what Dog was meant to do, so Dog turned to digging holes. Maybe Dog was looking that way for Dog’s self or the Dog family, but Dog didn’t find it, and about the only result of all this digging was the holes which have become the Finger Lakes, The Great Lakes, The Ural Sea, Lakes Titicaca, Tanganyika, and other large bodies of water.
In the meantime, among the Dog’s poop statues was a short-faced, only two-legged dog with short front legs, awkward thumbs, and no claws, which proceeded, with touchy-feely fingers to mass reproduce itself. One day a crowd of these people took up sticks, beat Dog into submission and then turned Dog’s name around. It is a shame, but that is what we have come to.
The Metaphysical Times
is a journal for readers, writers, and artists capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, and doubts without having to reach after
fact and reason; a place for the open minded, the undecided, and the uncertain, for those willing to step outside themselves, away from preconceptions, dogmas, beliefs, and the refuge of
smug skepticism or science as religion, into the
world of imagination, awe and wonder … into a world
beyond |language itself, where we know only
that truth is beauty,
and where that is enough.
Our subject is not another world, not an afterworld,
and not a spirit world, but the world of here and now:
our subject is the nature of nature;
our truth is human.