Roman, “What do you do?” which retains the position to this day).
Despite being perpetually damp or drowned, the Sumerians managed to invent the stylus, a remarkable innovation that transformed not only learning but also warfare. For centuries anything that left a mark had traditionally been classed as a weapon, and for some time the pen wasn’t just mightier than the sword, it was the sword. When the Sumerians discovered that such instruments could be used not just for slaughter but for scholarship, it radically reshaped their culture (although the rehabilitation of the typewriter, which they had invented as a particularly gruesome bludgeoning weapon, would not take place for many thousands of years).
I noticed that the Sumerians were one of the first groups of humans to establish a firm belief in an afterlife. You would have thought that, considering the unremitting misery of their lives on Earth, they’d be sick and tired of Life in general, especially an afterlife. But they were gluttons for punishment, and with an imagination saturated by the dampness of their unfortunate situation, the Sumerians imagined a hereafter in which they would eat dust and clay in a dark room, forevermore. The idea of a happy afterlife, like the idea of a happy Life, was simply beyond their conception.
Ancient Sumerian Warriors Depicted with Large Battle Typewriter (left) , and Small War-Bottle of Correction Fluid (right)
And the gods they had! A bunch of second-rate minor elementals without a sliver of personality between them. There were gods of streams and rivers, of rivulets and creeks, of drizzle and humidity, all of whom were literally lining up to drown the Sumerians. At least these gods didn’t ask me for any favors and were moderately scrutable, unlike Him. For instance, when King Sargon was overthrown by the barbarians, everyone knew that the god Enlil had punished the land because Naram-Sin, a king of Sargon’s line, had sacked Nippur, plundered the Ekur, and humiliated Lugal-Zage-Si, such that when the Gutians invaded Akkad, Ur-Nammu was forced to seize power from Utukhegal. It was plain for all to see.
As far as I was concerned, complex motives were unimportant as long as any major massacres were noted in the Book of Endings with plenty of time for me to prepare. Yes, I thought I had it all figured out in Sumeria, all under control. Little did I know that in those moist lands my existence would be changed forever.
I remember the day well. How could I forget? The usual prognostications, fearful sacrifices, and portents of divine satisfaction had been swiftly followed by the customary great flood, and the temple priests, who had relocated themselves to high ground just in time, were questioning the quality of their prophetic entrails. The storm was still raging as I glided about the pale, bloated bodies that scattered the flooded plain like confetti. It was slow work as schools of Fish Supremacists crowded around the bodies in order to heckle the dead.
(Fish Supremacists thought that anything that was not a cold-blooded aquatic vertebrate with two sets of paired fins and a body covered in scales was an inferior being. They had become a political movement around the time of the Great Transition, when some fish decided to leave the water for the land. There had been much talk of “quitters” and “degenerates” among the still-fish population, and the annual floods were seen as a settling of scores with the earthbound.)
Fish of Intolerance.
It was while extricating the soul of a well-known fisherman from a gang of rowdy carp that I heard a scream from above. I had, of course, heard many screams in my existence, and one grows used to their character, but this was different. Some screams are emphatic, challenging, precursors to a deadly action. Others are resigned, tired, bored, a by-rote shake of the fist at the characteristic remorselessness of the Universe. But this scream was delicate,
Despite being perpetually damp or drowned, the Sumerians managed to invent the stylus, a remarkable innovation that transformed not only learning but also warfare. For centuries anything that left a mark had traditionally been classed as a weapon, and for some time the pen wasn’t just mightier than the sword, it was the sword. When the Sumerians discovered that such instruments could be used not just for slaughter but for scholarship, it radically reshaped their culture (although the rehabilitation of the typewriter, which they had invented as a particularly gruesome bludgeoning weapon, would not take place for many thousands of years).
I noticed that the Sumerians were one of the first groups of humans to establish a firm belief in an afterlife. You would have thought that, considering the unremitting misery of their lives on Earth, they’d be sick and tired of Life in general, especially an afterlife. But they were gluttons for punishment, and with an imagination saturated by the dampness of their unfortunate situation, the Sumerians imagined a hereafter in which they would eat dust and clay in a dark room, forevermore. The idea of a happy afterlife, like the idea of a happy Life, was simply beyond their conception.
Ancient Sumerian Warriors Depicted with Large Battle Typewriter (left) , and Small War-Bottle of Correction Fluid (right)
And the gods they had! A bunch of second-rate minor elementals without a sliver of personality between them. There were gods of streams and rivers, of rivulets and creeks, of drizzle and humidity, all of whom were literally lining up to drown the Sumerians. At least these gods didn’t ask me for any favors and were moderately scrutable, unlike Him. For instance, when King Sargon was overthrown by the barbarians, everyone knew that the god Enlil had punished the land because Naram-Sin, a king of Sargon’s line, had sacked Nippur, plundered the Ekur, and humiliated Lugal-Zage-Si, such that when the Gutians invaded Akkad, Ur-Nammu was forced to seize power from Utukhegal. It was plain for all to see.
As far as I was concerned, complex motives were unimportant as long as any major massacres were noted in the Book of Endings with plenty of time for me to prepare. Yes, I thought I had it all figured out in Sumeria, all under control. Little did I know that in those moist lands my existence would be changed forever.
I remember the day well. How could I forget? The usual prognostications, fearful sacrifices, and portents of divine satisfaction had been swiftly followed by the customary great flood, and the temple priests, who had relocated themselves to high ground just in time, were questioning the quality of their prophetic entrails. The storm was still raging as I glided about the pale, bloated bodies that scattered the flooded plain like confetti. It was slow work as schools of Fish Supremacists crowded around the bodies in order to heckle the dead.
(Fish Supremacists thought that anything that was not a cold-blooded aquatic vertebrate with two sets of paired fins and a body covered in scales was an inferior being. They had become a political movement around the time of the Great Transition, when some fish decided to leave the water for the land. There had been much talk of “quitters” and “degenerates” among the still-fish population, and the annual floods were seen as a settling of scores with the earthbound.)
Fish of Intolerance.
It was while extricating the soul of a well-known fisherman from a gang of rowdy carp that I heard a scream from above. I had, of course, heard many screams in my existence, and one grows used to their character, but this was different. Some screams are emphatic, challenging, precursors to a deadly action. Others are resigned, tired, bored, a by-rote shake of the fist at the characteristic remorselessness of the Universe. But this scream was delicate,
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