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Isebute
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From The Land Isebute, by Ulea: Excerpts Concerning the Origin, Location, and Customs of the Land and Its Inhabitants

 

 

How To Reach The Land Isebute

In the midst of tangled, wintry roads, there is a country. Who built the country and when that country was built is now forgotten, but one thing has been remembered forever: it appeared owing to one’s imagination and since then it has never ceased to develop. The country was generated from a matter that has constantly produced new forms, and if you look at it from above you would get an impression of a living kaleidoscope . . .

. . . If you place yourself closer to the windowpane in which wintry ornaments gleam on nightly canvas you’ll distinguish numerous winding paths leading to the Land Isebute. But please, be patient! Don't ask which path will bring you faster to Isebute: the way itself matters, and in each case this way must be unique.

Isebute is a country that cannot be found on the regular map. So, if in a wintry night you examine your windowpane you may find on its surface a glossy road map that shows you the way to this country.  Only you know how many days and nights you’ve spent, searching for this map and blaming everybody for its disappearance . . .

The Geography . . . And Requirements For Citizenship

 

Another very strange thing about Isebute is that its visitors cannot agree on how it looks, and they give very conflicting descriptions of its landscape, architecture, and even climate. Thus, some of them state that Isebute is a mountainous area with harsh climate and gothic architecture—a perfect place for philosophers and poets. Others insist that this is a land of lakes with a landscape of plains and a nice, mild weather suitable for dreamers of all kinds. I, personally, heard that Isebute was located under a special sphere that was created to maintain an artificial climate and, thus, increase engineering creativity of its citizens.

However, if you really want to know about this country you must refer to poetry. Only in poetry can one find some traces of Isebute, but who takes poetry for a serious source of knowledge? Indeed, if you seek a detailed information about this country, you’d better find another source because poetry may only deliver you a message and the ability to accept it depends exclusively on you. If you only knew how many readers turned those pages—but nothing happened! They thoroughly read rhymes and words. But in vain! They didn’t get the message and they wondered if there was any . . .

. . . To become an Isebuter one must be born with certain qualities, not on a certain territory. One becomes an Isebuter only on condition that he possesses the Isebuter’s mentality. Only then he will learn successfully how to speak Isebutish and will be finally considered a native speaker. Otherwise, his heavy accent will give him away. No matter how far from this country you are, if you are born to be an Isebuter you will sooner or later become its citizen: your inner compass is pointed at this country and there is no chance that you’d miss it.

 

 

The Book Of Isebute

 

Have you ever read a book that was written exclusively for you and has been waiting for you for ages? Haven’t you? Oh, I see—you doubt that such a book exists. I know. Nevertheless, it does. Ask any Isebuter and he will point at the Bibute—the Book of Isebute, an ancient collection of thoughts written especially for you. Everybody knows this book, but nobody knows what’s in there for you because this is what only you should know. And if you don’t read it then the lives of generations are wasted . . .

. . . In its preface it states: "This book has been waiting for you for a long, long time. Generations have touched these pages before leaving for their eternal journey, but there has been always an anticipation of You. And now You have come, the Reader of the Bibute. Talk to me.”

 

From The Bibute

If you think that it is only your place that is capable of generating life, you are wrong. Life is life, and no one could tell you what life is not, because even a divine creature that is supposed to live forever cannot permeate the forbidden zone of non-existence. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be the non-existence. Thus, life is everywhere, and it is only a matter of one’s definition whether to call it life or something else. Everything starts with definitions. If they claim to be universal, they may one day fail, for one can always elaborate conditions in which general rules don’t work.