Seth leaves an accounting position in New Zealand to pursue the arts. He meets with a group of artists who are big on ambition and low on earnings. Seth is aked, can he imagine a world without money and he says, yes he can. Yes, he can see it happening...
They move to Europe. Seth is the last to arrive in Limburg, a place on the border of Belgium and the Netherlands, a place that in history at least was neither Belgium nor Holland – a place apart. He has no money and doesn't know what happened to it. He meets fellow artists who do not recognise him, and they claim to know nothing about money. What is money...
It is all a joke, Seth thinks, And the joke is on me; I supplied the money to get us here.
Remember Yenom is about memory and the timeless nature of things through the eyes of an artist. Seth sees it is his dream world; but it is not a dream, so where is he.
Notice of publication will be given on this site and on Face Book.
7 August, 2017. Yenom is under revision from final edit. The two chapters below will be much the same. Hope to be publishing soon.
by Neil Felton
Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world.
Arthur Frizzle fondly rolled his Parker Pen between his fingers, then put it to bed in its leather case. Quality. He loved quality. He closed the Parker Pen Case with the same care and satisfaction as he would closing his Bentley Car Door – the one he dreamed of owning. A knock at his office door brought him back to business.
“Enter. Take a seat. What is it, Seth?”
“I've decided to give notice. ”
It wasn't altogether a surprise to Arthur - something about Seth - he didn't really belong. He was number one at his job, and no doubt turn his mind to anything he wanted. That was it though, he was a bit of a drifter. His marriage had broken up. That probably didn't help. Still young, late twenties with a promising career.
“What has brought this on, Seth?”
“Nothing in particular. I Need a change.”
“Have you found something else?”
“Maybe you need a break. Once year end is over, you can take an extended holiday.”
“I'm leaving - not coming back.”
They both sat there looking at one another.
“Nothing personal,” Seth shrugged.
“What are you going to do? What are you going to do for money?”
“Nothing. I'm going to do nothing except write, paint, whatever comes up.”
Arthur smiled, “You been smoking that funny stuff?”
“But you have been painting, and you have your acting. Why leave?”
“To give myself more time. I need to stop. I'm going crazy here, pushing paper."
“What have I missed. You signed up a big deal somewhere? Going global, are we?”
“You are taking the Micky.”
“Well, what are you going to do for money?”
Seth shrugged, “I have enough for a year. That's a start.”
“I thought you had a good start here.” Arthur swung fifteen degrees in his leather, swivel chair, to gaze out the window. “Leave me in a bit of a hole, Seth.” He was looking at a solitary patch of grass in the middle of the car park, reminding him of the promise he'd made himself to spend some time on the golf course. He turned back to Seth. “What about this conference you are booked into, it's about the future, you reckon. Why don't you wait till you have been to that, then make your decision about what you want to do.”
One long week later, Seth donned his jacket and walked out of his office. He pushed open the swing doors and made directly for his car. I know what I want to do, he screamed inwardly. Why did I say yes to this conference thing. Financial Systems Development, they are calling it. Forms, more dotted lines to fill in. Accounting. Accounting for what – for whomever. Well, for whomever can take a big jump.
It's you who is taking the big jump, Seth.
And not before time.
He stepped down into his car and drove off. A huge grin crept across his face. I'm leaving, leaving, leaving! he sang. Formal resignation already printed, ready to hand to Arthur, the waiting was over. Bit of light entertainment and it's as good as done.
Number 40, The Drive.
He stepped from the foyer into a theatre. From behind the back row he looked down at a screen with shadowy figures moving over it. There were the usual curtains bordering it. A theatre it was, in deed, the last thing he had expected. The seats were arranged in a semi circle, open end to the front. Moving down an aisle he recognised his own silhouette on the screen.
Most people were seated now. The lights dimmed and the screen lit up, revealing the lot of them. There they all were, large as life, looking back; looking at them looking at themselves. The audience, the actors.
From his seat he studied his own image, gave a wee wave to check that it was live. Sure enough, it waved back. He turned to the real people about him, to share a chuckle and a wink. The buzz about the place was growing, laughter breaking out here and there as people adjusted to the new ambiance.
Ding, ding, ding...
“May I have your attention ladies and gentlemen.”
It was a woman with a red hat sitting plumb centre of the arc. Everyone looked up to see her on screen, where the voice came from.
“This is one of many regional debates that will culminate in our December World Conference at the Hague. As your chairperson, I will not join the debate and will only call for order on points of procedure and relevance.
“Our agenda is to explore ways of improving Financial Systems, domestic and global... unrecoverable debts are now at an alarming level, globally, country to country, right the way down to small business and the family. We are here, as you can see, to take a good look at ourselves and the part we can play in encouraging a more open and equitable means of financing.
“...how can financial regulators help,” her preamble continued...
Seth was observing the characters on screen, a couple he recognised. It didn't go well for any chance of light entertainment. The red hatted chairperson was now wandering off into some sort of history lesson.
“According to Websters Dictionary, the early meaning of finance was a fine or forfeit, or to end or settle up. If only it were so simple...
“...Perhaps we need to start with a new definition of finance...
“It is up to you,” she finally declared.
Free market versus a more regulated one was the major topic...
Higher minimum wages to promote spending and more production. Unions and monopolies were hotly debated. And back to politics, always back to politics...
What was it all about. The longer the debate went on the more confusing the issues appeared... “pyramid selling of indebtedness,” was a term used that would stick with Seth, as much as any of it would stick. He wanted to be unstuck from it all. He was on his feet, about to leave when someone in the back row, also on their feet, yelled out, “Money! We don't need money at all!”
“We? Whose we?” a drinker's nose between powerful glasses challenged.
Seth looked from one to the other and slipped back into his seat.
“Everyone. No one will need money when we've done away with it. The revolution has begun.”
“Ohhww, we have a radical in our midst.”
The nose. “Radical? Impossible, I'd call it. Money is what makes the world go round.”
“Sent it hurtling into an abyss, more like it. Time has come to leave it and move on.”
“So, we are all going on holiday are we, and living on fresh air,” the nose chuckled.
“Don't need money, don't need work. There is a new language,” another in the back row parried, “such words are already redundant. We do what we need to do, and we do not need money to prompt us into action.”
“Ridiculous. There will always be money. Who will work for nothing?”
“Most people work, create, play, do what they do, because they want to, because they are inspired to.”
“Artists are inspired. I doubt the man cleaning the road is inspired to do so.”
“Man or woman – whomever – will do what they want to do when there is no money.”
“And who is going to clean the roads. Who is going to want to do that for nothing?”
“Not you, Sir, it seems,” the original protagonist was on his feet again, smiling at his neighbouring supporters. “I'm sure someone will find it worth while. Of course, someone like you or I, unemployed, from the financial sector, could find it a rewarding challenge to create a road cleaning robot.”
“Rewarding? In a system where there is no money. Are we on the same planet?”
The noise level was rising, shuffling of chairs, interruptions, and the red hat was up again. “Order, order. Let us stick to the concept of changing or replacing present financial systems, accepting that money will be with us for sometime yet – beyond our tenure. Thank you.”
That put a dampener on things. Seth was leaving the building, and spotted the young “radical” – young relative to most there, as indeed was he.
On a closer look, he recognised him from some years back. I'm sure it's him. Pete. Inside as much as he was outside, he reckoned, dodging the police – a wanted man. A jewellery thief, that was his favourite game. He was a damned good snooker player. And an artist. Plenty of time inside, he reckoned, to sharpen up your game, to create. It was a home for him – his other home. There was the family home and there was the inmates home of practice and solitude. Peace was more likely in the latter. The family home was often under surveillance. I Went there once. He showed me the gun he kept. I'll shoot one of them, he told me straight.
Well, I'll be! Pete. Connections in high places, he told me once.
Just two (1 and 3) of twenty seven chapters. If you would like to read more, please email me. See menu, Contact.