Archaeology By Jim Meirose (In two parts)

Archaeology (part 1)

Today, inderunderessnes ‘re scantifying to t’ ‘oit of being nearly fatal over all o’ those went that those these ways e’coptering under that trestle bridge over there. Okay, Phyllis? Prune. I time with most small boys’ and girls’ undercuriousnesses, their lesser maybe, if found deepl’ embedded in some strata later excavated down to in search of precious hipbreather’s mineralstuffs’s and other necessary foods, may be found to turn into some profound and precious previous population of these hereses and nowses, artifacts. Prune prune. Then the police will windround it in yellow tape at the call of the museum-men as a great discover, which now in the past tense one hundredth of an instant or some lesser number of seconds, a histori a istorical an orically not to be tampered down into—and yes, dear Phineas, that means you! No ‘splosions can be permitted to enswath the terrain wit’ their dusts, or grey matters, and not even if life and death is at stake for some farmers due to the need for scarce resources, they cannot, must not, no never can they be touched, disturbed, moved around, rearranged, or otherwise rendered false ‘n empty of their initially see’ spotted and staked down meaningfulness, and ability to show the truth of some past. Which has nothing to do with any-henna’s near-term survival. Hip.



What is the holdup of our necessities out there?

There’s a tow’ ‘uare ‘ut ‘e.

What? Speak slow and loudly. This connection stinks.

There’s t’ ‘n square out there. Old one, that.

What? T-square? That’s for—that’s for that old-school mechanistical drawling they used to do, like—wit’ projotractors and compressactresses and all like that and that. Know?

No! Town square!

Huh? It’s all woods there and where it’s not woods it’s barren and when their really not completely either, there’s both! I don’t kn’.

No. Under the ground there. It used to be a town square, but.

No, I don’t get it, so what it used to be this or that? So what? Everyplace in the whole world by now must have used to be something else, and—you don’t see the whole world told stop so we can know what used to be, eck. Tip, what used to be most times is—totally unimportant, ‘n of no value.

This one is. And that’s why.

How do you know that when you need to dig it up to know if that’s true or not?


How do you know that when you have to dig it up to know if that’s true or not?

Because of where it is.

What ‘bout where it is?

The lay of it. The lay and the lie of it and the big archaelonglielle professors we always have along to guide us saying, there, they lay and the lie and the roll of it rolls me to sa’ ‘yin’ ‘g th’ ‘s ‘re we shou’ dig down. Ho, so let’s ca’ ‘p ‘ere, hold! The wind is too strong, over. You break up like some alumininium word factory’s all, vibratationally fallin’ down. So, say, what?

I said rolls me to saying this; I’ wh’ w’ ‘oul’ ‘ig ‘wn.

Okay, shut up, I think I got the point. Prune; if I got it no further prescience-ision is not needed. No no. No. No no no. Prune; gik.

Prune. Prune. But how about this thriving village we’re centered within-which? There’s there can ‘t not no being no not being a archjangely dig right ‘ere—but why?

Because people live here an’ ‘d make livings here.

The people living here and making livings here are temporary.

I think they will not feel they’re so temporary. Prune. They.

Money, get money from the university. We can pay them off to relocate.

So—cinsta’ this their eldermen’ne met us and we had discussion for some few years which in the mood of the greater quest for knowledge of man was insta-grammificant, and we said and they backed o’ and one more time I said to the waiting pack of archaeological professorships, They say that you must dig only in free ground—prune—not under any existing structure, or under any existing thoroughfares, but—do not choose any free ground which may ever be needed to be passable by the reasonable man’s passible land vehicle to convey any and all types of matter required to be conveyed from point to point to facilitate the economic stability of the region.


The mass of professors writhed secretly within themselves, prune, fo’ several or more days, before turning their open side our way and began speaking in intelligible streams o’, e’ rd’ o’ bull’, we can ide the les wh ill hap f some s disco ding u o se it gin y follo a ail, wh l m l us to and ove the bord of some I’m sorry hold it existi structu or thoroug we can’t get what you are trying to say, or piece of free ground, which someday may be, so please stop and start from the beginning, but, needed to be passable by any reasonabl’y man’s passible land but but it—prune! It looks like there’s no time so hey what vehicle to convey any and all types of hey what can we do based on matter required to be conveyed from point to the original statement tha’ the villagers

made point hey to facilitate the economic stability so we can at least say to the masters of the region that hey yah we did do some digging prune we did not waste this whole entire decade or less prune just looking and looking but in the process not getting no kind of archaeological work done at all; so. Books.


So. Prune; once unbagged, the professors led the way from their confusion into the clear and, after some months of reading and intense study, smoothed by liberal applications of Eterna-Rub, ‘tween the letter of the words within the reading we, and they identified a ten foot square test lot, to dunce ourselves ‘oof ‘ve, shoveling out and down into, and as usual took the first step of magic markering it out, until here came several numbers-matched duodenal tribesmen dressed in bright plaids, looking ‘nd feeling so lavishly overdressed ‘round their others, that they splintered off, and, like the blood-dried pups they resembled, they did, ran up against us, pointing to the deftly sliced small single-shoveled hole which had not yet multiplied into enough samenesses of itself to yield any type of discovery at all, let alone anything significant—prune! And they wagged all four fingers toward the hole, then in our faces several dozen times, before saying, That spot and any like it you need to lay off from as we know that sometime in it’s future it will be the site of one of the following; 1, an actual dwelling, or, 2. a building, while not an actual dwelling, still to be used to store material goods, but—the lack of stored items at any point in time, is not to be construed as it not being an actual dwelling, which still will be used to store material goods, or, 3. An empty lot, which, though it may seem to be just another empty lot, but will in the future become the site of a number 1., or a number 2., item. Prune; as described previously so, prune; hence, it follows naturally that, you may not dig here, but—in our grace we can tell you what there lies under so you may study these, virtually.


No but! First there’s masses of unhinged bombshell factsheets, spiral-bound, down there. By the way you can lay out the autopsy instrument set now, but no rush.


Then, there’s the usual garden-variety o’ old crockery much like your college said you retrieved from your last dig, like, y’know, th’ artifacts ye found in old big Billy’s dog’s belly. Lay those out also. They may be needed, depending.

Eh? Oh.

Yah, et cetera; then—as this professorial hencidorian ecksplanarationne would ‘bviously continue, the archeologists ducked under beginning a wild random dig, using freshly sharp instruments, aimed at stripping an average three shovelfulls of earth each for every two words shouted out over them, on average; such words as, There’s dozens of analdictation samplers in original packaging under there—eck, prune, so; given there were fifty archaeologists digging in under this major professorienne shoutflow, they ducked under, and in spite of it all excavated in their total onlies such prizes as several or maybe just one big meth-boil’r type arced wide-style characterization templates, each only used once or twice. Prune; by the look of it—a grand find for any expedition, large or small—it ‘came apparent t’ the top princes of leadership that they’d likely need to remove nineteen thousand three hundred and fifty spadesful of earth to totally exploit this larger than expected most precious deposit—they cried, Huzzah! upon unearthing a European style overloaded bale wagon—the first intact example in this century—the magnitude of it all blocked out to nothing the core of the professor’s elongated bleats of protest, screaming o’er inches up ’bove them—prune; they beheld cases of bottled ice-air right beside three dozen or more dry clean only individually wrapped formally flowered-over dancing-day zip-on cloaks

which, prune; when carefully suctioned away, revealed further riches—dead drip’d instructional magazine fifteen or less first editions; high capacity pump-pedaled sewing devices; several Bob’bb-b-faces equipped with the heretofore only rumored of optional groovy-slabbed maple workbeds properly installed, to boot; prune; Momma Mia, they cried, as a pork batter mix flat-packing assembly instructional booklet appeared in the next layer o’ viscera down, but—they noted they had reached the dig-depth where the artifacts found become generally colder and harder to cleave than the shallower organs which most lately’d been ‘live. Fresh new scalpel sets were brought down from the medical storeroom, when it was clear the pathologeermen would soon be on overtime, since the court had just ruled the cause of death must be found quickly. These finding-frenzies are…

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