Temple of Memorial

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Temple of Memorial
temple_of_memorial.jpg
Flag of Temple of Memorial
Motto: Extemporaneously luminiferous
Not terribly available
Region Neither here nor there, nor anywhere
Capital Not terribly relevant
Official Language(s) English
Leader The Insane Diarist
Population 1
Currency Memories 
NS Sunset XML

All of the following information consists of excerpts copied (with permission) from the diary maintained by the Temple's sole occupant. Everything is verifiably true as stated except for the parts that are not.

The Temple of Memorial

You have, of course, found the NS wikipedia page dedicated to the life and times of the location known as the Temple of Memorial - that oh so worn and crumbling edifice of some lost, unknown, unnamed civilization that is now claimed and occupied by no less a personage than myself: the Insane Diarist, its one and only true citizen, regardless of what all those mindless statistics may say about ridiculous millions and billions of ridiclously nonexistent entities coexisting here with me; although it doesn't help me to sleep terribly well at night to suppose I might one day discover myself to be wrong about that. And now, a second sentence.

And now, a second paragraph. Naturally you did not come here to learn more about me, but to learn some semblance of background resembling a somewhat natural history of the unnatural creation known as the Temple of Memorial, and so I shall provide, to the extent that my regretfully limited knowledge extends.

The Temple of Memorial was born into being from the sands of desolation and abandonment once known as the Temple of Exchange. That one temple might be born from another is a rather bizaare thought I cannot pause to explore at this time; I will happily leave such conjecturing for some other worthy, enterprising journalist to contemplate. Nonetheless, the fact remains. The Temple was not long for this Temple, and soon the Temple (of Memorial, that is) settled to rest within its new life, as the pre-eminent architectural masterpiece at the precise centre of that austere and utterly desolate region known by no less auspicious a name than The Goddamn Middle of Nowhere.

The rest, as they say, is history. In the beginning, there was a talking bush. Then, there was a pizza oven. Then, there were various and sundry imaginative figments sent to keep me company: a dragonic woman, several silent shrimp, a ship of gold and silk, waters with remarkable restorative properties, ninjas with a propensity for flying small planes in a most reckless manner, a most supreme rabbit (may I add here that I am an honourary rabbit hugger of the highest degree?), and various other worthies.

But then: there was the frightening economy beast, the traitorous sapling, and soon The Goddamn Middle of Nowhere was literally nowhere to be found. But - all was not lost. Oh, how annoyingly inaccurate. Several things were indeed lost. Regretful, regretful. What I meant of course was, not all was lost.

The Temple of Memorial presently resides somewhere in particular, although this is subject to change. Its entrance hall has been converted to a dance floor with marvelous acoustics for the benefit of my new friends, and I can be found frequently carousing with these decidedly non-imaginary neighbours either there or on the surrounding grounds. Do mind the shrubbery; it becomes terribly itchy when you lean upon it.

The Insane Diarist

To characterize myself as 'insane' would of course be foolhardy in the extreme, were it a true assessment of my mental state. It is not, in fact true. My record will show that I cannot abide insanity in any of its forms in any region I occupy. Rather, the 'insane' moniker is simply a means by which to ensure my utter and complete privacy within the confines of the Temple of Memorial.

This has worked exceedingly, whereby 'exceedingly' indicates 'entirely too well'. Consequently I find myself engaged in lively debate with my diary on frequent occasions as my only means to pass the time, other than similar engagement with various figments of my imagination. These figments typically resist the notion they are such, so I am normally quite careful to assure them they are anything but. The diary however knows full well that it is a diary, and has assured me on multiple occasions that it takes no offence in being addressed as such.

One other note pertaining (somewhat) to myself: please disregard the utterly meaningless population statistic associated with the Temple. There is one and only one occupant, discounting the Beast (which I strive to discount as frequently as possible), and that occupant is myself. I can only imagine the statistic referring to the rodents dispatched thus far by the Beast (see below).

Despite my recalcitrant nature and general desire to be left to my own devices, you are more than welcome to seek out the Temple for a visit. I tend to serve tea and muffins. If there is another beverage or food selection you would prefer, please pack accordingly. In point of fact, I wouldn't mind the company.

The Frightening Economy Beast

There is one other living being occupying the Temple that (barely) bears mention. I am referring to the Frightening Economy Beast, which I am loathe to report was by no means put off by my well advertised insanity. To the contrary, in taking up residence within the lower regions of the Temple it displayed no hesitation whatsoever, and has been here ever since. This would not be entirely a bad thing (it is very good at dispatching rodents), were it not for a tendency to emerge and go wandering about the Temple gounds at night. Since I first discovered this disagreeable habit during a rather disagreeable encounter, I have taken to adopting the roof of the Temple as my sleeping area. This has proven pleasant enough most of the time, but on the few occasions when whichever desolate region the Temple happens to occupy is met with inclement weather, it can be most unpleasant indeed.

Ballad of the Frightening Economy Beast

Unfortunately I have written the following piece for a quartet, which renders me entirely unable to sing it for you, or for you and I to perform it alone together, so I fear you must make due with a mere line reading:

There once, or twice, was a beast
frightening, in truth, to behold.
It lived away in the east,
somewhere suitably dark and cold.
It was drawn by strong economy
(i.e. drawn as in attracted),
so it rose from its ignominy
and the former role that it had acted;
It travelled west for days
in search of a comfy spectorial
and found, by sunset's rays
my dear Temple of Memorial.
Into the depths it moved
all of its worst belongings
and before too long it proved
that it was not done with longings.
For deep at night it rises
To seek out the unwary
(no matter what their size is)
so I don't suggest you tarry
But before you go, here's tea
and please after, send some others.
My social life, you see
with this beast here plainly suffers.