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Labelling matters, I tell you. Some people may call me a thief, but I call myself a liberator. Some call me a grave-robber. I call myself an archaeologist.
I've been stealing from the dead for fourteen years. Sixteen, if you include the summer courses during my undergrad studies, but all I liberated then were potsherds. I don't know what made me continue. Potsherds are uninteresting, no matter how you look at them--jigsaw pieces which fit together to make crazyquilt jugs and bowls and pots. But no one, aside from a few art historians really give two figs about potsherds.
If you want to be an effective archaeologist, you have to keep focused. It's all about the big discovery. I wanted to be a Heinrich Schliemann, plowing indiscriminately through layers of dirt and potsherds and city to find the mother lode of history. Maybe I'd find Atlantis, or the lost civilization of tropical ancient Antarctica. Or maybe, like Indiana Jones, I'd fight with Nazis over proper ownership and distribution of some ancient artefact of enormous religious impact. It's about time someone found Aaron's rod or the Holy Grail.
And I suppose that's what's kept me going. I keep hoping I'll be the one to make the monumental discovery, but unless the discovery is yet to be found in the countless potsherds I've swept, then I don't think I've succeeded. Yet.
Tonight's expedition takes place in a little graveyard outside a minster in England. Yes, it's to be done at night. And no, I'm not telling you where. It's bad enough that I'm doing my digging under cover of night without the judgemental likes of you impeding on my progress.
I won't even be taking my grad students with me on this dig. They don't agree with my methodology, and I've had bad experiences in the past with idealistic do-gooders turning informant. Did you know I could have my tenure revoked? Yet another reason for me not to tell you where I'm going. You might inform the clergy, and that's far beyond red tape.
I'm not finding potsherds tonight. I'm finding something of such enormity that I cannot share it with the world. The world is not ready for this. It's why it was hidden amongst ancient bishop bones in the first place.
Only I am ready for this. The world is on the cusp of an enormous change, and you won't even notice. Heinrich Schliemann and Indiana Jones are going to be small potatos after tonight. And now, if you will excuse me, I must gather my tools.
I've been stealing from the dead for fourteen years. Sixteen, if you include the summer courses during my undergrad studies, but all I liberated then were potsherds. I don't know what made me continue. Potsherds are uninteresting, no matter how you look at them--jigsaw pieces which fit together to make crazyquilt jugs and bowls and pots. But no one, aside from a few art historians really give two figs about potsherds.
If you want to be an effective archaeologist, you have to keep focused. It's all about the big discovery. I wanted to be a Heinrich Schliemann, plowing indiscriminately through layers of dirt and potsherds and city to find the mother lode of history. Maybe I'd find Atlantis, or the lost civilization of tropical ancient Antarctica. Or maybe, like Indiana Jones, I'd fight with Nazis over proper ownership and distribution of some ancient artefact of enormous religious impact. It's about time someone found Aaron's rod or the Holy Grail.
And I suppose that's what's kept me going. I keep hoping I'll be the one to make the monumental discovery, but unless the discovery is yet to be found in the countless potsherds I've swept, then I don't think I've succeeded. Yet.
Tonight's expedition takes place in a little graveyard outside a minster in England. Yes, it's to be done at night. And no, I'm not telling you where. It's bad enough that I'm doing my digging under cover of night without the judgemental likes of you impeding on my progress.
I won't even be taking my grad students with me on this dig. They don't agree with my methodology, and I've had bad experiences in the past with idealistic do-gooders turning informant. Did you know I could have my tenure revoked? Yet another reason for me not to tell you where I'm going. You might inform the clergy, and that's far beyond red tape.
I'm not finding potsherds tonight. I'm finding something of such enormity that I cannot share it with the world. The world is not ready for this. It's why it was hidden amongst ancient bishop bones in the first place.
Only I am ready for this. The world is on the cusp of an enormous change, and you won't even notice. Heinrich Schliemann and Indiana Jones are going to be small potatos after tonight. And now, if you will excuse me, I must gather my tools.
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no subject
Date: 2006-05-09 04:31 pm (UTC)From:-hug-
no subject
Date: 2006-05-09 04:37 pm (UTC)From:Indiana Jones? *rolls eyes*
Date: 2006-05-09 06:08 pm (UTC)From:Re: Indiana Jones? *rolls eyes*
Date: 2006-05-09 06:38 pm (UTC)From:Or woman.
I didn't consider the gender....
no subject
Date: 2006-05-09 06:40 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2006-05-09 06:43 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2006-05-09 10:20 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2006-05-09 07:06 pm (UTC)From:I call myself the average Joe who wants my genetically altered children to have the empire I never had.
Is that wrong?
no subject
Date: 2006-05-10 07:49 am (UTC)From:good stuff
Date: 2006-05-10 12:03 pm (UTC)From:Re: good stuff
Date: 2006-05-10 01:47 pm (UTC)From:Re: good stuff
Date: 2006-05-10 09:39 pm (UTC)From: (Anonymous)no subject
Date: 2006-05-10 03:48 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2006-05-10 04:52 pm (UTC)From: