Hair and Let Tao

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Hair and Let
Tao_
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Hair and Let Tao

Only once did another author, a space turtle, win a
wordsprint against Hair. The space turtle had a pure competitive
spirit only found in Olympian mythology. His name was Let Tao.
This was his story.
The expatriate author Hair found the practice of writing
very easy, indeed. It flowed out of him. Words marked on the
page at a rate of over one hundred per minute. The pace was
constant. Every moment he was working at his profession, and the
words always came.
Many people of a lower caste in the surrounding region
competed with him, and lost in the end, as it were.
Let Tao jotted that down with his quill. His paws tingled.
As it were, good sir, he wrote with the Late English style
that established his career.
Hair and Let Tao
-------------------1
Hairs writing endurance was matched by Olympic athletes
(Nationals) that lived among him. He was also a National, yet
challenged the limits of the mind, instead of the body. The
expatriated American coined his Ukrainian neighbors as
Nationalist bodybuilders in his very first book, Living in
Style._
He penned many subtle facets of the Indo-European world
with his writing. The figures of speech and other clever tools
he used in order to write great works were unmatched. Not only
was Hair a very fast writer, but he was also a very good one.
Another man named Gerbershausen (self-titled album/novel -
secretarial fox) said this of the author, Hair: He is unmatched
in typing skill at 120 words per minute. The numbers of his
authorial influence reached the Planck limit. It was so
efficient. He is the man at the tip of your tongue, when you are
recalling any genius of the past. He has replaced them, and
outdone them. Forever, maybe.
But Gerbershausen is known for going on and on about things
forever.
Hair and Let Tao
Hair won all wordsprint tournaments, out-writing each
competitor with a word count that doubled or tripled the others.
Once, an author named Let Tao asked Hair about his victories.
How is it that you always win, if you constantly write,
and never take time to reflect on the true nature of our world,
much less ponder the mystery of existence? From where do the
words come to you? Instead of mindful words, these silly
sentences froth from you. They go to my eyes (and my brain), and
it hurts. What is the true nature of the self?
Do you have an answer? Let Tao stood in the crowd,
waiting.
Hair courtesied him with a quick glance and flowed down the
urban street to his next booth.

The novel excerpt has been removed._

Hair and Let Tao

-------------------2
Let Tao received a long response from the secretarial fox
who imitated Hairs style as closely as possible.

Memo from secretarial fox to Let Tao:_
Dear Let Tao,_
Hair was engaged during your meeting the other day._
The question you posed Hair with answer follows._
What is the true nature of (yourself)?
Hair is the man we have always looked for in writing. His
authorship has surpassed the quality and quantity of any other
writer. He is virtuoso._
The following is a summarisation of the plots of three of
Hairs books, with a forward analysis of the deep relevance to a
human condition._
. . .If you wish to compete with Hair, we offer a
wordsprint challenge tournament. Just two competitors._
The Nationalists will only allow such nonstandard
competitions because of the reputation of each author. You, Let
Tao, the author of Conversational Robots() would be of the right
calibre. Your books were loved by Hair, although they seemed
short and, quoted once, slow._
Hair and Let Tao

What is this? Slow? Let Tao said. He swished the coffee
between his teeth and swallowed. He was an English Tao, after
all, and tea was far too Eastern. I must read the memo once
more, in its entirety. He waited in the itchy brown cubicle.
All kinds of Ukrainian moguls were busy around him. Editors,
sociologists, and marketing experts that worked with Let Tao
left him alone.
But what human condition? said Let Tao to himself,
reading the memo again on the toilet seat in the cubicle. The
expatriate babbles on and uses (. . . an empty parenthetical
statement. . .) and nothing more.
After reading more, Let Tao smiled wisely, lacking molars,
and prepared his memo.
Memo from Let Tao to the secretarial fox:_
I accept. Here are the rules:_
1. (. . . )
These rules should not obstruct any normal writer. We must
schedule the wordsprint for July 19, 8:00 PM. The National
police will be there, I presume? I will invite a substandard
morality group based on their reluctance to reach outright
hysterics in the event of an uproar due to the victory of either
author. My other supporters will also be notified._
Hair and Let Tao
P.S. Hair and I will follow the rules, or the game is
forfeit.

The rules seemed mathematically fair to the secretarial
fox. She scheduled a contest between the two rival authors.


Hair and Let Tao
------------------- 3
The day came for Hair and Let Tao to compete.
Memo from secretarial fox to Hair:_
Let Taos Rules.
Rule number one: In the first line, you must use just five
syllables. Rule two: The second line must contain seven
syllables. Rule three: You must repeat rule number one and two
for the following lines, with a double line break every third
line._
Hair emailed the Nationalists immediately after reading Let
Taos rules. What is this, a haiku contest? The Nationalists
responded at lunch. His secretarial fox arranged for a team of
editors to comfort Hair.
The rules shouldnt be a problem, right? she said. The
editors nodded eagerly at Hair. Instead of writing a silly
haiku (its beneath you, sir), just divide your lines up by
counting syllables. A piece of cake for Hair.
She saluted in the Nationalist way, which caused a
begrudged snivel from Hair.
Later in the morning, Hair approached the booth of Let Tao
(across the Airstrip), and knocked gently on the particle board.
Mr. Tao? His coffee cup jingled against his metal vanity ring.
Hair and Let Tao
The other author noisily rearranged his papers and opened
the small door into the booth. The cubicle was about the size of
a small bathroom. What do you want, Hair? His ears were
plugged with toilet paper.
Deep in the bunker, everyone heard everything--except Let
Tao who never listened. It was the way of the competitive Tao.
The rules, my friend. What are they for?
You can write fast, but can you write poetry?
Hair felt sick.

Hair and Let Tao
-------------------4
Genuinely offended, Hair decided not to respond in person,
and memoed his secretarial fox instead.
Memo from Hair to secretarial fox:_
He is unprofessional. Why have you agreed for me to compete
with him in a wordsprint?_
He calmed himself finally with iced coffee.
I mustnt worry myself with the rules, he thought. He sat
on the white porch deck with his coffee. Sit among champions,
Hair, and revel in the feeling of wind, today.
After a few gusts, a pun reminiscient of the works of
Gerbershausen entered his mind. Hair thought highly of
Gerbershausen.
Yet puns are the lowest form of humor.
Who speaks? said Hair, with a surprised snorkeling of his
coffee.
Was that Let Tao in my mind?
Let Tao is not my name, and neither is your name Hair.
A psychic communique between Hair and a being of unknown
origins (apparently from the mind of Let Tao) started.
Hair and Let Tao
I am having trouble understanding your thoughts, if this
is Let Tao. What is your name?
I am Lao Tawa or the being, Let Down. Now that you know my
name, we can communiate fruitfully.
Hair thought of one question for the asended being.
How will this contest end?
With you and me asses, friend.

Hair and Let Tao

-------------------5
The contest began the next morning. Hair was planning the
part of his day after_ the competition. He thought the
wordsprint would be a nuisance.
Let Tao entered his monitored particle board cubicle inside
his bunker. He called Hairs secretarial fox on the phone to
announce his willingness to participate.
Hair reached for his pen jar and sneezed.
The wordsprint officially began at 8:00 PM. Hair, inside
his own video recorded office, grumbled at the stupidity of the
rules.
He wrote fast. Very fast. When he reported his first
milestone (700 words), Let Tao was far behind (at 245 words).
Yet, the game went on for just ten minutes before the
expatriate began to sweat.
He realized he wasnt writing real haikus. He merely
counted his syllables and created a new double-line after every
instance of 5-7-5 syllables. Doubt entered him for one over two
seconds. He waited for a long time and began to panic. He knew
the feeling. It was called writers block.
Hair and Let Tao
He tried to push the words out of himself. Random words,
letters, punctuation marks; it was all nonsense. He needed to
start over.
Why this, now? he thought.
The words came slower to him on the second time. He was
terrible at the form of haiku poetry. He realized how
nonsensical it was to even write a haiku.
Twenty minutes into the sprint, Hair had only 31 words
written.
Memo from Hair to Self:_
expatriation is
one word. two words. or three words?
First, second, third place._

Another memo from secretarial fox to Hair:_
Let down and hanging
around is the radio
head song I wrote you._

Let Tao, the master poet, wrote his 48th line:
Slow and steady wins the race._ Seven syllables.
The haiku is form._ Five.
Hair and Let Tao
Tell me you want to give up._ Seven.
It could work wonders._ Five.
He continued this way at a rapid pace for the remainder of
the wordsprint. Hair was merely editing his previous lines into
haikus.
The victor emerged after a total of thirty minutes writing.

Hair and Let Tao

-------------------6
Let Tao counted his own word speed at around 90 words per
minute. Let Taos final stanza has been remarked as a genius
example of haiku poetry like the lines of Fatchu Wainco, the Zen
poet.
Pause is part of life_
If war means to write faster,
You must pause, press peace.
-Let Tao_
The expatriate became a Ukrainian Nationalist. He continued
to communicate fruitfully with the being Lao Tawa, or Let Down.
Let Tao, after visiting Italy, France, and space, returned
to his cubicle shell. A double thumbs up came from his
secretarial toilet seat; ie, he left it standing up. It was not
the expatriate or the Nationalistic way, but it worked.