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Home > Author > Dang G Gustafson
Dang G Gustafson

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Member Since: Mar, 2008

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  Dang G Gustafson

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Guided by the lights of the Universe, channeling those lights into creativity, I deliver unto you, specialness.

Background Information


Created to bring brilliance to the world, I offer this as explanation of who I am:


Rogfogo Letter 

I recently began picking up rocks and breaking them open to read the insides.  I know nothing about Rogfogo other than what I have read and heard in various places.  I don’t know much else about it.  Some people who live near me and have seen me looking at rocks keep asking me why?  I just tell them that they’re pretty, but that isn’t the truth.  Oh, some of them are pretty, all right, but that isn’t why I’m looking.  I’m looking for truth in the rocks.  Igneous and metamorphic rocks are fascinating to read, but they are more like broadsides.  I have come to believe that sedimentary rocks are like books; each thin layer is a page.  Some are not books, they are just rocks, but some are books and I have tried to translate and transliterate these “books” into intelligible English.  These “books” come from a series of rocks near my home town.  I call these rocks “Shaverite”

Though science knows them as sandstone, as I understand it.

The process has been time consuming, and very difficult.  I have had to try to translate from a language I know nothing about, using an alphabet I know very little about.  The most useful tool I have is Richard Shaver’s own Mantong Alphabet.  But even it is of little use when faced with rock pictographs which have absolutely no meaning in our world culture.

I have had to try to piece together and mix and match to create the story.  I do not know that it is even close to the story that might have been told so many thousands of years ago by the strange ante-dilluvian creatures which then roamed the Earth.  

The story as I have constructed makes a little sense.  Rather than comforting me it makes me suspicious.  Why ought their stories make sense to us who cannot fathom their world?  Ought not their stories seem totally alien to us?  I don’ t know, this might all be a matter of fooling myself.  Perhaps, I have made mistake after mistake, until this bears as much resemblance to what happened so long ago as H. Rider Haggard’s stories. 

As I translated there were wide gaps where I had no idea of the meaning of the “word” which seemed to be in that space in the rogfogo original.  In those cases I have substituted my own words in order to make sense of the sentences.  No doubt, I have made mistakes.  No, certainly, I have made mistakes and very likely, I have made mistakes in each case.  Did, for example, they even think in sentences? When I have added my own words, I have put those words in brackets, so that the reader might understand how my translation is likely misleading.  I hope over time to re-work this translation and attempt to decipher the images I have seen. 

This translation is very short, and thankfully so.  It took me over three years working whenever I had time to come up with what I have. 

My biggest concern is that over the last year I have noticed someone outside my home a lot of the time.  It seems he is always there if I am working on the rogfogo.  I have gone out into the yard, perhaps foolishly, to confront him, yet when I get there, he is always gone.  I have no idea what is going on, but I have my suspicions.  I worry that my work has been discovered by persons or creatures who do not wish my project success.  If it is not them out there, then who? 

I am taking this step – putting out what I have transcribed – in hopes that they will realize that this information does not reside only with me, and that silencing me will not stop the study of rogfogo. 

[Furdling hunts Edgast]

Furdling stood across the [wide valley,] there beneath the tall [snow-capped] mountains from his prey[:]  Edgast.

[She saw him] and descended [into the river] and floated to Furdling.  You have offended the rites.  You have [desecrated] the dreams.  [How say you] to the bush of death or the mountain of Tah?

[Before them rose the] Sun of Creation, bright red in anger.  [Cascades] of fire dropped in ever ascending flame.  Furdling [cowered before the heat] and bathed himself in the cool water. 

Split open the ground with great cracks swallowing the lowing [cows,] cried Furdling. 

This is as far as I have gotten.  It appears to be a myth.  At least I hope it is a myth.  Myths often lead to the soul of a civilization, and my desire is that this will lead to an understanding of the creatures who have vanished into the bowels of the Earth. 

I hope you find this of some use.

Birth Place
Gruntengen,  Sweden

Rogfogo Award

Good Fiction Prize
Better Fiction Prize

Additional Information

I recently ate a whole pie at one sitting.

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