2002-05-10 - 10:30 a.m.

...but I have much to do. I am at fault. These constant mental calisthenics that I would seek to force upon myself - so unnecessary, so ultimately misleading, unfulfilling....this empty glamour that I apply to myself like some ancient dauphin, reborn to suffer. Away with thee!

I am gaunt like the worst of those incorrigible servants. A servant I am - to my desires. I am bowed, ruffled, my every step is as misconceived as Judas thought himself before his neck snapped.

I know better than this. I could snatch at momentum. I would. But it is all too illusory. A matter of minutes before I slouch back again. I cover my eyes. See no evil. I cover my ears. Hear no evil. But I still divulge myself to myself - I still spy all of the waste. I am wasting time, wasting life, and the bill that constitutes my future indemnity paid for time misspent grows apace.

I spruce up momentarily to edit theses, compose speeches, and dream of a world in which one can admire the man, a man, and his convictions. I am one for idolatry, be the idol a Bhaal or a bumpkin, but the worship is momentary and unfortunate - serpentine. Not straight. Attraction is fatal in politics, if not in life. And a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds.

I want to dream of another life. Of other people. Of falling into arms. But how soon involvement becomes vulgar. The better angel of my nature yearns for solitude again. Who can make me forget?

Nancy, Helena, Sonia, Celine, Jane, Patricia...who will be the next? It is representative of my state that I think of the future and giggle.

How is that for simplisme?

troilus

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