Everything I say sounds ironic these days. Like I am writing an biography of myself, but it is also satire. I am afraid I am not a good subject for a biography, I rather wish for this rather ruthless biographer to give up her project and leave me be. But as it happens, she is highly educated, and the burden of education is not to be endured in tranquillity. Education validates cruelty, in my opinion. And cruelty is always borne down upon the weak by the unfortunate. On the Beauty by the Beast. But as a wise man once asked, what happens when the Beast is within the Beauty?
Well, nothing happens, no matter what the wise men’s fables tell. There is no expurgating fire to suit revenge plots. There are no explosion, there is no chaos. No death sentences or suicides (not yet). What an anticlimax. This biographer is rather a disappointment, after all.
The wise man won’t tell you of this, but he knows, being wise. Suffering is an art, and it is best expressed in silence.
YOU ARE READING
Arcadia
PoetrySpilled thoughts, letters from no one, stories of another time, another place. - || H.R. : #50 in Poetry ||
