doom and gloom and dirges.

it’s easy to see why some like their opiates served up in church (naive), others get obsessed with money and a ‘career’ (loathsome), and others still turn to family life (ill-advised). i myself fancy real opiates, but anyway…

our collective insignificance is just so overwhelming. there is nothing to be gained by going down this road, i know, and i should turn back at once, i know that too; but what i don’t know is what i’m still doing here when i’m not even… not even moderately amused or pleased by it all.

once upon a time, in a long-gone land far from the western european seaboard, anyone who wanted to ponder about the meaning of life was cordially invited to perch him-/herself on top of a handsome, tall pillar for the remainder of his/her existence, and start pondering away. in return, the locals would assure a steady stream of cakes and tea (or rather olives and retsina wine, this is the byzantine empire we’re talking about).

now this sounds alluring. why should one still get out of bed each morning, try to dress agreeably, try to be friendly to a rather large collection of asinine, inane strangers over the course of that very day, try not to be too tired after a day at the university and try to spend the evening in a nice enough way? why? i don’t see why, really. is there really anything gained by going down this socially condoned road? anything lasting?

i would rather not spend my energy pointlessly and instead devote my life to… em. building a handsome, old-fashioned, doric column? check! reading the collected works of rosamond lehmann and her literary school of 1920s spinsters on top of the pillar i wrought with my own hands? check! gazing down contemptuously on the very villagers who provide me with frangipane cakes and earl grey tea? check!

the road to insanity is steep and slippery, and i seem to have a bobsled. i can’t even seem to describe this dreaded feeling of insignificance that makes me want to pursue a, hopefully fruitful, career in the noble building trade. ta for now, dear reader. i’m going to pretend it’s 1920. laudanum is still sold over the counter and the twenty-first century was just a hysterical nightmare i once had (tres david mitchell, that).
.