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Let them have it; it's theirs

 Beauty goes out of the world and it's only the beating of flesh that fills the air. It's only the moaning of some whore made good by the bank balance of a richer man. Let them bang on at it. Let the flesh smells rot the air. As for this withering part of the tree, As for me:  I will enjoy the last rays of the sun.  People are such a disappointment.
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A new storyline

Of all the theories I enjoy absorbing and embodying, the best of the lot are when I'm told that all other theories are wrong. For instance, I imagine some wise, bearded man at the brass bell saying, it's not true that we all seek a hero; or to be precise, yes, though it may be true, it's not the linchpin that ties everything together like they claim it is. The fact is, we all have faith in a perfect ending because that part of us that believes a perfect earth once existed still longs for a perfect story-line where the good folk always win. 


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