Ah, Fist, It’s The Curse

Survivors Do Not Mourn Together. They Each Mourn Alone, Even When In The Same Place. Grief Is The Most Solitary Of All Feelings. Grief Isolates, And Every Ritual, Every Gesture, Every Embrace, Is A Hopeless Effort To Break Through That Isolation. None Of It Works. The Forms Crumble And Dissolve. To Face Death Is To Stand Alone.

He Was A Man Who Would Never Ask For Sympathy. He Was A Man Who Sought Only To Do What Was Right. Such People Appear In The World, Every World, Now And Then, Like A Single Refrain Of Some Blessed Song, A Fragment Caught On The Spur Of An Otherwise Raging Cacophony. Imagine A World Without Such Souls. Yes, It Should Have Been Harder To Do.

A Civilization Can Easily Drown In What It Knows As In What Doesn't Know. Consider,' He Continued, Gotho's Folly. Gotho's Curse Was In Being Too Aware - Of Everything. Every Permutation, Every Potential. Enough To Poison Every Scan He Cast On The World. It Availed Him Naught, And Worse, He Was Aware Of Even That.

You Are Very Easily Exasperated, My Dear. If You're A Leaf Trembling On A Wide, Deep River, Relax And Ride The Current. It's Always Worked For Me, I Assure You.

Not Even The Lichen Of The Tundra Is At Peace. All Is Struggle, All Is War For Dominance. Those Who Lose, Vanish. -and We’re No Different You’re Saying- We Are, Soldier. We Possess The Privilege Of Choice. The Gift Of Foresight. Though Often We Come Too Late In Acknowledging Responsibilities….