But remember, remember....because the Claudias will not.
It is that complete and utter removal.
That start afresh.
That never again.
That absolute freedom.
That end.
Of any shame.
Whom, though, would get it?
Certainly not the Adams of this world.
It is their job to weave the blackness.
To not know of her "picturesque".
To not imagine it is her picturesque world.
To only imagine tea at his million quid inlaid table.
And not know that the weave has now an end.
But there would be no end-weave,
had it not been for all of it.
Every smallest shard of contempt.
Every lie and lie.
Every floating pathogen.
Every fat librarian.
Every miserable poet.
They should be banned too.
Some speech really should be supressed.
And the poets fired.
Because it came true at last:
Do anything you wanna.
And there is no shame ever again in any of it.
My department being only ever the ascetic simpleton.
Clean living.
Free.
I need no inputs.
In arm or gob.
But to watch her - it is so beautiful the way she tries.
They will bait her and overcomplicate.
The once addicted take an age to become.
Me.
And no one can think.
Maybe to have spied just a little of her hell.
Even if thirty years ago.
Is good for you.
It rounds you, up.
So that, indeed, I can understand.
To understand.
A little.
Is all it ever was, in truth.
