I once heard that the best way to start a piece of writing is with a question. Well my question is this. How to console the inconsolable? And how to repair the irrepairable? When presiding over the wreckage of something so comprehensively annihilated through years of bombardment, how can one contemplate reconstruction? A blasted, barren landscape indeed lies before us. How on earth is anyone surprised it has come to this?
When a nebulous, nefarious individual such as our hapless antagonist dedicates year upon hateful year to whittling down good graces, chipping merrily away at peoples tolerance levels until all those but the ones with the biological and marital ties to him abandon him as the lost cause he has workly tirelessly to present himself as, you tell me how to look upon that man with sympathy and forgiveness. With understanding. For the he lies on a bed of nails of his own making. Irretrievable? Inconsolable. Irrepairable.
Yet despite these undeniable and unavoidable facts, one still feels compelled to fruitlessly pick up ones tools and dedicate time and effort to separating the myriad shattered mirror pieces in the vain hope that one might be able to somehow find symmetry in their jagged edges, find the parts that match each other and in time find some way to fuse them back together through sheer effort of will. A misguided enterprise indeed I fancy.
I heard someone once say that the definition of insanity is the repetition of actions with the expectation of differing results.
We rest, my lord.
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