A letter from exile “It was our time. But we are old now, living in exile, and our time has passed. But when we were young we were kings and nothing was denied us. Not even the gods remained hidden from our curiosity, and our dreaming was of the highest calibre. But there was one thing missing that even the gods could not reveal: the secret to true beauty. We devoted our time and recources in search of it. There was relative beauty, and libraries of books were written about that. And beauty contests were held all year long where women would be judged, and the winner would be paraded for all to see as the beauty queen of the moment. But it was a passing beauty, judged by men with their lists of what was beautiful and what was not. In the end it became a commercial enterprise for the elite few to sell beauty products that would make you just like them: buy these potions to be a beauty queen too,” said the thin man to the fat man over coffee in a cafe. “You saw all this as he walked past you?” exclaimed the fat man. “He wasn’t hiding anything, so it was easy to see, and he was carrying the dog’s dinner,” said the thin man, swaying in the breeze. “And what’s that when it’s at home: the Queen of Sheeba? Said the fat man. “No, it was a muzzleizm,” said the thin man, sipping his coffee. “Was it feasible?” “No, it was sweet and sour.” “Bittersweet then?” “Yes, you could say that,” said the thin man. “I’m surprised they still let them walk around,” said the fat man, “with all the harm they have done.” “I know. We were so close to exterminated. But this one was harmless, and he had a tag on his leg, and you know they can’t be removed.” “I don’t know anything of the sort,” said the fat man,” munching on a bread stick. “But I’m telling you it is so,” said the thin man. “What you’re telling me is what someone else told you, and who is to say what they said was true?” “He was called: the thank you man, wasn’t he?” said the thin man. That’s right. Those were the only words he spoke throughout his trial,” said the fat man. “What happened to him in the end?” asked the thin man. “They turned him into manure in one of his own machines. He’s plant food now,” said the fat man. “Justice then?” “Perhaps.” “The trial was called: the terrible termination of the incredible thinking man, wasn’t it?” “The chief judge of our church state presided over it himself. He said the law was the law, and all free thinking could not be allowed under penalty of death.
Posted on: Fri, 11 Apr 2014 09:10:39 +0000
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