Stendhal

Where do the Princes go to cheat?
For when I am court jester I will weight their cards.
And the mornings are dark now
But the nights over-lit.
Who will be left to remember us when we are gone?

Where do Demons go to eat?
For when I worship false idols I will serve their food.
And the games are meaningless
The philosophizing empty
Who will be left to remember us when we are gone?

I’m rather in a peaceable state right now, and I’m worried that I might get stuck here. My job is comfortable, friendly, and filled with new things and money… my women fast and futile… my writing possessed and my brain begging to get out and do something different.

My whole being is telling me to move away, far away, and get a change of scene, take a new name, a new personality, find a different life and abandon everything. I’m feeling stuck down in a reasonable year of pleasant occurrences.

Some dances are not meant to be danced.