Geometry for Ocelots

by Exurb1a

The only noble desire is for the end of desire. Few are brave enough to admit this. Look to the ancient battlefields, to the corpses fallen by sword, by musket, by theta-beam. Did the generals who prevailed in those battles take their spoils and retire to some mountain hut, and live the remainder of their days in the quiet shade? For sure not. They made more war. Look to the ancient heavens, full of starships and space-bending; whole solar systems repurposed as divine machinery. Did the engineers who birthed those miracles watch matter Itself roll over and beg for mercy, and concede they had done enough? For sure not. They built more machines. So too with the poet who wants only for one perfect line, apprehends it, and is more miserable than ever. So too with the great master who levitates over the black oceans, only to reach the coast and turn back around to do it once more. So too with the drunk who swears off drink by morning, and is found ratted again then by lunch. The only noble desire is for the end of desire. Few are brave enough to admit this.