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Every little twerp is descended from Heracles these days, it’s practically a requirement for entry to polite society.
These are the men of note. We regard them as one might regard a rash – hopeful that it does not spread further – and then move on.
He is graceful as a fart,
Your pharaohs simply erase the history of those they dislike, drowning inky words in silence; our living poets are far more dangerous, for they know how to make a monster from a man long after he is dead.
No songs are sung of a life lived quietly, of a man and a woman growing old in contentment.
What she doesn’t understand is why, being the way it is, society is so insufferably stupid, run by flaming idiots. On that point again, we are inclined to agree.
