Revolution but civi---wait, I'm in the wrong story...
To-day was warm, very warm, though I spent most of it within doors and in the cool, but when the sun went down, so did the temperature. Now I sit here with my fingers almost too chilled to hold a pen, having to ink out a quarter of all the words I write, and my old brown coat is getting a little threadbare - the cold is coming through the patch in the left elbow.
Enough whining. If I'm resisting the cold enough to write, I ought to write something worthwhile, not merely chicken scratched complaints about the weather!
I'm curious to learn about all the different forms of government and judicial systems the inhabitants of this place grew up in; there are so many people, from so many different societies, that surely there will be some extraordinary, varied, fascinating systems of civilization among them. I would like to see past Westmark's stagnant prison walls - we fought for a new republic, yes, or at least for the downfall of Cabbarus' directorate, if you ask Clarion, but even within the expanse of a revolution, there was so little imagination. It was as if no one could conceive of a middle ground, or a further ground - it was the Monarchy, in all its traditional, nail-clutched, rotten opulence, or else a Republic For and Of the People, all lofty new ideals and fresh visions and rosy-eyed optimism. Can there be nothing else? Could there even be a place where things were rather the opposite of Westmark, where the Republic had been won and aged, where the idea of such a utopian democracy has grown stale in its closeness to the truth of humanity, and it is the thought of bringing about a monofamilial dynastic empire that is believed to be ushering in a new, gleaming golden age?
Kings and queens and presidents and directors and lords and ladies and parliaments and ministers and cabinet members and councillors and mayors and senates and emperors and my hands are grown far, far too cold to write any more, and when I made too sharp a movement to the inkwell at my side, I seem to have burst the right elbow of my tired old brown coat. Perhaps it wanted to match its fellow. Humans are great conformists, why should overcoat sleeves be any different? What a concept, that inanimate objects aspire to the mediocrity and mundanity of Homo Sapiens.
Maybe Zara'd be willing to patch it for me.
Enough whining. If I'm resisting the cold enough to write, I ought to write something worthwhile, not merely chicken scratched complaints about the weather!
I'm curious to learn about all the different forms of government and judicial systems the inhabitants of this place grew up in; there are so many people, from so many different societies, that surely there will be some extraordinary, varied, fascinating systems of civilization among them. I would like to see past Westmark's stagnant prison walls - we fought for a new republic, yes, or at least for the downfall of Cabbarus' directorate, if you ask Clarion, but even within the expanse of a revolution, there was so little imagination. It was as if no one could conceive of a middle ground, or a further ground - it was the Monarchy, in all its traditional, nail-clutched, rotten opulence, or else a Republic For and Of the People, all lofty new ideals and fresh visions and rosy-eyed optimism. Can there be nothing else? Could there even be a place where things were rather the opposite of Westmark, where the Republic had been won and aged, where the idea of such a utopian democracy has grown stale in its closeness to the truth of humanity, and it is the thought of bringing about a monofamilial dynastic empire that is believed to be ushering in a new, gleaming golden age?
Kings and queens and presidents and directors and lords and ladies and parliaments and ministers and cabinet members and councillors and mayors and senates and emperors and my hands are grown far, far too cold to write any more, and when I made too sharp a movement to the inkwell at my side, I seem to have burst the right elbow of my tired old brown coat. Perhaps it wanted to match its fellow. Humans are great conformists, why should overcoat sleeves be any different? What a concept, that inanimate objects aspire to the mediocrity and mundanity of Homo Sapiens.
Maybe Zara'd be willing to patch it for me.