On bitterness.
Forgive yet another of my little diatribes. Not a particularly novel topic, but significant nonetheless.
There is a special darkness in every cup and it often takes a seasoned tongue to detect it. The sophistocation of coffee generally smooths over any foul taste, and one learns to appreciate that bitterness over time... but occasionally something's still off.
Say you taste another's brew in secret and it burns and bites where it shouldn't... How does a gentleman face it? With an expression of pain-- or with the same unshakeable smile? Shall he risk offending the maker? Perhaps he's tasting something that was never there-- and even if it was, she's not his cup to criticize and never was. Even so, a man cannot deny what he senses... nor what he feels.
Or, for example, say that a lingering sickness nearly removes itself without you lifting a finger. You breathe easier, you sleep better, and all seems well-- when suddenly it returns as effortlessly as it vanished. How shall a gentleman proceed? Certainly with disappointment... but when we shuffle things around and the hated thing is a human life, perhaps that disappointment is a step too far towards cruelty. Bitterness... how long a man steeps before it becomes him?
On a lighter note, if you weren't already aware, Madame Fey, her sister and I have relocated from Madison Square Garden to a new home. I'll be keeping the location secure for the moment-- never can be too careful with all the freaks around-- but suffice to say, this place feels clearer. One can breathe a little easier in relative solitude.
I generally like this time of year, but I can't stand the cold anymore. It seems to cut me through even the thickest jackets. It would seem the only solution would be... Ha...! Well, you know where I'm going with this.
There is a special darkness in every cup and it often takes a seasoned tongue to detect it. The sophistocation of coffee generally smooths over any foul taste, and one learns to appreciate that bitterness over time... but occasionally something's still off.
Say you taste another's brew in secret and it burns and bites where it shouldn't... How does a gentleman face it? With an expression of pain-- or with the same unshakeable smile? Shall he risk offending the maker? Perhaps he's tasting something that was never there-- and even if it was, she's not his cup to criticize and never was. Even so, a man cannot deny what he senses... nor what he feels.
Or, for example, say that a lingering sickness nearly removes itself without you lifting a finger. You breathe easier, you sleep better, and all seems well-- when suddenly it returns as effortlessly as it vanished. How shall a gentleman proceed? Certainly with disappointment... but when we shuffle things around and the hated thing is a human life, perhaps that disappointment is a step too far towards cruelty. Bitterness... how long a man steeps before it becomes him?
On a lighter note, if you weren't already aware, Madame Fey, her sister and I have relocated from Madison Square Garden to a new home. I'll be keeping the location secure for the moment-- never can be too careful with all the freaks around-- but suffice to say, this place feels clearer. One can breathe a little easier in relative solitude.
I generally like this time of year, but I can't stand the cold anymore. It seems to cut me through even the thickest jackets. It would seem the only solution would be... Ha...! Well, you know where I'm going with this.