Because I am, like all of you; greedy

As a favour to the anybody(s) who may never visit here, and because I've so much to share and never be seen, I'm going to post some more work that was written, probably, long ago and is still waiting to feel the hot press of the publisher. This piece, particularly, I wrote after reading De Quincey's Confessions. It's marvellously written, and through the beautiful lyricism, that borrows both from the Romantic and Gothic conventions, one can see how the opiates affected De Quincey; intensifying his most irrational fears and fascinations of the Asiatic. If I could only dream and write as well as he...

De Quincey had his crocodiles;

Alligators and the asiatic.

How sublime!

How silly, then,

what should I fear?

The contemporary scholar,

lacking prejudice (in vain)

I have my existential crisis.

Am I living?

What is life?

I cannot know it

if I’ve recourse to know it.

O! I have suffered.

I suffer myself.

I suffer the history of all

of those who came before me

I suffer for those

who are yet to be.

I suffer for death;

that it has not come for me.

And so,

I suffer yet.