I understand that the world was nothing: a mechanical chaos of casual, brute enmity on which we stupidly impose our hopes and fears.
But I have lived, and now I do not sleep.
So childhood too feels good at first, before one happens to notice the terrible sameness, age after age.
I know what's in your mind. I know everything. That's what makes me so sick and old and tired.
Stars, spattered out through lifeless night from end to end, like jewels scattered in a dead king's grave, tease, torment my wits toward meaningful patterns that do not exist.
The stars said nothing, but I pretended to ignore the rudeness.
Except in the life of a hero, the whole world's meaningless. The hero sees values beyond what's possible. That's the nature of a hero. It kills him, of course, ultimately. But it makes the whole struggle of humanity worthwhile.
I was younger then. Still playing cat and mouse with the universe.
All systems are evil. All governments are evil. Not just a trifle evil. Monstrously evil.
Draw Grendel's mother how you picture her.
Is Grendel a sympathetic character? Do you feel sorry for him at all?
Add to my formatives list