A totally insignificant story

Listen.

We all profess to be innocents and yet, without a second thought, accuse the whole remainder of the human race.

I once had a friend I greatly ignored for he bored me intensely. And yet, when the occasion arose, I always shook his hand. When he died, I duly attended his funeral. Because of this, I saw myself as some kind of superman. What can I say? I was aiming higher.

I have no more friends. In fact, I have remembered very little but myself. To achieve notoriety is enough and besides, true love is exceptional.

I took great pleasures in life and yet I measured every day that separated myself from my eventual end.

Have you any idea what it is like for a solitary creature as he wanders a big city? London, as Eliot once so eloquently stated, is unreal. In too many senses to begin to chronicle here. I discovered that not taking what you desire is the hardest thing in the world.

Gradually, piece by pain-staking piece, my memory returned. After all, any kind of surprise is possible.

The only significant emotion I have ever experienced is gratitude. When I found her, I was grateful. When I loved her, I was grateful ' and how could I not be? Who could not be grateful for the nubile, the young, the passionate? I had seen so little passion that when it finally arrived I grasped at it with both hands. Too strongly, it would seem. I was eager to get my revenge.

I have forgotten her since and I didn't read the papers afterwards. I slowly, consciously formulated a loathing for love. I have lived for debauchery ever since and I haven't finished yet. As a consequence, I have always admired those who indulge in heroism.

However, I haven't changed my life, for why should I change? Lies eventually lead to truth, after all.

I used to dream of the persecution of others, and that continues consistently in my heart. No excuses ever, for anyone.

I was wrong. You are wrong.

Today, I possess nothing at all.