Bound By Yore

You know, it almost seems shameful. Stubbornly persevering, as evidenced hereon, is not the noblest of pursuits, nor is it worthwhile purely as an exercise in unflappability. In fact it bears a closer resemblance to pop-baiting, as if its continuation is merely a manifestation of vain hope. That being the case (he admits nothing), I'm liable to stoop further into base swipes at base targets, in a bid to appeal most broadly, and most blatantly. This, however, has not expressly occurred as of the yet, and its lack hereof (pardon?) is either a gratifying reassurance (a reassuring gratification, if you like) or the deepest damnation of this undertaking thus far — I can't decide which. But whatever the label, it must be said that the pressures of a stadium are, in that respect, a welcome absence — and horrid either way.

This led to my most controversial stain: a small number of pieces made under slight duress. It is said what's past is past, but they still seem to determine my future, at least in terms of how I'm viewed by the uninitiated. These pieces, however, were not the product of a switch in alliances, and they most certainly were not a temporary batch of propaganda I cooked up to aid my escape. Moreover, they had nothing in them, save for my ignorance, which in any way compromised my loyalty or aligned me with my captors. Though I most definitely regret them, and indeed am ashamed by them [see first sentence, remove "almost seems", replace with "is" — ed.], I do not feel I should be held accountable for my motivations unless stupidity itself has become a punishable offence in my absence. I admit that speaking of unsevere conditions was an unwise act under the circumstances, and revealing my mostly apolitical stance did not help matters. But my err was not malicious in the least, and had I known then the ramifications it would cause, I would not have gone through with it.

In the end, even my fiercest critic has to admit they were no more ill-willed than any schoolyard prank. Indeed the writings themselves, composed with a friend of mine by way of a mishandled dictionary, were intended to be realised as such. Neither of us entertained the thought of them maintaining their illusion for more than a day or so. Certainly we wanted to expose what we perceived to be a growing trend of undiscernibility among the editors that be, who were then beginning to swoon for anything that merely sounded like it could mean something, even if the thing in question was so inscrutable that there was no way of knowing. But we did not, let it be said, aim to discredit one target in particular. We simply intended to undermine that line of thinking as a whole. Thus our grotesque creations, as composite and vulgar as Frankenstein's, made no concession to meaning whatsoever, and were consequently adored by the above. Our point was proved to an extent far beyond our expectations, and by the trial we were beginning to realise that perhaps it had got out of hand. But surely by now it should no longer be relevant. All reverberations faded long ago, and only in dwelling does the event still exist in memory. The past doth not make the man. If my future is sealed, at least grant me a happy now.