When curiously pale immortality looks squarely in the faces of the damned with undisguised pity, the sunset of manners peeks around their heads and laughs, viciously, tiny sparks of pure cruelty falling, dying, in the fading light of civility. Heartthrobs and Handymen prop the flag against the rotting corpse of the opulent past and decry the thought of academia in all its devious forms. Left stunned in the wake of unthinking purity, the concept of real morality bleeds from a million microscopic bullet wounds, none fatal, all intentional, only arguably as deadly as Tybalt’s well excavation, but ‘twill suffice. That tomorrow you might find it a gravid manicurist slows this particular paragon not a whit. That the possibility of incorrectness hovers like a banshee, though, is best ignored until further instructions may be more effectively outsmarted. The Honored Opposition, the Adversary of the Aisle Seat, the Accuser of the Other Wing, namby-pamby and mush-mouthed and terrible in his moral squalor, squeals in unimpressive glee, pointing withered fingers at bold foolishness with the abstract pretense of corrective action, followed by nothing, apropos of nothing, accomplishing nothing. Only the onlookers, by turns disgusted and disinterested, forgetful of six seconds past, are empowered to change the proceedings, through armed revolt as necessary! and fail entirely to do so, because of the simple pursuit of Gautama’s bane, so effectively sought and perfectly attained, in spite of its necessarily spelling only death and suffering. Franklin, that greatest failure of Monastic thought, behaving posthumously said, Waste Not, Want Not, and in saying so spelled defeat for none, and gave guidance to only, perhaps, the smallest possible segment of life. Remember it, children: Conservation maintains your Path: so saith the drunken sagacity of History. Turn away! The greatest joys of life serve only to distract you from your piety!