Reason Is Simply A Vast Tautology.

Truth Is Not Spoken In Anger. Truth Is Spoken, If It Ever Comes To Be Spoken, In Love. The Gaze Of Love Is Not Deluded. It Sees What Is Best In The Beloved Even When What Is Best In The Beloved Finds It Hard To Emerge Into The Light.

But The Truth, He Knows, Is Otherwise. His Pleasure In Living Has Been Snuffed Out. Like A Leaf On A Stream, Like A Puffball On A Breeze, He Has Begun To Float Towards His End. He Sees It Quite Clearly, And It Fills Him With (the Word Will Not Go Away) Despair. The Blood Of Life Is Leaving His Body And Despair Is Taking Its Place, Despair That Is Like A Gas, Odourless, Tasteless, Without Nourishment. You Breathe It In, Your Limbs Relax, You Cease To Care, Even At The Moment When The Steel Touches Your Throat.

It Gets Harder All The Time, Bev Shaw Once Said. Harder, Yet Easier. One Gets Used To Things Getting Harder; One Ceases To Be Surprised That What Used To Be Hard As Hard Can Be Grows Harder Yet.

Perhaps; But I Am A Difficult Person To Live With. My Difficulty Consists In Not Wanting To Live With Other People.

Scapegoating Worked In Practice While It Still Had Religious Powers Behind It. You Loaded The Sins Of The City On To The Goat’s Back And Drove It Out, And The City Was Cleansed. It Worked Because Everyone Knew How To Read The Ritual, Including The Gods. Then The Gods Died, And All Of A Sudden You Had To Cleanse The City Without Divine Help. Real Actions Were Demanded Instead Of Symbolism The Censor Was Born, In The Roman Sense. Watchfulness Became The Watchword: The Watchfulness Of All Over All. Purgation Was Replaced By The Purge.