You are enamoured with the idea of power. You hate it and you love it. It fascinates you the way the soft curves of a woman fascinate her lover. You will never really have power of your own, and you are not sure that you want it, so you instead sublimate your interest into the abstractions of power, politics, war, psychology – even physics.

You always said there was no organisation, no order to the directions your noncommittal fascinations took. Bursts of study followed by repose. But there is an order that is all to clear, whether you are reading about how to build a bomb or about how to coax a child from bed, whether you are fascinated by Lenin or by Charles II, by the PLA or by wikileaks, or even by God and the saints, you are fascinated above all by power. Who has it, who wants it, how do they go about vying for it – how does the struggle play out.

You hate yourself a little bit for this, but it is who you are. There are good reasons to feel so interested in these things, on some evolutionary level, once upon a time it would have helped you survive.

Not now though, when life is already carved out for the likes of you, by the well worn grooves of the masses and the simplicity of taking the path most traveled. There is no need for such incisive interest in such things in this day and age.

Or in anything much at all really…


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