Trouble is, war drives a people towards monarchy, whatever one will call it. A King is a military leader, by historical precident and by definition. War is Feudal. It rallies behind a general with a crown.

Riots, on the other hand are good for republics.

Whether I like the war or not, if no one is protesting, as my father says: we have a problem. I think we have a problem now. I keep forgetting the war is out there. Not that they're not protesting, it's just so half-harted, so faint. Or maybe that is just to my eyes. But our parents all thought they could stop war, they smoked themselves into believing so. Now look at them. Now look at what is left of them.

But then, I am bleeding from my womb: what do I know?

I know that the Republic is a bitch, I can see her grinning behind a mask of industry and the automobile, LCD screens of Cindy Crawford and Kate Beckinsale in the phrygian cap leering at the lot of us. Once she was a whore, now she is a red latex vibrator shaped like a bulbous, studded goddess. She has not grown up, she has simply discovered the assembly line, plastic packaging, and the ability to buy meat while only having the word of some company as to what animal it came from. Beef does not taste the same as it did in my youth. Not that youth... a different one. Long , long ago. I have not forgotten everything, as much of it attempts this evening to gush from the vibrant wound in my womanhood. Cursed wretched thing.

I still think that Maximilien should have married Adele. Perhaps it would have gone better for him that way.

<<agé chose>>

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