why was rome built on bones? hundreds of dead caught by arrows or blind cuts of steel crowd the rivers, the roads, the very air and it is so so hard to breathe– every corner is a reminder of public executions, outdoor gallows, diving into shallow seas, exsanguination in the roads till red rivulets made new paths in tempered cobblestone; caesar was not the first man to bring about pax *** bellum to train armies to battle their own hearts and find nothing there at all– caesar falls, rei republica falls, rome falls . . the dead do not become lazarus
i listened to an audiobook detailing julius caesar's life
I. I am confined behind the walls of my very own life. The echoing of cluttered freight trains and the laughter of invisible clowns fill what's left of my conscience, and
the voices of old God's and hushed Devil's are my only form of a lullaby. I'm not crazy, I'm just conscious of the overlooked.
II. I can feel snakes when there are none. Consider this a sixth sense. Literature clattered in the back of my throat and the top of my head, I tried to explain this to my lover, who became increasingly
bothered by the fact that all I knew was Shakespeare, and all I spoke of was Caesar, and the stars...to which we are underlings.
III. A threat, they consider me. 'Not to others, but yourself.' Fools, all of them. I was not granted a gift to have it locked away and drowned at sea. Listen! Act! Forewarnings are scarce, and if
the Gods and the Devils have chosen me to speak, then I shall speak. My only question: why didn't they choose someone to listen? To understand?