ammonius

I think that my curse is the curse of timing. It is as if I am continually tortured by infinite space between when I should arrived and when I am late. In some respects I was born 2500 years late, and that I could have at least taken Aristotles place, other times it is as if I am 1500 years late, and the dark ages are my home, a son of Germanic kings to lead a people to exploration and unending seeking. 1000 years ago, I could have been raiding Lindinsfarne, I could have been sacking Paris with my forefathers, returning the wealth to a literate people with a healthy view of life and world, not a gaze to guilt, shame and spiritual obligation. Family, folk and future, where the mind of my masters reminds me. Thats where I think I should be now. But I am not. I am in the self of 100 years ago (skipping an account of my libertine incarnation), I am sipping on the green fairy, still not in the present, some how a victim of an ever growing past that stretches out before my birth. In this life I have know the bad timings. I have come too late or too early. Too late to philosophy, to early for happiness. It is the later that haunts me tonight; a sadness that is not entirely the fault of myself (other than letting myself fall to it), my friends see it, and I become a drag; a celebration of a habitat free of ingnorance was to be on the agenda tonight, but all I can think of is bad timing. Am I too early this time, or too late? In relation to what or whom, or to myself? Did I make a wrong turn. A torturous cloud hangs over me, I feel as if all the glorious futures I have envisioned are within the realm of touch, but not within my ability to grasp. I can not have the Neibelungs horde, I can not touch Fafnirs gold. Ahh but there I am again, I am in the mythic, the past, the im-memorable that never was, drinking of those possibilities that I did indeed stroll within. I am now here, my last time? I feel as if it is, hence my hesitation. I have been the Drightens favorite son for so long, we have almost forgotten my seat. Highest amongst my peers. But my kin I will miss this year; those who have been with me before time began, I will miss this year. It is bad timing. It is the bad timing of desire and of place. I do not belong here now, anymore. I am too late or too early, what do I do in this eternal meantime in which I dwell?