Monday, February 28, 2005

ascent of a sycophant

Buggy-eyed with a grimace covering half his face, the unskilled sycophant is not beautiful. Contortions and contractions of those facial muscles of his manage ugly smiles in even the most trying of times. Near his master, the sycophant is bowing, radiating a glow of appreciation and humble affection. He is not respected; the intentions of the unskilled sycophant are too thinly veiled.

The skilled sycophant is just as uncouth, but cloaked especially well. He does not bow, he does not flinch, he does not strain his face into a smile. A master fraternizer, he keeps and grows his good graces with those he needs to. Ostentatious and reveling, he carefully accomplishes one or two things. This man is no fool; he sheaths his lies and deceit within genuineness. He will not yell at you, he will not fight you on any single day. Yet, cross him and beware: his unsheathed vitriol will seep like ink and stain black any reputable man within the year.

Brave men turn fools, honest men turn cowards; none challenges the skilled sycophant who now only grows in power. I remain waiting, to see whether it is the fool or the coward I have become. I so loathe the skilled sycophant; he soon may be my master.

Sunday, February 27, 2005

the phoenix and chaos stalemate

Wonderful curtains flow down from mounts above the windows. Baby blue, I think the color is, with some embroidery I haven't looked closely enough in years to see. A nice ornate lamp in a corner lets off a comforting yellow glow. Fresh chequered sheets and a down comforter wrap around me on a large bed. All wonderful, all great, none my doing.

My contributions are seen on the other side of the room, the side with lamps unlit because brown paper bags I have to unpack guard them like Cerberus. Stacks of envelopes spread themselves haphazardly on a polished oak table like a recently felled house of cards. The letter-opener has been misplaced for some time; torn and disfigured envelopes tell their dying tale. Some checks need depositing, some bills need paying, all the letters have dates two weeks old. Soon, soon they will be taken care of.

Here I lie, my presence bringing about chaos to the erstwhile order -- not the chaos so foul that remedies are immediately taken. Here brews a more dangerous chaos, the cunning, sly, mischievous kind naively smiled at for its disorderly cuteness.

Unshaven since friday, disheveled and with only a faint recollection of sunlight, I am indeed the most unfitting object in this entire room. Tomorrow by daybreak my obsolescence ends and I vanish, replaced by a rejuvenated man I pray will right my wrongs. He never does, not thoroughly. Chaos fools him also.