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STOIC POETRY | Destroyer of worlds

Updated: Sep 4, 2021

August 17, 2019

Dear Eric,

I made something since you became done. We never once spoke of this thing during our talks at college, as I think we were both then far too young to see beyond life's many distractions. But more on that later perhaps... This thing I made - found really - consists of Objective and Principles, life guides I might perhaps call them? I made (found) and kept these for myself, collecting them mostly from things discovered across the years, like seashells picked up while walking along a seemingly long stretch of shoreline - cloudy with fog - extending the length of a lifetime before and behind. A cold northerly shoreline; shrouded in mute clouds, obscuring the true distance ahead and making the view behind a blur of indistinctly remembered shapes and forms - remembrances of what may or may not have truly been. The sands along this beach fade to gray in the near distance - disappearing and merging with the forward clouds. There's a deep silence always ahead; not a sound of waves, or of bird call, nor of anything. Why is that Eric? Would you could, I think you'd already know that answer...

But there are things in the sand. Interesting things...

I have collected and assembled the best of these found things on a shelf within my mind, and have assigned someone I call the Homunculus to curate the collection. This Homunculus is an utter fool, though there is nobody else inside me to do the job - so I'm stuck with him. But he is such a dummy. He thinks sometimes he's immortal. Even the memory of you kindles his vain suspicions. But I digress... The point is, my Homunculus is the caretaker of these things he and I have found, though he may sometimes read more into them than the things truly deserve. It is my - his - sentimentality. And who can blame us that?

My Homunculus watches over the discovered Objectives and Principles like treasured photographs on a shelf. I assigned him to curate their utility...but mostly he only keeps them free from dust, and sometimes imagines more into them than they deserve. Such a waste of effort... But what is a mortal to do when there's nobody else to do the job? Bottom-line, the Objectives and Principles work. They appear sound. Quite sound, indeed. Though honestly, I wish you were around to take a stab at destroying them. I bet you could find some fragile failings I've missed. Oh, how I wish you could shatter the glass on my cherished little collection of photos, my curated assembly of found things. Better still, if you could kindle a worthy bonfire and then make such sound arguments to convince the Homunculus and I to transfer the found treasures to the flames. You were always that kind of worthy friend to me. Always a destroyer of worlds.

Be safe, my friend... But not too safe.



My name is Kurt Bell.

You can learn more about The Good Life in my book Going Alone.

Be safe... But not too safe.

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