The Decline and Fall of the New Roman Empire

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.

I feel like I am a single cell in some great dying beast. It thrashes and the earth bleeds thickly, feverish and broken. It's so obvious but no one pays attention. I have to wonder that if I am a cell in this thing, could the right cell save such a massive body on the brink of death? Is there a lever long enough for a single cell to change the world? In physical reality, the answer is an obvious and resounding no. But what if the lever is an idea and Archimedes's fulcrum: media? Even a story within a story can make me feel for fictional people and every time I watch the movie adaptation of V: for Vendetta, I cry for Valerie. The right music at the right moment can alter a crowd. The spark of an idea can streak across the world like a bright, shining comet, blazing for all to see.

Funny. I used to dream about the stars, and shining cities on the moon and Mars. It's been thirty years and now I can't see that far. Smog and smoke keep the sky dark and I wonder if anyone would be able to see the comet anyway.


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