My dudes killed 69200 people... Probably mostly noncombatants including women and children. But it was a long day, the seige was hard, I mean, it happens, right? Besides like 800 managed to make it to the next camp over so it's not like we killed ALL of them. Upshot? Next town over the women stood over the ramparts and flashed us while begging us not to kill them like we had the others. It was like a Roman flavored Mardi Gras. No beads though..." - J Caesizzle, sometime prior to the Battle of Alesia
I once argued with someone smarter than me. This is not new. This is in fact a currency of my existence. It is my happiness, the greatest and most longed for memory of my collegiate career.
But I digress.
Worse than arguing with someone smarter than me, I was arguing against a classicist. That's right, I, the purveyor of simple creative endeavors was arguing with the vein of human being whose greatest passion was not only the foundation of Western thought, but of logic as well.
And I had dissed the Commentaries of Julius Cesear.
You may ask yourself, how did that argument go?
I don't remember. What I do remember is the shame, self doubt, and anxious heat buckling across my seat as the professor walked in and our Norse Literature lecture began.
So after many years I have decided to try again. Things went about as could be expected.
At first it was tedious. Much of it was but as I read further the more a painting slowly came to be recognizable. A landscape scratched through time, stone, and translation and my cynicism shed to something different: fascination.
A started filling in the holes forcing the human interactions that Julius cared nothing for and by empathy I made myself settle into the words on the page.
Sometimes. Just as suddenly as I grew comfortable I would feel suddenly drawn back to gnawing tedium.
There are issues. Dozens to me. Things that irritate me like a rash caught in foreign land but it is a rare journey to not catch something while traveling back in time.
At its heart this book is not for me. I don't care for tactics, I don't care for war. I understand them, but to linger on them, to lose ones self in writing description is to lose me as well. This book rightfully has its place in history, it doesn't have a place in mine. For no other reason than that the reasons I read, the reasons I write, lay in this book like lone raindrops cast over a desert stained with blood.