Sovereignty - A King’s Burden:
There is a unique and inexplicable pleasure in being able to tell someone to fuckoff.
And so it is for this reason I have spent the best part of my life architecting it in such a way I retain this right. The right to banish whoever I please - the master of my dominion, forced to endure no man or woman I find wanting - entertain no question I find insulting, nor appease any I hold in contempt.
You are in the habit of self betrayal in service to your survival, but I am not - because you will sacrifice your dignity to survive, whereas I would sacrifice my survival for my dignity. That makes my will to live greater than yours - because you will give your everything just to have something, whereas I will not give anything unless I am in pursuit of something that could be my everything.
Because to me, survival is nothing, and living is everything, and so if I am to die, I would rather die a complete death, rather than an incomplete one where I am animated without spark.
No amount of leverage or desperation can make me your slave, try as you might - for I have an aristocratic soul. For whatever I slave for I do so knowingly, meaningfully and intentionally in pursuit of a transcendent beauty I can conceive as greater than myself.
I loathe the shackles of indebtedness, so owe no man money, likewise I owe no man any favours, although I’m owed many I'm loathe to cash in. I loathe the shackles of servitude to lesser men, and so I know no leader aside myself but God, and I loathe servitude to a woman’s whims, and so loathe the presence of all but their very best who try you too.
I am in my core an intolerant man, as I am supposed to be. For I am sovereign, and thereby a king. And so intolerance for the grand swath that I judge contemptible is an immutable property of my soul - as it is meant to be, as it shall always be.
You say quality over quantity, but I am quality over quantity - I am the embodiment of your platitude - because there is no other man like me. I am the man that is copied, not the man who copies - because they yearn to be real, and I already am real. And that is neither a brag nor a boast any more than it is a statement of fact, although naturally, I would expect you to believe otherwise.
I died a thousand deaths to become all that I am - the man that I am today - which is why the prospect of another death cannot deter me. Dying at this point is almost an addiction, though I say that out of a love of power and growth, rather than out of the perversity of masochism only a woman could know. Which when you really think about it is quite poetic really, when you consider how cowardly her kind is and how she obsesses over her safety, that she would be so fixated on the violation of her vulnerability, from which all her greatest pleasures and profoundest meanings are derived.
For you see self-destruction is her true nature - which is why in spite of her internal monologue of endless doubts and small fears, she craves to ultimately surrender herself unto release - if only to escape the nagging of her own mind - and know peace for but a few beautiful moments.
Yet another paradox then does God show us in giving us she who is afraid but yet dares in her yearning to hurt - although she is picky, for it must be only in the most meaningful and delightful of ways! You see, it is the female of the species who is the true purveyor of pain, both in tasting it exquisitely, and inflicting it senselessly.
And so it is for this reason that comfort is the true enemy - not just in preserving your strength, but likewise in preserving her gratitude. You see, a king’s love (assuming you’re the rare brilliant woman who could ever earn it) is in fact unconditional (as testament to your greatness, but in contrary to your belief) - whilst his presence on the other hand is not.
And so as much as you want it to be, or think you want it to be, you know it can’t be - because if it were, you would owing to the very evils of the comfort that would undo you begin to devalue your grand prize, parsing his enabling tolerance for your wrongdoing as evidence of his inferiority - for the true woman in throws of passion has no self-control and destroys everything she loves - including her true love, if he does not transcend her madness with the ruthless kingly and fatherly kindness to save them both.
Such is a king’s burden - there is no rest for him in this life. All peace is temporary, all reprieve but a passing fancy, a most delightful of distractions in a sea of governance and duty - for you see the war is eternal - the one constant that always remains.
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