It is really quite evident that something has to give. I shall no longer be a slave to these... people, at that... place. By the grace of Almighty God (and not a little amount of work already put in by myself - for one is not a passive receiver, but an active agent in the world) I find myself in such a position that I am, as a future participle in the ancient tongue of the Romans (Classical Latin, one's forte), "on the point of being" or "just about" able to cast off the shackles of slavery and indentured servitude, and instead, bask in the light and glory of Christ himself. There is no easy way out of poverty, and turning to the crooked ways of crime is certainly not the answer. Nor is kowtowing to some profiteering publisher, as Daniel Day-Lewis once said in There Will Be Blood, "The rest will be spectulators, that's men trying to get between you and the oil men to get some of the money that ought, by rights, come to you." There is no hope, except in God. There is no faith, except in Jesus Christ. There is little (or no) point in putting one's faith in inbred circus folk or foreign gangsters, masquerading as fast-food specialists. One does what can, and one always does one's best, whatever the task may be, and however humble a task it is.
I very nearly quit this evening. I confess, I am not as philosophical as I could be. I perhaps should have not said to the young lady that bore down on me as Aeneas did upon Turnus, I said dii te perdint "May the gods destroy you!". It is a frivolous, meaningless phrase, often used in the works of the most excellent comic playwright Plautus. It is far better to bless, than to curse. It is better to be in a positive frame of mind, always, to heal instead of harm. Yet life, particularly a subsistence in Dark Age Britain, is not always that straightforward.
Said young lady (my superior, yet, let us always remember, only because her sister is banging the boss) harped on about the meaning of the word "politics". I mentioned to said little girl, that the noun politics stems from the ancient Greek (πόλις 'city' or οἱ πολλοί 'the many'). Then, I was met with derision and scorn from these juvenile, uneducated band of gypsies. At this point, the elder one member of this little domestic disaster cited our illustrious PM. This was no doubt because when the older of the two thugs that run the place called me a "fucking 'master'" just after I had been conferred with the honours of a Magister Artium following twelve long years of study and to the tune of £15,000 I happened to mention that our PM studied the same subject I did at Univeristy. What does this little cross-eyed inbred gypsy or any of her immigrant kindred know of ancient Greek or Classical Latin? Nothing, is what. Yet they are my superiors. Why? Because this is Dark Age Britain, and not the time of Cosimo de' Medici in Florence 1436, evidently. One ought not to dwell on such frivolous eventualities, but instead one should remain in a positive, constructive frame of mind, ever thinking of what can do to apply one's years of learning to some practical and useful end, in spite of rather challenging circumstances, and the complete betrayal of the British Establishment. They will offer you all the riches of the King of Persia, of Cassius, of Midas himself, but will actually deliver nothing but threats, accusations and scorn.
Enough of such trifling and frivolous nonsense (for the British have no honour) but instead let us think on the future. Let us think on our one and only daughter, and how we may best help her and indeed little Ronulus and I elevate ourselves out of abject poverty, and towards a brighter, better future. There are no "high paid, better skilled jobs" (as our classicist PM kept maintaining - they do not exist, except in a land populated by imaginary unicorns and false promises). There is only reliance upon one's self. One cannot expect Britain to keep its word (for, like Putin, whatever Britain says: the opposite is invariably true, based upon the evidence, thus far). How would it serve me to pay yet another £3,200 a year, over four years, to attempt to attain a qualification far inferior to the two I already hold? The answer is, it is of no avail. This is not the Italian Renaissance, evidently. It's Dark Age Britain.
Trust in God, not man. It is far better to put one's faith in sound foundations, and think upon heavenly things, rather than the base, insidious and perfidous so-called 'promises' of the British (who are ruled by mere materialism and supposed 'facts' from the scientific community - often most hostile to anything they cannot see or hear or perceive through a microscope). There is this whole other world out there. As above, so below.
Think not, on unskilled labour for minimum wage. Think instead, one how best one can help one's self. Then, by extension, be in a position to help others.
As Jan Potocki once wrote in his masterpiece The Manuscript Found in Saragossa (as translated by Ian Maclean, 1996, p.48 upon The Third Day in the story of The Story of Landulpho of Ferrara), "I had never looked upon gold except as a means of helping the poor and needy."
Kindness is frequently the first lesson learnt, and quite often the last one mastered.
Max.
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