October 18, 2007
In the Ciceronian tradition, of Speaking of things, which are not in fact patently true and are not of the sort that the speaker’s audience would indeed find enjoyable , nor in fact relevant, I will begin. Having grown up in the lesser schools of mind and the rhetoric, I dare not make any sort of introduction for myself, lest I bring discredit to myself and to this publication, by mentioning such sordid names, however, I must begin with a salutation to the celebrated L. P. Mandrake, to whom I find that I admire as much as Cato the Elder admired Cato the Younger. In the company of such eloquence, what can one do? Prose fails, poetry is found wanting, the panegyric withers, the epillion is as dust, even the structured epistle is of no use. I am indeed indebted to such a Nameless personality, who even went so far as to express private reflections here upon this medium, in the form of a letter, meshing the boundaries of the private and the personal in a very classical mode, yet in so much as he did so, I can detect the slightest hint of an artless editor, a veritable stam who has rearranged the epistle of a master to fit his own dire and surely not quite nefarious purposes. Perhaps he passes this off with claims to be merely writing an introduction or indeed some sort of commentary. Is this blog home of such dim witted readers, of the sort who have some need for introduction to the works of Mr. Mandrake? Has it indeed come to this point, that so great a man as he does not deserve a post all too himself? In the great antiquity of YS, such was not the case. We are less hardy, less virile readers, the sort who need to be spoonfed some etymology, so that we may read Mr. Mandrake. Truly it is a shameful day and the bloody sky looks down on a twisted, turpiditudinous race. I ask, Would one deface Homer in such a manner? Hemingway? The Jersualem Talmud? Truly what is lacking here is justice, justice for which brave men die and not cowardly men fight. Indeed, in my first frail steps into those arts which I here but poorly sputter out, I know that perhaps, with my noble mind, exercised in virtue and adjudicated manner of decision, with which I grew to manhood, escaping the vices so common to youth, and which now are demanding that I speak here in respect to one true and noble Affair, namely that if Daily Salad had published a post with which he took liberties, it would be to his advantage now to republish it in a more complimentary manner. For the state cannot sustain such injustices, I fear what is worst and ever more darkly will the fates spin their webs, if such iniquity is not righted.