Sardinia: A Matter of Sardines

Anyway, here, I write from Cagliari, to you.
The dawn rises, and, it past my bedtime.

Let me describe the realm of Sardinia, in the year 1017.

Sardinia has fallen into anarchie.

Rioting, burning, looting, this is the norm.

The capital, Arborea, has become a fortified city-state, prehaps like the rumors of distant Paris, to the north. The common man survives on survival, common barbarism.
I am not a common man. I profit from political murder. Really, I don't give a fuck. Another dead politician, another dead nob: 'tis more gold to line my pocket.

Anyway, back to Cagliari.. it is beautiful, in it's dying glory. Sardinia was once one of the highest points of culture/civilisation/art/technology, on Aerth.

It is beautiful to see it fall into chaos.

Anyway, I am a student at the Universitie ov Cagliari, where I study Political Science, Philosophy, and Metaphysics.

At Sunset, I study the Grey School ov Magick, under my teacher, Mayasita. She's 101 years old, and, sometimes we have a sexual relationship. Sex magick. Her pussy is dry, but that is easy with some olive oil. She is missing most of teeth, but her mouth is warm. That said, she has more energy and wisdom that most people that I've ever met.

Class begins at Sunset. Here I begin, at dawn, and, I don't know what to do with myself. Everything is closed. Life is destroyed by the boring light of the sun, the only solace being the smoke of anarchie, brought to me on the zephyrs of the Rising Sun.

I will do some Helvetian LSD, and, try to sleep in the city park, my cloak as my pillow... my dagger in my hand... to those that do not know me, I am just another common lower class drunk, sleeping on the city streets.

Society is an illusion.
Life is an illusion.

I am illusion: I doubt my very existence, in the sense of rational thought.
Do I exist?