"Vapid"

I am Boeq, suspected to have Decobrian blood, taken by indication of a rapist father who generated me upon this land.

This is not about history, however. This is about ideology and cause. The Heralds were a thing they currently are not. A man of the West would say that this organization is for "records" and for "truth" and for "honesty". I say that no such thing even exists, and as a man of the East, believe nothing is more sinister than the illusions of knowledge.

Knowledge is a hammer, and is one applied. You can know everything, and yet do nothing, which is to be nothing. The application is the event! I have been filled against my will with factoids, and have been robbed of any bliss to know how hypocrites walk this earth in droves. I am one, and have an authority on the subject! This Library is about storing information that does absolutely nothing but sit and collect dust. Were it to vanish overnight through brimstone and pillaging, the world would make no change. We have no monopoly on the knowing of things! A replacement would be made for all those devices we provide, for activity is neither essential nor specific. It is pure, natural, time-driven undulation, and happens by the laws of our existing.

We are merely creators of tools, for all to access and utilize. My associates pretend that we fill a gap when we do no such thing.

This very text is a tool! You may use it to form an opinion of us if you wish, but let me move on to tell you in exactness. Avoid us! We bore without hesitation and serve only our own selfish desires. All Heralds who pretend themselves magnanimous do so only to establish reliability for their written works, and seek to change the world by it. What think you that I do here, ramble aimlessly? Grow up! I seek to sway you to an idea.

Think on our history! The Knights cast us out, for any logical organization would. The word is "superfluous", you illiterate twig, and were you any sort of clever, you would have done away with us as well. Politicians sway at our cloud for the reason that we have acquired wealth by dealing in the secrets of others, and we pry the personal sentiments of your heart. You of course relinquish when the promise of fame is so succulent! The promise of being remembered so delicious!

I bought my sponsorship into this establishment by means of

understanding its wicked market. We lust for facts as much as the Don lusts for gold, and in knowing this, I carried my stained flag into these ranks on flimsy deals, easily met with small labor.

And that is where the glory of it begins. There is no collar. There is no leash. There are no real obligations, none which have any solid foundation anyway! I am dutiful, but wordplay can sugar me any time I wish it, and the Heralds ever twist and bend. I can pollute the world with my drunken ink. This, foul reader, is the salvation of the modern era.

Where we seek chaos, selfish pleasure, and to abandon structure for the sake of the true utopia (the utopia in which nothing is hinged), there we will find Heralds as they were meant to be. We were cast off by pragmatic mentors and lovers so that we could pursue modernity, in which we evolve by feeling good and in knowing the business of abandonment. We are never musing, but always amusing ourselves with the next big idea, since the last was trash and did nothing but bore us to forsake it. These lands which created us have forsaken us, and we as creators forsake what we create just as naturally.

This career is a perfect road to disorder, for any man or woman of the East with tongues as bold as mine would tell you. Adventure is purely ambiguous, and its sagas include apathy, amnesia, bitterness, regret, and hate.

BOEQ