larvatus' Journal

rotten peach
    I have listened to your complaints. They tell me nothing new. But for the sake of completeness and conclusiveness, I will answer them, and answer them right here.
    You say that I fail to tell the whole truth about you, or me, or you and me. I am not in possession of the whole truth on any of these subjects. Nor do I have the whole truth on the subjects of Erin Zhu’s ever-loving daddy or Baudelaire’s bad glazier. Still, the show must go on. Let us take these matters in turn.
    As regards our defunct romance, I am telling my side of the story. You have every right to counteract it with your narrative, either oral or written. That you would never dream of doing the latter, that you would even lack the courage to do the former, is quite beside the point. You say that you value your privacy. That has not stopped you from stalking me through the thicket of online exhibitionism dating back over fourteen years. Knowing what to expect, you had asked me not to show your letters in public, and I have abstained from doing so. But you never asked me to keep all aspects of our relationship to myself. Had you done so, I would have refused either the promise that you requested or the relationship that you sought. Under the circumstances, I rely on my sole discretion to choose the matters of my disclosure. I do so because I regard our story as amusing and instructive, and because the extreme nature of your performance warrants and requires an equally dramatic response. Make no mistake: you are as much of a performance freak as you accuse me of being. I see no moral difference in the facts that you stage your performances in intimate settings, and misconstrue them as sincere and accurate expressions of your inner reality.
    You object to being depicted as a rotten peach. In a culture that no longer ages its meat or ripens its fruit, not everyone can be expected to partake of the Oriental wisdom that the best time to eat a peach is when it is beginning to rot.

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