Ever clever, I thought of myself. The world goes to pieces, Her people tear themselves apart, but not I. For so long I thought I was above it. Perspective is a fickle bitch.
I don't think I can ever learn anything. Not truly. I grasp concepts, I mimic comprehension. I learn just enough to be dangerous, to others, to myself, and I run with it, never looking inward. The problem is the world, and I am the teacher come to show the folly of it all. Of course things are never so simple. I wear symbols as evidence of instruction, starting with my first that I thought marked me so unique and wise. It was a good joke.
The only thing that made me different was thinking I was the privileged few, the one out of a hundred out of six billion. I realize now that I am no teacher. Not as I am. If I am to toss off the shackle of my namesake, if I am to become truly wise, it is time for me to be taught. I travel with a pupil who deserves the title of master far more than I do, though I doubt the thought has crossed his mind. I think things should be different. Too long have I laughed without knowing. I think it is time for me to be laughed at, then taught.
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