He preys on your weakness, you know. And seeing that he's actually a monist and believes that in killing you he kills himself...well, do I really have to spell it out for you? You are the back against which he tests his cat-o-nines, his self-flagellation by proxy.
The chance to please you dad has passed, Professor. He's gone. And hasn't this all been a terrible burden to bear? Let it go, and experience the incredible lightness of ending a project that you never had the acumen to complete in the first place. I'm sorry, but there's no Nobel Prize in your future, Professor, including the future of your corpse. You've strayed too far from reality's grip and are lost in the tempest of your own emotional frailty, yet somehow you believe your vicarious immortality lies just on the other side of the secret door that you've bashed your head against your entire life. It doesn't.
Ok, I'm calling a half-day. School's out, children! Enjoy your comradeship while you may, for the sun is surely setting for each of us. I have a poem for this occasion, but I've lost track of it. I think I may have posted it on this blog somewhere. If I can find it, I'll add it here. Best to all of you, even him.
Festivities kick off this afternoon,
the party to dwarf all such galas past.
They'll howl beneath the urgent, waxing moon,
and make love on the waxen, melting grass.
They'll take turns at the speaker's podium
to voice their fair hurrahs and last goodbyes,
and shoot their guns into the tumbling skies-
wee thanes beneath the shoe of kingdom come.
But all the crowing, bluffs, and shaking fists
shall ne'er hold off their portion, and for this,
I'll not attend the circus at the end,
but pause in solitude, remembering friends.
And thus, in recollection of those passed,
I'll make peace with mortality, at last.
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