interregnum: discontinuity, or the period in between
this is day one of a mini-writing sabbatical, aiming to publish one piece every day for the next week. just to have something of mine out in the world again. consistent quantity over obsessive quality.
today, we’re writing about succession crises.
ascension. transference. empire / state. king-making.
kings. queens. executives. robber-barons.
turning, churning, call it spokes on a wheel. only one person stands at the helm (so much to gain, i suppose; nothing much to lose). craven. crown and chief; metonymy. we are at loss for a cause, it appears.
what do we owe to a people? hungry, wanting as they are. i’d ask you of their needs and know it may never be enough to provide, not so yawning into the maw of a deprived subject. they are owed, needy—first, stone soup and stale bread—later, bills to pay and dues to make. they may get their due someday soon.
and what is duty if not consecrated on a crown. passed from forefather to father to son (a daughter, if we are so lucky to make it). sire a lineage for the good of a kingdom; the throne recognizes none other than a natural born. you will have it in blood if you did not buy it in bonds.
please tell me of your court. who stays? who gets to go? who was most loyal, ready to let the skeletons spill loose from the floorboards? eager to prove, starving to serve. (what’s that saying, that, all men must serve?). damned if we did not.
i ask you again. what is duty?
what is your duty, fisted in your meaty hand, and why must you let go of it? birth rights or purchase rights. why must you leave us so? duty like law, custom. duty like culture, community. if it is not enough to remain, then we must trim the fat off, the seat of power for your polished, stinking throne.
famous first-world words: we cannot afford instability. (nor you; you ask too much of us.) stability cuts through like a dull, serrated knife above a wishing well. trim, cut, excise. and then we will find ourselves in good health oncemore. ourselves, the sovereign. ourselves, the company we keep. blood that ran thick, then foreign.
some intractable thing, a title is. leering with baubled propriety. why must we always replace the man with the title? trust, as it only exists, with a bold name and a bold claim at the headline. kingdoms have been doomed for less.
sit there with your gleaming crown and syllabic honorifics. heavy does the crown weigh on the head, tightly so at the shoulders. i hope your coffers are stuffed full with the good fortune you have amassed. nothing is stolen from rulers. only what is owed. the solar system would sooner revolve around them than make room for the rest of us.
your kingmakers did not tell you, did they? anointed, not appointed. you cannot buy loyalty. you cannot tamp down discontent, unrest. that is the debt of the prized inheritance. buy the prize, steal the treasure. prices that are not paid, merely discounted.
we have so little faith when in want of a leader. sheep to lions; lions to lepers. crises of faith, like nothing else, are fecund. at harvest, they bear ripe fruit of irrationality and insolence and insouciance. leave it on the vine, and soon we will meet our spoils.
when the people ask, what they really want to know is—who the fuck is next? if we must follow, then we will follow, and into the deep dark we go.