I once knew a man who said he loved his daughter. He told me of a colt for her, its mother Mare, he slaughtered. I asked him if he saw the Irony, an orphaned colt for his daughter. He swore there was no Irony: it was only his job to slaughter. “An animal is nothing more than a resource for our consumption.” he said this loudly in my ear with a torturer’s rough gumption. He said they were stupid beasts unworthy of my praise, I wondered of his daughter whom he swore to raise. I asked him if every man was free to judge the stupid, to wit he replied, “God’s word be not disputed.” I took this as permission, and locked him in my basement. I took his orphaned daughter and sold her into debasement. He begged me understanding, knowing not how to be apart; and what I judged to slaughter was the stupidity of his heart.
screaming at low volumes
