King Lear in Manhattan.

Last night my wife and I went down to the Public Theater to see "King Lear," with Sam Waterston in the title role. There are many great things about living in New York City, not the least of which being able to see something Shakespearean almost anytime you want. Even if it's a lesser play like, say, "Love's Labor's Lost" with an all lesbian Armenian cast.

In any event, I am still reeling from having spent hours upon hours of forced exposure to speeches at an aforementioned Ted-like conference I attended. I am still stuttering from the administration of intravenous Kool-Aid and injections of huge doses of Newspeak--of curation, of ideation, of masturbation. So, seeing "Lear" served as an antidote to our societal wankfest, our celebration and extollation of all things ephemeral, trivial and inconsequential.

Lear is about life and death. About love, loyalty and language. It is about honor and aging and truth and forked-tonguedness.

Many people through this blog ask me or praise me for my "fearlessness." For writing, while captive within the clutches of a penurious holding company, about the sins of our Lords, our Masters, our Controllers, our Overseers. The signers of paychecks, the demanders of timesheets, the doler-outers of PTO. Why are you not afraid of speaking your mind, some readers ask me? Why are you not afraid?

The answer is easy. I don't think many in positions of authority could read something as long as this, something that's gone on for this many words without false praise or buzzwords.

I heard a fly buzzword when I died.

I leave you with this, from Lear's fool:

Mark it, nuncle:
Have more than thou showest,
Speak less than thou knowest,
Lend less than thou owest,
Ride more than thou goest,
Learn more than thou trowest,
Set less than thou throwest;
Leave thy drink and thy whore,
And keep in-a-door,
And thou shalt have more
Than two tens to a score.