The Pirate King

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Making the rounds through life, as people do. At the moment this journal was undertaken, I was in China. How I got there is unclear. I liked it, except for the things that bothered me. But it is mostly a very good place. Canada is nice, too.

I have a romantic dream about the merits of leadership in the world. It is rarely about ego or self-gratification. And when that is not the case, when there remains no appetite in the world for altruism and nobility, I shall deem fit to wage a war of piracy, complete with rousing music and a brief light show to mesmerize my prey. The only trouble is, I can't decide on whether to sail in a souped-up tallship, build Nemo's Nautilus or employ a starship. Each is equally exciting. Each is equally unfeasible. On certain days the crew would be comprised of Muppets. I think on Fridays. No one takes Fridays seriously. On the other days the crew would be handpicked, but with a certain number of untouchables: those who even I cannot remove if only to force me to accept that while I may be Emperor, I am not devine; that occasionally I will *!#* up and someone will be watching. It happens. It's normal. And it's healthy to have someone point it out when it happens.