April 24th, Year of our Lord 2012
Encampment, East shores of Chickamauga Lake
My Dearest Barbara,
The light off Chikamauga Lake reflects the moon on this cool cloudless night. It takes me back in time and I recite aloud a haiku I read as an underclassman studying at West Point.
The moon departs
frost falls upon the
morning glory.
Then, as I survey the words from your forked tongue, I find satisfaction with your choice of author, or lack there of, from which you plagiarize your own signature.
Any true student of great literature recognizes the signifigance with which such things must be meditated upon and ultimately chosen. A short simple essay, poem or even the stoic death haiku of a Japanese samurai can transcend what the lay man could not say in a lifetime with words ∞.
What one must also account for is the Architect of such things. You chose Joseph Rudyard Kipling, or as Orwell properly labeled him, "the prophet of british imperialism." Upon this second consideration, your candidate has been found vastly wanting.
This poor excuse of a man's life holds no quarter in the discussion of what is to be a man. Born into privilege only to cowardly explore the parts of Gods Great Creation that the crown's soldiers had already slithered across before him, as to rape and pillage in it's name. By his experiences, birth right and a british passport were the only intangibles as to what beget a man.
I can only surmise, by your reference of such a person as Mr. Kipling, that you have sadly lived your entire life in the absence of any worth while examples of men, and only spent a rudimentry amount time amongst even the lowest level of parlor soldiers, at best.
Due to this, it finds no man here astonished that you choose to don the childish tin crown of a bona-fide imperialist, whilst chastising another, of your own likeness, that you see on the horizon as the threatening usurper of your own ill gotten gains.
Good day,
Colonel Enel Ingus