Debase the Currency - Whether Coin or Clout - Show Who Rules Them - And Set Yourself Free - Go East Old Man - To Learn Something New - Make Peace With Darkness - And Shine Your Light - Witness Inaction In Action - Before the Great Game - Of Two Competing Conceits - Leaving a Strange Legacy
9
360 B.C
Five years passed since Anti died.
The city moved on, noting perhaps one less wild dog roaming the streets. Dr. Ozymandias made quite a living through his sense of humors and Plato was still respected by uncritical circus seals paid to think the same thoughts.
Aristotle, try as he might, still couldn't quite grow a beard. Nor had he ditched his lisp. But there was still something to him. He began to write and so far as anyone could tell he never intended to stop. He also developed a love for bling. Definitely not a cynic.
Dio spent his time differently. He despised possessions almost entirely, owning only the cloak on his back, Anti's lamp, and his favorite drinking bowl emblazoned with World’s Best Boy. He recalled his time in Corinth with Xeni fondly.
He still thought about him every morning when he woke to open air. When he ate in the marketplace like a degenerate. When he visited the Cynosarges to exercise. When he curled up to sleep under the Stoa of Zeus, wrapped only in his cloak and memories.
He spent each day tooling about the city with his lamp lit day or night, peering into citizen’s faces, asking each if they were honest. All said they were, exposing their lie and his disappointment. But Ari at least hesitated before declaring, “I am honetht.”
He didn't earn Dio's respect exactly, but he had earned a shortened name.
Dio never did find an honest man. Nor an honest woman. He didn't discriminate. Not like that. He discriminated against the dishonest regardless of their genital situation. That meant everyone apparently. The same as no one.
He did wonder where all the women were in this story. Thus far, he’d only counted the teenager way back at the beginning in Delphi and in such a minor role there wouldn’t even be a story without her. Dio wasn’t sure if he should thank or blame her for it.
He asked the narrator one night where all the ladies were at. The sexist bastard said something dumb about no sources he could trust on women from the era. But he did promise something female for the thirteenth chapter. Easy. He’d already outlined it.
Eventually, Dio understood he couldn’t spend his life searching for something forever lost. It isn't so much we have short lives, but the wasting of the time we have. Filling ourselves with ourselves and acting ashamed when someone walks in on us.
Dio had no shame, so he threw the lantern away. Can't shame the shameless, unlike blaming the blameless. Wu-Tang!
He made a living as a beggar, just as he had with Anti. He'd become famous himself. The greybeard acting like a dog. He didn't dress up as a dog, that was for rich Academy kids looking for kinks on weekends. He lived as one. He even had puppies.
The tragedy of orphans living at the Cynosarges thought he was just the coolest dog in the world. They followed him around town anytime they weren’t stealing musical instruments. They seemed to have raw talent for music, just no parents or money or taste.
Today, Dio was spare-changing from a particularly miserly figure. He kept asking for alms, but no matter the joke he told or how sad a yarn he spun, every request was met with a stoic silence. But as his target never walked away, he just kept asking.
“Spare ten bucks to make a phone call? Spare some change to save democracy from the plutocrats? If you give me ten bucks, I’ll give you a free hug. It’s cold out here and you look absolutely frigid. Might toughen up both of us.”
“Diogenes,” a walker by asked. “Why are you begging from a statue?”
“Practicing being rejected,” Dio explained patiently. “Spare some change for character development in a questionable biography?”
“No.”
“Well piss off then, with your pestilent face and cow-dumb, piss-stained buttocks! I ought to end you right now, you gods damned jerk! Come here!” Dio threatened.
“Keep practicing, Diogenes!” They laughed for some reason as they wandered off.
“Thanks! I will,” Dio replied cheerfully before turning back to the statue. “Spare some change for a six-pack and a handgun? Spare some change for ranch dressing and an ice cream cone? Spare some change for some Heinz and a sushi roll?”
Nothing. This guy was stone itself. Dio considered picking the statue's pockets when he heard raised voices and shouts from the agora behind him.
“Perdiccas invaded Upper Macedon! He’s taking it back from Illyria! Claims taxation is theft!”
Dio rolled his eyes as the Twitterati had their say on how horrible or fantastic it was some King of the Crooks invaded some King of the Thieves’ territory. He didn’t care for Macedonians or Illyrians. They insisted on kleptocratic masters.
The commentariat hung on every piece of news and rarely concerned themselves with questions of veracity. The more salaciously bombastic an utterance, the truer it must be. Skepticism only applied to news they didn’t want to believe. Everything else was true.
Each statement simply set them on fire. Politics has nothing to do with reason. To get through life one needs either reason or a noose, and they choose the noose. Maniacs the lot of them. Dio returned to begging money from an inanimate object.
“I am once again asking for your support as I tilt against windmills and yell at clouds,” Dio explained to the statue. “I am saddened by a dizzying variety of deodorant and need your money to get rid of most of it. You’ll be happy with grey flavor alone.”
“Hello, Dog,” a familiar voice said. “Finally found someone else who'll tolerate you?”
Dio turned to see his old pal Manes hunched over and hideous. He seemed confident, despite Krusty's “medicine” having worn off. That made him less difficult to look at, he realized. He could almost imagine his muscle twitches and ticks were bounces.
“My man Manes,” Dio exclaimed. “How are you doing? Nice tracksuit! Crooked again, I see. But straight spined at the same time! I mean, that was a joke, right? How no one loves me? Hilarious. Look who found a mind somewhere. What’s new, troll-boy?”
“Well,” Manes said. “I heard your compatriot died and figured I’d come point that out to you.”
“Aw,” Dio replied. “Shucks. Thanks, Manes. I’m unaware of your compatriots but if any have died recently, I congratulate them on having escaped you too. Come to think of it, I never congratulated you on escaping me. Congrats! You’re a fugitive. I don’t mind.”
“Not anymore,” Manes declared proudly. “I have a new master and he is a great man. More than a man, he’s a king descended from gods. He bought me.”
“From whom? I seem to recall you were my property and I haven’t seen a dime.”
“Kings can buy a slave without a master by making a sensible donation at the nearest temple. He’s a fine master, destined for great things.” Contract law had reached its pinnacle already.
“You’re proud of having a king as a master?” Dio asked. “King is a weird way to spell that word, you know.”
“What word?”
“Cunt,” Dio replied. “But they’re both four letter words in some languages. I can see the confusion.”
“Didn’t you tell Krusty that meant a real cool dude? I don’t speak Latin.”
Dio hefted his remote control. “Neither do I. I speak whatever language the listener understands."
“You won’t speak at all if you don’t do what I tell you,” Manes threatened, finally getting to the reason for his visit. “You need to come with me and see my master right now, in fact.”
“And why would I do that? I’m having a grand time with my friend here… uh… who the hell are you supposed to be, again?” He asked the statue. “Some allegory, no doubt, but which?” Collective disdain. It’s collective disdain. Like tweeting into the abyss.
“King Perdiccas says he’ll have you killed if you don’t visit him on your own, you know.”
“It’s a trap,” Dio replied, channeling big fish energy. “I wouldn’t expect any less from a spider or a scorpion. If that tyrannical philosopher-prick really wants me to see him, he should tell me nothing would make him happier than my staying away.”
“Aren’t you worried he might send someone to kill you?” Manes replied hopefully.
“Nope. He’s got bigger problems than a hobo talking smack. Like Illyrians and syphilis and that brother Philip of his.”
“So, you’re just going to sit around?” Manes accused. “What of your impassivity? ‘Action means more than words? Beware the man who only speaks?’ You’re full of it, Diogenes the Dog. Come see King Perdiccas with me if you’re so into action.”
“No. I’m busy trying to lick my own balls this afternoon. Unless you want to? I could pencil you in, assuming the pencil will tolerate writing your name, of course.”
“No thank you,” Manes declined with a smirk and savage grin. “Now I have to report to King Perdiccas, actually. You’re a dead dog. I win either way, Mr. Furry Philosopher.”
“Dio!” An orphan street rat yelled, sprinting towards them waving his scrawny arms in the air. “Perdiccas is dead! Killed by Illyrians!” Dio laughed and marveled at Anti, the old dog, coming through from beyond the grave six years after meeting him.
He also raised an eyebrow at Manes, who looked to be sick as he turned and lurched off without a word. Dio yelled, “Wait! Come back! What about my balls?!”
Debase the Currency - Whether Coin or Clout - Show Who Rules Them - And Set Yourself Free - Go East Old Man - To Learn Something New - Make Peace With Darkness - And Shine Your Light - Witness Inaction In Action - Before the Great Game - Of Two Competing Conceits - Leaving a Strange Legacy