It is with such horror that I see the noose of generation curses tightening around my neck, and I am once again Petrushka, pulled by strings of steel to waltz the deadly dance, to machinations that are not of my own doing. But I am appointed, or anointed, by virtue of birthright, and with that comes the fettered crown of responsibility that I am loath to take up upon my brow.
But we all do what we must, and when the time comes for the dirty deed to be done, I will wrench it off with such distaste and repugnance, tearing my skin asunder and spilling my own blood if need be, for I will step forth to break the unbreakable chain. No longer will I be a passive subject, no longer will I be a willing supplicant to reinforced historical settings that wreck chaos in doomed circles. I vow with everything that I have and owe, that this will not come to pass, that history will not repeat itself.
Away with teleological continuity, I will create a new beginning with my own hands. I hereby cast it into your teeth with virulent contempt. Watch me.
I will like to spend my days, as though they are my own, which I mostly end up doing in halves, for duty beckons, and I am answering its clarion call. Soon enough! I am also a veteran procrastinator.