today I give you nietzsche:
” is not the sea the peacock of peacocks?
even before the ugliest of all buffaloes doth it spread out its tail,
never doth it tire of its lace-fan of silver and silk.
disdainfully doth the buffalo glance thereat, nigh to the sand with its soul,
nigher still to the thicket, nighest, however, to the swamp.
what is beauty and sea and peacock-splendour to it?
this parable I speak unto the poets.
verily, their spirit itself is the peacock of peacocks, and a sea of vanity!
spectators, seeketh the spirit of the poet – should they even be buffaloes!
but of this spirit became I weary; and I see the time coming when it will become weary of itself.
yea, changed have I seen the poets, and their glance turned toward themselves.
penitents of the spirit have I seen appearing; they grew out of the poets.
– thus spake zarathustra.”