YC122.11.10 - My Immortal Worth

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 //PERSONAL LOG
//ENTRY BY CLEMENTINE LAFLEUR
//DATE YC122.11.10

As the incursions of Blood Raider attacks begin to slow down and their annual rituals comes to a close, my mind drifts to the question “What is my worth in this world?". I see the value these cultists place on the blood running through my veins, revering it as divine. I see the value other capsuleers place on the blank war clones, that are not unlike the ones used for ourselves. But what value do I have to those that I place my value in?   We have been given a gift of immortality, a means to travel the galaxy to expand our influence to the furthest star. But still, somehow we squander it overcome with petty bickering and greed. 

War is all around us, from Black Rise to the Bleak Lands, to the Triglavian invasions and the newly formed Pochven. Capsuleer corporations and alliances go to war over what? Money, assets, space to live? The war being waged down in the southern regions of New Eden in the lawless Nullsec is an example of this self-destructive path we find ourselves on. Trillions of people lose their lives for this, trillions of lives throw away for the sake of two people's disagreement. Can this be justified, are these lives any less important than that of casuleers? Some would call us immortals, but I dislike that word as it suggests we are gods or liken to that of a god. We are not inhuman, we make mistakes, we allow our emotions to get the better of us, and most of all we do die. Maybe not the body, but of the soul.

Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
these rebel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end?
Then soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more.
So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And, Death once dead, there's no more dying then.

[Sonnet 146 by Bill Shakespeare YC Unknown]


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