XXVI - The Fool 1

Damn, overslept again.

What time is it?

Let's check...

10 am, ain't too bad.

Looks like Lavinia's already out. Found a note on the freezer, classic Lavinia move. "Hey Eros, you're a real sleepaholic. Made you some breakfast, didn't wanna disturb your beauty sleep. Catch you later at your place."

Pancakes, eggs, and bacon? Not bad at all. Didn't know Lavinia had it in her.

Hmm, what's on the agenda for today? A stroll, maybe. Nietzsche said something about great thoughts and walking. "All truly great thoughts are conceived while walking.", sounds good to me.

Got through the morning routine like usual, then stood in front of the closet, pondering my outfit. Stepped out onto the balcony to check the weather, a balmy 20 degrees. Opted for a long-sleeve compression shirt, white trousers, and tabi sandals. Simple, no frills. Stepped outside into the sunshine, soaking up that Vitamin D.

Gotta stay healthy, right?

I strolled through the deserted streets of Manhattan, the hustle and bustle replaced by an unsettling quiet. It seemed as though fear had locked everyone indoors, leaving the city to the mercy of the unknown.

But I had a destination in mind, a totem of hope amidst the chaos: the Statue of Liberty.

As I made my way through the desolate streets, I couldn't help but notice the devastation that surrounded me.

Shops lay empty and vandalized, monuments defaced, corpses of victims laid on the ground, and the scent of blood suffocating every inch of Manhattan's streets. It was a twisted chef-d'oeuvre, a palpable reminder of humanity's capacity for destruction and grandiose horror.

Yet, I found myself unfazed by the carnage. Perhaps it was the promise of a brighter future that kept me moving forward, or perhaps I was just sure that I could rehabilitate every criminal when I will be crowned King and supreme ruler over our dear planet.

Approaching the Statue of Liberty, a firm monument and a crisp contrast to the chaos around, I spotted a figure, seemingly unaffected by the pandemonium. With a practiced hand, he assembled his tools of creation, his easel sturdy upon the ground, canvas unfurled on it.

Then, with strokes bold and sure, he perhaps intended to capture the essence of the cityscape. With white short hair and a green suit, he was focused on his canvas, like a true virtuoso.

So confident.

Could it be? The Fool?

I approached, tapping his shoulder lightly. He turned, and I offered a smile.

"Well, I'll be damned," I said. "Yves Saint-Germain himself. What a twist of fate, meeting you here. How's life treating you?"

He shook my hand firmly, "Well, ain't this a fortuitous encounter.

Let me guess, you're Mister Diablo," he drawled, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement.

"Seems like the universe or maybe even ol' Earl himself had a hand in this."

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I returned his handshake. "Nice to meet you too," I replied, feeling a surge of curiosity mingled with caution. "Feeling inspired, huh? That's good to hear. As for me, well, I've been itching for some excitement. Guess I lucked out running into you."

His attention drifted back to the painting he was working on, the Statue of Liberty taking shape under his skilled hand. "Boredom's a dangerous thing, ain't it?" he mused, his fingers deftly tracing the lines of the drawing. "But don't worry none about me. I can juggle a conversation and a painting just fine. Keeps my brain ticking."

"Well, now ain't that something," I mused, "Name's Eros Hermes. Used to strut the catwalks as a model, but with the Carrington event shaking things up, I've found myself tangled up as a C-holder.

Magician Tarot card, if you're curious. Figured it's high time someone stepped up as the people's dark knight, you know, doing what needs to be done to push humanity forward."

"A vigilante, huh? That's a twist," the architecture student responded, his tone thoughtful. "Well, you've already got the lowdown on me and my card. Came from Paris to Manhattan to chase my dreams in architecture.

Currently knee-deep in a project where I'm sketching every famous monument, picking apart its bones to understand its soul. Sketching portraits is my jam too. Maybe I'll draw you someday, your features are somethin' else."

"Well, thank you kindly, Yves. I'd be delighted.

It's a real shame, though, how minimalism's creepin' in, takin' over everything.

Soon enough, there won't be much left to sketch, ya know?

But if I have any say in it, I'll fight tooth and nail to keep what diversity we got."

"Ah, I see you're a man of discernment as well... I can't stand minimalism myself. Kills off any hint of creativity and individuality.

It's a damn shame how everyone's rushin' to embrace it just to fit in.

I say, don't conform.

Be true to yourself, even if it sets you apart from the crowd.

After all, it's our differences that make us truly human."

"Absolutely. It's a creeping evolution, seeping into every aspect of our existence, whether it's the blueprint of a building or the branding of a corporation.

And it's worrisome, isn't it? Because minimalism, at its core, signifies a dearth of substance. As the French say, 'Le Diable réside dans les détails.' "

"Right on, Eros, right on! 'The devil resides in the details.' Details matter, they're the soul of identity.

Take, for instance, what makes a British phone box stand out in a crowd? The intricate details, the vibrant color, the elegant moldings around the door, and the ornate embellishments at the apex...

All speak to a sense of beauty and individuality.

Yet, juxtaposed against this, the minimalistic phone box stands, devoid of taste, like a desolate wasteland bereft of color, its very concept leaving a bitter taste in one's mouth."

"Indeed, it's all about beauty and uniqueness, isn't it? Everything should possess distinct qualities and characteristics. But these minimalist creations, they merely exist, plain and unadorned, lacking any semblance of personality or charm."

"Consider the large corporations, too, shifting towards simpler, more streamlined logos. It's as if the essence of detail, and consequently, identity, is being washed away in favor of this stark minimalism.

Yet, detail, with its varied tastes and preferences, imposes something upon us, doesn't it? These default minimalist designs, strip everything of identity, presenting us with a neutral, clean canvas that imposes nothing, yet offers little in return."

"You know, Yves," I mused, "It's downright comical how minimalism has wormed its way into every nook and cranny of our society. From the humblest bench to the grandest of structures, it's all stripped down to its bare bones.

We have a reduction ad absurdum of cultural aesthetics: Somebody might not like a detail so there can be no details, horrific."

Yves nodded solemnly, his expression mirroring my somber tone. "It's a sad state of affairs, Eros. Seems like minimalist design has taken over because we've run out of things to say.

Take the Statue of Liberty, for instance. She speaks volumes with her elegant form, but a skyscraper? It's just... there. Devoid of meaning."

"You know, Yves, it's like I've been saying.

Suddenly, everything's blending together, losing its edge. It's the start of something big, and it ain't pretty.

Complete neutrality.

No character.

No soul.

What does that say about us, huh?

Is this the legacy we're leaving behind? We're morphing into these dull, uninspired shells of ourselves..."