In Avignon. Part One.

I am standing on the top floor balcony of a high-rise flat wearing another man's aftershave. I can see the palace that housed the Popes during the Avignon succession. Between me and the abandoned Papal throne, next to houses with swimming pools and a man who is topless asleep in his garden, a festival is happening.

The ghost of a clown whispers in my ear: sometimes a turd is just a turd.

Never so sure of anything, I turn around but the only the memory lingers. Maybe you could monetarise Mad Cyril. That kind of aggressive, ironic bigotry is hot right now.

I am always torn. Having spent my life enjoying unrequited love for human, I have lately been in an unrequited affair with an ideal. It's equally frustrating, and there are no interludes of dispassionate sex. 

Back in the bedroom, a book and a webpage are open. The webpage discusses Laura Penny's thoughts on Milo. The book contains an essay that considers the contradictions in Alan Moore's portrayal of Rorschach, a right-wing vigilante.  

Both of them share a frustration at what they perceive as a contradiction in (American) right-wing thinking. A certain... embrace of the ultimate void is juxtaposed with a belief in a particular set of conservative values. The argument is that Milo - or the fictional Rorschach - have an awareness that all moral statements are insincere. However, they continue to act as if right-wing opinions have worth.

For example, when asked about the sexual assault performed by The Comedian, another vigilante, Rorschach mumbles that he is not interested in commenting on 'the moral lapses' of a man who protected his country.

I could imagine those lines coming from Milo, defending a cop who shot a black man. Maybe Donald Trump, too.

Over in the USA, Milo is having a party to celebrate his banning on twitter.