| up a level
from the bury-me-not-on-the-lone-prayeree dept.
VII. The Bridge
By now were seas of tears falling from Zarathustra's eyes. The Reader was puzzled and intrigued by such an uncivilized, dangerous display of emotion. "Why do you cry, Madman?"
"Because it is not Zarathustra whose work shall be carried on." Tears slid down his eyes, describing a small puddle on the earth. Into the puddle did Zarathustra stare.
The Reader demanded, "What are you staring at, Madman?" entranced by -- even fixated upon -- Zarathustra's "madness.""Zarathustra's death."
"How shall you die?"
"'How shall Zarathustra die?'
Thus sang Zarathustra.
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