There are rhythms that excite the universe to vibration and resonate through my scrotum. They infuse my breakfast with a wave of cosmic pollution and leave a piece here and there that does not belong, a citrus zest through a Spanish bean stew, but not some single-zesting, more your full orange peel through the blender. They make the hairs on the back of your forearm stand-up and also lie-down and both in succession and they inform the way you think about me and how you think I think about you and how I think you think about ambition in the face of the lethal determinism of an 84-year life-expectancy and they make me hurt in the chest.
Me: But whatever possessed them to use so much zest?
You: At this place, it’s either that something’s missing or there’re too many ideas
Me: Not sure which one in this instance.
You: I’m sure you can overwhelm it with just two ideas; salt and pepper. And I’ve learnt something; pumpkin, hazelnut and cheese, they don’t go together.
Me: So of all the things your meal may be missing, at least education is not one of them
You: I don’t want breakfast to be a learning experience.
These rhythms arrange time and form standing waves and these are repetitive and they make me do something that somebody else has done and to the observer of the oscilloscope they are the same curve, but to me they are quite different. Which is why Caesar wept when, alive at the age of Alexander’s death, he had himself done far less than The Macedon. The truth is, Macedonia was always a shit-hole and Alexander’s motivation is borne of that same feeling that pesters smart children who grew up on farms. Julius though was raised in wealth, the son of an ancient family. How did he become the wolf? How did he come to cross the Rubicon? And what of the lions that used to live in Europe, actually lived there? How can I suggest that he is more wolf than man? He is an everysexual solitary dog who lay with Nicomedes and also with your wife and was sent to prove that one needn’t suffer, except to be stabbed in the breast by 18 of your colleagues and also by your closest friend, in order to become the leader of the world. He is how I feel you should be, all the time and he is dead. He was the leader of a people half the size of that led by some schmuck who used to be a painter in Geelong. He breathes out atoms that I breath in and he expires as I lament the fact that, alive at the age that Alexander died, Caesar was at least moved to weep at the thought of not having done so much.
Samuel L is the naturalest, naturopathic practitioner of natural medicine, working within conventional Western Chi. His expert opinion has been sought in three class-actions regarding the utility of things. He subscribes to a number of eminent publications, in magazine form. His opinions on most topics are held in high regard. You may contact him at work, or just leave a message. He lives in Melbourne, Victoria and likes what you've done with the place. 
I wonder if Caesar was ever bitterly disappointed with a breakfast tortilla.
I imagine that if it were a spanish tortilla he’d be happy to have won an Iberian campaign and if it were a Mesoamerican tortilla, he’d be happy to have brought corn to the Old-World 1550 years earlier than Columbus. Though I can’t say he’d like the taste.
Why wait? Who needs an empire? What does it prove?