Reillusionment with History

I was disillusioned with history and largely am, but learning Latin has reillusioned me with history
in such pleasant ways.  I understand increasingly more about the world around me that was previously
implicit.  I'm now able to read ancient Roman myths in their original tongue, and have, and now know
conflation of tongue and language to be something from Latin; I've still a ways to go before fluency
and much more to read, but already this learning has restored some interest in history inside of me.

I occasionally must remember that much history regarding the twentieth century is seriously believed
by most everyone around me, despite the obvious falsity and even impossibility of the claims, claims
from which certain groups still benefit.  I remember in my schooling how the advanced classes showed
to me and the few other students not documentaries about such events, but fictional movies; I figure
those people responsible wanted to hit the smarter children with harder material for indoctrination.

More real than those obvious lies is that story of Daedalus and Icarus, and how true its moral today
even, to avoid recklessness.  Sure, but wax and feathers can't allow men to fly, and it would become
colder and not warmer as they gained height.  Nonetheless, it's still more valuable than those lies.

Those lies can't compare, as they're the same ugly shape as those who spread them; they lack purpose
beyond spreading guilt and lack morals entirely; the lies will probably persist, but only due to the
effect they've had on the world, yet they will eventually be recognized as lies by all and those who
spread them will continue to be reviled for the scam.  I can't help but wonder if ancient history is
so shunned in standard educations purely because it detracts from the lies which affect recent past.

Not all ancient myths have morals, of course; the story of Theseus and the Minotaur involves Theseus
seeking glory, pretending to be a tribute so that he may enter the labyrinth, and simply killing the
minotaur; he was only able to find the exit by following that thread which Ariadna had given to him,
and yet amusingly deserts her on an island overnight, for no reason, after having her accompany him.
His father, Aegeus, committed suicide by jumping into the sea, since Theseus had forgotten to change
his ship's sail from black, leaving Aegeus to believe his son dead by the minotaur.  From this comes
that name of the Aegaean sea; similarly, the island at which Icarus' body was found is named Icaria.

It's from learning Latin that I know the stories of Arion, a fiddler saved by a dolphin; Polycrates,
a king so lucky gods were envious; and how I finally have an identity to attach to the name Orpheus.
I'll soon learn yet more history from the writers themselves; I'll be able to read about the capture
of Troy, by Vergilius, and about Hannibal, by Cornelius Nepos; no one ever taught me about Hannibal.

Learning Latin by the natural method has opened mine eyes to the world of nonsense in which I exist.
The world is much more complicated than it had been in Roman times, and many times more nonsensical.

Ofttimes, I've imagined what it would be like to have a similar book teaching English by the natural
method, but it's too complex as of late for that to work.  Everyone uses the Internet instead, which
connects them not with native speakers per se, but an interconnected mass of machinery automatically
writing and rewriting, grammar and semantics be damned.  I've become ever more aware of the nonsense
necessary for understanding much: words and phrases such as ``Batman'', ``climate change'', ``global
warming'', ``the science'', what it means for some object to be considered ``smart''; and so much of
this is neverending nonsense progressing at a rate beyond any one person's ability to understand it.

This is exacerbated by the constant surveillance and monitoring of all communications by evil people
who wish to quell all criticism about them, causing many to change how they speak to be indirect and
obscure.  A large bit of the conversations I see or in which I partake are written in indirect code.
I believe not that people two millennia prior had to resort to these extreme measures so frequently,
nor that the indirect codes needed to be nearly as complex as today's, to write naught of the memes.

The machinery of evil works tirelessly to change and rewrite what works people have a good chance of
reading, and thus English books and other writings are taken to have their words stripped and others
added, their meanings reversed, and their intentions discarded or diluted.  Lately, Spanish has been
the next target, with the omnipresence of gender in that language offending the faggots who work for
evil as janissaries or, more amusingly, as the neologism ``tranissaries''; the trying to take gender
from language by evil is akin to removing a message from a message-passing system, to make it harder
to communicate, and eventually to destroy it.  It's far easier for evil to simply ignore the ancient
texts few will ever even want to read, however, and, while I can't entirely discount this, I know it
to be necessarily less common, just as all automated systems necessarily track those languages less.

I admit that this experience has given me a different view of religion.  I can understand why others
would prefer to read and believe texts that have gone unchanged for centuries and, while there's the
concern about the truth of the original texts and whether or not even they were changed by agents of
evil, I now understand why others choose that path.  I've long understood that religions, whether or
not I agree with them, form important world history, but now I understand it in an entirely new way.

I, as others, live in a world of lies and euphemisms, shaped by evil that's grown to shape language.
To learn ancient languages, with their far lesser motive to shape, may free one from such evil lies.
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