The turmoil and faux-turmoil and dramas and faux-dramas of others and also nearly all that which is other brings me no pleasure. I don’t invest in or measure who said what or who fell out with who over whatever whenever and wherever it happened.
If I were to watch a colony of ants consume itself the only satisfaction I would derive would be derived from the unintentional patterns this violent, collective act of consumption would create. Silly creatures making complex pictures. A kaleidoscopic and bloodthirsting majesty and nothing, absolutely nothing, beyond that.