finding my nietzche

Sitting in my chambers.
Alone.
With the weight of the world on my shoulders.
From the window I see long shadows of evening stretching towards night.
The Shadow's force seems so great.
Futility.
What purpose even to struggle.
The ghost of Nietzsche appears beside me, silently stroking his beard.
I turn.
"I don't like you Nietzsche," I tell him. "You're too much of a Nazi. A Nazi with good one liners. But you tried to stop that guy beating the horse to death. So I won't send you away."
Nietzsche didn't speak.
"I've been thinking about my attempts to beard Independent Newspapers in its den," I muse aloud. "How could I have presumed to oppose such people? Why did I dare to think my modest integrity could stand against their high octane power brokerage? What possible expectation of success could I have had in attempting to expose their anti Catholic pagan hedonism? What on earth was I hoping to achieve? Do I seriously think this is my role in life? To speak truth to power? To tilt perpetually like Don Quixote at liberal windmills? To endlessly engage in futile jousts with idiots I'll never meet? It's all vanity Nietzche. A chasing after wind."
Nietzsche still spake not a word.
"I've been thinking about that article by Emer O'Kelly ," I went on darkly. "Could she have been right about the Catholic church? Could I have been wrong? I feel in my heart that she is ojectively wrong. But can I know this? My every instinct is that she is absolutely wrong in everything she writes. Utterly, mendaciously, manipulatively and crassly wrong. I feel in my heart that she is a vomitous Nazi bitch who needs to live in a Muslim country for a few years just to help her figure out what oppression of women and children really is."
Nietzsche held up a hand.
"Heelers," he said softly. "If you would struggle with monsters, you must beware, lest you become a monster. For when you stare into the abyss, the abyss itself looks back into you."
I nodded grimly.
I reached across my table and handed Nietzsche a copy of the Sunday Independent.
"Here Nietzsche," sez I. "Have a look at this. This is the sort of crudd I have to put up with. Read the Barry Egan column. Can you see the underlined phrases? But I digress, Au contraire, etc etc. You know where he got those? I gotta tell you Nietzsche. When Barry Egan lifts catch phrases from Ireland's greatest living poet he should beware lest he get a kick in the bawls from Ireland's greatest living poet. And when you stare into The Heelers Diaries, The Heelers Diaries stares right back into you."