Death, Tyranny, and the Illusion of Happiness
I do not like people very much. Individuals can be wonderful, yes, but as a species my fellow humans confuse, anger, or sadden me, sometimes all three at once. I think sometimes that I could live a very happy life all alone. My favorite time of day is the wee hours of the weekdays, between three and four in the morning, when the world is nearly deserted and I am alone with my thoughts and away from all the ugliness that is practiced during most people’s waking hours. I would be a hypocrite to claim that I believe self-interest is wrong, but there is a marked difference between serving only one’s self and trampling over one’s fellow beings for no clear reason.
Tonight my dearest, most beloved friend walked past a party in honor of Our Beloved Leader and His Noble Healthcare Bill. Only a few yards away, within view of the warehouse collective where the party was held, someone had been murdered outside a gas station. Isn’t that our culture in a nutshell? Drunken revelers celebrate another handout without considering the consequences and ignore a murder in favor of cheap beer and inexpertly-played music while they talk of the virtues of compassion and altruism.
It’s unfashionable to suggest that it’s immoral for anyone to coerce another into acts of charity or a show of compassion. It is even less fashionable to admit selfishness is a necessary and even natural part of the human experience, but this fact is never more apparent than when one observes the actions of those supposedly selfless people who ignore the life seeping out onto the cracked and dirty pavement while they make merry in honor of another forced extraction of alms for their beggars’ bowls.