It's a queer realization, to realize that I hate who I'm becoming. I no longer have a moral compass. I no longer lay any claim to a higher idealism. The comfortable glaze through which I waste my existence is the pathetic derivative of the internal world in which I really abide: a motley, rickety collection of self-deceptions, self-constructed shams. I'm not being emo. I'm being honest. And that's so much harder to stomach. It was one of those experiences today, when the clouds vanish, and I saw the clear, unobstructed, objective reflection of my self. It was revolting. I know I have the capacity for three-dimensional, morally productive living. But how to achieve that? I was always taught that religion is the source of morality. But plenty of nonreligious people lead good, morally productive lives. And yet, I cannot break from that template, that obstinate notion that associates moralism with religion, that assumes religion to be the best mechanism for moral productivity. The fact that many nonreligious people lead morally productive lives reflects more the goodness that exists intrinsically within their constitutions than their creed or religious affiliation. Some people are just decent. Me, on the other hand... I look at all I've been given, and the rotting, gangrenous person I've become, and my reliance on an external entity for transcendence, for some mystical quantity to help me overcome the basest of my proclivities, starts to make a lot more sense. I need something transcendent to achieve a morally productive life. I fully understand that. Religion seems like the obvious answer. Religions are the only philosophies with enough balls to make the grandest of moral claims... and it's the cosmic nature of these claims that spur us to transcend ourselves. The problem with religion though, is that the stories powering these magnificent claims are so patently ridiculous that I cannot for the life of me understand how any self-respecting person could fall for them. But the catch-22 is this: if I'm already living in an internal world of my own construction - a deception - and if I'm already an asshole, why not just deceive myself in another way, via another method that produces moral productivity as a byproduct? I could never respect myself if I believed all those stupid stories, but being that I don't like myself anyway, really, what's there to lose?

***

I'm in love with his words. He carefully picks each adjective, noun, verb, adverb through analyzing its powers, meanings, captivity.
I don't know him, nor do I have the courage to tell him his words, syntax, structure are slowly shaping by life.

Sigh. The world is definitely full of wonderful people.

***

Am I truly that lucky to have been born American?

I ponder about this compliment sometimes. I'm not sure how to take it.