Well.
I don’t know. I mean: you ask me, “what do I want?” How can I say that, for
certain? No one ever really told me, so where would I find the answer? I can tell
you what I have dim views upon: on politics, philosophy, religion, sociology,
psychology, etc. I can speak on these matters because they’re important to
people, and I can comprehend their logic. I guess that my closest estimation is
this: I want just what everybody wants, according to my studies, and I want
these things for everyone. The only thing I cannot want is to exclude someone,
unless that person is himself exclusive and inhuman. I want to be Human. Some
people are not people. For Asimov, for instance, being human was a concrete
feeling, but “humanity” was an abstraction. Bullshit!! HE is the abstraction;
how could a biologist deny this? Every nuance of the private ego is a construct
of the greater mind, born out of some sort of sterile consumerism and intrusive
propaganda. I KNOW I am Human because I know things about Humanity; without
that knowledge, how could I say who I am? Their suffering is mine; if I have
cravings, they are to participate in the Great Struggle of our species towards
transcendence of this Plane. As a Human, I have the authority to say that hatred
is misguided, except towards the hateful. I can say that greed is a mistake and
private wills are simple fluctuations in a greater trend. One cannot preserve
one’s self by harming others, since all harm that humans witness is effectively
the same. That has been my experience, and since I am not sure what “my” means,
I might say instead “an”, and since I haven’t had ANY experience to challenge
it, when not “THE”? THE Experience of Being Human. THAT is what I want. All of
my Life I’ve known only the semblance of this mystic “happiness” people refer
to. I am only ever less miserable; I’m most “myself” when I forget myself, in
Solitude, the World just flowing in from every angle, no one to attend to or to
worry for, except perhaps my dog and some plants in the garden. (Plain plants.
Not the kind you might imagine me to love specifically.) I want Love, but not
by means of hatred; I want children, but not to be born into some bondage. I can’t
deny my hatred of those “men” who put themselves before me, not because I value
myself more, but rather because I can’t understand them in a human context of
compassion, and not only is my own love wasted on them, to the point of
desperate hatred, but their every action threatens my Humanity and my own
standing in the Human Race. I can’t deny this, but I can deny them leave of it,
for their hatred must surely all ways be surpassing of my own, and where would
my own COME from if not from them? I know not where they acquired it to start
with. I crave harmlessness. Harmlessness towards my “self” – whatever that
means – and towards others. Harmony in all relationships. I seek to remedy the
chaos in them constantly, like a composer or a mathematician. I have written hundreds
of poems and entries to my public log. I’ve filled up shelves on my bookshelf
with journals, sometimes scrawled and others neat, sometimes abounding in
leftover space and other times resourceful, but invariably necessary to contain
thoughts which would flee me like a Dream if unattended. All my Life I’ve been
a parent to my thoughts and friends and family, trying to keep them from
running away, not so as to enslave them but to try with agony for their protection.
This is who I am: a healer. But you ask me: what am I DOING with Life? And I
reply: I’m here. I’m there. A volunteer. A xylophonist. A programmer. A composer.
A scorned lover. A forgotten friend. An unforgettable mentor. I do not know.
Maybe it’s all internal, fanciful and disappointing. So be it. I think less of
myself than you may think. Were it not for you, would I even know that I exist?
[({Dm.A.A.)}]
This is the True Conclusion
to this Weblog. I had miscounted, reading the inclusive count which counted for
unpublished drafts. This is the thousandth publication. So be it.
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