In the lonely hint of darkness, for there are nor wit nor wail. It matters not how things began, for all is doomed to fail. In despondence, it occurs that few things persist so well as uncertainty. That constant, maddening drip, penultimate and voracious through and through. The criss and cross, flaying and barreling forward, draining into yawning steel or simpering infinity. It’s there. And so, these times that conspire to wrest recollection from failing and questionable histories, that ascribe nostalgia to a litany of inconsistent but unfailing missteps, revenge is both meticulous and triumphant.
There’s a bit of loneliness in the world, I think. But not the kind we’ve all come to recognize. Not the feeling that we are alone, unknowable, or otherwise separated from our peers. It’s something I never expected to encounter, and yet that’s exactly what makes it so penetrating. It’s a kind of emotional nostalgia, and the realization that the novelty of life itself is fleeting. I used to wonder what adults thought to themselves as they watched us play and grow, forever discovering, always surprised and delighted or perturbed.
I just realized I am a victim of the Peter Principle. Ever since I can remember, I’ve been a very quiet and withdrawn person. When people see that, they need to assign a cause. Well, if someone isn’t talking, they must be listening or thinking. If they think a lot, they must be smart. So every adult I ever met when I was a child always treated that way. Of course, I am then pressured to push myself—to fulfill their expectations.
Humanity simply doesn’t have a brain capable of it. People can only mentally relate to a certain number of people or ideals. Anything else becomes foreign. Our animal brains see foreign things as potential threats, and puts up guards. Suddenly, a person starts to wonder: why don’t those other people do it the way we do? The ‘it’ here can be anything: Religion, politics, pick any subject. That question evolves into a disagreement, then an argument, then a schism, and so on.
I want to tell a story, and I’m sure most people won’t like it for one reason or another. If you stop reading after the first paragraph or two, I won’t blame you. It’s hard to read, and says a lot of bad things about humanity. But I like to think that it also provides necessary perspective that helps society see where it needs to improve. It’s about my family.