But have I made clear why I’m such a recluse, dearest reader? Why I shy away from going to new places and meeting new people? It’s time I told you.
You’ll think I’m insane.
It’s because I hate people.
And you might say, “But Desi, you’re a people too,” and I’ll shrug it off because I’ve already considered that, and even though I can live with myself and reasonably like who I am, when I look at matters objectively I simply don’t come up to scratch.
I hate people because most spend years of their lives in formal study, and yet do stupid and irrational things. And they punish each other for things they’d do themselves, and take what they think is the most morally correct action, when really, there’s nothing right about it at all.
I hate people because they direct their anger at matters that, in the greater scheme of things, are inconsequential.
I hate people because few can be entirely honest with themselves. They think that they are good people and could never commit a crime or be at all nasty, when all it takes is a little push, a pound of pressure applied to the right place.
It would be incomparably easier if we were all rational and intelligent and independent, but we’re not. This is the problem. This is why I don’t go out, this is why I sit in one or another goddamn room every night reacting to phosphors, listening to the taps from my keyboard, reading the words of people I have never met, and will never meet.
But sometimes, this is more real than anything else I know.