II. Megalomania As a War Crime

I worked hard and with great care to build the tower of excuses that justifies my complacency. I do not want my efforts to have been in vain. As a child, I thought that if I devoted enough time and energy to the task, I could write a comprehensive account of the human existence. I thought that if I were to meticulously plan every action, I would be able to constantly improve myself, the world, and my situation. I thought that I could plan my life as if it were a great chess game. I have learned that things are not so simple; that life is more about responding to entropy than about detailed premeditation.

I either continue as a human being to overcome the adversity I occasionally face or I collapse. But this present moment is nothing unique in human existence. I find myself at a turning point, at an absolutely pivotal moment in my life, but every moment of every human being's life is absolutely pivotal, I suspect.

Life offers a stunning dichotomy of good and evil, beauty and ugliness; it contains wonders beyond measure and frustration beyond belief. These things are essentially homogenous, with ecstasy and dissatisfaction mingling hand-in-hand and my head trying to comprehend the whirlwind of thought and the fear and chaos that accompany the joy.

Wild thoughts run like wild beasts through the thickets of my consciousness. I am trapped; I have trapped myself in a perpetual confusion through indecision. I am a king but soon the hooves of beasts will stab me down into the mud. These beasts are my own creations, and they are frightened into flight. They battle one another like warriors. Each combatant cries his battle cry, and the sum of the screams is a crescendo that destroys the pacific tranquility of the meadows and fields of my mind.

I cannot rectify the gravity of the opposing arguments I make to myself. I see humanity slipping down many separate paths. I see that each path leads to self-destruction. I want to stop the world's death-march, but I do not have enough arms and have lost my voice.

Allow me to grow in your soil that I fertilize with hatred.

Give me a purpose: need my pain to kill your fears.

Give me righteousness: look me in the eyes and hand me a rifle.