When I was younger, roughly between the ages of 8 and 16, I spent a great deal of time trying to reconcile the kindness of which human beings are capable with the unspeakable cruelty. There were the respectable and compassionate people whom I looked at with admiration. If ever I was restless and unhappy when thinking about them, it was only because I questioned my ability to be as forgiving and reasonable as they. But the dark thoughts that we all have found a toe-hold in my mind, and I could not shake them loose. Every news story about a serial killer, war crime, or any act of gory brutality stopped me cold wherever I was and demanded to be dealt with immediately. Sort of like an intelligent person obsessively working on a math problem. As an emotional person, I found the coexistence of these two extremes vexing.
That was merely the beginning of it. And I'm not overstating how painful this was for me. It soured the taste of the world. I should have been somewhat able to put the truculence around me out of my mind, at least until I was older and more prepared to deal with it. I write, "around me" in a way that only a victim of the "age of information" could understand it. In truth, I was surrounded by a loving family and a fair number of friends in neighborhoods that were always free of crime or anything to be feared, except boredom. But the world beyond could seep into your ear and eye holes long before the Internet. Movies, newspapers and television made sure that you never had to go a minute without hearing about the Hellish "wonders" of the world.
What a jerk I was to so many people. So often I was in a foul mood and irritated. If only I could go back and tell people what was going on. I was brooding, man! Although I'm not sure if that would help. It does make you look crazy, doesn't it? So crazy I was, apparently. Not a thing I could do about it, no more than I can wish myself sane today. I like to think that I've a kind disposition, and that these disturbing thoughts bothered me so much because I was and am such a compassionate bloke. And happily, that take follows logically.
For years and years my nightmares were full of serial killers, and anyone else who took life and caused pain without reason. To kill for money had a logic to it, so it bothered me a bit less. My greatest fear was that I would one day wake up and see the world as Dahmer or Gein saw it. That fucking Jeffrey Dahmer haunted me. Again, not because I was afraid a skinny, strange man with a bad haircut was going to eat me. Oh, no. But maybe Dahmer had been like me, and one day everything just went "pop!" and he found himself eating people. Yeesh.
I've since found out a few lovely factoids about serial killers. They don't just go, "pop!" and start killing people, like Bush and company. They are often victims of hideous cruelty themselves, which is both ironic and logical. Right now, there is a kid yelling in the courtyard beneath my window. If I could get away with it, I'd kill that fucker stone-cold with a mallet. Such a desire may have bothered me when I was a kid. Today, however, I know how to relax, and take comfort in knowing that, like all of us, he's going to die sooner or later without me doing anything. Some disease will ravage his organs, or a stroke will turn him into a vegetable. If he doesn't die young, then he gets to watch his body painfully waste away.
That's what you have to do to get through life. Don't let it bother you. Rest your weary, it will all be over soon! Accentuate the positive!
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