I feel fraudulent in my sometimes misguided crusade, despite the better part of me ultimately concluding that what I am doing is right. Settled between miscellaneous implications and the simplification of right vs. wrong, I find myself at odds. I suppose that in this suspended moment, there is no action for the greater good that supersedes the very notion of what is right versus what is wrong. Many human things are simply wrong, and sometimes require editing, or rewriting. Now is one such a moment. The wells of rage that overflow on the streets bruise me in familiar spots, as I know this fight. I think of my micro world and the obligation I have to myself, first and foremost. I am no martyr, nor am I a savior. I am who I’ve always been.
This pact of respect with myself swings both ways, and I have this obligation to fulfill the mere existence of human willpower, and perhaps consumption of the philosophical variety. Someday, I may sum up the courage to come to terms with my inner workings. I’ll come to the table of my demons in resolution and not nihilism.
Tonight, I know nothing.