I don’t know who I am.
I have morals but I have no way to know if I obey those morals, in fact I know in many cases I don’t.
I am a killer by proxy. I am a slaver by proxy.
I am an accomplice to crimes unimaginable.
I have not stepped in, or perhaps stepped out of my lazy and gluttonous wallow.
How can I consider myself a good person when everyday thousands die and I do nothing to stop it.
How can I find enjoyment when so many others bathe in misery, in pain.
I say I care but do I?
I miss the days when I didn’t know.
The days where my every movement was not against my moral compass.
I miss magic.
I miss those days when I could believe in something worthwhile, when every happy day wasn’t fraught with pessimism.
Those days when my mind didn’t have to suppress my heart.
Those days when I lived an unexamined life.
For my every examination leads to cruelty, greed and ignorance.
I could feed starving children. I believe it takes only a dollar a day.
This term I’ve wasted more than six thousand needed meals.
My physics, the numbers I move around a page, have no doubt cost starving children their lives.
I’ve spent lives. Not dollars, lives.
Every math assignment is written in blood.
I’m worried it will one day just begin to drip from my hands.
I am the privileged. I am the strong.
I kill the weak, the sick, the predetermined undeserving.
Every introspection is a doorway to misery.
If I cared, I would be steeped in the feeling.
I am ashamed to say that I am not, I am happy, and so I am guilty.
And yet my execution would do nothing.
I once spoke to a teacher, a mentor of mine.
He said that really, most of us are replaceable.
We are expendable.
I expend many every day.
I argued. Said that the Albert Einstein’s are out there and not easily replaced without a cost of time before discoveries, before advances.
I realize that they expended many on their way to enlightenment.
One farmer can tend many crops.
Maybe one in every two should die. That way the survivors could live in happiness untainted by the fact that their every action cost lives.
And yet I know there would still be killers, still be cruelty, greed, and ignorance.
I have morals but I have no way to know if I obey those morals, in fact I know in many cases I don’t.
I am a killer by proxy. I am a slaver by proxy.
I am an accomplice to crimes unimaginable.
I have not stepped in, or perhaps stepped out of my lazy and gluttonous wallow.
How can I consider myself a good person when everyday thousands die and I do nothing to stop it.
How can I find enjoyment when so many others bathe in misery, in pain.
I say I care but do I?
I miss the days when I didn’t know.
The days where my every movement was not against my moral compass.
I miss magic.
I miss those days when I could believe in something worthwhile, when every happy day wasn’t fraught with pessimism.
Those days when my mind didn’t have to suppress my heart.
Those days when I lived an unexamined life.
For my every examination leads to cruelty, greed and ignorance.
I could feed starving children. I believe it takes only a dollar a day.
This term I’ve wasted more than six thousand needed meals.
My physics, the numbers I move around a page, have no doubt cost starving children their lives.
I’ve spent lives. Not dollars, lives.
Every math assignment is written in blood.
I’m worried it will one day just begin to drip from my hands.
I am the privileged. I am the strong.
I kill the weak, the sick, the predetermined undeserving.
Every introspection is a doorway to misery.
If I cared, I would be steeped in the feeling.
I am ashamed to say that I am not, I am happy, and so I am guilty.
And yet my execution would do nothing.
I once spoke to a teacher, a mentor of mine.
He said that really, most of us are replaceable.
We are expendable.
I expend many every day.
I argued. Said that the Albert Einstein’s are out there and not easily replaced without a cost of time before discoveries, before advances.
I realize that they expended many on their way to enlightenment.
One farmer can tend many crops.
Maybe one in every two should die. That way the survivors could live in happiness untainted by the fact that their every action cost lives.
And yet I know there would still be killers, still be cruelty, greed, and ignorance.
So I wonder, can enlightenment, education, and happiness, even fleeting, come only at the cost of lives?
Are my actions and joys really worth that much?
Are my actions and joys really worth that much?
The worst is, if I spend all these lives, learn all this information and never ever ever manage to improve anything in a lasting way, what was my, what was their, lives worth?
Nothing?
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