Let’s see why I haven’t wanted to write to you

 

Without realizing it was happening, I’ve lately felt a slight revulsion at the thought of finding and writing true things about the human psyche. I believe the main reason is my disgust with the politi­cal degra­da­tion, the atrophy of today, where the most botched people, in legions, continue to prove to be the most power­ful. The good, the sensible is no longer in vogue. It is no longer the denoue­ment of the story, which used to not end with idiots wearing horns, crapping in the sanc­tuary and drooling in glee.

Half the population is so mentally deranged that their heart swells in love for a diag­nos­able socio­path, their mind so self-medicating that their identity is a loud emptiness: nega­tivity, defiance.

It is almost impossible to open the eyes and still the rabid heart of someone who has found solace for their childhood injustice in hate and destruction.

Admittedly, another reason for writer’s block is that six-hundred-and-fifty blog posts seem to me to be enough to name the basics and the most important sequelae. People are daily “living proof” that their head floats on a sea of pain and unresolution. The adult, the adoles­cent, is a lost child in a wilderness named the present.

I agree with everyone: Happiness is good. What bothers me is that people look for it, claim it, while the shark, with razor teeth, has its mouth vise-gripping their torso. Look down (beneath the smile, the positive thoughts and the parents who did their best). There are solvents that can remove or at least soften those teeth.