personal journal entry
Saturday
9:32 p.m.
Every thing I see, all of it, I interpret with the eyes of a Beneficent Parentalist. I have BP eyes, BP ears, a BP heart, a BP spirit, a BP soul, and of course, a BP mind. Nothing escapes me. I know it all, and knowing while all else suffers in ignorance; even though it is a responsive ignorance; just the isolation of knowing while no one else does leaves me bewildered, empty, hollow. One more day; after this day, another; then a month; then a year... I could type the letters that spell the question: Why me? I could type these letters, but in a general sense, I know. But, the knowing offers me no solace, no comfort, no warmth.
Most of my life has been lived from the hip. It would seem I now must live my life from my cerebrum's soft white gelatinous mass. It occurs to me to wonder if I am even human. The answer is not certain. It is a topic which could be well debated. Regardless, because I have experienced what no other has experienced, which is of course true for each of us, I do see and hear and feel and therefore think as none of my peers, which is of course true for each of us. Mankind goes to gargantuan lengths to convince itself we must all be the same; we must all belong to one club, look alike, think the same thoughts, forfeit our individuality and be just one of countless billions of identical paper doll cut-outs, but we are not. Not one of us is the same as another. Diversity is a universal constant which terrorizes timid souls, and face it, Homo sapiens are the most timid of souls.
