I am not a bad person. No, a bad person would do bad things- terrible things even. I am just a person. Neither bad nor good. Outside of the guilt and shame most humans feels. If anything, I am better than most people. I saw what I wanted and took it. There is no shame in being pragmatic.
Before, I was just like any other, hopelessly fooled by society. Bound in chains like some circus animal, performing menial tricks for sustenance. No, the true life is outside of this. It was outside of my job at a shoe store; outside of my empty apartment; outside of my virtual life. True life is recognizing one's desires and acting upon them. What is more real than a growling stomach when you want food? What is more real than the way your eyes glisten when something so wonderfully perfect is placed in front of you? Nothing. Everything is desire.
I realized that December 21st, 2005. I was in Aisle 4 of the grocery store, the bread aisle. Down the way, she stood reading the labels, searching for something. She was Nabokov's princess and I her most humble servant. Young and nubile. Too young, too nubile; like a delicious drug overdose that culminates in vomiting. My eyes traced down her tiny fingers. My entire body was shaking, an epileptic pervert. And there it was- the perfect realization that truth was in desire- was in my loins. She smiled at me, like all polite girls do. She went back to her mother. Such a smart girl to stay away from such a rational man. I would have swallowed you whole.
It was the beginnings of my re-birth. Christened in the sweet flowers of innocence, like a savior. Blood replaced by something a little more magnificent.
I was still naïve that day; so full of self-control. Self-control is the enemy of human nature. If you want something, get it. Why deny what is real? Why perpetuate that which is not human? You do not want happiness if you decide to control. Hedonism is the way of reality, my dear. Even moreso, if you do not go after what you want, someone like me will come along and snatch it up. It is only being rational.
Grocery stores are the perfect setting. Everyone is too concerned with everybody else to worry themselves with me. 13. That's the number I always look for. 13 and suddenly you're mature enough to go to another aisle by yourself. All alone. I can't be blamed for 13. They're old enough to know better by now. They know not to talk to strangers, scream when they're grabbed. But, 13 is stupid. For all of its stupidity, 13 is a beautiful time. So desperate to be women, they dress like French whores. I can sniff out 13; the smell of Kotex ® and watermelon lip gloss. As soon as I'm on the scent, I am real. I walk by them ever so gently, say the things they are starved to hear. 13, you are beautiful. 13, I find you attractive. 13, you are sexually appealing. That is what makes 13 so stupid. I grin like a Cheshire Cat and I feel ever so pleased. We leave together and no one suspects a thing. I am a father taking his daughter grocery shopping. No one even knows they're gone until the food is sitting in plastic bags.
We drive off and I can feel 13's anxiety radiate off of the dashboard. Like a young child getting burned by a flame, 13 has made a dangerous realization. I smile at her and give her morbid assurances. I can already taste blood and feel its stickiness on my skin like maple syrup. 13 cries, all she wants is to go home. So full of the desire to live and be safe. Too bad, darling, you should know my wants and needs come first.
You hold your breath for one minute and you gasp for air. Hold it in for a lifetime and you've never truly lived. But once your lungs fill for the first time, it is impossible to be anaerobic. Such a survivalist I am. And, at the heart of all that is real, is desire. Does it make sense to force ourselves to suffer for the sake of others? Certainly not. I am far more important to myself than you. I am not a monster for following my desires. You make me one because you seek to martyr yourselves to the gods of self-control and unhappiness. I am merely being rational- does that make me a bad person?
"God is not needed to create guilt or to punish. Our fellow men suffice, aided by ourselves."
-Albert Camus
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