I don’t know when I last felt so utterly hopeless. Tonight, I feel like I can do nothing to salvage the world. I can do nothing to prevent humanity’s slide into chaotic oblivion, punctuated by race wars and class wars and economic combat. We live in what would be described in history books, if they could be written, as the end times of decency. The only hope I can hold in my heart is an experience absolutely anathema to my beliefs: that is that every member of the Republican Party and all its adherents will be doused in gasoline and set afire. That would give me hope. But it would leave me with an enormous number of people who should have perished in the blaze. I would be left with artificially compassionate people who, the deeper I might dig, would be revealed as bereft of decency as the ones we’ve just incinerated. Eventually, if the cleansing continued, no one would be left. Not even me. We’re all just as guilty as the next one. Our guilt is, quite simply, clothed in different garments. We are bad to the core. We deserve to be eradicated like stinging insects. All of us. Every one of us. Even the good ones. The “good ones” have their faults, too. I’m a cynic. I’m not one to forgive, not tonight. I don’t know how to define sin, but I think we’re all guilty of it; the worst kind, the kind of sin that makes it impossible to achieve even a shred of forgiveness.
If I could vaporize the world in which we live, I would do it tonight. I would eliminate the ugliness that grows like mold on the edges of the human soul. I would torch the misery we inflict on people who don’t deserve it. I would inflict ruin upon this ugly blemish we have visited upon the planet.
I’m not explaining my mood. And I shall not explain it. It need no explanation other than this: I belong to the human race and for that I am eternally sorry and ashamed.