Home from work. I’ll be going in again soon. Early tomorrow morning. Working until I leave. DC is so expensive I can’t afford to get out. I couldn’t afford to move here, so it’s only fitting that I wouldn’t have enough money to move away either.
I’ll spend the last of what I have on a truck and gas. Pay the last of my bills. I texted my roommates and asked them if they wanted my couch, desk, futon, dresser or bookcase. All the shit that would cost me to move.
They didn’t respond. Now I have to talk to them about my belongings. They know I hate them. I’m glowing with it. I’ll leave my stuff and get on a bus; I won’t say anything. One day I’ll be gone and they’ll have to deal with my trash furniture.
So much for doing the right thing. I don’t care about being decent right now. I don’t care about giving everyone a notice. Giving everyone options and time to consider what suits them. I’m getting the fuck out of here as soon as I can. Not a single one of these deviants deserves an explanation from me.
I live in a house with a giant rainbow flag draped over the fence. Right next to a house with a giant rainbow flag waving in the wind. My house supports diversity and love, black lives matter and feminism. Immigrants and refugees are welcome. Drug addicts, aids patients, trannies, violent felons, hobos and drifters can walk right in and have a bowl of cereal and take a dump on the living room floor whenever they want.
It’s gay pride month. A month of gays calling attention to themselves and acting as obnoxiously and tastelessly as possible. No different from any other month. Pride is an odd quality for a group of victims. If you have power, then they shame you. There’s no pride for the powerful. But when you’re slumming in the street you can shout your struggles from the rooftop.
Gay humility month. That would be a change. They will never be satisfied. No one ever will. Satisfaction isn’t the point. You’ll never have a perfect political system that accommodates your every faggoty whim. People will always hate you and find you repulsive. You will always hate yourselves and seek death. Your condition can only be improved so much.
Not everyone will accept you. Not everyone wants you to be happy. There are higher moral standards than personal happiness. Sometimes the things that please people are odious. Wanting someone else to be happy is dependent on what makes them happy. If burning my house down makes you happy, then I’m against your happiness.
And there are many people in this world who don’t think sex is for private individuals to decide. There’s more to sexual morality than consent. Just because two people agree to it doesn’t make it right. You can find people who’ll agree to anything. Consent is the standard of a retarded child.
So not everyone thinks you have a right to your depravity. You’re lucky that people tolerate it, that you live among people with relaxed enough rules in a sufficiently disordered environment where you can practice your perversity without undergoing violent repression.
When an individual of standing complains, he’s often warned that it could always be worse. He should feel good about where he is, considering where he could be. But we never tell our suffering subgroups that they could be worse off. Instead we invite them to enlarge their demands.
We are only here to assist degradation, to keep diseases festering. To devote a greater share of economic, social and pyschological resources to empowering and uplifting the debauched and downtrodden. We should be proud of ourselves.