My Humanity is My Own

I release you now from my keep. You, crutch of the mind, fetter of my soul. I no longer tread the crude paths you once preached; I am no longer driven by your will. I toss you now, to die among your kind--the tissues, the magazines, the papers, to be processed and reused and made into something of use: a notebook, perhaps, for the recording of my own thoughts.

I have risen beyond your proselytizing, have transcended the intentions that you claim to be sound. I distaste your unnecessary preaching of hackneyed ethics. Lists, aggregates, truths--I needed none of these to look with eyes of compassion, to restrain my tongue when bloodthirsty, to treat strangers as my kin. These habits, these accomplishments, are my own.

We are a collective--this is something I know without your guidance--but I am an individual, and, being an individual defined by his convictions, I rescind your crude attempts at ethical assimilation. Whatever truth yet survives in this spiritually desolate world, I will discover it by the abilities endowed to my intellect by nature.

And do not deride the spirit that drives that intellect. It is something no words can contain, an idea beyond conveyance. Nay, do not even point to it, for you point at the wind.

I need no master to teach me humanity. My humanity is my own.