On the necessity of communism in my own life

The root of every defect is a right tendency, and it is the abuse of that right tendency that turns it into a defect.

When I was born I set out to look for fulfillment in this society and found it drowning in wounds, mouth full of blood.

I looked for a way to transform the pain I felt seeing it and living in it into beauty and found I was best at it when I was destroying my body with drugs and alcohol to get far enough out of my mind, out of my fear, to write honestly, to write with a single, infuriated mind. And even then all I achieved was to condemn everything I had ever known while praising the concealed and unnamed goodness I saw struggling behind it all.

I knew I was destroying myself and I felt ashamed that I had been so turned against my own flourishing, that I had allowed myself to become so vain. The intellectual-bohemian distractions I used to be so caught up in make me gag now, they are over-ripe and bitter to me. And I am still bitter I fell for them, that I was ever anyone’s fool.

I love humanity, and in the final analysis every last one of us has turned to abusing ourselves because it is our way of coping with oppression, both ongoing and in the trauma we have inherited from ten thousand years of brutality.

All around the world there is only this rot, except there is also a purifying honesty, which admits that the whole world really is drowning in rot and insists we will never escape it except if we are willing to use any means necessary. It destroys me to wade into the rot. I can’t live another way. For my own well-being, I need the revolution. I used to worry that I was acting from something nobler but flimsier than that, but fortunately, it’s much more basic. For me, communism is a necessity.

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