I have been told to take responsibility for so many things;
the assassination of Franz Ferdinand,
the invention of scrapple,
alien hand syndrome,
the fact that too much caffeine is fatal,
death by apple juice,
and many other horrifying,
if significantly less plausible,
things.
And I won’t.
And I’m told this means that I am the worst kind of person.
And I am. In a society which churns endlessly on blame and shame, there’s no-one worse than someone who inconveniently insists on truths, facts, and logic, rather than assuming guilt which is not their own.
I might be insane. I consider that often.
But I don’t think I am. I know what insanity looks like.
It looks like my ex-friends.
They see in me things no-one else can perceive, so I’ll have to say: those little red flecks of psychosis in their retinas?
It’s probably imaginary.
I will own what I’ve done, once someone tells me what that the hell that is in any reasonable way that doesn’t rely on treating the truth like a vicious, acidic enemy which must not be allowed near the thought process, lest we become contaminated by its hideous powers.
But in the meantime, I place blame where it’s due: on those who chose not to listen, because it didn’t fit the narrative they desired.
My name is Jeff Mach (“Dark Lord” is optional) and I build communities, put on events, and make stories come into being. I also tweet a lot over @darklordjournal.
