Newspaper editorial from a "crazy guy"--you decide

Dear Editor:

I am not crazy, no matter what you think. I am just like you, only I am capable of showing my true feelings,speaking my mind whenever I feel like I need to say something. I do not care if I offend you with my personality, with my “uncontrollable” behavior. It is your problem , not mine. I am the way I am because of you…and you…and especially you with the green sweater on, reading this passage and smiling at my thoughts, saying “Poor guy. He can’t help himself.” It is especially your fault. You define me, you control my moves, you give me a reason to doubt everything that I have ever been told, ever seen. You are the reason that the world is out of control. Your arrogance at the discomfort that I bring upon you is highly ironic to me. You are the leper. You are the cretin. Deep down, you know this is true. You know I am right when I point my finger at you, when I toss words at you that sting with truth. They will forget you when you are gone and you know that. It hurts to know that doesn’t it? To know that I will be remembered, that they will overlook your useless life full of brown and gray, and that they will remember me. You are forgettable.

This is me. I cannot excuse my behavior, I cannot pretend to be the guy next door. I have always been this way. I cannot see the world as others see it, with all of the lies and the misrepresentations of the truth. There is nothing beautiful about this world. There is only pain in this world. Beautiful people, people that have wealth, people that have the public’s ear---they are all in pain. They are all struggling with the belief that they can be happy, that they can be removed from the mortality of this life. They do and say anything that makes themselves sound better than the “commoner”. They live as if they are made of something far better than anyone else. They know this a fabrication, they know that, when it comes down to it, they are pitiful. They crave what they cannot have—truth. They live a lie and we believe it. We struggle to be them, to make our problems become the problems of the golden ones, ignorant of the fact there is no one who is not in pain.

Not me. I do not accept your truth, I do not wish to fall for your trap. I am fully aware that there is only one way to live your life that will guarantee that you will be happy 24/7. You have to be brain dead. You have to be mentally incapacited.

Geniuses are the most disturbed individuals, knowing truths far more complex than the average human could ever perceive. They struggle with this knowledge, try to make sense of it all. Yet, with all of their genius, they cannot change the path of the world. They can only worry about it, have great pain deep within themselves, wishing that they did not know what they know. To be normal. To be ignorant to the world and its cruel lessons.

I am no genius. Many would say that I am crazy, that I am a bitter man who was never exposed to the “goodness” of the world. I have been told to lighten up, to calm down—“There is no need to scare the children.” Your life is a lie.

This newspaper is your way of connecting to the world that extends beyond your manicured yard, your cubicle on the third floor in a city full of people wasting their time, doing the wrong things to make themselves “happy” and “enlightened”—buying, selling, trading their lives for objects that were made to make us feel “successful” and “independent”. This newspaper feeds you, it tells you that we should be happy that Miss Movie Queen is marrying Mr. Independently Wealthy, that we should hate and fear anyone not American born, the welfare mothers and their eight children, the CEO’s of America, the illegal aliens, the obese, the economically challenged, the killer bees, the ghettos and the barrios, the guns, the whole lot of illegal drugs, the lumberjacks, the tree huggers, the fast food industry, the rap stars on MTV.

What do you know about this world, Mr. Green Sweater, sitting at your breakfast nook in your sprawling house with the fancy sprinkler system for your perfect lawn, reading this newpaper as you eat one of your three balanced meals before driving your new European station wagon for your “long” eight hour day at the air conditioned office? What do you know about these issues besides what you have been told by this newspaper? You donate your money to the local charity featured in the Lifestyle section, the one that sends money to some kid down in Central America—you can’t be expected to remember which country exactly—and that is how you make yourself feel less guilty about your life. You look at the newspaper, read the stories from around the world, believing what you see, feeling above the rest of us who know the truth--that you are the reason for our pain. Your life is inconsequential and you know it. You know that you will be forgotten and that hurts.

Go ahead,write your check, mail your pity to Chile or Bolivia or Paraguay. That will make you happy, won’t it? Feel sorry for me, shake your head at my crazy antics. Life is not beautiful, Mr. Green Sweater…and neither are you.