The Chronicles of Substance

This is from Ghost Writer (who has since changed its identity from Guest Writer)

I was thrilled with the idea, but would not dare take any of it. He was bored and this made him happy. Well, at least the first time. Afterwards it was not the same. He took it and it did not make him happy. He had power, or so thought, in his world. Of course, this world is fantastic, certainly not like anything we know, and certainly not real in any kind of concrete way. You can leap from cloud to cloud and nothing really matters and nothing is really wrong because you are happy. You are happy for a few hours. Then sometimes you are scared. There is no particular threat that would realize itself, that would materialize. So being scared is fun. It is a thrill.

He is often angry now. He argues, when he is in an acceptable or somewhat coherent state, against the immorality of others. The injustices that others are doing and how it is so wrong. But what about him?

So, he does not reflect about himself anymore. At least not openly. He points at others. [That is an easy thing to do. We all do it. We point to someone or something else in order to justify ourselves, our situation, our problems. This something or someone else may not even be guilty of anything. The other could be innocent of our judgments against him or her. But, it does not matter if the other is guilty or innocent, as long as we all agree who should be punished, or at least, who is at fault. The substitute victim.] I agree with him. They certainly are guilty, those others. But what are we doing? Oh, that’s right, nothing.

As I said, he is angry now. But now you cannot see his anger. He seems actually quite patient. Then again, I am not sure if he is entirely coherent. It is a capricious thing. He must bottle it up inside somewhere. Maybe he puts them in contained illuminated containers where they stay nice and warm, and where they can grow. But get rid of that, please.

It does not matter what I do, he says. But then, it does, I say. You are part of a community. Community does not mean much anymore though. It can in some cases, but it sounds nothing like family anymore. “What I do only affects me,” he says. But, my understanding is that almost anything you do does in fact affect others you are with or a part of.

So everyone hates him now. Well, maybe people don’t hate him, but they dislike him. They have ‘written him off,’ per se. They say he is a moral failure. He is a sinner. He is a waste of life and breath. But, listen to yourself, I say. You are judging him with such hard words, such nasty words. You are taking the value out of him. He is my friend. He is valuable. “Why is he your friend?” you might ask, “he’s such a bad influence.” He is my friend because our friendship is not based on moral performance. We have our arguments and disagreements, but he’s my friend. Jesus is not your friend because you are good. He does not befriend you based on your moral performance. If he were to do that, Jesus wouldn’t have any friends, except for the Father and the Holy Ghost.

THE [abrupt] END