The loneliness comes from despair and not having anyone share that despair. It is in the despair–over the cruelty of a communal life lived without justice, without morals, without substance; all of which strips life of meaning–that I feel so alone.

It’s incredibly difficult to share depression with anyone. People don’t want to hear it. It’s too burdensome; there is no acceptable way to express that despair. People do not want to be honest with each other, except in the most exceptional of relationships. Our social structure is based on superficiality and ignorance of self and others. This is a terrible environment in which to be human.

And I guess this is why people write, why I write–because it is a form of communication free from the conventional rules of social etiquette. Writing allows me to escape the bonds of social conformity, to bypass the borders that keep me from communicating what I need to communicate–anguish.

It is anguish to live daily in a society that is based on economic expediency, where economic relationships supersede all others. This is a profoundly inhuman way to live, with the necessities of human beings subordinated to economics. The immorality of such a system is self-evident, which makes existing inside of it so agonizing. The system is sacrosanct. It cannot be deconstructed, because to dismantle the system means the disintegration of the environment–not the natural environment, but the economic and social environment that supports all the biological functions of the human animal, but none of the intellectual and spiritual functions. The environment is a base materialism, an ethic of consumption.