I joke about it bu tno one listens to me like you nerds on the internet, I donāt know whatās real I talk a good absolutist game (itās the catholic in me, we love absolutist shit, absolute truth absolute morality absolute Absoluteness, but Iāve never been wholly sure except that whatās in me tends towards the Absolute, I love Truth Iād do anything for Truth, a fingernail of Truth, a sliver, an honest wordā-if there were any doubt I am a ravenclaw, I care more about knowing what is Right than almost anything) but I donāt know, I really donāt
all Iāve got is that sometimes I make people feel things with well-organized scratchings I love that (I do)
people write to me, anonymously or not, and talk about how thereās something happening to them that made them feel a Thing, and I wrote something that made them feel better about that Thing, differently about the Thing, and I am so privileged, I am so honored by that empathy. I am humbled by it.
thereās an ancient Roman humorist, one of those -us fuckers, who wroteĀ ānothing human is alien to meā and maybe he meant it sarcastically, ironically, but nemi homini something somethingā-I took Latin a while ago, but I believe that, thereās something essentially human and striving that understands all the human condition, that if you sayĀ āI feelāā will respond in kind.
I think itās a soul (thatās the catholic in me) but it doesnāt matter.
maybe it doesnāt respondĀ without prompting, without discussion and careful listening to other stories, without narrative training. Without everyone having the exercise of stepping into another skull, however strange,unreal. Fiction provides the easiest training, empathy with those who never existed, never will, in the hopes that those who do and are will share in that mercy. Humility and kindness, that you are not the only mind that enjoys the world, that thinks, that feels sadness and joy, that is worth of inhabiting. But I do believe it.
Nothing human is alien to me.