So I hate how materialistic I am and so does everyone else. I love fine things. Things that look pretty and are almost always expensive are irresistible to me. It’s so shallow of me. But the problem is, as soon as I stop indulging myself, and I resist the urge to want things I’m suddenly thrust into the body of an animal, a filthy monster. Material objects are how I relate to the world. They’re pure sentimentality. As soon as you take that away I become an intellectual. I become soulless. Forced to think about the deeper things, I become awful. And I think. I think such horrible things, because somewhere along the way I’ve come to the conclusion that morals are a construct. I feel below it. I feel so far from humanity. There is no evil for me. I don’t even know the difference. There is only what feels good and what feels bad. And well, forced to think about anything other than fine jewelry, or expensive wine, I get so terribly existential. And apparently my existence is that of a monster.
