The House Of The Dead

I just read something that perfectly reflects how I feel about the world. I happen to be reading the translators introduction to The House Of the Dead, when I came across Dostoyevsky’s description of his fellow conspirators.

“… personal vanity, too, comes to the aid of the speaker and eggs him on, as does his desire to please each and all; sometimes, for the sake of show, it makes the orator agree with an idea he does not share at all - he agrees within it in the hope that in return some sincerely cherished idea of his own will not be assailed. Finally there is the self-regard that excites a man and makes him demand the floor repeatedly, so that he awaits impatiently the next such evening, when he will be able to refute his antagonist. In other words, for many (for very many, in my sincere opinion), these evenings, these speeches, these debates are about as serious an occupation as are cards, chess, and so forth, which also undeniably divert a man and which play in the same manner on the same whims and passion. I think very many deceive and confuse themselves at this game…”

Right now I feel like the whole damn thing is coming down on my head and it’s all my fault. Maybe most of it is. I want to crawl into a hole. Here’s something crazy to cut through the gloom. Did you know our fucking government paid for this?