I pity the poor shades confined to the Euclidean prison that is sanity.
This rudderless world is not shaped by vague metaphysical forces. It is not God who kills the children. Not fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It's us. Only us. Streets stank of fire. The void breathes hard on my heart, turning its allusions to ice, shattering them. Was reborn, then, free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world.
A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything.
Maybe this world is another planet's hell.
I don't believe in evil, I believe only in horror. In nature there is no evil, only an abundance of horror: the plagues and the blights and the ants and the maggots.
The essence of independence has been to think and act according to standards from within, not without. Inevitably anyone with an independent mind must become "one who resists or opposes authority or established conventions": a rebel. If enough people come to agree with, and follow, the Rebel, we now have a Devil. Until, of course, still more people agree. And then, finally, we have --- Greatness.
The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.
If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they'll kill you.