On Community.

Man, my mind’s wandering today. I was imagining I was talking to a jew, asking him if he cared that part of his dick was taken without his consent. I imagine I’d get a response that being jewish is what he is. I get this kind of response from people sometimes. I imagined saying back,

“You are not your religion.”

Some religious people, man, they really wank to their stuff. It’s not something I can particularly relate to. To me, it’s puzzling more than anything else.

And if you claim that their religion doesn’t make them who they are, well, you’re asking for an argument.

Religion strikes me as an artificial way of separating people. It’s easy to separate people via genitalia, or skin tone. Little harder with ethnicity at times. Very hard with sexual orientation.

I find it puzzling the way people bond together. Not that it’s a bad thing, I think the need for human contact is very instinctual, and very important. I have my own herd, and I don’t know what I’d do without it. But my herd doesn’t really have a name. I’m not a girl, so I can’t join a Women’s Support Group. I’m not black, so I can’t join a club full of black people and talk about being black. I’m not gay, so the gay community is out. I’ve already established that I’m not religious.

Is the 700 Club the closest thing we have to a club for white males? Ha ha. Or the Klu Klux Klan.

I know some people that are really into their ethnicity or nationality. I don’t really understand that. Okay, on some latent level, your parents make you who you are. It’s lot been established that most of my problems are a direct result of my dad being, well, my dad. But I don’t quite follow how a bunch of dead people have much to do with you. I’m half Indian, but I certainly have no attachment to the billions of people over in India. (Careful, they got the bomb.) I’m supposedly the spawn of some smattering of countries across EuroLand, but I can’t say I have any attachment to them, either.

At best, I consider myself American. Or Jerseyian. No? I’ll admit an attachment to this lump of rock I call home. I’m not particularly fond of my family. Family are the people you turn you when life bends you over and violates your anus. The people you trust. I’ve learned over the years not to trust these people who are supposedly genetically similar to me. But, that’s me, and perhaps I’m a bit cynical, if not arrogent.

I can’t particularly fault people for taking pride in that which they feel a part of. That sense of belonging is ever so critical in this impersonal world. I almost wish I felt a part of something more. I just wouldn’t hack off part of my penis to be a part of it, that membership fee is a little too high for me.