It's a curious life, lived different to the slightest. A life bereft of the pretense to terror that consumes the will of the singularity.
The common path certainly appears harmless, however the depths of the well-trodden are far shallower than at first apparent. The commons appear innocent and even intelligent, however ad numerum is more often than not a demon of help. In fact, the commonality of the commons arises from the forces of perception, and the gravitational influence of the psyche. It is indeed a psychical constant that attracts one life to another, and sets high the means of obtaining validity -- or rather, finding a means to escape vacuity.
Is it courage? Maybe a sort of indifference to ignorance? An objectivist feint?
For many, it's nothing more than a matter of learning to do things in the proper way. The unconscious presume that whatever the reason may be, the singleton simply never learned to do things correctly, and in the right way. Let us use the proper name: their way.
Weeks become months, and those of the right notice something odd. Though the singleton has seen the right way many times, their terrors have not aligned. At first, it was believed that once rightness had seen the singleton, the singleton would at once be adopted, as an obligation to truth. Ad populum. It was of course an impossibility that the singleton had previously encountered the right, for, if they had, they would long ago have become of it. Never for a moment was it possible that they might not converge. Though the time taken to adapt may vary, their terrors could be no different than the terrors of any other.
After a while, the right begins to notice that the singleton does not care for -- or worse: about -- the same things. They do not however suffer a question. At first, the right knew the other had simply never been shown how to live, but that once such a show was made, it would be adopted with a smile. All would be right. But, when life is not the way, and the way is not life, then the way begins to wonder if the problem is not intelligence. The singleton is perhaps not very smart.
Here begin explanations. Copious amounts. Odious accounts. The right sets about explaining the vagaries and intricacies of reality, and in fact, almost nothing can stop them. Yet still, the opposite of curiousity, no breath is given towards a question. (Suffrage does not bear of the weak.) Well, it is true that the right is quite smart. The numbers have proved it -- and numbers are by their nature not of the wrong.
1 + 1 = 2; yes? It is a moral certainty that nature has thus proscribed. Similarly: 85% = A; yes? By what proscription? Perhaps, by whose? Bah. There is no time for metaphysics. We ask you: who of the right must ask a question when they have in their possession a letter that is equivalent to a number, where a number ranks our connection with nature? Of this, we can be certain. Ad numerum.
Time passes, and the singleton continues forth, askance. Henceforth, a question forms of the right -- or rather, an utterance assumes the proper form, if not the proper purpose: "But why do it like that?" It is in the first analysis that we discover the character of the final syllable; a word spoken with a rising tone and matching in all appearances the form of an inquisition. Yet, it is not a question at all! Instead we have a statement of prejudice, masquerading as a charade. The fact the singleton does not live in the right way is so very clearly unacceptable. How is it that the singleton does not see this?
Choice is not simply a judgement, but a scathing and ignorant offense that must be rectified. There is rightness inside of numbers. Numbers are not of the wrong.
"Shall the respectable citizen thus gravely teach, by precept and example, the necessity of the young man's providing a certain number?"
Of course, I've never cared for using numbers that way.
Part of the series: Servetus