A brand new day, and a whole new world to live in.
Good morning, you.
I write so easily "Good morning to you," and by that I mean good morning to you who are the sort and type of person I would like to be a friend of: a kind, sensible, decent, more or less normal person like the friends I have; but that above cheery good morning is a difficult piece of unstylish prose hovering over our casual conversation here like a cold, dirty-grey storm cloud. Dear reader, I say that you must share this fair greeting with some we might not find so fine as you. I say this: that I say good morning to not just you, but to psycho-killer mad-men too. Because...
We in the happy realms of Modernity live lives of quiet delight! Me, by the gods, I live like a prince; and a comfortable prince at that. I live in a world of ease and splendour unknown to such as me in times previous to my parents. I got it made in the world. In this, the Modern world, I got it made here. I'm lmost laughing. But. But. Sputter-but. Somehow, in spite of it all, it just ain't right for me. I'm not exactly so happy with it. There's something big wrong in all this big right. I wake up in the morning, do all the right things, and still a psycho killer's somewhere lurking nearly; and then I have breakfast like a prince as I look over the jihadi news and usual atrocities of our intelligentsia. It's not right. The news of our Modernity scrambles my eggs; it burns my toast to see. Qu'est-ce que c'est?
I live in a world of magnificence beyond the dreams of kings of yore. I do pretty fine. Believe me, I don't do very well in comparison to most people in our Modern world, I just manage nicely in spite of it all, far better, in fact, than most who do far better than I. OK, I do rather well. I seldom smile because it frightens people to see me so.
Funny, (though it makes me smile,) to see angry people hate our Modernity. So I say, "Good morning, psycho-killer." Qu'est-ce que c'est?
We share the world with others, some not so psycho killer mad-man good. Some people are really bad. And in this Modern world of ours, who can understand that some are not so good as you? That some are psycho killers who don't suffer any more than I? That some living far better than I do so much hate our world? It does not make me angry, dear reader. It makes me grin. Psycho killers? Maybe not always so bad.
I know a trick, almost like magic, that allows me to spot a psycho killer on the spot. It does not fail me. Knowing this, I will not fail you in our lovely Modernity. I cannot claim to know a jihadi from a normal man. But I do know how to spot a psycho-killer. This is to the good. May I go so far to say that you might go so far to say: "Good morning, psycho killer!"
Easy, and unbelievably so even for a man living at the bottom of the Modern world like I do, as is life in our hared Modernity, things aren't right at all: some of our most "successful" people are barking loony, and they are a serious threat to the lives of many of us on a daily basis. They stoke the fires of jihad. Such calls into question our normal decency to the point that I stand here sitting at my desk praising the insanity of psycho killers. Not so good, is it?
I praise psycho killers for a reason: That psycho killers are likelier to save us than our own good officers of the state, i.e. our political class, our public intellectuals, our over-all intelligentsia. I praise psycho killers instead. I praise our psycho killers. I expect our own to kill our enemies-- mayhem and madness, random and psycho. Bad? Do I care? I see in my dark little mind a raging fire across jihadi-land, and I smile. Come on, psycho killer. Do bad things to them.
Qu'est-ce que c'est, psycho killer?