Dear diary,

Last night I had a slice of pumpkin bread for a snack, and it tasted really good. 

I also wish that I lived in a community that engaged in ritual dancing, because I’d like to participate in that type of thing. I’d prefer some sort of combination of waltzing and square dancing. I would hope that we members of society could all dress up and look nice together. 

Also, guns are on my mind, because I have intensely mixed feelings about them. I love how they look, when I hold them with whatever outfit I’m wearing; but I hate the thought that they are a weapon whose whole point is to cause harm. I don’t want to hurt anyone — I just want to look stylish. So, yes, you’re right, when you guess that I am an advocate for unloaded firearms. I think that anyone should be able to brandish any type of pistol anywhere, as long as it’s not loaded. The ammunition factories of the world should simply shut down, so that bullets become as scarce as black-&-white film — that would be the soundest way to proceed.

I also wish I could write a family Christmas letter to send out with our holiday cards. But the problem is that I never do anything worth noting. All I could say is: “Season’s Greetings to everyone who is reading this! The year 2022 was a great one for the Ray household. I, Father Bryan, sat on my couch and watched reruns of my favorite sports games on TV. My wife, Mrs. Ray, baked pumpkin bread; and our two children, Four-year-old Boy and One-year-old Girl (I forgot their proper names) got invited to a fancy dinner with all the Western World’s Secret Intelligence Agencies, and they both accepted offers to be enrolled in a program that will use them to bribe politicians. This way, my children will be serving their country. So I’m proud of my boy and my girl for being good citizens; and, in case they ever give a public speech, I thank them in advance for acknowledging that they would be nothing without the support of their loving parents, Mr. and Mrs. Bryan Ray.”

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Note that, in the Golden Age, people would go to see dramas acted in person, live on stage — tragedies and comedies. And when the production concluded, the curtain would come down, and you could leave your seat in the audience and go knock on a door backstage, and pay the star of the show a visit: You would offer her a bouquet of flowers while complimenting her performance, and she would embrace you and kiss you. But then motion pictures were invented; and ever since that day, instead of visiting a theater filled with live hotblooded thespians, moviegoers sit in a dim room and stare at a screen together. And when the film stops, everyone shuffles out in single file and stands in the rain; and the air smells like garbage. — Consider as well that the same decline happened to human conversation. It used to be that people would gather in the town square and speak enthusiastically about their favorite works of art, while cocktails and hors d’oeuvres were served by happy slaves. But now, if you want to say something to a friend, you must type your message onto a computer screen, and your friend must likewise read it from a computer screen. And if the two of you would like to look at a landscape together while listening to a song, you must first take a picture of the landscape and share it online; then upload the song’s audio file; and your friend must use her computer’s navigational controls to scroll around and squint at various aspects of your visual representation, after clicking the “play” button to hear the music whine thru the tiny speakers. — All of this gives every living creature a pain in the neck.

However, I feel that I’m focusing too much on the negative. Let’s consider something uplifting. Did you notice how happy the slaves were in the passage above? That’s because they were somebody’s personal property. The rule of physics states that people always take greater care of whatever they own, as compared to what must be shared with the public commons. So, since slaves are possessed outright as chattel property, they are treated much better than regular employees. I myself would love to be a slave. But becoming a slave is not as easy as it looks: For, first, you’ve got to find someone who’s willing to buy you. 

No: I take back what I said just now about slavery being a public benefit as well as a desirable state for every individual. Slavery is bad: I recommend cutting your ties with it — stop buying and selling humans, and remove your own sales add: take yourself off the market. Participating in the slave economy is not worth it. It’s better to abstain, even if it leads to death. For, as soon as you enter the underworld, where all people go when they die, everything seems nicer. The underworld is basically Candyland on amphetamines. 

P.S.

I’ve learned that I like walking in thick snow. I found a new path through our neighborhood’s woodland which offers a scenic route to our library, so I’ve been trekking there lately to check out books. And the last three days have been exceptionally snowy, so I must step high and really trudge, in order to make progress. 

Here’s the moment I’ll leave you with: At a certain point of this meandering path, there is a stairway built into the side of a hill. It’s a sharp incline; the stairs are narrow, and there’s only one handrail. Now, the other day, I was walking up these stairs wearing my winter gear and my furry new Russian Hat. (I recently bought a new Russian Hat for myself — you should see it: it’s furry.) I was staring down at my boots as I stomped up the stairway, and, just for fun, I chanted aloud to myself rhythmically the words “Fort!” and “Da!” with each alternate step: Thus, when my left boot would stomp on the stair, I would shout “Fort!” and when my right boot stomped, I would shout “Da!” So, up the stairs I went, shouting “Fort! – Da! – Fort! – Da!” until I reached the top. Then, when I looked up from my boots, I saw there was a large red-headed lady standing before me with her Maltese dog — the pair of them were just waiting there at the top of the stairway. I was startled because I thought that I’d been alone; so I said “Oh, I’m sorry — I didn’t know that you were here!” And the lady maintained her scowl and said: “That’s OK.”