Concerns of the blood are not concerns of mine.

It is proclaimed that I have more in common with the one who’s ethnic lineage is identical to my own. That we, due to some sort of mystical force in our genes, are bound together, and thus, are inseparable. After all, a race is just like an extended family.

But there’s a good chance I have little in common with my family, my so-called siblings.

And why is it that I am damned to be welded to these others? Who probably reject me? Who do not think like me, or look like me? Who have no regard for what I hold in high regard, and highly regard what I would find to be worth disregarding? Why should it be that my fate is bound up with theirs? Forget them, I say. Blood may be thicker than water, but that doesn’t mean it’s somehow more worthy of my devotion and admiration.

Furthermore, why do the concerns of the blood, which I wholly ignore, demand that I have a hatred for those who’s blood is “different” (but how different is it, truly…it is still the same color, the same texture, and still possesses the same foul smell of copper, iron, and the ills that plague humanity)? What if I share more with them, than I ever could with one of “my own” (not my words, but theirs)? What if we bond at a deeper level than I could ever manage to with the ones I am supposed to unwaveringly stand by? Oh, but that would be forbidden, because the intermingling would dilute and destroy.

As a result, I am kicked out of the family. Disowned. What for? I couldn’t say, and I doubt you could either. It’s so absurd, so strange. Met with so much rage, because I dared venture beyond the narrow vision of the family, its stunted horizon, where all goes to die and wither into dust.

Purity, purity. All this talk of purity. What of it? I see purity, alright. Pure hate, pure hostility, pure devastation, pure power, pure greed, pure anguish, pure death. Pure Hell. In other words, that which is purely…human. All too human. And it sickens me. Makes my stomach churn and twist, the sight of my own species. The way it masquerades as better, when in all actuality, it is often worse. So, so much worse. A fate worse than dead, I think, would be being human. How demented and deranged it is, in actions and otherwise, o’, how I am repulsed by it. Doesn’t matter who’s fulfilling the impulse and instincts of this thing called mankind.

My dear, why should I regard one sect of it with any higher amount of regard? Groups are never better than each other. Individuals, now that is where the true shining beacons can be found. But this, this does not allow for individuals, does it? No, it excludes the very idea. Shuns it, scorns it, loathes it. Wants to destroy individuality and difference. Only swallow all into some meaningless, arbitrary, homogenous vortex. I am not allowed to forge and found my own little cavalcade, my own little union. No, instead, I am forced into one, based on inane and idiotic standards that unimaginative dullards dreamed up, hallucinating that they were, in fact, real. That they were not mere figments of their minds.

You fetishists of the blood want no freedom, no. You want chains for both you and I. While you will gladly clamp them onto yourself, proclaiming yourself liberated, I shall shirk them off and cast them aside. Yet it is you that finds me to be enslaved. I do not understand why. Because I refuse the limitations you impose upon me? You do not seek freedom for “your own” (as if you can speak for them), or anyone else. I spit upon your blood fetish. I abide by no rules of the blood.

What of this petty struggle? What does it solve? What does it bring about that nothing else could? The answer is…nothing. Absolutely nothing. It serves futile, short-sighted, ultimately worthless and laughable interests that, in the end, affect nothing. Not even able to bring an ounce of satisfaction, for struggle founded upon this concept is far too shallow, far too stunted. It will not go far. You think yourself a rebel; you’re a dogmatic fool, a blind zealot, a sad excuse for a human.

It would appear to me that this supposed “natural law”, this “innate” enmity, is fostered by silver-tongued devils. Only a concoction by slimy manipulators taking advantage of the easily swayed, who are bound to be preyed upon by those who know how to exploit their simple whims and desires, their fears and excitements. Nothing more. They have intentions of a conniving, sinister, Machiavellian nature, utilizing whatever they can to become little more than a populist wielding an iron fist.

Grabs for control, that is all this really is.

I see through the tricks.

I am not blind.

Love? You seek to destroy love, not foster it. What of those from these “opposing camps”, as you like to name them, who become friends, good friends? Or perhaps more than friends, falling into the depths of intimacy? Fostering families that shatter your delicate, fragile worldview? You hate love, loathe it. “Love” is nowhere to be found in your insidious doctrine of idiocy and deceit. Do not preach to me of love, snarling jackass. You would kill those who do not love their “real” family. Slaughter them en masse. You have before, you will again. Scum, you are. Lying scum.

These wars and battles against others…and all for what? Because you were ordained by virtue of mere pigmentation to do so? What additives did thee indulge in to come to such inane and worrying conclusions? Yet I am the so-called “deranged” one. A betrayer, a charlatan. Predictable. Those who are the worst of the worst will denigrate those who are not as the thing that they happen to be themselves, as a distraction method.

Play in this game of blood, I shall not. Others can, but I will forever find them idiotic for doing so.

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