a monologue

I'm at the mercy of my genes, my childhood, my socioeconomic status, my relationships or lack thereof, so much so that I can't get a word in behaviorally. If I do "get a word in" it's because some confluence of circumstances altered a subroutine in my brain to get it to do something it "wanted" to do and such desires are always dictated by needs.

I am like a primate at a zoo that has all its basic needs met and its fight for survival removed, that then does nothing more than sit around masturbating. Part of me is deeply contented with this state of affairs, but then religion creeps in with harsh judgments for the masturbation and a harsher implication that it is wrong to live a life this devoid of meaning. So I have to fight to survive again, this time not for my mortal life, but for the fate of my soul after death (so meaningful!). Why can't I just accept my horrible fate of blissful undemanding meaningless masturbation? Am I a failure if I do? What is it I'm failing to achieve? The continuation of my genome? Why have children in a world on fire? They will almost certainly be worse off than me, not to mention they will almost certainly inherit some form of mental illness from me. I've felt evolution begging me to reproduce and believe me, it is convincing. I couldn't be around children without bells ringing in my head telling me how much better life would be with a little version of me to take care of. Maybe I should have, but it's too late now and maybe I REALLY shouldn't have.

 In any case, my bored ape routine is at war with my Catholic program and I don't know which will win. Whatever the outcome I'm certain I had nothing to do with it. Who even am I, this narrative voice that doesn't have a say in anything, yet has much to say?

Furthermore, how can what is essentially just a linguistic narrative affect the biochemical underpinnings of all behavior? Well that's basically what religion is. However religion accomplishes this in a dramatic heavy handed way, by wielding an (allegedly) infinitely large cudgel and dangling an infinitely large carrot. By putting faith in such grand words it can actually cross the barrier between word and chemical, mainly via massive doses of stress hormones or endorphins. Even so, it is often not as effective as one would like, failing to produce saints at a rate of even 1 in 10,000. Words are just poor candidates for behavior modification. What chance do I have of talking myself in to a painful new diet? Not much I will wager. Maybe if I repeat the word "diet" 40,000 times, I'll generate enough of the stress hormone cortisol in my cells to actually effectuate a real chemical behavioral change. Then again, the elevated stress might just make me masturbate more.