Last night, I laid in bed in the same manner I have most nights since adolescence. Restlessly, I tossed and turned, fluffed my pillow, and contorted my spine, seeking a comfortable spot in which to fall asleep. These efforts were futile, of course, because it was not my body that sought comfort, but my mind. For hours I was prodded by the myriad demons that haunted me during my waking hours but became heavy and articulate with nightfall.

I had my beliefs, my opinions, and my ideals. Still, I knew that billions of other people had their own sets of beliefs, opinions, and ideals that differed from mine. Whose could be reight? Self doubt filled me with anguish. Perhaps my entire moral universe was askew, and who could know how much suffering and setback the world suffered at my ignorance? In the darkness of my small room, the cries of one or a thousand people erupted from my skull and echoed off my walls.

This morning, though, I awoke with the dawn, energized and clear of mind. The world had snapped into clear and shining focus; the burdensome mantle of my self doubt had been lifted from my shoulders. I was right. About everything. My impulses had never and could never lead me astray. A smile is now fixed upon my face and I employ my peerless certainty as both sword and shield.

Prepare thyselves, motherfuckers of the world, ’cause I’m fucking right. About everything.

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About John D. Moore

Writer, cartoonist, filmmaker, and student of Japanese language, literature, and cinema at the University of Utah.

One response »

  1. Logan says:

    OH NO JOHN HAS BEEN READING AYN RAND

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