The protagonist's titular antisocial act in Crime and Punishment leads to much discussion of his theory regarding "ordinary" and "extraordinary" people, a philosophy that seems an almost perfect restatement of Nietzsche's over-man decades before Nietzsche formulated his own theories. Of course, most of the characters in the novel recognize this theory as absurd and dangerous (upon declaring that he wanted "the right", Sofya Semyonovna says, "The right? The right to kill?", clearly horrified), and I think most people in reality would respond similarly.

The anniversary of D-Day was three days ago.

An associate asked people to remember the Allied soldiers who died for the liberation of Europe.

Another person suggested people remember the German soldiers as well, because they were people to, fighting for their country. (Apparently the Italians the Japanese get no love.) People agreed, for the most part, but someone added, but not Hitler and the rest of the bastards at the top.

And I say, why not? Hitler and his fellows were horrible people, certainly, but they were people. Not monsters or evil demons sent by Satan to spread death and destruction among the naturally good societies of man, but people, shaped by genetics and experiences and their own choices.

This is going to all sound very obvious because, well, it is; but it's not something I've ever realized in quite this form until today (when it hit while reading Marmeladov's opening speech in Crime and Punishment -- great stuff, by the way).

Basically, what I've realized is that there's a fundamental incongruity in Christian doctrine. There's the Old Testament-inspired fire-and-brimstone stuff about hell and damnation and eternal punishment, which, no matter how many times Christians say is overriden by Jesus' words later, is still a major part of the Christian faith; and then there's the New Testament-inspired God-is-love and infinite-forgiveness stuff (the stuff that I like about Christianity).

The problem is that these two things cannot work together. You can't have infinite mercy and still condemn people to eternal damnation. God can't be love and still force people to suffer after death.

From the past week:

* A gleaming black dragonfly, wings about three inches across and body as long, appearing like an obsidian jewel carved by nature and set floating to wherever the wind takes it.

* A tree covered with stumps of severed limbs, like a stout but dim boxer bearing the scars of too many fights. I wondered who could do such a thing, torture another living organism so brutally only for their own aesthetic pleasure. The tree's remaining limbs were twisted around the trunk, appearing almost to strangle the tree as if in some vain attempt to protect itself from its attackers.

* A field by a creek dotted with crinkled white objects that I first took for so many discarded facial tissues but upon closer examination discovered, to my delight, to be fallen flowers from trees overhead. I cradled one and held it up gently, feeling its soft folds against my palm and studying the pattern of tiny brown dots on the interior of the flower. The end was a clean break; they had fallen as intended, to be scattered by the wind and spread the seeds of new trees across the earth, even though most had barely escaped the shadow of their parent. I was reminded of a wedding, or perhaps a funeral; but then I realized that those were merely artificial recreations designed to evoke this very event. They were the simulacra; I was experiencing the reality.

Some of the most interesting things I've written were written when I was tired, exhausted, ready to fall into bed and... well, not sleep instantly, because I can't do that, but as close as I get to that (which is for me something like twenty minutes).

When we're tired, our conscious mind gets slow and lethargic, just like the rest of our body. We start to rely on instinct and gut reactions rather than logic and convention. Our internal censor takes a breather.