I am very guilty of many things, the first being the shameless use of french weapons when fighting the french.
(I.O.W I used bureaucracy to fight the bureaucratic mess I had gotten lost in. Yesterday evening the poor once-proud bitch handed me the paparasses that were my due.)
I am guilty of the secret thrill whenever a coworker calls me "angel" moments before the word penis escapes my lips. The pleasure is in their affection, not the imminent and instinctual personal rejection of so outlandish a concept.
I am guilty of loving the fresh start to behave the way I feel most comfortable, to say sweet things to sweet women because the taboo I had built for myself of appearing tougher than life does not exist here yet.
I know the punishment for the crime of open sincerity but I will serve out my corv�e with the same naively happy tune that rang in my head when I cleaned the latrines with the proverbial toothrbush.
I am guilty of over-exuberance, my recent discovery of Deus' bbs and the handful of intentionally insane residents too easy a temptation to spill the contents of my gut.
I am guilty of love.
I am guilty of hating the american dream.
I am guilty of wanting to stick my fingers in every plate and praying that I am doing more harm than good.
I am guilty of believing that it is necessary to speak more than one language to be able to think coherently in any one language.
I am guilty of elitism and self-consciousness in the same sentence.
I am guilty of so many things and today most of all I am guilty because I am confessing my sins on Yom Kippur, and engaging in religious ritual.
But to me, it is like presents under the christmas tree. I am celebrating my love for the people in my life, I am following a tradition that does me good and involves not a single god I can think of.
This morning I confessed far more, and cried and even tried to forgive myself for a few of my crimes.
I like the notion of forcing oneself to lighten the burden on the heart at least once a year.
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