I never understood my father or the mind he inherited – and I don’t care to. Anymore than I care to comprehend or defend his dad and whatever savage came before that.
And if you want to go further back, maybe half a million years, I feel my empathy run cold when I think about those first primates. The ones just barely haunted by, if we’re being generous, consciousness. Slipping in and out of what we would consider a rudimentary morality. Killing their offspring, their “lovers”, their parents, alike.
The worst part, of course, is that they were happy to die when their bodies gave out. Disinterested in taking any simple measure to stop death from overwhelming others. Unable to save their own skin. Sipping their fucking Coca-Colas.