Where ever one goes, what ever one does, there always appears to be a cloud over him. He is thundered at to conform to every one else besides himself. The more unique he is, the sterner is the storm clouds command.
So he goes home, enduring sneers, jeers, and prayers either at or for his sole soul, alone in the quiet cavern of his individuality. After closing the door behind him, he must set to think about the consequence of sustained rebellion against the mediocre, the middle, the maß (but not the maßes); those who want to watch the world smother in drabneß. Conformity can bring many rewards, it is true: political contacts, prestige, perhaps a succeßful, even profitable blog. However, he is wise enough now to pose the question 'and then who do I become?'. If one and all their traits long fall , does then one command a value at all?
It's funny, they used to tell him that both Communism and the Kaiserreich were the highest form of totalitarian evil. And whilst he never believed them, now the reality he kennen to join: liberalism is a totalitarian hollow. Where ever you find a naked, upright ape counting coin, you can expect a reign of dictatorial destruction to follow.
You've heard my condensed story; do you like it well? Do you think I was right? Or was I too strick against conformity, and mistook day for moon-light? Are rebels and thinkers the heroes of this land, or are they no more than glorified terrorists and dreamers, stuck on winning a battle in which by nature, only themselves can be on their side? Nay, screw that! Mediocrity is modest malevolence and no one can change my mind upon something for which I've long sat.
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