This election, too, ended—of course—in victory for the leftist camp. Of course they won; they win by foul means, so their victory was a foregone conclusion. I have now plainly witnessed why Peter Thiel spoke of the end of democracy. The end of democracy is corruption and electoral fraud. Endless propaganda runs rampant. Distorted history sweeps through civil society, and in the name of freedom of political expression, one film after another comes out treating that false history. The reason they cannot but win is that they received the corrupt funds of the CCP. Because it is a fight with no parity in capital, the Republic of Korea walks askew, like a body whose upper and lower halves have been severed—a halved body.
Surveying humankind, I came to know the will that lies beneath them. In them there is no goodness; in them there is only survival and greed. Those who once cried out for democracy and freedom of expression instead castrate expression and control history in a single direction. They silence the chroniclers, sanctify history, and call falsehood truth. Is this the deep-rooted servility of this people? Or is it the triumph of propaganda, which governs an ignorant populace all the more easily?
I have no strength to fight them. God has cast this world away. He says nothing, and does nothing. The history left to rot in this way is precisely the history of this world, and though now and then a moment comes when good prevails, it is only temporary. I often think of the terrible world of darkness I saw in a dream. The thought that this world is surely no more than some kind of testing ground, or a kind of stage. For otherwise there would be no reason to make a world this filthy and ruinous. If the Creator's will created garbage, then it is one of only two conclusions: either the Creator is garbage, or the garbage was intended.
There was no need to be surprised at a foregone conclusion, yet it was all the more blatant, almost laughable. But the balance of power always follows the swing of a pendulum. If the day comes when one side has piled up enough sin to bring about its own collapse, then the day they pay for their crimes cannot but arrive. It has always been so. One side crosses the line, and crosses it again. Law and justice were never in this world to begin with. To have to survive in such a deceitful and contradictory world is itself, one may say, a curse. Drinking down a wretched life, wishing to flee from life, I push myself into a virtual world. Let us flee. Fleeing. Flee. I flee. And so, without even knowing what it is for, I am simply fleeing.
Someday, in the distant future, I sense there will be only one of two conclusions for me. What do those two conclusions mean? Do they signify their existence and intervention? Or do they signify my victory and my defeat? In this laughable and despicable world, despicable humans. What is the use of living? Even the things called great genocides—might one not say they are a rebalancing that inevitably occurs when the cup of evil is filled? When the rage of one side fills up, and the desire of one side fills up, the cup overflows and topples, leading to ruin. Look at the people soaked in blood from the shattered cup. From what calamity did they come to be drenched in blood?
But to call this place a test—the test is, from its very design, a flawed, woefully inadequate, shoddy test. It is as if everyone were locked in a place scorching with sun and given only a single small well. A life in which one must curry favor with the strong to seize the well, or to drink even a single drop of water that comes from it. Is it not obvious? This world is, in itself, a world of extreme ruin born of the difference in utility between the strong and the weak. One side has its currency that every nation must pay to use, must buy, while another's is money no one takes even when given away, crawling along the bottom. Used by no one, it must sell itself ever cheaper.
What does it mean to have to live within an inequality that was wrong from the start? On a treadmill that must be run forever, one simply runs. Without knowing why one runs. And the most one manages to say is, "Throwing away your life is a bad idea." Watching this trifling, incoherent thought that has gone unexamined, I sigh. For them there is no reason, no curiosity.
I realize it every time. I am not a person who suits this place at all. I am not a person who belongs here, either. No matter how much time passes, the vast contradiction I see seems to be utterly invisible to others' eyes. However brilliant the intellect. He will never properly understand this proposition. Perhaps I can say it proudly: that they do not know, and I do. That this is not because I was blessed as they are, but because I was cursed. They will never know.