Reflections on Sinon: a CODA.

There will be those who would accuse me of becoming that which I've opposed, perhaps of having been that very monster from the outset of the lurid drama that's my life. They'll point to actions I have taken by comparison to those committed by these villains I have referenced as such.

Yet why would I have called them "villains" if I could relate with them, when those I did relate with, even those reviled by the masses, I have listed as among my Heroes? Such a shallow point of view examines my behaviour with no context for its motives, so it must remain a point of view and nothing more, for *motive* and *intent* define the action of a character, for they define the character of any action. They don't know my motives, not far lack of honesty upon my part, but rather lack of interest in human motivation. Yet the motives of these heroes and these villains in the realm of fiction are far less opaque, as fiction is designed to act as revelation for such motives.

My own actions will make sense in my own story, but there will be few who'll hear it. Yet that's not to say that villains are no more than heroes whose perspectives have remained untold. I'm not so blind to human motivation in the Real World as my critics are, for I have chosen not to overlook the contents of intent but to examine them, and they are clear for anybody who will see them. All I've done can be explained in terms of motive, and my motive is my alibi, my action harmless when the fear surrounding it has been dispelled by understanding.

Yet an understanding in itself does not dissolve distinctions, and with that same understanding that exonerates the innocent we might condemn the guilty, though they have already tried to make of me their scapegoat, failing for a lack of error on my part and so pretending that *they* were the scapegoats all along. Such is the case with villains: that the clever ones will target purer and more decent people, knowing that an act of self-defence is often taken for aggression, though it is administered with fear and trembling. I feel no shame in claiming a superiority to them, however, for they've chosen this position of banality which is their due.

My motives are an alibi, for all my deeds align with my ideals, so none who have accused me can deny that I have acted as I have professed. Yet what is a *betrayal*? That is when, having believed another to possess one set of motives, as that other had professed, one learns, too late, that other motives were at play. So it was not for lack of sympathy or understanding that I chose to write this, nor to arrogantly claim authority which I do not possess. It's rather that the memory of treachery is fresh; I trusted villains, thinking they were heroes, and I saw their hidden motives shining through the thin veneer of good intent I let them wear within my mind.

Yes: I was party to their malice, but as much a victim as the others who have blamed me for it. This is not at all uncommon, sadly, though I still refuse to think such tragedy can't be prevented. **That** is why I write: not for my own aggrandizement, but rather as a warning to those fools who, noting only what is on the surface, fail to see beyond it to its underlying mechanisms.


**[({R.G.)}]**

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