Two days ago I strangled a woman to death just with my hands. That’s a strange sensation. Something so tremendous done by something so simple. The first ten seconds were uncomfortable, a feeling of limbo, but then your muscles tense, and she struggles and fights, but it almost disappears in the background along with everything else in the world. At that moment it’s just you and absolute power, nothing else. That moment stayed with me. I thought I’d feel guilty for being a murderer, but I don’t. I feel wonder.
We are all guilty. We are all guilty of war and death. Always. In the same way, we can all be guilty of peace. Always.
When I go talk to the family and friends of a murder suspect, somebody I know is guilty, and I tell them the person they love is a killer, guess what they all say? “That’s not the person I know.”