SUPEREGO

Sometimes I feel as though I want to fail. It is like I left a part of myself behind a long time ago.

Gone is the pining for finer times, there is no silver lining. A mercurial sense of being the jester has. I sneer at convention, throw the blinds open, and make jokes of what leaders have spoken. They know nothing. There is but only an impulse left to destroy. Violence too is dead and gone. All structures can be torn apart. I am the killer of paradigms. With time I will make a mockery of all humanity’s debauchery. Wisdom of the ages spoken by sages falls short as well. They may have come close, but there is no heaven and no hell. No world either in between can truly be seen. Does anything exist at all? I stare at the wall and think that this can’t be it. Then at times like a mystic I experience peaks of the mysterious. Truly transcendent and blissful things have been within my grasp. Fully conscious dreams of paradise and oneness with the universe have been mine. These too fall short eventually. We get so caught up in the content. We play our parts so well. I have stolen peaks behind the curtain and it makes me nervous. Nothing is certain. Acquiring more and more knowledge soothes me. It covers up my insecurity. If only I can share what I know then others will think I am their brother. They will see my normalcy. And yet they reject me. What it is that scares them such?

And what by the way does a woman truly want? If I am stripped down to the bare bones of what I am and admit that I know nothing as a fully realized being does that still make me a man? I am not the object of desire. Attraction is to someone who gives a fuck. I am all out of fucks. They would call me damaged. My psyche has been ravaged. They would say I am a savage. I used to have a handsome face. Perhaps I still do. People said I looked like a movie star. That only gets one so far. Once you are past the age of naivety it no longer carries you quietly. It is loud how hard the rejection resounds. You think I’m cool honey, but still don’t like me better than your boyfriend’s money. I can do kung fu circles around him with my body and mind, literally and figuratively. I could dominate him in many ways but this is no longer clashing horns in the wild. Sometimes I wish it was. I am a warrior-philosopher-king living in the wrong time. We are such mammals and yet we think we are better. You are weak and so am I. For different reasons we have both failed mankind. You refuse to admit what you really want and I refuse to be what you say you want. I am tired of wanting to be wanted. I despise you. The most beautiful thing to me is also what I most hate.

It is with great regret that I must accept the past is dead. Yet thoughts of you still rattle in the confines of my head. Why was your love only conditional? Why did you run when I pointed you closer to the truth? I love all beings as unconditional even while hating most of them for what they do. You would call me weak and yet I am the one who brought you to your knees. I broke you wide open using only words. You collapsed me, capsized completely shut, murdering my spirit into shards. You are a serial killer of what people really are. If you replace reality with your projections all you end up with is resentment. I am fallible too but I at least bring the conversation to the room. Yes, I am better than you. I will always show up at the table while you still retreat to your father’s stables. He only wants no man to love you so that he can possess you as an object. You hate me because I say God is dead. It is the crutch you clutch onto and I kicked it out from under you. It only makes you hate me because you know I’m right. I’m sorry but didn’t you hear that I am a destroyer of worlds? Judas too had his role to parley or there would be no power in the mythological play. I can no longer deal with this dread. There is only one way to heal, and I don’t care what anyone else says. It is to play pretend and find a better one of you instead.

All this rambling comes down to one thing: I write cathartic poetry only because I cannot sing.

 

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