Assuredly I am growing long in the fang. Yet I do not believe the fires in my heart are dowsed. Leaving solely a bizarre combination of lupine howl and bambi fox cub heart. No. I can still feel the heat from the distant fires. I can still hear the echoes of the flames devouring kindling and wood and parts of myself which remain charred, scarred and hard…
My alter ego ascends…or I am more likely asserting the maniacal grit and drive and spirit of my kinfolk from the mother-realm who are prone to react to any bother with rough justice, whilst demanding their right to live…free and wild.
I do not find this intensity of grit or spirit or passion here in Melbourne. Which I need, yearn for and know as the larval furnace of existence. Without which, life becomes more effort of thought, more of the same, day after day, everything expected, nothing new or bizarre…It is not just unheard of, but unknown of…even those from proper, foreign realms, where everything matters, slowly acquiesce when placed here in the garden of dead souls. Yet I find an echo of myself doing the same, and my essence sees this, and eyes narrow, fangs grit, a howl becomes me…For how dare any part of I…bow down to all I despise…NO. I would rather be the pariah, the failure in so many eyes, the wastrel who meant everything he said, wrote, felt, yet achieved nothing…Its an uncomfortable position for a cretinous creature like myself to even half step away from honesty, from a constant emission from the vibrations of my femurs…I despise myself too much, too quickly///Better known and felt as a cretin than a vaudeville fraud villain.
So little makes an impact on my core…Despite my constant seeking.I maintain a life of my only fangs finding purchase in familial bothers…In rabid reports of my horror at the way the world has become and is heading. Offer brief, sporadic expressions of eagerness of kinship with odd creatures who seem strangers but far removed from the crowd…disassemble my wits then pour what remains towards anyone within range or found on a mangled carousel of those I need to engage, from close or far, yet have held fire, for it needs not thought, but the right time…the right feeling.
Nothing which means anything to me that matters hugely was expressed with thought guiding the quill. I am interested in Feeling. It is all that matters. For when I meet someone with whom I am familiar, I am firstly interested in, eager to know, how they are feeling…What they are thinking, aside from how they explain their feelings, is a secondary consideration.
We are living in dark and ever more treacherous times. People have become cyborgs. Not yet to Terminator levels, but the preliminaries are forged and successful…
Just like the 60s, in the 90s, we danced around and took loads of drugs, but achieved nothing. Other than a period of human history future generations can look back upon and find a freedom unknown in their Now, in their Then…Is that the sum effect of a period of social upheaval in our species? We butt horns with the system which homes us in every way, carve out brief freedom, use it, play with it, then some time after, we get back in our suits, and pay homage to the brutes?
And so…if mass social upheaval, changes nothing other than for a year or three at best, when all is possible, all roads are open, then they are closed, then normal operating procedure revives and recovers Total COntrol…in which case, we are left to focus our zeal on what we can achieve, which is surely the steady, if not fanatical fang and need and desire to express yourself and be free…to chase solely the richest wine of life that can be drunk.