The DM13 Journal
The tragedy of life is that you chose to remain nailed to the cross of mediocrity, never heeding the pleas of the soul to walk toward the future Self that was waiting for you on the other side.
Instead, you chose to rot, sauntering through lackadaisical days within the asylum of do-nothingness. And now, you have no one to blame, no one to curse, no one to spit at, but yourself.
Now accept your rightful damnation, you wretched sloth.
Who you were, who you are, who you will be, are 3 different people:
A beast, a devil, and a sage.
I had a childish dependence on you—it was like an indwelling demon, but I’ve since exorcised it from my life. I have enough sense to know now that Freedom’s lips are much sweeter than yours will ever be.
Although I struggled finding my way, mucking about in the damp abyss of my infatuation for you, I could see the blurred promise of an oasis in the distance, beckoning me with the fulfillment and indemnity that Self-Sovereignty would come to occupy in my life.
It’s a lonesome Eden at times, but I’d rather be alone than confined by your suffocating embrace.
Her looks so twist the strings of your heart, that they turn your mind; for her eyes are like armies, and where her glances fall, there cities burn, until the dust of their ashes is blown by her sighs.
I know her, and so do you. And all those who know her suffer.
Hecuba speaking about Helen of Troy in Euripides, The Trojan Women
The moon burrows secrets on its hidden side, as do we, and we delight in them. As the night befalls our corrupt conscience, we boast in never getting caught. Lasciviousness comes at a price, but pleasure comes quicker. Until we meet again, I’ll be around.
Generally speaking, it is best to gain favor and influence through indirect means—like an insidious vapor that quietly pervades a room with its invisible presence.
But, as nothing in life is concrete, there will be times when employing a conquistador mindset will lead you to pinnacles of pleasure you’ve only ever imagined.
Force and vehemence then, should be your concealed weapons as you navigate the shifting terrain in your bedroom.
People will often confuse my kindness for weakness, and take my warm interest in them for granted. Occasionally, after my patience has blistered into malcontent, I’ll eviscerate them with an unapologetic chill.
I’ve always found that respect is reaped out of distance and apathy–a rebalancing of the scales that reminds them that my presence in their life is indeed a gift.
Ay, como me fascinan las brujas. Mis curiosidades me están dirigiendo a cuerpos extranjeros. Que placeres me esperan. Ave María purísima.
And as quickly as it began, it ended. You don't have to make sense of it all. It was a crack in time where we went to get lost, and we did, in eachother. And it was enough.
Heavy breathing from our shadows dancing against the walls.
Every secret delight with you leaves evidence–teethmarks on your neck.
Your lips against the moon.
My grip around the sun.
I've been looking for you.
After a certain length of time without hearing from her, I was convinced she had opted for the fish option, so I set out to find the answer.
Yes, I know. Let Me explain.
The young girls in that town were given the choice to remain terrestrial, or aquatic. If they chose the latter, there were secret methods the elders employed to bludgeon them into coy fish. No, not coi fish, coy fish. After metamorphosis, the eagerest of fishlings were hired by local botanical gardens to lure lonely men during the slow season–artfully exploiting their primordial inclinations toward conquest.
Personally, I chose not to frequent those places. As a dog returns to its vomit, so fools repeat their folly, and I had learned from My past experiences. Besides, there always seemed to be a malodorous current of bodily secretion and sin, and I had sensitive skin, so I would watch from afar. I have to admit though, it was fascinating to see how the fishlings and men would interact.
She understood that morality were oscillations–echos that rattled from facade to facade within the gothic cathedral of Self, and sometimes, I would rest nearby to be her gargoyle.
Think what you will, but We are aristocrats sitting on your thrones. You see, We've conquered the inner maelstrom, and quelled the discriminating gaze that never blinks. Our unapologetic compulsions open doors, of which we infiltrate, without shame, and therein lie Our virtue. Everyone else? Merely plebs, mucking about in their hypocrisy and self-consciousness.
I'd rather be a creep king living in exile, than a groveling peasant living the rest of their days under the unbending rule of social politeness.
"I wanna dance," she texted.
"Then dance," I fired back.
It had been over a month since we last talked, and I could smell the stench of her selfish intentions from across town.
"No silly, I mean I want to go out dancing–with you. Lol."
"You can do that from where you're at–I do, every night as a matter of fact, while everyone sleeps." I responded.
"Lol. Yeah. You're a good dancer too," she replied.
Her blatant lie was enough to send Me over the edge–I had had enough. It was clear what she was doing. Who did she think I was? Her little dancing Monkey? Here to jig and crash My symbols together to entertain her while her insatiable lesbian lover was out fishing for her next fisting?
My time is valuable, and I have no interest wasting it on SIMP collectors looking to fluff up their scraggly self-worth.
I proceeded to melodramatically initiate a cruel argument, of which I'll omit here–there's children present.
I didn't care that she blocked My number. What they can never understand is that I don't need them–I can be entirely content alone. But they, they're a different beast altogether: validation mosquitos who hover over exposed ears, seeking and hunting, hunting and seeking for sleeping victims, and if you're careless, they'll suck the lifeblood out of you.
Fuck that. I'll dance by Myself.
