Memories are a fool’s errand. Perverted dreamscapes of hallucinating succubus. Apparitions of what was. Inconsistencies persist in such fondness. Composting disgust. Frozen flames of yesteryear’s wants. Blown away, like spores of hope.
The memory isn’t accurate. Not in the sense that it could repeat an exact performance. And thank God. The memory evaporated reality. Shame, fear, guilt, rage, pleasure, or pain.
Exploration is dug from inside. A deep searching. Yearning and turning. Seeking the route of least pain. But the momentary lapse of presence drives confusion. Of the utmost emotion. Sitting in the stew of emotion is a martyrdom of self flagellant decadence.
“Self pity is easily the most destructive of the non-pharmaceutical narcotics; it is addictive, gives momentary pleasure and separates the victim from reality.” ― John Gardner
“How dare you speak to me that way. Do you know who I am?”
“Yes. You are a fucking asshole”.
“Not I! I am not an asshole.”
Or am I?
Alas, the beautiful people of Instagram. A tongue-lashing such as the one above. The trigger, if you will. A chambered bullet of doubt and shame. The delightful dance debasing the moral compass. Unhealthy behaviors follow to circumvent the shame. Only to establish a new level of shame. Shame begets shame begets acting out.
And deep inside the behavior lies dormant a budding lotus enveloped in peace and love. Buried under a muck of yuck. And so the wooden wheel, pulled by the galloping donkeys, cannot go round and round. A lapse in judgement is the first domino to fall. Cascading begins emotional strangulation. Cutting off the oxygen of thought and lizard brain is in charge.
It burns. A solution, a potion, ephemeral but real. Peace is sought through attachment. Boasting egocentricity. Mantra of more. Kardashian flu sweeping through the children of America. Forever infecting, mindless poison, infiltrating the minds of youthful loss.
Debasing the fruitful lust to yearn. Seeping into DNA of less. Engineering a design of confusion and loss. Of more bringing less. And less being loser.
The answer is within. The external narrative is a dichotomy of want and need.