Sometimes, I'm just your friendly neighbourhood misanthrope. I am sitting here, outwardly quite calm and contemplative, but inside it is a real battle to keep everything contained. I don't express my anger externally very much anymore. I rarely summon forth Lucifer himself to act as my agent. Sure, short term, the Prince of Darkness can appear as a useful a conduit or interface with the wider world, but after you've trawled the depths of hell for energy to fight your one-man war you realise that however justified you feel it is, white hot rage exacts a heavy toll when carried around.
I'm speaking metaphorically of course, but I find dark themes analogous to, and illustrative of, my inner life. I am a light mask over a dark face more than I am the reverse. There are shards of glass in my mind, it is as if my brain has been wrapped in coils of razor wire prior to packing inside my skull. Yet I know, physiologically, the brain feels no pain - it lacks tactile receptors - but what about the psyche?
Who am I, and why don't I know? Am I an electric field interfacing at the quantum level with a biomechanical brain? Or is my consciousness a mere by-product of neural activity? I am either substantive or illusion, but which one? What was my first thought and what will be my final one? Will it all make sense in the end, even if the sense of 'knowing' is only the result of a massive flood of endorphins in a compromised brain? Do we each get a final sound and light show as the curtain falls, or to we move past the curtain to explore what lies behind?
The world as I see it doesn't need a God for there to be a reality beyond this one, not that I am sure there is either. My search is for meaning, that's my deity. That's my holy grail.
The killer, though, is inner discord. I suppose I am a diverse collection of people who all reside in a ramshackle, rundown dump of a building (representative of my body). The abandoned squatter house in Fight Club comes to mind. If my body was a building, the council would have torn it down in pretty quick time. But it isn't, and they haven't, and so my internal tenants are still free to roam around, causing mischief and mayhem and fighting each other for control. Sometimes they set fire to the place, hence the headspace I am in now.
I am caught in a labyrinth that I don't remember entering and don't know how to exit. I suspect a lot of it may be caused by the thoughts and concepts I have been mulling over in anticipation of writing the next few entries in my Mechanised Man series. I want to write these posts, and I feel I need to write them as well, but to do so I need to think about a lot of things that I prefer not to dwell on these days. Yet I need to address and come to terms with this stuff, so I'm dammed if I do but even more dammed if I don't. There is a need to articulate why I feel the way I do. I have felt like this since I was a teenager, I need to lay this stuff out. There's no big secrets that I need to reveal, it's more that I wish to express myself clearly for once.
All this torment results from cognitive dissonance; my head is jam-packed with it. I eat it, I breathe it, I sleep it and I'm swimming in it. Always. It's disintegrating my mind and poisoning my world view. Hopefully, in the next few days I can produce my missive and I can see it in text before my eyes. If I can capture thoughts and feelings and drag them out from inside me, if I can bottle lightning and lasso the wind, I think then I might find more peace.