The Stranger, The Weird, and The Uninvited

I love to see things rotting, blackened, withering away. No male can give me a climax as profound as the visual of flaming fields, birds catching fire, and falling to the ground like stars. "All is vanity," I say, echoing the words of Ecclesiastes, while I witness the inevitable ruin of my deeds. Truly, all is vanity...

 

Someone as corrupt as myself, with a definite golden ticket to hell, if there’s one; I seek no pardon. Just as I don’t give a damn about somebody’s beliefs or social-political correctness. And if you think that I should. Then. Shove it up into your ass or even better - go downstream to a place where all shit flows. 

 

Just like I’m indifferent to politeness, I see no difference between friends, my own family, or enemies. If it were up to me - I would have them all sent into oblivion since they all possess art to hit me where it hurts most. Why shouldn’t I strike them before they even consider waging war which they could never conclude? And what comes next - a draw? I’m sorry but indecisive gambling with maybes is something I am least likely to tolerate. Trifles aren’t my go-to. I therefore see no purpose in postponing the inevitable inconvenience that arises from my relationships, rather I would have them eliminated here and now. Not tomorrow, not in seven weeks, but Now! 

 

This fear also has a second reason. I am constantly haunted by the dread that people around me will thwart my efforts to succeed in forging the sublime object: not of the flesh but beyond the flesh, an object of the unseen. A paradoxical it-self incorporating the essence of my vanities, mixed with pain, hurt, passion, and hunger. This object, always close to me, shining, attracting; yet, in case of close proximity: subjugating everything and everyone. A spell-like ornament, a hex in a physical shape - purely evil in the making yet bright in its purpose. Therefore, you see… I see no evil in my premise that “sacrifices must be made” whether of friends, enemies, family, you name it! because ends always justify means.

 

So, in the name of this vanity, I consume people so well that it hurts. I do it so well that it slowly kills me. Some might say I am telling you this to pretend I’m strong and untouchable as I shelter myself in solitude - but they are wrong. I keep leading my life this way because I’m like a cat who has nine times to die. Every death replicates a new me, binding a filament of my essence to a person with an invisible thread, accursing one to eternal hell, to deal with my shadows as long as they are bound to live. However, don’t get confused oh dear enemy; with each following ritual I also get hurt, and deeply, but unlike most, I manage to keep a natural appearance, no matter the extent of my agony.

 

Don’t you dare approach me in the street oh dear enemy with your patronizing clichés about how this: (1) pain will make me stronger, (2) there’s always light at the end of the tunnel, (3) extravaganza fairy tales of destiny at work. It never ceases to infuriate me when people say “Things happen for a reason,” as if the lesson couldn’t be taught in less gut-wrenching ways. For God’s sake! Sometimes I wonder when/where we started practicing a sadomasochistic worldview. Let’s be clear, none of us find ourselves in Nietche’s wet dream of the superhuman. In truth, no matter the hit or the size of the scar, it WILL leave a lasting mark. One by one, these scars accumulate, layering around a person like the rugged bark of a venerable oak, leaving no flesh exposed, thick, and impenetrable… Gradually, chipping away at one’s heart and humanity, transforming a person not into a superhuman (some might expect) but a ghoul - a Nazgul: screaming, seeking, obsessed, mask fixed onto a featureless face. If you wish, however, you may consider this path if you want to become a spectacle people can marvel at, as you scream and moan from their screens on TikTok. Sadly, the life of clowns has never been a happy, or a long one. Unsurprisingly, I haven’t found this lifestyle suitable to my needs. Thus, whatever I dedicate myself to is not for pain's pleasure, the scarring, or learning as some might like you to think.

 

In all truth, I’ve never sought scarring lessons or pains for a single day of my life, nor do I now want to become a martyr in my imaginative telenovela. I don’t need a martyr’s life. I leave the self-obsessed, self-harming crusades to pass on to those I despise. It’s cheaper you see… Although I was raised as a Catholic and taught at a Christian College, I found it repulsive to set myself cultivating the idiotic virtues of serving others because if I did this for a single day - it might leave me penniless. I treat people around me equally, not for the sake of respect, but disdain. I let them burn, drown, fall, and die as they wish, yet I stay put. I permit their worries and sheer stupidity to consume them, and if fortune favors me, sometimes, I find myself lucky enough to get a chance to bury some of them for good.

 

What I am is the Stranger, The Weird, and The Uninvited - a trinity of a kind. 

 

The very day I was born marked me as a life-wasting cat. At first, I began as a Stranger failing at fitting in among my peers or family. Even though I labored meticulously, they always saw me as a bastard child.  No one cared what their actions would do to me, what consequences I would be forced to bear. For some, this came out of their sheer ignorance, for some out of spite, but the majority did so because they felt intimidated, all thanks to my wild imagination and principled stature.

 

Later in life, I became known as the Weird one. This was a better phase, as I extended my influence into various areas, whether community-related or ones that required creative work, which I found particularly engaging. Work and the use of my zest made me sometimes forget the fact of my partial exclusion. Yet, even though I managed to deliver long-lasting results that benefitted and continue to benefit people, they still referred to me as "that one" - someone who dressed, acted, ate, and even breathed differently. Seen as too feminine, a fag who's too creative, too dedicated to his work, and definitely with what others would consider too ‘few’ friends. In the end, no one really wanted me. Those who decided to stick to me did it only to use my soul’s filaments to their advantage. And so - like anyone with good qualities of wits and an unreputable appearance, I was raped by anyone who wished to use my gifts and light for their betterment. When I was no longer useful, I was cast out of the grey heavens and became the Uninvited one. That day, I learned one important lesson: when you shine brighter than anyone, it does attract not only people worthy of your time but life-sucking moths too, who feed on the light of others until there is none left.

 

Indeed, as I lived, fell in and out of love with multiple moths, cried, screamed, hurt others, and - of course - worked. I scattered myriad pieces of my soul all over the globe. Whatever has been done is now over. No one is ever truly lost, least of all my soul. I often think about this especially now, when the past hurts me so much that I can truly hear the bells toll, silently followed by thoughts to end myself, and concluding each time with my loud shriek: NOT YET!

 

I shall not wither, or diminish. Tomorrow, I will complete forging the ring designed to gather the scattered threads of my soul and bind them, along with their wearers, to my will. They all cursed to remain under my hand and within my shadow for as long as I desire. Not a single piece of me shall be given or rented. A man chopped into three parts (The Stranger, The Weird, and The Uninvited) shall be made anew. I shall start leading my new life the way I wish. I will shut the final doors to self-scattering; thus, completing my ninth life as a cat, followed by a deep yet joyful murmur:

 

Herr Father, Herr Lucifer: beware, beware… 

 

I crawled out of my gelid pit with my black nails, 

 

screaming: “My light shall never dim!”