Foreward

Foreword: The Imposing Truth of Self in 4 Parts:)

    (Denego , Despero , Recipero & Profiteor)

         Deny, Despair, Accept, & Confess

                     I.
Why do we create such unconfortable lies,
to mask our fragile personalities?
No one is true, not even unto themselves.
False as our own impracticalities.
The self-exuberant dust-bone lies,
tight-lipped in coffin but pennywise,
So conveniently arrayed behind surreptitious eyes,
wide-grinned reflecting in the mirror of our guise.

From what beginnings does the mind alleviate such tragic misunderstandings?

                     II.
Stark raving mad,illustrious moon-clad, reflective being,
a dream to spark a dreamless scape upon a limbless
tree stripped forest of the mind.
Speak unto those unwilling to listen
with boisterous unrelenting clatter,
tongue-tied and smitten by cold unrepentive glances -
a renaissance of falsehoods and seeping reality
through cracks in the pavement like voluminous drops of hope
fallen from the sky, disappearing into the vast dark
sinkhole of our sink-soul.

                      III.
And yet, beneath the shadows of humanity, I realize that our false pretenses are our true selves; like so many other personalities our subconscious creates, for all intents and purposes, to be used involuntarily as defensive mechanisms. We are complicated machines, constantly morphing internally like chameleons outwardly, splitting our personality into so many mirrored personalities...all multiple fragments fused into one internal whole like a puzzle that takes shape through pieces that are forcibly fit, but do not belong, creating a befitting collage of dark, unfortunate, indecisive images that appear beautiful from afar.

                      IV.
Now take three deep breaths and think about what you have just read. It is in its purest essence, humanity - broken and spontaneous among flashes of ingenuity, all tied together with focus in the end - but lacking structure, lacking conformity. Humanity is an abnormal fusion of thought, emotion and soul. I am an outsider looking in, desperately striving to understand my place among all this madness. So, where do I begin, from the beginning? Or do I start from the inevitable and trace my roots to their origin?

A confession, if I may be allowed to name it so, threatens the very stability of my thoughts; unless I confess, the confession of all confessions. I want to end humanity. I wish to infuse my madness into humanity's suffering until this world begets Armageddon. And if only I could, but it will not be so, because I find myself foolishly caring for my fellow degenerates.

Nonetheless, my madness has taken its toll. I rarely sleep, and it is always an exhilerating experience. I feel exhausted, yet I cannot close my eyes. I walk among the living world as a sleep-walker. I drive, I eat, I speak, I smoke, but I am not really here. Could it be, that I am just some vivid realization, a fragment of their imagination that they have no interaction with? Blending into the background, if I stand long enough, perhaps I will sprout branches that spread skyward, or roots that bury me in the ground. Then again, maybe those around me in reality are only trees...trees with no leaves that walk through the winter of their own discontent. Will they ever cease to move? Will the weak survive the cold? Am I strong enough to care for them?

I am unstable. I am unstable...and yet, perhaps I am more stable than the rest of the world. My closest acquaintances are imaginary. They do not exist, yet they are known by many. Meanwhile, the world imagines that one country is a liable threat to another, but is this really true? Religion, indifference and intollerance all threaten peace. If each and every one of us were willing to accept each other for who we are, there would be no war. But that is not my message, because I know this cause is without hope.

Then what is my purpose?

To share my story, to entertain the masses, if only to bring a moment's reprieve. I've prepared a place for each of you among my thoughts. Crawl inside my head and make yourself comfortable, and I will tell you the story of Jack Leon Tolliver-Marcoux - a story of a neglected boy, an imperious man, a man accused of murder, a lover of angels, a despondent fool, a wishful thinker, and an utterly helpless soul - I am one - and all - and the same.
 

Reviews

[Mad Dog Wilson]

Excellent introduction. You really set the reader up on a rollercoaster ride into the mind of a twisted totured soul. I'd like to say more .. but I gotta read the next chapter .....