Turns out, reverting onself to primordial goo in order to facilitate spiritual transmogrification takes a while.

After finishing yesterday’s blog entry, I turned the lights out in my room. put on that certain song that means so much to me, and willed myself to formlessness.

And it worked…. a bit. I could feel myself kind of melting inside. I felt like I was getting closer to a primordial state.

But it turns out that is not the sort of thing one can merely will. It will take some kind of massive spiritual event to trigger the sort of transformation I desire.

The pysche, it would seem. does not surrender its structure easily, which is probably for the best, if you think about it.

But without any spritual tradition to point me in the right direction, finding that trigger is going to be a very arduous and extremely intimate process.

I am going to have to dig very deep into myself – to go under, as Nietzsche would have put it – in order to find that trigger, and that means leaving the cold but comforting light of my overweaning intellect and goings into that deep dark forest of emotion, instinct, and drive that scares me so much,.

But fuck it. I want to escape this messy little cage of mine and I am willing to do whatever the hell it takes – even risk my sanity itself – in order to do it.

I’ll even write poetry, for fuck’s sake. Official poetry, that is. not the odd poetic jaunts that I go on within the prose of this blog.

Clearly, I have poetry in me that needs to come out. Might as well make it official. All I’ve got to do is give myself permission to do it and ignore the voices in my head telling me it is both self-indulgent and pointless.

I can see those voices for the bullshit artists they are. They just say those things as a cover for my fear of that deep dark forest of real emotion that poetry would access.

Well I am through with that bullshit now. For years I have been saying that there is nothing inside me worth keeping if it gets in the way of my mental health, and that statement of existential readiness remains true.

But I can see now that it did not go far enough, so here is the updated version : there is nothing inside me that I am afraid to show the whole fucking world if that is what it takes for me to escape my cage.

That bypasses all that pointless and unjustified shame I have been holding inside since the day I was raped at the age of four and makes it clear to myself and the universe that I no longer give a damn if people flee screaming from the real me.

Damn, that’s a scary thing to say. But it feels real good too.

I’ll be a motherfucking troll under a bridge living all by myself in a cardboard box and being used by parents as a bogeyman to get them to behave if that is what it takes.

“Eat your vegetables or the FRUVOUS will get you!”

I will turn myself into a public pariah – leper outcast unclean – if that is what it takes.

Hell, I will even become that raging arsehole I have been holding back for decades if that is what it takes, and he is my worst nightmare of my worst self.

Well, journies of self-actualization sometimes go through some very ugly terrain and I might have to become a lot worse before I get a lot better.

Certain, I need to bridge the gap between me and him. Or me and me, if you want to get anal about it, because unpleasant as he is, he’s me as well.

And one of the lessons I have taken from tales of serial killers and spree killing shooters is that the extreme and crazy part of my mind is directly related to my being passive and meek and unable to successfully set boundaries in my life or express my anger at all.

So I wouldn’t have this side of myself trying to come out who is this rage filled, viscious, bullying, battering, smug trickster of a self-centered prick if I did not bottle everything up, especially my rage, and create the exact conditions that create such an ill representation of myself as a response.

There would be no Mister Hyde if Doctor Jekyll wasn’t such an id-denying intellectual. Ditto with the Hulk and Bruce Banner. I bet both of them could be cured if they would simply acknowledge that their alter egos are them too and that it is their ferocious battle with their own ids that creates the monsterous sides of themselves.

We cannot let the beast inside rule us but suppression is not the way to achieve that aim. In fact, it produces the opposite effect – the beast rages when ignored.

The only long term solution is a negotiated peace, and that starts with a confession :

That aggressive, abusive asshole is me. I am the one who wants to unleash my full intellectual powers on the world without any regard for the consequences to others. I am the one who dreams of being an intellectual ogre who doesn’t give a shit about anything but his own amusement and is perfectly willing to bully, dominate, manipulate. or even eviscerate whoever is unlucky enough to cross his path to get it.

I’m that guy. That is me. There is no “him”. He is me and I am him, just as much and to the same degree that I am the Fruvous everyone knows and loves.

The real me is someone I have yet to meet because the real me lies at the geographical statistical midpoint between all these different versions of myself, and if I want to reach a state of happiness, all my shadows will have to merge and become one entity.

And then it will be just me, the real me, naked, defiant, and alone, ready to face the world as an army of one and make a place for myself in the light.

That is what I am fighting for and that is what I believe.

And may the Metaconscious have mercy on us all.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.