I was a slave in search of a Master.
I just needed to submit to an inexorable power.
I wanted someone to "authorize", to take the decision,
and subsequently, the consequences, out of my hands.
Draw me to the inevitable, give me a hand in releasing
myself from resistance.

You read me.
You fantasize along with me.
You project onto me, relate to me,
live vicariously through my denial, my struggle, my duplicity.
If it takes a self-destructive nature to live this way,
at least I believe in the Phoenix that rises from the ashes.

Risen from the rubble, as I have before, sooty and singed but renewed and
fortified by the fire that heats my inner metal. Or mettle.
I know I'm going to get burned.
I know I won't be able to control everything forever.
I'm afraid.
In an exhilirated way.
Frightened as if in a haunted house.
Scared shitless by how volatile everything in my life has become,
and how exhausted I am sometimes in my efforts to keep
the explosions effectively dormant.

I have empath abilities, this is probably my most "attractive" feature.
And the most dangerous.
For others and myself.
Shape shifting, molding, conforming.
I don't really consider it pretense because all those qualities exist within me.

It just takes the proper pheromone, stimulus, to bring them to the surface.
But I am in flux all the time. So I don't know who or what I am, really.
Except a sum of parts.
I'm not the only hero with a thousand faces.

But eyes, piercing through eyes, probing deeply, traveling through your chambers,
searching the grid for your energy voids, your energy pockets.
Looking for places I can feed, and you can feed on me.
And what I find is reflected in my eyes.
This is why I can fill my gaze up with a wall of love and affection.
And why I am searching for someone, something who eyes can pierce through my invisible shields,
through my layers of whirling amorphous multiplicity, and search my grid.
Someone who's eyes will finally reflect my innermost desire.
Not just for sex.
But for energy, fulfillment, depth.
Like in TRON. Where they find that source/pool of pure energy and cup it in their hands and drink it?

Faltering. Wavering. Frightened. Chickenshit.
Self Loathing!!!!

Even here, in my relative anonymity, I feel I have released some pure essence of myself to
unknown factors. I think about how small is the City, all the potentially dangerous degrees of separation.
I think about who recognizes me, who is watching me, the eyes I don't see.

Neurosis. Paranoia.
Guilt. Remorse.
Self-Recrimination.

(Keep it in the box baby.
With all the other Useless Societal Programming,
all the Freud trash, all the judeo-christian guilt b.s.)

Help Foucault!