1.7.16

Dissociation.
That’s the word I needed
when I was trying
to describe the feeling,
mistaken for inner peace when
I must pay my daily due.
Head down, keep moving,
that’s how I get through.
The only reason I’m here
is that
I don’t know what else to do.
I’ve considered carpentry,
but that may be a racket too.

At least in such a scheme
the majority would belong to me,
I wouldn’t be looked at with pity
despite my wretched lot,
and wouldn’t need sympathies
so easily forgot.
I’d be making twice as much!
So why is leaving here so tough?

Familiarity?
Comfort in my mastery?
It’s a tragedy that I’ve
made myself as irreplaceable
as can be,
now I’m sticking around
longer than seems necessary.

Now that I can dissociate,
I spend my eight hours in a
different place.

Still, I worry
for the people around me,
I want to give them happiness,
instead of visibly leaking loneliness
or misery, just unhappy and unlucky,
best to avoid me,
says Robert Greene.

The 48 Laws of Power state
that for a man’s influence
to proliferate,
he must possess a composition
opposite my disposition,
one that is overfilled with joy,
one that makes success look easy,
so people can say, “Lucky boy!”

Instead, I feel like a toy,
broken and discarded,
there is no version
of Barbie and Ken Disheartened.

So whilst surrounded by kin,
I dissociate, my thoughts my own,
mouth shut, quick hands,
until I can go home.

By go home
I mean,
sit here and write,
hoping that this outlet
will help improve my life.
It cuts like a knife,
being a king whilst
toiling like a slave,
with no choice but to watch
as bitches who don’t
know how to behave,
smile at the opportunity
to take all the money
and walk away.

I write much about my distrust,
displeasure and dismay
at the state of my industry’s
unfathomable ways;
the ways of society
and nature;
which says low status anything
is a negligible creature.

Of course people will say otherwise,
like tipping a whore to vanish
from your life.

I do not wish to speak against
the respect that I’m accorded,
but to be honest, I’ve earned it,
and still don’t feel rewarded.
Rewards have come and gone
to be sure,
blue moons like happiness;
rare, transient and obscure.

Truth, love and purpose,
the names of phantoms
spoken pure,
things that most men
are unlikely to achieve
and in amongst this lot
is me.

There is definitely danger
where knowledge is concerned,
knowing enough one sees
all is absurd.
However,
there are no words
to describe it clearly,
only ones that come close
like ennui,
or descriptions
like disparity,
never seen early, only late
and felt intensely
like furious hurricane winds.