Killing Pseudo

Nobody loves you. That’s normal. Accepting that isn’t.

They either love the idea of you or the you who became their idea. As soon as you're a human being outside of the concept, they'll tear you down. And that's just your fans.

Your enemies will be banshees biting on bone. There, at your weakest, you'll realise you've always been alone. Then, in the spirit of Chan-wook Park, you've got choice.

You can say whatever they want you to say to survive in The Fake... to be forgiven, to rejoin as a puppet who thinks he's happy so long as he doesn't think too much.

Or you can find out who you are, diving deep into that dirty toilet of your ‘soul’, re-emerging comfortable enough to give a middle finger without hate, just indifference to what doesn't matter. Being who you are, something less ideal, counts.

Purpose is a different kind of happiness. It's an inexplicable drive to make things better, to give others happiness. It may be foolishly non-capitalistic but to deny one's nature would grow a bigger fool pretending cowardice is virtue.

Exit the Pretender.

Hello.

* * * * * *

Thanks for the song, Grynd Rodd Muse (and no thanks to the Grindrod Mews building on the esplanade).

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