Writing The Rant

In a double-dealing world of daunting dames and monotonous men, I remain, at least try as much as I possible can, devoid of duplicity. Hyper-analytical to the core, and constantly questioning with a seething skepticism—logic and science my pillars of persistence and self-preservation my torrid truth. Metaphor has constantly played a part in my life; finding symbolic imagery and meaning in film, music, poetry, literature…has had such undeniable power throughout my years. Of course, life would have been unbearable without my ability to laugh at myself whenever need be ( and boyyy, was there need—and often ) It’s easy to dismiss someone’s belief because it’s not our own, so we deem it silly…stupid…toxic, even. And we may be right. But I belong to a body of beautiful and blisteringly driven devils who cut through the bullshit—even their own; We don’t proselytize and we consider the task of trying to convert someone to be coercion—which is the antithesis of what we are. What you were born, that you will remain—you may become better, but remain you, all the same. Just like a lion is born a lion, he cannot help himself to roar when others may wish he’d whisper; Although, a whisper, can be as powerful as a roar—and we know that in a romantic Machiavellian way. You will not find two of us who believe or behave in exactly the same manner. Some of us donate our money and some of us our time ( or both ) to charity, to the homeless,  to the man with the tired sign with the tired line that reads, “ Not Gonna Lie, Just Wanna Get High.” Some of us would rather give our time and money to those we cherish, those we love. We do not presume to tell you how to live your life, most of us are oblivious and wish to remain so about other people’s lifestyles. And no, what we are isn’t in reply to any established religion, with Abrahamic origins or otherwise. It is a poetic and beautiful self-empowering driving force that takes from the greatest hero that time has told again and again since the dawn of time: The anti-hero.

Sitting on a bed with an aching back against the wall, I dig the sound of my fingertips attacking the keyboard as I write this rant while Satie sucks the stress from me at the pleasant hour of eleven-fourteen p.m. I think of the voice on the other side of the telephone that inspired this piece…I wonder of the child that drew the devil as a beautiful angel—the seven-year-old me who cheered on while the Kryptonians landed on earth looking for Super Reeves…and as the piano keys hit such bittersweet sounds, a burning tear cuts through my left cheek and nestles in the corner of my mouth.

So, is life…bittersweet.    So is life, long and short.    Hence is life, a seductive siren, a crashing wave upon the rocks, an underrated symphony, a French film lost in a basement, a retired clown now a lawyer, a flat tire on a luxury car, a cat that learns to fetch, an overflowing toilet, the fading laughter of children…

…my apotheosis..

…a writing of the rant…

∞