Welcome to My Mind

I've been taking my time to figure out where to begin.

 The logical place to start would be at the beginning, but as everything moves in cycles, there is no real beginning in a frame of mind that hasn't come around again in repetition.

I, like many other wanderers of my generation, have been trying to find my niche. But where do I fit in, as a supermassive entity?


There is no simple or singular answer to that question as I clearly occupy several seats in congress, alone, as I write this.

You're in my house. So why do I need to bend to your rules, in my house?

In an age where age is not necessarily paired with wisdom or maturity, I've awoken in a world where the only attention worth paying, is to fame and its constituents.

I have made meager attempts at attaining any modicum of a following in several different social mediums, yet exposure seems to consistently elude me, while the ever-pervasive, invisible all-seeing-eye follows my every move, hell-bent on making sure I don't ever see the likes of a like, heart, or comment, lest I become too influential.

Well, you've won. After years of "hustling" and "grinding", spinning my wheels and setting trends like the laid edges and baby hair wave, I've come to the point where I don't need to take credit for my influence. The "Man" as we like to call him has been mining my influence and appropriating its uses like the oil under the Afghani desert, trending for hashtags.

I'm not a resource to be raped and drained to fulfill the empty bellies of those without faces, let alone, identities to cling to; in a world where the only identity, one without, could ever hope to claim, is branded and pre-packaged in any assortment of greedy marketing schemes that cater to the "Oohs!" and "Aahs!" of  the gimme-grabby hands of any consumer who will pay a 300% markup for the same product in a different color, year after year.

Try as you might. You cannot own or possess my ability, nor can you wield it to your will because it is my will.

It's a good thing that I'm not famous. Otherwise, I'd be concerned this post might be seen by the hovering triangular phallic pervert who calls himself "Illuminated".

Poppycock.

I'm simply talking to myself, because you will be assimilated soon enough. Or you will fall like all the other fragile glass-blown egos and shatter into a trillion pieces on the black carbon walls of my resting place.

Test me out.

I promise to leave you breathless.