Man in time

(note: this did not actualize in 7* days. Unfinished concept of a self-doubting wannabe cult leader needing to make financial headway on his cult before the 30-day return window on his Amazon order expires)

My whole life I was different. Smarter. Faster. Funnier. More resourceful. More adaptable than anyone in my life. Simply put; I’m better. I did not get 1st Place (tied) in Ms. Wagner’s 9th Annual 3rd Grade Spelling Bee at Harwood Elementary because I settled for anything less than fucking perfection. Or was she Mrs. Wagner when I got (co-)first place? Did he have that heart attack that same year, or was it the year after when that stupid bitch Patsy Reynolds won on ‘spaghetti?’ That pales in comparison to the final round between me and Jordyn Pelch. 

The problem with excellence is the insidious jealousy that circles people like you - buzzards lording over lions with an eye for the slightest weakness to peck at. peck. peck. peck. And so, you become kneecapped. Like some low-ranking errand boy for the 3rd biggest crime family in Hoboken. But I was never the errand boy. I was the fucking Don. At least, that was before my own kneecapping leveled me. Staring at them all and collapsing like Ozymandias and/or Walter White.

See, people generally do not make it out of Two Rivers. And I cannot bear the thought of hearing, even one more god damn time, about the fraught, contested history of the birthplace of the ice cream sundae. What I want to give the world is so much more consequential to the action-centered historical and philosophical context of existence. But like termites in the framework, I have been infected and partially compromised. 

That’s when the doubt set in. The weeping bravado. The gnashing of god’s teeth on the marrow I hold deep within. My masculinity gone like…tears… in the shower. But i am cupping my hands to contain the light, until the world is ready to receive it. Do you want to see the light? My light?

But when the light starts to flood outwards from me like the day breaking, I am tortured like the old Droog Alex hearing Ludwig van. My ultra-violence is not cruel enough for this world.This world needs some pest control. I think I’m going to be sick. 

maybe i’m entirely wrong, full of the unearned confidence of the average sicko. What the fuck do i have in me that hundreds or thousands or millions haven’t had? God dammit, why did i order the wholesale-priced cloak and hood combo pack? The blank journals. The beaded necklaces of various colors to denote seniority and status. 30 days. The timer starts now.