Without apology or reservation.
I find myself spending less time in the “world” than I should.
Perhaps its delusion, but I self-sustain my social needs with my internal army of a hundred. We have conferences and caucuses, parties and pow-wow’s
We defy the movement of the world beyond our veil.
I lord over a conceptual landscape where I am all powerful, all knowing and ultimately desirable.
I go to extreme pains to draw others into my terms of existence for fear that I can’t breath the air in theirs.
The veneer I have over the universe I share with the rest of the world is a desperate fantasy, built from rubber ambiguities, impervious to external assault.
I’ve infused my illusion with so much confidence that it is transferable, tangible.
If anyone lets me, I feed them my tainted influence.
I revel in the opportunity to infect.
I mourn my inability to connect.