Oh, Yes
After the "But"
Oh, yes, I’m an abominable monster, a fiend, the demon whose ugly visage makes the most benevolent of you people turn your face away in revulsion–shush, otherwise they’ll be unto those involuntary convulsions–shush, let the tautology intact–shush, stop breaking down. I am all that, and more. I am the decaying corner your soul-sucking vacuum never reaches, the crack in the ceiling you can ogle but never touch, the invisible centerpiece.
Everything preceding your hollow ‘but’ stinks of surface. The afterbut, a futile attempt to stick to the herd whose approval is the only thing you seek. Is there anything behind your wornout curtain? Anything original? Any half-formed ideas? The angels fluttering around you are all wings and no substance. What’s the point of all this nonsensical gallop–makes perfect sense–hiss, lest uncomfortable stupor–hiss, lest the stutter–hiss, lest suffocation. Take a fucking stance, and develop, develop, develop, develop, develop.
I’m exhausted, and I’m not going to stick around for the main event.
wow. how very strange-I've been thinking(feeling? in general, I think in the West there's too much emphasis on feeling. Maybe it's a contemporary thing, I wouldn't know. But i was part of my cultural..adjustment when I came here. Not that people feel, obviously they do -but because they're constanly asked about it, and seem to be talking about it, and ..as Nabokov mocked, "we feel that Dolly.." while not guessing in the least what actually happens to Dolly)...omg that was long ..where was I ? I was ...same....
And you articulated it differently, of course, since you are you, and I am me..yet it so freaking resonant, I can't even begin to explain. Thank you, Mahdi. Thank you, dear.
Hugs.
Dear dear Mahdi. I am that little nut-sized heart shrinking in the corner. On some level. Always. I hear you. I hear you exactly.