A Sky Devil on the Wall

The Sky Devil is on a wall of my blue and white psych ward room. Its long nose points toward the only window, a hermetically-sealed, triptych mirror window which offers a small glimpse of the outside world, while I remain invisible.

I'm depressed, mildly. Sometimes I think about assisted suicide. I don't want to live this pain no more.

A green-haired, androgynous, far-right degenerate-- somewhere in the lounge area outside my room--starts speaking loudly: "This is like being in prison. It is just the worst."

I peek my head outside the door of my psych ward room to see what in the world this political enemy of mine is doing. Is it a provocateur?

"This is awful. I want to go home," the suspected agent provocateur cries and pleads. "I have responsibilities... You are holding me against my will. This is fundamentally wrong. I have a cat."

"No one wants to be here," a meek Asian nurse obligingly responds.

I ejaculate. Naughty, terrible at. Loo.

...

"Not every gay man is a sodomite."

"But every sodomite is a gay man."

"Not always. Not every single time."

...

"Why are you here?"

"Because I oppose the fascists and Nazis of the 21st century, the collective West and the Zionists, including Donnie Tramp and Beanyamean Netinyahou."

"Dude, you're lumpenproletariat scum. You don't have a job; you're unemployable. Time and time again, you've proven that you are nothing but a loser. An object of pity and ridicule. We can much more credibly label you as fascist, racist, white supremacist, neo-Nazi, anti-Semitic, racialist, et cetera. We can actually destroy your life... All you can do is occasionally annoy us like a mosquito."

...

Your protests are not devoid of merit, like Yeshu's fury against the capitalists who exploit their fellow human beings at the expense of morality and truth, instead of training them to become the useful members of society they truly long to be; but just as it often is with these things, and just as it's been for centuries, these protests will never be able to manifest your ideals if you don't have coherent visionary ideals, passionate and competent leadership, and followers who feel like they are heard and respected.*

You march past the museum with your hands full of flags... I've never been one to protest and yell... I'm just itching to express my perspective . . . out of my subconscious, which I let pick me up like a little puppet of wood that its maker prays is more than just a lifeless, inanimate object. When I approach them, a protester places a small samizdat zine in my hand. The cheapest paper, a concatenation of cyans, morphing into turquoise. This almost reminds me of the school newspaper that published one of my poems and inflated my ego. I don't exactly know what to think, and I don't know how to feel about what's currently happening in the Middle East -- or anywhere else, unfortunately. When I get back home, I will see my son who rationalizes all of his choices in much the same way an ideologue or dogmatist might employ a legalistic justification for his hatred eventually leading to violence. Yet in this spatio-temporal location, I feel like we might be more than just the irreconcilable conflicts of our motherlands but the hopes and dreams we've nurtured for our futures. I realize with dejection that this protest isn't meeting my desire for peaceful unity due to an escalating confrontation, which is becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. Amidst the escalating confrontation, a tide of indecision washes over me, akin to a ship caught in tumultuous waters, unsure whether to navigate towards the calm harbor of peace or brave the storm of protest. One of the men's fists is raised hesitantly at around chest-level, communicating a defiance tempered by uncertainty. I'm not sure why I feel so impelled to watch these two men fighting in front of me, especially since I've never even watched wrestling or UFC; I tend to have a weak stomach and sensitive soul, avoiding gory and excessively violent content as much as possible. Their physicality seems so compelling that I'm unable to make use of my Apollonian egoic consciousness any more than an ancient Jewish Grecophile could show off his nonexistent foreskin while wrestling (in front of Greeks) in the nude.

*You will be the first to realize, or truly enact, what Yehowáh (God) would like to see in the world. You will reluctantly adopt my perspective -- of which a more primitive version presently stagnates in a lukewarm if tendentious form -- that "conventional morality" and "democracy" are the enemies of freedom. In your experiments in political activism, to point out one particular error, you have barely engaged in vandalism, in effect doing much less than BLM (Black Lives Matter), Antifa, and Black Bloc anarcho-communists did in protesting alleged police brutality and Donald Trump; therefore, I believe it behooves you to engage with more anarchist/communist, "right-wing," proletariat, and lumpenproletariat groups and individuals so that you can potentially benefit from a broader array of capabilities from all social classes and races. To bring to your movement politically diverse individuals from all races and walks of life, much like how almost every successful political campaign has relied on people of different races, perspectives, classes, backgrounds, and/or sexual orientations being truly united. The methods of successful activism, the extremes of passionate sincerity, the exploitation of one's suffering will never be fully realized in a "rules-based liberal society" or in the midst of bourgeois, "polite" respectability.