Houdini

Ever-so-slightly sickened. Now, if all evidence before did not confirm it, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am a fool. Self-loathing is an interesting state of emotion. I sicken myself because I am sickened by others and this only because I let these others in. Being Zen about things doesn't take the sting out of them, no. It just means you stand there and take it like a stoic son-of-a-gun. If you fall and shed tears, you pick your sorry ass back up and stiffen your upper lip. You know full well that pain is a constant and a beautifully bitter-sweet reminder of being alive, of being human. Pain is the gift that keeps on giving. To feel is to hurt. Anyone knows this, though many deny it.

Let them all in. I can take it. Let them all run rampant in my heart's myriad chambers and wreck the house of my soul. Perhaps, should there be a higher intelligence that would at least sort through the hubris that is my collection of memories and feelings at the end of my mortal life, some lesson might be learned, some pearl gleaned from my painfully bland way of life.

Meaning. I want meaning. What do I mean? What the hell am I? What do I want? What do I need? Meaning. Truth. Peace.

I am a fool.

I am pulling a bit of a Houdini, here, as of tonight.

Tomorrow I join the consortium of fellow sin-mongers to cavort and gallivant where possible, though myself, I shall let Bacchus preach to me. I tire of the flesh. This rotting sea of it, all around me. Burn. A conflagration, if I could turn it...

Tomorrow I make music. Thereafter I shall retreat into my shell, as a friend of my heart so eloquently put it. I shall join the other side for a time. In the mirror I'll find a bit of myself with which to survive some time when I get back to this side again.

It is all so fine, this grand, elaborate lie.

Personas to wear like the masquerade has some point to it, a finality, a singularity... a meaning.

Houdini. Many meanings to a Houdini. Meaning. Let us pull a Houdini.