What title, you say

What are you doing? You don’t own me. You don’t own yourself. Don’t talk to me about pride, ego, self-respect, self-love, or whatever the fuck. You say you lost your self-esteem. You see, it’s probably because you damn love yourself too much. Don’t tell me about order versus chaos. Words are mere fucking words, infinite, desultory, illusory, spoken incantations, written dramatizations, gestured ostentation.  I am chaos, you say. I am the perfect manifestation of distraction, clad in a symmetrical human anatomy that is not even close to Vitruvian perfection. I am disorder, you say. And you? Am I mad? I am, you say. And why, I asked. You’re mad for not growing up, you say. I did grow up, I say, I just refused to grow old. And why, you say, that’s so immature. And why not, I say. I don’t want to be like you, to grow with the world to pretentions, hypertensions, on the illusion that the world will be better. I tell you, the world is fucked up, it will never be better, the world will be even worse, it’s a whoredom of cunts, balls, playground of nuts, pretending to be civilized people that’s why they dress in uniforms, or in wools, with ties, with shining shoes. Oh, the world is fucked up and you are blind, I say. You are really mad, you say, thinking like a child, thinking like a stupid idealist; it’s either you’ll die early or you’ll just get really mad. I say, yeah, I died many times, many years ago, even minutes ago; I die with every beating because I loathe everything, because everything is so fucked up; I die because I have pain and couldn’t just die and that’s worse, that you can’t just die so you couldn’t feel anything, think about anything; I tell you, it’s worse not to die; and I sleep for a while after a bottle of booze, I try to sleep but I am afraid, I’m afraid that I would dream, a sweet sweet dream of a sweet sweet world with a sweet sweet girl, and then I would wake up, wake up in a fucked up world of reality; but what’s real? What is real, you say, what is fucking real; this is real, my words, this world, and you’ve got to wake up. I am awake, damn, I say, stop giving me all this shit. Who the hell do you think you are, you say. I don’t fucking care, I say… I am chaos because of you, because of your order, of your fake civilization, of your repressions, of your suppressions, of your damn belief in doctrines, law, and constitution. I didn’t choose to be like this. My mind chose who I should be and I chose to follow what’s on my mind. Who are you for me to listen to? Who do you think you are? Do you think you own me? I don’t fucking care if you can give me money for food; it’s best to starve; I don’t care if you know how to take me home, the world is my home. Those pricks, they claim lands and build nations and I can’t go anywhere I want to go in the world and they say we are free. Fuck your civilization in your geopolitical ass. Goddamn, you are really insane, you say. Insane, you say, I say, you think so? So how about this? How about shutting your mouth, shove it into your butthole, and leave me alone? I don’t want to fuck with you anymore; don’t talk to me about sanity, about philosophy, about idealism, solipsism, Buddhism, Christianism, communism, socialism, capitalism, modernism, realism, fuck the –isms, weren’t they invented by stupid idealists? Where are the beats, did they die, the lot of them? I don’t feel I belong anymore; you claimed the world; you people pretending to be people, you civilized liars, you believers of salvation, of afterlife, of a better world, of peace; well, let me tell you the good news, there is no peace, the word’s even confusing, difficult to define, hard to use, let alone to attain; let me tell you, peace is not the absence of chaos, peace is the absence of a civilized world thinking that peace is attainable in a fucked up world. How can I reason with you if you don’t listen to me, you say, you talk too much. What do you want me to say, I say, or not to say; should I shut the fuck up? do you think I am bitter, do you think you are better than me now, that I am wrong and you are right, that I am mad and you are sane; let me ask you, what is your goal, what is your purpose? What to have a family, to be happy in your old age, to be contended, to fuck as many cunts as you can, to die with a smile in your ugly, wrinkled face? Isn’t that conceited, isn’t that selfish? You don’t have the right to say that about me, you say, why, what about you, what do you want to do in life, to remain fucked up like this? I, I say, why not, my ultimate goal in life is to die; I am not a hero, I don’t have the right chromosomes to be a hero, I don’t even have the balls to face living in this society, this so cold so-called society; am I insulting you now? No, you say, I will just forget everything about you said and be calm, like a normal person would. Oh, ho ho ho, a “normal” person, I say, that’s it, that’s why I cannot exist, please do me a favor, please kill me now, or I’d be just insane like you. You are really fucking mad, you say. Hey don’t forget, I say, I am you.