Through no fault of my own – which may be a statement rooted in denial – I found that I have become a slave to hedonism.
Masquerading as a left-hand path magician, worshiping debauchery as a martyr, the inevitable flip-side to decadence being pain.
If one’s response to chaos is adding fuel to the fire; the response to a hangover, having a drink; to soreness, working out; to being full, eating more; to orgasm, seeking the next partner… what does that make one? Some kind of sinner in the true sense of the word, someone who misses the mark.
Redirected greed, systematic scrambling of brain cells, digging deeper into familiar grooves. I am choosing to be a serf, my field is the sickening expanse of time, my lord is the devil. Not as in Satan, but rather the tarot card. Its meaning is defined as: being seduced by the material world and physical pleasures. Also: Living in fear, domination and bondage; being caged by an overabundance of luxury.
A first world problem, a karmic fuck-up, a sad paradox. In my next life, I don’t want the dizzying freedom of choice. I want to be a monk. Ungratefulness and guilt are the best of friends.
Every day is a gift that I might throw in the garbage. Every moment of grace is a short-lived false epipĥany. A fool who never grows up becomes a mad tyrant; either to others or to himself.
Every attempt towards salvation seems to be futile. No magic Amazonian potion, no half-year pilgrimage to holy lands, no low pH diet, no rigid routine and isolation can do the trick.
Let’s agree to put all of our trust in luck and potentially die trying.