justice as an illusion (i want to be cancelled)
I find myself dismembered and mashed in different timelines, provided my desires manipulate me. Grounded up and shattered. I've watched myself die hundreds of times in my mind. It makes me feel like there's something invisible out to get me. Everyone is being stalked and possessed. I think justice is the thing that's killing me.
I read a great article on the internet being filled with demons. I think there's truth to it. There is a powerful arcane war that never ends—the war of symbols. It's online and offline. Sometimes the computer feels like an access point or a beacon, the monitor being a two-way mirror. The exchange of interdimensional travel is an unlimited exposure to the will of others. Once plugged in, your consciousness is void, and your only defense is focusing your energy into a fine point. You can never be certain of what I am. There are demons all around you, and they noticed you before you noticed them.
Demons love promising hurt people justice. It's the strongest tool we've developed in a post-prison society. The promise of justice,a potential,rationalizes exploitation. Misguided attempts to rewrite suffering as an investment itself rather than the hardship of being alive. The more you have suffered, the more entitled you are to salvation. Your enemies will be sent to hell without you having to lift a finger.
Lately, I'm constantly in pain. I think about the cycles of being used that I've been experiencing since I was a kid. I can't separate myself now from this victimized child in my mind.I find myself biting off more than I can chew. I want to make the people who benefited from me choking hurt. I want to offer your pain for a portal into my past so I can rewrite everything. That's the face behind justice—control.
This perversion of resolution can't stay in my life. Even with the brutality I've faced, I need to keep marching forward. There will be opportunities to stand up for myself, and all I can do is give myself the confidence that I will when the time comes. I can't control others, nor do I truly want to. I just want to feel safe. I can't force people to care for me, especially when they don't want to. I live at the top of the tower. It's safer to look down on you.
Boldly, I take a lot of comfort in the fact I've hurt others. I've gotten to witness the erosion of my spirit. I've seen its punishments, and I've seen its graces. Never once did I ever feel better. I just realized that everyone is the evil and everyone is the good. All is all. Everyone you've hated is capable of feeling eternal love and is even entitled to it. There's nothing you can do about it.
I want to be canceled. I want you to see how much pain I can take and still evade control. Picture a twitchy, spazzed imp desperate for relief. Imagine millions of them. Then pick one up with your hand and pluck his head off his body. I want you to become frustrated with my refusal to comply. I want to giggle in the face of those you've infected. I'll force you to find ways to innovate on inflicting suffering, always buying new toys for an old version of me that isn't here anymore. After countless strikes, I'll look up at you and whimper, "If you wanted to suck it so bad, you should have spat on it first."
I recall reading "Anarchy Works," quoting the passage about the Navajo approach to community conflict. It reminds me of a lot of sentiments behind harm reduction. I live in a world where punishment is a currency, where everyone wants control and will do anything to get it. It's me. I peek out of myself every now and again. I reject living and merely survive. We carry our crosses for decades, and then we die. Through great relief, we realize we were always free.
