Manifesting the unreal

Artist: "The infinite divides the whole."

External voice: I am an animal. Thirsting, hungering, desiring.

Death will come, and the older I am, clearer is the inevitability. Why worry about others? They should worry about themselves. Don't even worry, be happy, be the strongest, be the best, have ultimate confidence in your ability to achieve power through whatever means possible, don't let weak socially imposed rules, guilts and ideologies ruin your strength. Move outside of their rules, bend them to your will, the real reality has no rules, and only the ruthless survive. The ruthless trait is more attractive than it may at first seem to your agrarian attitude. It will succeed where you will fail, through your reliance on the superstition of self. Tut tut Artist, it would be unseemly of you to appear as weak as your ideas really are, given that artists are traditionally considered free of such social restrictions. If only you lived the hedonistic free-wheeling, tempestuous life that the audience craves.... womanise, destroy yourself, destroy others, steal, kill, cheat!! They love it, you will be famous, though your life will be tragic and unhappy! But you will love them loving you, for they love the tragedy and the unhappiness! They love the tears of the women and the flippant callousness of the chauvinist. They love the deplorable self annihilation in the dank pits of drug-induced despair where lights are brightest and songs of hope are most mournfully felt when the ballads are sung. They love the break-ups, the recriminations and vengeful violence enraged by the other lover, sometimes bottled and expressed helplessly alone, cast aside once the drama has assuaged the Colosseum. They love it because they dare not live it. They muddle befuddled as they wish for one thing and do another, jealous of the strong, who live their life with only themselves to blame. It is right because I truly and transparently want it, and it comes to me effortlessly and quickly, without strain, and Oh, how you wish for such manifestation, yet your superstition cannot manifest the unreal.

Your golden forest is unreal.

A nightmare, with pits for eyes.