Tyrant
Once I saw a little and fragile girl, leaning on her confounded side of awareness. She was envisioning a life of achievements, goals, usually, easily obtained by conformity and the clear presumption of the end result, happiness.
She was tactile, still and sensing the disturbances, thus synesthetic on the absorption of reality, and deeply committed to be more than her inherent legacy, but… She was compromised, within herself, with her family, around friends and inside lovers. She was a miscellaneous vulture, a cumbersome form of residue, latent, wrongly grinding desire from the flow of cope and flow again.
Normal, but abnormal in spectrum. Lasciviously laying on lies. Her. Without me. Just her, her world and her surroundings. Her.
I saw her, by the time I needed more of me. The time I had though of having, was entirely spent on her, this way I lost the time I had envisioned for me, but I take it as just a choice, never a regret, never. It’s preventative, as a diffuse understatement, and usually misunderstood (this way I can be more of me trough the ones that are unreasonably selfish about selfishness and altruism) but I can fulfill my needs from the inversion of care. I can feed my eyes from the sights of their success and her’s was, and still is, particularly satisfying. Still today, the pride of both of us tyrants, comes from the acknowledgement of self construction and premeditated evolution, self inflicted by her and inner felt from me. This is also the genesis of a conundrum, a fate of eternity among perennials. A mixed manner of saying a lot.
An osmosis, between entities and factual as of scientific evidence, and broader, and more intrusive into mundanes than ever. The clarity, of dedication and determination is surpassed only by the baffles of arrogance that bristles the cheeks of the privileged and satisfyingly nude audience. The gain, is even distorted by the gravity of the phenomenon and affects the world in the axis of homogenic alignment, with the strength of oddity and desire, for a delapidated consistent destruction. The proportions, are unmeasurable in every known distance of competence, interaction and result. The terror, resides in truth and is not enough to comply with the validation of the dimensional singularly in which both of us are aware of what we are aware of, and each other… And more, way more, including levels of engaging experiences, shared essentials and legacies of all the new tyrants in the form.
This is and can be described as descendance. This is and can be found in the depths of history as superiority. This is not a state of anthropological layers and absurd structures of mere humans. This is not arrogance and small decoys as most desire it to be. This is humble and pure, a pack of selected horde of performers, misunderstood in the beginning but revolving the facts of suffering and classification onto the power of strength and tokens of choices. The frey.
She is the first born from herself. A generated continuous cycle, a gravitic, forward and accelerating loop of consistent theorems and research of inhumanity. Her, simply a her. Powerfully pulling matter, spitting galaxies into chaos by care, exultation, disdain from and beyond reasons why. Vibrant, beaming.
I’m caught in a beam, that beam. Maybe I am the beam? Maybe I am the initial tractor beam that polarized her belief in change! Surely, I was the guidance of question… The retribute of many, many questions and focus, and orientation and true North. Nothing more. The job was done as it needed to start, by herself. And did. I saw it. Day after day, night, success, failure, defeat, win, small, new, big, strange, bitter, sweet, mine.
Now I know, engulfed by the shadow she projects to protect me from myself, that I will fade into the oblivion of talent and foreseable disruption she and her’s alike condoned me to live. In my own search for the best way to obsolescence, I am the old tyrant she thinks she is and more are forging themselves to the legion of their own sight. They are here to her, not me.