Don’t accept average. Don’t merely be “good”. Your only option is to be the best; to be the greatest.
To do this you must destroy everything that stands in your way. You must erase them. You must demolish each obstacle and reshape the world around you until you are indistinguishable from the dust that remains.
Silence all dissent. Burn and destroy.
Forge your will the way the earth forges diamond. Become the hardest substance. Become the only thing of value. Become invulnerable.
Become everything until nothing is left except you. Become the forbidden light and the blindness that results.
Know only darkness and that you have become the greatest. You have ended everything. You are the only. All that exists are you and you are all that exists.
A man–yet just a man–sits on a metal girder high above the city of New York City. The sights and the smells of the sounds of the city assail him, but up here he is above them all. Up here he can merely look down and wonder.
Behind him the glorious city skyline and with it: innumerable possibilities.
But Mario is a man–just a man–and the wind tousles his hair.
At the top of this vert construction site a monstrous, enraged gorilla is hurling barrels at those below. And held captive by that gorilla is Pauline, Mario’s girlfriend.
Even now a flaming barrel comes tumbling through the sky and explodes as it strikes the ground below. The authorities will surely be on their way: soldiers with sniper rifles and fancy helicopters. They will kill the gorilla and rescue the girl, Mario is sure of it, he’s seen this motion picture before.
Beside Mario, on the steel girder, there rests an upside-down hat. It is Mario’s hat, emblazoned with a red M such that nobody else could mistake it for their own. The girders vibrate with the quaking of the monkey’s rage, but the hat does not fall.
Such weight does that hat carry: such density of destiny. Does the hat sparkle in the light or that tears in Mario’s eyes?
For he knows that the moment he puts that hat upon his head he will become something else. No longer Mario, but…
It is the New Year and with it such a collective hysteria and obsession with the “passing of time” that it is impossible for me to not be gripped with jarring existential dread that approaches me, even as I write, along the terminator; that dividing between the day and the night.
Even as I attempt to ignore it, the collective projection of a society so enamoured with this system of days is impossible to ignore. And thus, in my delicate state, it it infringes upon me and indeed unsettles the subtle waters of my very psyche.
I will think of you tonight, old friend, as the twilight passes over.