I love the dark. Its deafening silence has a way of binding my lost and terrifying soul into a single chaotic source of earthly delight. I don’t fear the night. I feed off it like a famished anti-social creature. The light cripples my eyes and enhances all my flaws and scars – 31 years worth of successfully hidden secrets of lust and over – yet underachieved - dreams. I don’t fear life, nor its end. I fear not being remembered for the being I personify. I fear that others may see me as the prey and not the devastating predator I so meticulously conceived in my mind. I am the downward spiraling saboteur of my existence. The screenplay scribbler of my bittersweet plot. The undercover spy of fate. The spiritual proverbial anti-christ of temptation. I am the word shaper of denial and the shameful master of thought and indecent pleasure. I am the constant high of smokeless dawns and the drunk of boozless sighs. I am and I persist, the ticking time bomb of conquest and defeat. Fear isn’t the echo of failure and powerless conformity, it is the humble soundtrack of mankind’s endless search for the building blocks of time. Without fear I would not feel the sugar rush of excitement nor the liberation of risk. Fear makes me live like a careless infant. Fear runs through my veins and overflows my immunity. It keeps me alert and suspicious and cunning. Fear is the absence of light – the element that reveals my scars and transparent flaws.
I am the son of the dark and the raged offspring of mother fear.