the city – my home, my haunt, my habitat – twinkles under the clouds of a chilly autumn night. the city rests when the city’s stressed; and then afterwards, the city feeds. through its myriad, byzantine arteries: the city truly breathes. and sometimes, the city even weeps – but the bustling city never really sleeps. tonight, the city streets have sheets of icy sleets, and so the people fleet to find a place of heat, while i wander my usual city beats.
i walk past a mirror and catch a fleeting glimpse of a reflection i hardly recognize. who is this person? this complex individual? with his umpteen hang-ups, delusions, passions, and infatuations? with creases of residual pain around his eyes? eyes that contain the sadness of the world. who is this man who inhabits my body but doesn’t dare speak for fear of being ousted as an impostor in a dermal suit? who is he? who am i? and, most importantly: how am i not myself?
as i ponder the complexity of these questions, i am suddenly gripped by fright. my head gets light and my chest feels tight as, inevitably, my thoughts take flight. the complexity of my character, my personality, my being, is entangled in a web of seeming neuroses. knowing without really seeing. yesterday, the complex was God’s. today: Persecution. i wake in a funk and forget my priorities, i can think of nothing but my waning seniority – today, the complex is Inferiority. tomorrow – arrogance, conceit – hello, Superiority! Don Juan! Hero! there’s no end to the span. today i’m Napoleon. tomorrow, i’m Peter Pan.