A Masquerade and Massacres

The Man

Art is pointless... to the normals. The normals hate irregularity and randomness, they always want control over everything, and when they do have control they become blind to the real people who control them. Art is nothing but irregularity and randomness. Just like me. However, I am sure you wouldn't call me art, you'd call me a rat that lives upon the art of irregularity and randomness.

I stare at my mirror like this every morning. Just staring at whatever is on the other side. I would occasionally puke because of the disgusting image before me - the straw-like hair, the ghostly skin and the bony structure that, almost, glues and squelches together to form a ghastly complexion. Yes, I did have many offers of help and, yes, I would take their helping hand; but they always walk away. It seems no one likes to help a sick and poor man.

I would scream my wife's name. Amaranthine. It means eternal or everlasting beauty that is cast as a flower. She killed herself because of our condition. The condition worsened because of her death. My late wife was beautiful, cunning and a representative of the female gender. I cried I screamed, I roared. Her death was my fault and I can't fix anything.

I always went to work dressed in my home attire: a tramp. I am an actor by trade, I act as characters to amuse an audience. That is my job and my passion. I love becoming different characters and absorbing their personality to create a realistic image of another ego. An alter ego, if you may. Identity is complicated and a tiring matter, but fun if used right.

Call me 'The Man'. I like that, maybe it's because everyone else calls me 'The Rat'.

Now, you must understand, wherever you are reading this, whoever you are and whenever you read this: you must understand that I am not a normal man. I am not who anyone thinks I am, I am not anyone normal or casually indifferent, I am like you. I am part of every human in this world. Yes, the same world that controls us and enslaves us into a system called democracy and society, I am part of it like you too. I am inside every man and woman and child on this earth. You may disagree but that just makes the part of you, that is me, control you. You may fight me or hate me to the flesh of your degrading heart, you may even throw whatever you are reading right now, but let me tell you something: if you feel these emotions if you do these things if you think these thoughts, you are letting the said part of you control you.

Now, here I am, at the steps of my work, hoping for a good day or a nice conversation or even a 'hello' from someone I do not know. I knock on the door and the receptionist opens the door for me. Everyday. With no exception. As if a control procedure is set in motion. Then I walk to my locket and table, I sit and stare at the mirror and then, my putrid face and horrifyingly skinny limbs, turn to a healthy and blushed face. Yes, I turn into Sir Richard Kingly. Everyday. With no exception. As if a brush paints random strokes onto my life and turns all my blackness yellow.

Yes, I have an alter ego.

Tonight, my alter ego with entertain the audience with a play called 'The inspector calls'. Very popular and twisting. Like Richard.

Richard is famous and rich, a comedian and the most charismatic man you would have ever met. He has a wide fan-base and many, many people love him. He is nicknamed: 'The Man'. Apparently, he represents the whole of the male gender and is the perfect man for entertainment and parties and whatnot. Definitely not mad, sick and poor, like me.

'The Man' indeed, more like 'The soulless cheater who uses his fame and fortune for nothing but mistresses and power', isn't that what they call those kinds of men nowadays? Or are they that stupid?

Anyway, on he goes: onto the stage to perform in front of a thousand people... give or take.