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The Cult of Me

th (7)

I am akin to a god. I am omnipotent and omniscient. I regard people as chess pieces that I move hither and thither in pursuit of my endless games. I am angry and capricious, raining down my erratic and arbitrary judgement on those who I find offensive. Like any god, I must be appeased at that is your role. I have recruited you to provide repeated sacrifices. At first it will be your time, then your money. After that I demand the sacrifice of your outside interests and your friendships. Ever eager and indeed brainwashed to my ways, you will repeatedly comply in the hope that I shall shine my benevolent smile and make the world into which I have dragged you, well again. Like any addiction however, the cost becomes increasing greater and as you seek to halt the chaotic fury that I choose to unleash against you, you sacrifice ever more, oblivious to the fact that this god can never be appeased. Next comes your confidence, your self-esteem and your happiness. All are cast onto the altar and given up. You are encouraged in this awful pursuit by my disciples, those chosen few who wear the cloak of righteousness that I have given them. They act as I would act, carrying out my machinations and ensuring that you have nowhere to turn. Should you ever question my power and my actions, they will calmly explain to you why you are wrong and what you must do, their glassy eyes caused by their indoctrination to my way. My followers always do my bidding. They chant my mantras and undertake my works with a slavish devotion to my doctrines. They will cajole, coax and coerce until you provide the ultimate sacrifice to the cult of me. Your identity.

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How Does it Feel?

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I have been asked by Andrea if one can exist without pain or joy?

The question presupposes that I am without pain or joy and therefore can I exist? The starting point must be therefore do I feel pain? Do I feel joy ? I shall deal with the latter first .Joy is defined as ” a feeling of great pleasure and happiness”. Now, I feel pleasure. I know that. Happiness? I have had to think about that and I have come to the conclusion that happiness is a lighter version a somewhat fluffy and amorphous sensation of what I truly feel. I feel power and elation. Happiness is lower on the scale. I don’t feel happiness. I leap from a neutral state straight to feeling powerful, infused and elated. Since I do not feel happiness and I see that happiness is regarded as a constituent part of joy, I can only conclude therefore that I do not feel joy.

What about pain? Of course we know two types of pain. Physical and emotional. If I hit my thumb with a hammer, boy it hurts, so that is that confirmed. As for emotional pain, well yes I feel that also.  In fact I feel it more than you. The pain I experience is visceral, gut-wrenching and agonising. It sears through me and is most debilitating. Such is its intensity I am forced to take immediate action to remedy the hurt that I experience. The agony that I endure is total and vast. My world collapses in on itself, I am shrunken, withered and wounded. This state is brought about by your unnecessary criticism of me or your failure to engage with me. I must act promptly and with every resource I can muster to push through this pain and end it. It is a superhuman feat but by dint of rage or evasion I achieve it.

Thus I feel pain. Every single day. Imagine having to deal with that.

If the original hypothesis is that one does not exist unless one experiences pain or joy, then given that I experience pain then one can only conclude that I exist. But you knew I existed all right didn’t you? The damage and prescriptions confirm that.

Joy of Text

I love sending text messages. They are a useful and inexpensive method of ensuring that I remain in the forefront of the thoughts of the relevant recipient. I do this to show how much I care about that person even when they are not with me. I am thoughtful in that way. It is important though that they reply straight away to my message as otherwise I become restless and that is fair to me. You see, I have been able to text them (even when I am extremely busy) and accordingly they should do so too. There is no excuse. In fact, I find it a particular affront if I do not get a reply and a suitably admiring one at that. For reasons of efficiency and speed I keep a stock of set texts which I utilise often and with different people. My standard texts are as follows

Where are you?

Who are you with?

Are you missing me?

When can I see you?

What are you doing?

I love you so much.

I’m too busy for you today.

I recommend this collection to you.

Everything I Do, I Do it For You

I had a session with Dr E. He wanted to discuss the notion of empathy.

“How does discussing empathy make you feel?” he asked.

“Let’s talk about how it makes you feel eh doctor?” I replied promptly and flashed him a winning smile. He looked up at me and gave me a wan smile.

“Very good,” he answered.

“I thought so,” I replied and stretched. He waited as he deployed one of his characteristic pauses. The floor was mine.

“Some people suggest that people like me lack empathy,” I began, ” I do not accept that. I have plenty of empathy. Consider this ; I am highly skilled at understanding what people feel and think. How else am I able to achieve my own aims? If I do not know how they will react to certain behaviours they are of no use to me. By understanding how they feel then I can say the right thing, make correct gesture and thus I gain. I need to know how they will respond to what I do.”

“I see. But are you genuinely trying to understand how that person is feeling or are you just utilising it as a device to extract what you want from them?”

I sighed. I honestly think Dr E is so busy trying to come up with the next question he does not hear my answers.

“That’s just what I said. My skill at ascertaining and guiding what people feel is excellent. My exceptional awareness to the feelings of others is the catalyst for my delight in inflicting emotional agony. I do not need to lash out with my fists when my honed sensitivity allows me to cause the maximum damage without lifting a finger. You know how I love to conserve my energy. If I do not know what people are feeling, how can I manipulate them? I am full of empathy, I truly am, but it is directed only for my benefit and use. There is none left for anybody else.”

I let my words hang in the air. Another win for me I believe.

Hoover Manoeuvre

th (5)During one session Dr E and I talked about relationships and friendships. More about that on another occasion. This discussion did however cause him to make an observation at our next session. He said to me

“You gather friends and lover very easily.” I thanked him for that and offered, without him needing to ask, that some of us have a natural magnetism. He nodded but I sensed that this was not what he actually wanted to talk about. I waited and he continued.

“You also end friendships and relationships after comparatively short periods of time.”

Before I could challenge him about what clearly was an attack, he pressed on.

“What interests me however is why you feel the need to reconnect with these people you have so readily cast aside, once again. Perhaps you could explain that to me.”

After due consideration (actually I was thinking about adding to my collection of whiskies but it does no harm does it to make Dr E think I am taking his question very seriously since he is a very serious man) I gave him my answer. I explained that I need to know that I remain appealing to them and that they will admire me once again. Sometimes it is because they have something that I want. He asked for an example. I said that one friend was a newspaper columnist and I wanted him to write-up a product I was promoting so I made contact with him once again to ensure that he would do this for me. I expressed contrition for me failure to keep in touch (I blamed a girlfriend for being jealous and controlling) and he accepted my explanation and happily wrote the article I requested. I’ve not spoken to him since. Dr E asked if it was necessary for them to provide me with something tangible such as money or a place to stay. I said I had both of those so I would not be seeking those out. I did offer that I have the repeated need to feel powerful and if I can regain their admiration after the way I got rid of them, then that makes me feel especially powerful. I also confirmed that I see it as a personal challenge. I need to know I can extract some more juice from them so that’s why I look to rope them back in. Dr E asked if anybody had every evaded my attempts at drawing somebody back in again. I nodded and confirmed just one person. Dr E sat up with an interested expression.

“Do you know how this person evaded you?”

“Yes,” I answered, “she died.”

Sweet Caroline

I would like to tell you about an ex-girlfriend called Caroline. The song ‘Sweet Caroline’ was spot on. She was a positive delight. Nothing was too much trouble for her. She enjoyed helping people and when I met her all the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood up. My nostrils twitched, my pupils dilated and as I took her dainty hand, I could feel the power I would gain from this paragon of virtue already coursing through my body. To describe her as an empath would do her a dis-service. She was a super empath. If I was a vampire I had just been given the keys to the blood bank.

Caroline had a huge conscience. It was sufficient to represent several people such was its scope and reach. This was marvellous for me as it ensured that she was completely open to my manipulative behaviour. Not only did I know that her decency, her caring nature and her honesty would make her susceptible to my overtures I also knew that she would not stand up to me or fight back. Ever. This is because I knew that she felt that standing up for herself felt alien and wrong to her. It was not something she was ever wired to do because she had never needed to do it. Everybody liked her and she revelled so much in helping other people she completely failed to see when people took advantage of her generosity because she was so caught up in being a good person.

I took advantage the most and would subject her to the entire array of my tools from my Kit of Devaluation. She would stand there sobbing in front of me, frustration and bewilderment overloading her emotions as she would say,

“I would put my foot down with you, but it feels wrong doing that to someone who needs help.”

It was mana from heaven. She would even tell me why she would not fight back. It felt wrong to her. This really was a carte blanche for me to do anything I liked and I knew always that she would not stay away,or ignore me but she would try so hard to make everything alright and to try and understand me. She would be exhausted, eyes barely open as she tried to touch me and urged me just to tell her what was really wrong and she would help me.

I did wonder if she had been ensnared by one of my kind previously, but she had not. I thought this because her thinking seemed automatically aligned to do what I wanted as soon as I had met her. Usually that takes a bit of time to achieve that state of mind on the part of my victim. I have to hammer their conscience into a particular shape so that they start thinking in a manner which is calibrated to my wants and demands. Not with Caroline. This work had already been done but not by one of us, no, she came already programmed. She was the only one I found who was like that. She really was a keeper. It was a shame she had to be taken away in the end, but I suppose even someone with as large a conscience as Caroline can only stand so much. I haven’t found anybody on her scale yet, but of course, I am always searching.

Dead Eyes

thCA57YNUEThe author Hilary Mantel once described the Duchess of Cambridge, Kate Middleton, as being “a plastic princess with dead eyes”. Now, the duchess is not one of us (we infiltrated the royal family by marrying in over 30 years ago) but we were drawn to the comment about dead eyes. We get that a lot. There is a fascination about our eyes and if memory serves, they draw the most comments about us physically that I can recall. I have variously had mine described as “Cold and dead, like a shark’s”, “like pieces of coal”, “green and envious”, “possessing that cold, chilling stare” and “lifeless”. An ex-girlfriend, Kate, would tell me that she loved my eyes. This was when I was seducing her. She explained that whenever she looked into them she saw herself reflected back and she loved this because she knew that she was very much “in my eye”. Interestingly enough, eight months later she referred to this reflection as “I look into your eyes and see nothing there, just my reflection looking back at me.” I always disliked her contradictory behaviour and failure to make her mind up.

These comments set me thinking as I am a reflective kind of fellow. As I explained in ‘Falling into Place’ I have learned how to create a mask of feigned emotion but it would appear that the one part of my face which was letting down the façade  was my eyes. For some reason, no matter how hard I studied the emotions and reactions of others, this just did not happen with my eyes. As you know, I like to know the answers to everything and I did some reading around and observed that repeated people refer to the eyes as windows into the soul. There lay the answer to my conundrum; the soul and the eyes are inextricably linked. The absence of soul was being reflected in the deadening of my eyes. This required immediate attention and rectification. I now wear sunglasses a lot, even indoors.

That Age Old Problem

Oscar Wilde mentioned in Dorian Gray that everything was possible since he had beauty and youth. I am very much of that mind set and accordingly the thought of becoming old fills me with revulsion. Horrifically I do not have to apply my imagination to this scenario (and to be frank I would not do so) because I need look no further than my Uncle Robert. He stands in front of the mirror and rants at the cruelty that is reflected back at him. His withered frame a reminder that he is no longer the uber mensch he has always maintained that he was. (He certainly seemed that way when I was a child. I do not remember the details but I do remember his stories about his adventures and achievements. They seemed spectacular and exotic. So tantalising). Now he realises that the charm which he once exuded has worn thin and does not have the allure it once had.

Every day brings a physical or mental insult and he realises that he is becoming a burden on those around him. He will not accept this transition with any grace. Indeed, he refers to his peers as old men but not ever himself. He regards himself as far younger, indeed, I often hear him repeating the things which I say. It is evident to me as the autumn of his life envelopes him that he wishes to remain reflected in my summer sun.

The tricks,the smoke and the mirrors that he once deployed with consummate expertise have deserted him or is it that a lifetime’s exposure to them have enabled those who were on the receiving end to create some kind of immunity to them ? Do they now see through the magic he once was able to weave about him? His deceit and bile are more evident that ever and I know he rarely receives visitors these days, they seem to think that there is little point in being subjected to his put-downs and insults.

His razor-sharp mind has become dulled, probably addled from the excessive alcohol he regularly indulged in (and probably still does) and the noble features have become craggy and distorted. He cannot summon the charm and sophistication to lure people into his world and instead has to rely on provocation, savageness and acidic accusations. His potency has been exhausted and try as he might to scramble away, he is sinking inexorably towards mediocrity and averageness.

I rarely see him but he regularly telephones me and I indulge him allowing him to rage down the telephone line about his injurious state arising from his dilapidated condition. It is worth listening as some of his fury contains choice, vintage lines which I write down for later use. Those barbed words when allied to my youthful charm and brilliance will work marvellously.

Uncle Robert never considered what would happen when madame time outstrode him and his current condition serves as a salutary lesson to our kind. Narcissists do not generally age well. Fortunately, I have been able to see into the future and I can ensure that I do not fall victim to Uncle Robert’s fate, but then, I have always been cleverer than him haven’t I?

The Slops of My Delinquent Mind

If there is any subject or a particular topic you would like my delinquent mind to be applied to, please do say and I will provide you with my thoughts and observations. I enjoy the challenge of being given a subject and responding to it, so please do let me know if there is anything you would like me to write about. If not, I shall continue to dazzle with my scintillating output (not my words for once but those of another). I look forward to hearing from you.

Falling into Place

I have learned from Dr E and Dr O that I do not feel the range of emotions that you do. I do not feel joy,I do not feel sadness, I do not become upset and I do not feel empathy. I am fully familiar with anger, rage, envy, hatred, jealousy, despair and most of all the feeling of power. Some of these feelings I had to explain and Dr O provided me with the appropriate label. This is because I began the first session on discussing feelings by explaining I knew only three ; power, anger and power again (actually the third was a terrible sense of dread but that is weak and I was not admitting that to the delicious Dr O). I found these sessions largely uncomfortable as I prefer to use my intelligence to interact with others rather than rely on the often uncontrollable sense of emotion. I do this because I am an expert in studying and reading people. Accordingly, I have learned which emotion to use to enable me to better negotiate my way to getting what I want. For instance, I have learned that when someone crows about a promotion to me, I am to smile and congratulate them. It takes a microsecond as I process what mask I need to reach for, but I a proficient at it now. Of course, behind that mask I am plotting how to criticise their good news as I can feel the envy rising inside of me, but that comes later. For now, I must smile, look happy, shake their hand and wish them well. Thus I appear the decent and pleasant man all know and admire me for.

Conversely, if someone is crying it usually means that they have had some bad news. In those instances I use a concerned face (I copied my secretary’s expressions as she is really good at looking after people) and know that I must utter useless platitudes such as “It will be alright I am sure” or “these things takes time but it will get better” or ” I am sorry for your loss” and pat them on the shoulder. I won’t hug them though. That is going too far.

It was as I began to build up my repertoire of staged responses that I hit on an excellent idea. I needed to find the experts at showing these emotions, study them and then I can replicate them brilliantly so that everyone regards me as someone who is in tune with human emotions and they will admire me for that. Thus, I went to a hospital and watched the nurses as they cared for people. I studied police officers on television when they had to impart bad news to people. I went to see a comedian at a local venue and watched the audience respond to her jokes. I attended a football match and observed the crowd (that was a very good source of a range of reactions – most instructive). But best of all, I happened on an amateur dramatics group and I volunteered to help with the lighting so I could watch the actors and listen to what the director told them. It was a goldmine. After that, it all fell into place as to how I should behave in certain situations. I observe and now know which mask I need to let fall into place.