Exclusion

I know the game of exclusion, have played it all my life and now I've mastered it, a talent to brag about. Exclusion from normality, the joy of inclusion. Exclusion from continuity, the malaise of discontinuity, the permanent otherness. It's a mystery how it came about that my life was exclusively defined by exclusion, is it in my DNA, or luck running to another alley, either way it's a cognitive stimulus, a recurring additive, a submerged marine lurking in deep waters, shadow of shadows, a roaming gadfly, speaking truth to power, and love to the blind hearts, lone wolf in the bushes devouring fear, a humble Sisyphus on a lunch break, barren habitat in a brumal voyage, cursed living turned to honor. Exclusion is the game of powers to weed out the heretics, those who dare to say no, and for whatever it is worth I am one, exercising my right to be free, from the shackle of norms, of passivity to institutions, and boy they dislike that and throw you to the wolves, no use circling back to them, they've written you off forever, which is a fairly long time. But I've found my mercury essence, eluding firm ground, like a balloon unhinged to volcano, the core being out of time, the purposeless defiance, of a life-time to status quo, born to annoy the scoundrel yes-sayers, i.e., a rebel with a damn good cause, crafting the art of impermanence, reeking inauthenticity, like a Canadian rapid gently flowing into ocean of rocks, intellectual vocation in Nietzschean footsteps. Thus spoke the genealogist Zarathustra, of the birth and pang of my tragedy, inked in paradox: you ought to be forever ensnared in the charmed circle of exclusion, foreign to the breeze of inclusion, like a forbidden artefact in an abandoned temple, approach with extreme caution, burns on contact, inquire not from him the ticket to paradise, only the purgatory, yearned to be a mythical giant cut into size of inconsequential midget. babbling nonsense, his presumption of originality vastly overrated, like B-movie pitching for the Oscars and when the curtain falls, tattered to pieces, rewarded for his self-deprecation, valor of his evisceration as hostile other, barefoot sufi, incubating no word of wisdom; alas the end of day is near at hand, the appointed hour to revisit the great halls of unfreedom, gallantly dishing out diplomas, the new breed of Orwellian cattle braving the new world unmindful of Marx's alienated labor., excluded from wealth, reified humanity.