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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.
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