Your evilness makes you real

evil

Psychopaths are evil. Apparently. Everyone else is angelic. Apparently. That’s what various articles I have read recently would have you believe. But in reality, I don’t think anybody is really that bad, or that good.

In fact, I believe you’re not real until you’ve dipped into deepest darkest desires… as evil as they are.

Firstly, what is a psychopath? It’s someone who is considered to put their own needs ahead of others. They may exploit, deceive, lie and downright attack others to reach their aims. They may be equally charming and charismatic in their approach. They may be hostile. Whatever gets results.

Criticise them as much as you can. But they are effective and ruthless in getting what they need and want.

Psychopaths (in these new agey articles) are often pitted in a battle again “empaths”. Empaths put the needs of others above their own. Often looking for validation in return for the favours they give. They may say they hate it. But on some root fundamental level it gives them a kick and a thrill. Thus you have co-dependant relationship. Women who stick to abusive men for years. People who stay in unpleasant workplaces for decades. It may be unpleasant and exploitative and just plain unhealthy. However on some level it feels familiar and safe so nothing changes.  Even if it hurts.

I am psychopathic. I’m also very empathic. You are too to varying degrees.

We all use various amounts of cunning, skill and acting to manipulate people, information and situations to our best advantage. We tell people what they want to hear.

There’s a TV series I’m loving at the moment called The Night  Manager. Hugh Lawrie plays the role of charming, cunning, evil weapons dealer Richard Roper. While Tom Hiddleston plays a hotel’s night manager, who is recruited by Britain’s Secret Service to infiltrate Roper’s operation and implode it from the inside.

The most interesting character is the night manager. At first he is ultra charming and perfect. But then as the plot thickens, he has to become a violent drug dealer.charming and nasty businessman and two, three or four-faced spy.  It’s amazing because the subtext is: we’re all actors, we all become different characters depending on what we need from situations.

We’re all psychopathic.

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If we lived in a world where we could freely express what we wanted without fear of judgement (in ourselves and others) – we wouldn’t really need these traits. But if we feel we can’t want what we want, or can’t be honest, or have to be loyal to someone. That’s where these traits come in. We have to adapt ourselves, be subversive and underhand in our methods.

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So here’s me. I am an weird, offbeat emperor. I want to use that power to awaken people so they fill the world with marvelous creations. I’m an enabler, a connector of the dots. My idea of paradise is one where we can all communicate freely. One where we are all really seen and accepted to the bottom of our souls. One where our strangeness and weirdness is seen as an asset rather than something to be ashamed of. There is the space, energy and time to really see and hear each other. We also fill out time with play, mischievousness and laughter.roman-baths

I shall spend my days writing, giving speeches and appreciating the wonders of the world. It will be in an old town or city. I will be brought many handsome men to debase. I love the feeling of domination, wrongness and absolute power. We shall live like the romans.

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Grapes and cheese will be devoured in rooms with tall ceilings. There will be many men in my life as lovers, friends and acquaintances. I shall roam with the other kings – enjoying our nights of wine and debauchery. We will erect great statues monuments and building that celebrate our ideas and rule. We shall fund great artworks that stimulate the soul and unconscious. mind. We shall create great theaters where the untold stories of this world stir the spirit. Our language will evolve, as will the people – to live in this awesome age.

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It will be an era of glory, plenty and fullness. Magnificent fresh fig tree will line the streets. Orange trees will be scattered too. We shall pluck them for our breakfasts. The birds shall sing. The river will flow. Weird and wacky contraptions will be invented by our citizens for our benefit. The sun will shine. Buskers will make every street a melodic maze. Accordions, pianos, saxophones, harmonicas will make the city a living thriving music box. Bicycles and our feet will take us through the city so we can absorb it in all it’s depth and texture. Smiles will abound. The food and wine will flow. The buildings will be masterpieces unto themselves. Great labyrinthine structures of turrets, spiral staircases and balconies. The roads will be quiet except for the hum of human activity and the birds.

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Under the belly of this city. The servants and workers will live in dignity. They shall be given good housing, good food and plenty of time to enjoy the city they so dutifully serve.

And so that’s my evil plan. That’s the society I want to lie in. That’s who I am. And I will use any means necessary (within reason) to create or find that. It’s in my best interests and the best interests of the those I will lead.

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What’s bothered me all my life is that I couldn’t share this. Nobody has that vision or imagination – bar two or three friends. The general vision of people’s lives in Britain are so small, sheltered and limited. Let’s build a cul-de-sac of semi-detached houses. Let’s build a supermarket where we sell plastic sausages. What sensible career do you want? What (socially acceptable) hobbies do you have?

So boring, so small. So bloody bland.

There’s no big questions of “what’s your vision of paradise”? Or who the hell are you really? Or what do you really want beyond what society told you to want?

Thus we become fragments. Flakes of realness buried underneath a heavy, bland facade of “normality”. And when you dare reveal anything real or weird – you get shut down or shunned.

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Returning to the point. You’re not really yourself until you dwell in your psychopathicness, your evilness, your naughtiness. In that place you can have anything you want. You can imagine. You can be anything, anyone.

There’s nothing wrong with having ‘bad’ or evil thoughts. Nothing wrong with having power. Nothing wrong with wanting to give your power to someone else in exchange for their care. There’s nothing wrong with wanting abuse or wanting to take advantage of others.

It’s incredibly liberating to explore beyond the constraints of your current world.

You tap in to your essence, with this process. You get to your senses, your primal natural beastly desires.

Then and only then do you really find yourself… the strong, healthy unrestrained god or goddess that you are.

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Darryl the Rainbow Pigeon

Once upon a time there was a pigeon called Darryl.

He wasn’t a black pigeon, a white pigeon or a brown pigeon.

He was a rainbow pigeon!

rainbow-pigeon

Nobody knows how or why Darryl was a rainbow pigeon. His parents did have some colourful feathers, but they hid those.

Darryl always stood out. The other pigeons thought he was wierd.

Darryl tried to play with them but they were stupid and boring. They just wanted to fight and poo on shoppers on the high street.

Darryl didn’t care. He was colourful and the others were not interesting. So he played by himself. He would look at himself in puddles or shiny windows.

Often he would feel an energy, then act it out. He would pull poses and become different characters.

Sometimes he’d be a parrot in the jungle.

Sometimes he’d pretend to be strict and grumpy like his grandad.

Sometimes he would dance like a gorilla.

He loved being crazy.

But then one stormy day – everything changed.

Darryl’s family invited him together. His dad looked very stern

“Big pigeons aren’t like you. You need to take responsibility. All this dancing around is all fine and dandy, but will it build you a nest? Will it bring you worms for your babies?”

“I don’t know” said Darryl.

“If you’re lucky, you might get a few scraps. It’s better to play it safe.”

After that Darryl had to join the others in formation, when they were flying and finding food.

He was actually an excellent forager. But then he had to share it with the others who were not as good.

He didn’t like them. And they didn’t like him.

They were so grey and boring and bland. They were also very slow and bad at getting food. The others talked lots about nothing. They would never hunt too much, to avoid standing out and looking too good.

It was like they were doing this to fill time and feel important. Darryl just wanted to get food quickly then go back to play.

Darryl got very angry. “How can anyone live like this?”

He would despair. He just wanted to play and dance and be. He couldn’t bare a lifetime of foraging for scraps with these ignorant runts.

The days went on. He got angrier and angrier until it became a rage.

Then he looked in a puddle and was shocked. No this couldn’t be possible. No. No. No.

Half his rainbow feathers had become a great dirty black! “Noooooooooooooooooo!”

“NOBODY GETS ME!” Darryl squarked as a long squarky wail.

He cried. Big pigeons aren’t supposed to cry but Darryl had found a quiet place alone in a field.

He felt terrible. Then he felt much better.

He did a little jig. Then he pretended to be a parrot. Then he became various different characters – one after another

Finally, he smiled and flew around in circles.

Because he was proud to be Darryl the rainbow pigeon. And he was unstoppable.

Nowhere to go…

Writing makes me feel cringey. Especially all this emotional, internal stuff.

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Some say it should all be kept privately, in a diary, never be shared.

Inevitably, I’ve lost business from it. It has scared off copywriting clients, because these corporate office people don’t have the capacity to process their emotions. I’m being critical, but I know it’s not their fault. Just the way the universe is right now.san-franisco-is-horrible-gaping-void

Opening up about real emotions would challenge, shatter and reconfigure their whole world. I would argue for the better of course. But who knows? Maybe I have it all wrong?

I don’t really know what I’m doing here.  I just feel compelled to write and publish.

Many have reached out to me to say that my writing touched a nerve. Like it tapped into something they never knew anyone else felt. It’s hugely powerful when you speak up about something true and taboo.

You - post speaking up

You, post-speaking up

I’ve never really felt safe. With the exception of a few rare days, and unpredictable moments – I’ve often feel threatened.

In all my workplaces, school and also while self-employed – I felt threatened most of the time. Social situations were often the same too.

That threat is: I’m going to get in trouble and be punished for something that’s not my fault.

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Because I’m very sensitive – being in trouble/ doing something wrong hurts a lot. For years and years I had teachers shouting at us at school. So instead I am hypervigilant. It seems I have to censor what I say, or manage/steer the conversation away from conflict as much as possible. Conflict is unbearable.

Because I haven’t felt able to stand up for myself or communicate in person – I have to expend huge amounts of energy to get close but not too close to others.

Close enough to get my needs met. But if anything looks too deep and caring I had to push away because then it feels like that person has a claim over me. Then I feel I owe them something. Then I feel threatened.

The problem is I do have a big heart, I do care. I do want to give out lots of love. But if 99% of environments feel threatening, I have to hold back and switch off. I hate it. I hate myself for it. I get angry at myself. I get angry at society. But it’s the only option.

Writing is a very cathartic, real, positive process to unravel what’s troublesome. It gives you time to process and think. Because there’s nobody in front of you, you don’t shape-shift to fit what you think they need. You can be you.

We all adapt our colours to fit into our environments like this chameleon

We all adapt to fit into our environments like this chameleon

Furthermore, friends and family who don’t understand you, can read what you can’t say out loud. That gives empathy, acceptance and there’s less need to adapt to them. Likewise they can communicate with you more comfortably and meaningfully.

You can’t change who you are. You’re a product of your genetics, your family, your culture and your soul.  

But in order to survive we have to adapt, be malleable, round off edges, control ourselves and shame parts of ourselves that are not (socially) acceptable. We stop speaking up.

Adapting yourself provides you with a job, income, somewhere to live, food and a “social life”. All good. Except it can be hugely costly because it means carrying a lot of shame, numbing out and constantly feeling threatened.

It also prevents you from having boundaries and standing up for what you believe in and what matters. I just couldn’t bare that.

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It made me very angry, frustrated and suicidal. Not as in actually wanting to top myself. (If I was I’d seek help). But the voice in my head said – “if you can’t speak up, you may as well be dead now“.

I don’t know how much of this is relevant to you. I may just be projecting my own thoughts and feelings on to you. Anyway, I hope you’re benefiting from it. If not close this tab and go back to Facebook.

I have to write. I have to write all of this because writing is one of the only safe spaces I know.

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That makes me a bit teary. It feels like I’ve been dying to be heard. Dying to have a voice. And because of the all the blocks in myself and others I haven’t been able to communicate AT ALL.

I’m fucking bored of talking about the weather. Or my coach journey. Or the roadworks in town. Or whether I miss driving. Or what I ate today. Or the work I’m not doing and don’t want to do.

I’m furious that there’s lots of things I want to say, but don’t feel I can because I know others aren’t ready to hear it. Or it might upset them, and I care enough not to upset them.

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It feels like a massive lump in my throat. Feeling choked. And the only outlet I have for this is to write to bunch of strangers on the internet, and the handful of friends (direct and indirect) who read this.

And overall, it’s hugely frustrating. Because it feels like there’s nowhere to go.

There’s only a couple of people who I can really talk to.

I can’t work because I can see through everyone’s professional facade to what’s sometimes very ugly underneath. Being in that environment costs an unaffordable amount of energy, to avoid trouble.

So if I can’t work I don’t feel like I can earn any money.

Without money, there’s little chance to travel, meet new people and make the real friends/peers that I desperately want. There’s little hope of relief.

Therefore I’m living on borrowed money, borrowed time and it’s only a matter of time before  I’m going to get in trouble and be punished for something that’s not my fault.

Like trouble with banks or debt collectors or something. Or parents. Or people who see debt and bankruptcy as something shameful. Or whatever. That would all be 6 years away if I kept living like I am. But it’s still background threat.

However this is the safest space I can find right now.

Thus there is no option but to write this.

Because sometimes when a door closes a new window opens. Then that makes everything OK.

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