Parrhesia: I shan’t complain

“Parrhesia is a criticism, a self-criticism or a criticism directed to others, but always from a situation where the one talking is in a position of inferiority with respect to an interlocutor. Parrhesia comes from below and is directed towards above.” Michel Foucault, Discours et Vérité, p. 84, Librairie Philosophique, VRIN, 2016.

I shan’t complain. I have had a lot of luck. Good fortune even. Or, maybe, it was by merit, just maybe it was a matter of worth. Whose worth? And is it worth it? Who the fuck am I, after all? Over time your self gets heavier. Stuff sticks to it – weighs you down – wears you out. Try flying if your wings are tarred with trying to move on despite pain, despite spite. Strike spite. I don’t hold a grudge. You’re all acquitted except for me because my head is a horse-heavy hole of hatred circulating itself. Heave. Ho.

Maybe that was the big bang. Maybe it’s what the humming in my ear wants to say when it is hissing. Once there was a ‘Who am I?’ asking what-the-fuck who imploded to be done with it and she (why not she?) had no clue that on the other side of implosion was – damn symmetry, damn it to hell (or not because it will bless you right back to heaven it will – an explosion and all of us. Every single one of us. Including me. Free speech like spit spite of me always trying to get on top and stuff clinging to me heavy-ing my head. Ho.

But you’re having fun, no. You are having fun. Well, fuck you, fuck the fit and fuck you well, for this:

For not having a spine that’s crooked but one that’s straight.

For not having a brain that’s ill woven but one that’s wonderfully tight.

For wanting to live instead of just needing to survive for the love of significant others.

Fuck you for being fit and maybe sneezing once in a while and shrugging your shoulders, and never quite feeling on top of the world but never ever feeling really down and out of it.

OUT

OF

IT

For not knowing whether your pain is a real pain or just something imagined.

For that fucking word: imagining. And not having the imagination of an imageless world. Fuck your imagery and fuck the word fuck for summing me up at this very moment. And for clinging to me and for fearing I am one of those that fear the eternal cycle of coming – coming back. Whilst the rest of you just want to live and live and live on. For what?

I shan’t complain.

No, baby, I shan’t complain just don’t want me to keep on coming back. The longer I live I think I will get heavier. Powerless convicted to free speech trying to explain and trying to warn people of a faith that is only mine as – you know – most of you can switch self in like a heartbeat. Open a book and be somebody else. Never look back and shed the weight, be swept away and swept clean and complain for a while and move on. Shiny stars of some slight insignificance.

Humming hissing, I’m unfair and I shan’t complain. This is not my life but yours – not my world but yours and I fucking love you. I do, I really do. The majority of you I love you – I do not love those in power talking incessantly how things have to be done. I don’t like me as I too cannot shut up.

As I too can’t

shut

the

fuck

up

Patience is a virtue I do not have. I have no vices to speak of either. Go fuck a duck in my thoughts only and unmeant because I really love most of you. You do well, better still if you would just stop listening to people like me who should not complain but do complain that things have to be different and quick.

The big bang made quarks and made me quirky. My head is heavy because I do not try to unload it on you. I try not to unload it on you. Rather. Unsuccessfully sometimes when an hum becomes a hiss, ahem. And I’m sorry. So sorry. It’s not my time, not yet and I shan’t, I shan’t, I shan’t complain. Just try maybe to imagine and follow my drift. Try living in this world of mine which only has the rhyme of reason realizing reason stops somewhere for me to have to take no train of thought from there.

Stops at love which I feel for most and for some fully finally funnily fully. Love I ride but time sticks things to my head and I shake it but never shake it quite off.

OFF.

Carry

ON AGAIN.

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