Fame Itself Is A Cancer And Ego Its Seed

No matter what I do, it seems that it seldom works out. On the rare occasion when it does, my triumph and success results in the jealousy of others who then seek to undermine and destroy that which I have accomplished.

When I was a child, I was told that being different in some ways was a gift; I however, was different in every single way. I had my own unique way of doing things, especially when it came to writing. I was influenced by Allen Ginsberg, who mentored me, and inspired me to write in such a way that combined poetry and prose. Decades later, this is how I still write to this day, notwithstanding modern education with its’ own bland academia style of written nomenclature.

The years of my childhood went by, as I dealt with the emotional trauma of numerous teachers who tried to convince me to lower my intellect to the level of my peers. When I refused, I was met with ultimatums such as being expelled from school. I am an auto-didactic learner whose experience with education was a traumatic one; at this point in my life, going back to college would be an enormous waste of time and resources.

Being expelled from school would arguably have been the best possible outcome for me when I was a child. Instead, my parents decided to bounce me between different schools, citing my teachers’ ridiculous accusations of arrogance, as if I needed to take personal responsibility for the crime of simply being intelligent.

My depression came when my father ultimately decided to send me to an all male boarding school, and for the very first time in my life, I had to live full-time as a boy. Playing this role for the greater part of my childhood and early adult life became an exhausting act that left me in pain; the end product of my father’s narcissism, toxic masculinity, and abuse.

Morning arrived slowly today, as after several futile attempts to stay sleep, I elected to read The Demon-Haunted World by Carl Sagan. Sagan was known to my father, and my father was once presented with an opportunity for me to meet Sagan in person when I was a small child, though my father ultimately decided against it.

This morning, as I lay awake in bed, I again resorted to thinking about my life; a common habit and past time of mine when day dreaming has lost its luster. I keep a pen and a notebook at my bedside, opening it up to a fresh new page any time an irreplaceable and priceless thought floats into my mind. In the morning when I wake, I am gifted with the promise of a brand new day in which to dream and to create.

All my life, I have believed in things unseen, rejecting a lot of the teachings that were presented to me under the guise of elitism, while those around me would foolishly hold onto every single world they said. While we, as humans, use science to explain everyday phenomena, there exists a schism between the scientific method and things that are metaphysical. Humans often use religion to explain the things that cannot be repeatedly proven scientifically. And while I have never claimed modern religion, if I had to classify my beliefs, I would ultimately gravitate towards Paganism.

As I progressed into adulthood, my parents feared that I would never be successful because I never finished college. Like most parents, mine were convinced that because I was ill-equipped to succeed in modern academia, that I would be a failure in life and would never get the opportunity to attain fame or success. My father, especially, who had become famous, albeit unintentionally, through his work, and as such, he held the same expectation for me.

Wherever I lived, I always had my own special tree that would be my happy place to run to when the world became overwhelming or unbearable. All my life, I have been inexplicably drawn to water, and I have always loved the rain. In 2020, I risked it all to disappear, meet Amelia in person for the very first time, buy a retired farm in Vermont, and start a brand new life.

The emotional weight and the exuberance of desire of one day becoming so much more than anyone could have anticipated, or imagined, which ultimately manifested as the catalyst of my unwavering desire to succeed at life. Although I was wildly successful in life, my achievements are often viewed as insignificant. While I was never considered famous, through my work, I was known and respected by many.

Fame is something I will never understand; it is the slaughter of the meek and the godlike technique, raising our leaders and putting them on a pedestal, only to pick them apart, as if there is a fault in their stars for simply being human. Fame itself is a cancer, and ego its seed, and the cancer of my intellect is the constant visceral feeling that I am mostly surrounded by idiots in popular parlance that shuns genius, and celebrates ignorance.

Part of me wants to write down every random thought that I have, but it is the better part of me that censors everything and stops me from writing down all but the most poignant of ideas. In my life, I have learned that it is as important to write down one’s ideas, even the ones that fall short of one’s expectations.

I have a bad habit of self-censoring myself, especially thorough my words and photos, my most common means of self expression. In doing so, I missed miles and miles of roads I should have seen, and have lost so many memories and written narratives of past days’ events. There are so many things I wish I had said, many more that I wished I had written down, and I am forever haunted by the ghosts of lost opportunities.

Colophon
The header image is titled My Unmade Bed, which I felt was an appropriate image due, in part that this is where I dream, and some nights, stay up late thinking about what I wish to write about in the coming days. Other images include Model Trains On The Living Room Shelf, Thomas Slatin, taken at Camp Chateaugay in 1993, and Nowhere.

The quote, which was later adapted and became a part of this piece was sourced from the original.

This piece was inspired by recent events in which I have received a lot of complains pertaining to the pretentious nature of my work, with requests to lower the exceptionally high standards which I have set for my writing.

The date I wrote this was Monday, January 31, 2022. The date I first contacted Amelia (via Twitter) was Saturday, July 11, 2020. The first article I sent her was A Little Ghost For The Offering.

Asides
Thomas Slatin Quotes | Not Taking Enough Pictures Is Something I Regret | A Little Ghost For The Offering | Lyrics That Influenced A Generation | Generation Gap | Summer Comes For Everyone | Nightly Misadventures of the Unconscious Mind | How To Love | A Letter Of Love | The Frustration Of Writing | Only The Moon Understands The Beauty Of Love | In Another Set Of Chances I’d Take The Ones I’ve Missed | I’m Going Through Changes | The Fear I Cannot Hide