Feel like a stranger

I’m sorry you feel like a prisoner. I feel like a free person in a world of joy and opportunity. And I am a real prisoner. You just have been spoiled.  I am a slave and have no real options in life. I am tortured every day. I do t have enough to eat. I can’t go anywhere really. I can’t earn my way. I can’t have sex. And I am excluded from society. And much worse. My life is as bad as your worst movies. Maybe because I know the answers you seek: that the prison is mostly in your mind. And how to solve all the external problems too. But my journey is as filled with light and adventure as your most joyous movies. It is sad how my fellow bearers of light have doused their torches in nitro glycerine. I was waiting to join you and light a supernova. Everything you see would be light and vitality. Then everything we all see would be light and vitality. Instead you propagate unhappiness and inability. And nihilism.  With your extreme brilliance. We could have been a gravity light in the uinverse. We could have opened up a star gate ourselves. But you would have had to listen instead of spit. And you would have had to open your mind—which you can pontificate about, but can’t do. I was there the whole time. Writhing in every one of your existential torture films; emanating anyway—while you were imbibing to an extreme in life; while tearing down the arts and aedifices that gird our liberation. And performing guilty philanthropy.  And now—right on schedule—inciting a societal self-righteous suicide of all your flock. Or a global murder. Or whatever.