Nobody knew anything about narcissism in the 90s, but this information is slowly becoming common knowledge. The more I learn about it, the more the world makes sense.
What a nightmare.
It occurred to me recently that my relationship with American culture is like a relationship with a narcissistic abuser. I have no white- or America guilt, but like a survivor of abuse, in fact I feel SAFER in Mexico, far, far away from the abuser. The shady, genuinely-dangerous narco cops are like angry iron duckies floating around on the surface of a pond of deep, fundamental existential relief. To be clear, the narco cops are not a pleasant sight. There is nothing about them that is remotely comforting or stable. You take your life into your hands every time you drive down the street in search of cat litter. But compared to living under the jurisdiction of a Leviathan spirit of narcissistic cultural abuse, the shady cops barely register on my threat scale. To my own surprise, they're not as imposing as anything I've experienced north of the Rio Grande in decades. Thank God, there is a dangerous, unstable international border protecting me from that unbearable, overbearing spirit.
What a nightmare.
The van has no shocks, no working turn signals or brake lights, and the passenger-side window is held up with packing tape. You could break into the van with a boxcutter. And yet, down here, I'm not concerned. Not only does the van resemble a normal Mexican vehicle due to its mechanical anomalies, it also feels better. I'm not saying it's secure, or that Mexico is some kind of idyllic Eden. The van has been broken into down here in the past. But after 16+ months dodging the bullets of sanctimony fired at my feet by the narcissistic abuser and his/her enablers, being in Mexico is like being paroled. Even though we're standing at the edge of the cliff of uncertainty, not knowing where we'll be at the end of any given arbitrary time unit, I'm more relaxed.
What a relief.
Ask yourself some of the hard rhetorical questions posed in the videos, starting perhaps with the reflexive tendency to try to enlighten me on this topic because I'm broke and therefore must have some kind of problem, and nothing to say that could possibly be valid,
Or the increasingly-ubiquitous inability to consider what is being said in the videos due to the volume issues; ask if you need me to explain that I'm transferring my contact info over to my Mexican phone and am not accustomed to using it yet, and that I am incapable of worrying about volume issues when I may very well be homeless in a couple days,
And if that's enough reason to not even listen to the work of your unappreciated songwriters, of which I am one of many. I have met dozens of people who could carry the mantle of household-name independence as effortlessly as Leviathan overlooks them, demanding they step and fetch to his self-absorbent needs and ridiculously arrogant desires. Dozens. Close to a hundred, probably. And you've never heard of any of them either.
It might not be their problem. The problem might be you. Which is to say, your surely unwitting enabling of a Leviathan spirit of narcissistic abuse. I would be surprised if it was intentional. In fact, whatever intentions are actually visible are probably dressed up as "good." There are so many good intentions in the US, it's hard to breathe. What is it they say about the road to hell? That's right:
The road to hell is paved with homeless songwriters.
But to hell with hell at the moment. The sun just came out, and I'm going to make an effort to enjoy it. I will be happy to relax in this legally-dubious, unabusive atmosphere with my cat, over the course of an entire day with nothing else to do. Because we really don't know. In 2 days, we'll be dead broke and homeless, barring some kind of interventionist event. The 75% discount still applies to my whole discography on Bandcamp. Please feel free to take advantage of it. Because, if I can't even give my work away, there are really only 2 reasons for it:
- It's garbage, or
- ______________
You can fill in the blanks with the horrendipitious hate facts of your choice. Or you can go to hell. I mean... I'm not telling you to go to hell. But I will say, you are certainly welcome to go to hell, if you insist. I strongly recommend against it, but I can't stop you.
Thanks for listening.
Zelle: [email protected]
