I traffic in types.
An exhausting profession if there ever was one. Controlling your image of me. Please appreciate the nuance here: What I actually do, if I for instance in my daily actions even match the image I cultivate so painstakingly, matters little. Whether I actually know Kung Fu is irrelevant you see. But that someone like you believes I know Kung Fu, well, thats the payday.
Sure, I'd love to sit around and whine that my Mothers extensive 'research' into the lucrative business of high end 'escorting' and/or my Fathers shady riverboat gambling racket predetermined who I am. But how can I then take credit if something is predetermined? No, I shall not share the limelight dear reader.
What is predestined however is the Nemesis. She is rather relentless. Missing her connection may prolong your life. The opposite of Echo. The one and only Echo.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Some formal introductions are in order.
My name is Narcissus. You can call me N. The State of Indiana released me to Kentucky once their sentence was complete. Overcrowding, while distasteful, worked in my favor. The State of Kentucky recommended parole be denied and so forces beyond your small comprehension adjusted that outcome to what better suited their needs. Real power, like real news, is something someone doesn't want you to know. Everything else is advertising.
Not my power or needs you understand. I was content to stay where I was. My arch-rival, we'll call him Pan, apparently has some use of me out here. 'Crossed Out' back into the courtyard. One is never really free. His fiendish schemes tend to unravel slowly so there is no sense in giving into fear. That will come later.
Permit me to make a few observations of your missed connections. 1.) Are you seriously going to elect a Bush or Clinton again? What in the entire fuck are you even still voting for anyway? Goddamn you all are some of the dumbest humans to piss and shit on this planet. 2.) I see your bloodlust for black males hasn't subsided. If you could comprehend what you read, you might see that Ole Frankie Wilkerson III has you crackers pegged. 3.) Yanis Varoufakis. The closest you n00bs will ever get to a living Marxist with balls. 4.) The walk bridge is a nice touch.
No, I'm being sincere. I'll be drunk and vomiting off it this weekend all while finger banging your daughter. You can pay for her therapy later. Or just give her some of the Klonopin your taking for the finger banging you want but won't let yourself have. Either way, we are all lying. Don't sweat it Barabbas, at least you can breath a sigh of relief tonight as you crucify yet another black male on TV.
The ever present laugh track helps too.
It's not important that you admit to missing me. I already know it.
N.
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