The writing behind the film

Censorship is the tool of those who have the need to hide actualities from themselves and from others. Their fear is only their inability to face what is real. They are appallingly sad human beings. Somewhere in their upbringing, they were shielded from the basic facts of existence.

Charles Bukowski

When you’re starving, even poison tastes good

The Doppelgangers imaginary power and resonance

is dependent on the level of estrangement

from yourself and intimacy.

Your Phantasy Of Success Is Mine

The Doppelganger is, and remains, a phantasy

but the strength of such copies of yourself

is lost as soon as any attempt is made

to force phantasy into coherent reality

The same is true for visual seduction

When People Recognise You In The Street

Discernment has a doppelgänger

and her name is revelation

When your hand shakes

It is not palsy or drugs.

It is your Doppelganger,

emerging from you

The enemy within escaping outwards

I Exorcise You From Me

Ours is the only period ever

to have sought to exorcize this phantasy

That is,

to turn it into flesh and blood,

to transform the operation of the doppelganger

from a subtle interplay

into the bland excuse for escape of repression

Do You Collect Aggregate Shame From Your Actions?

We accumulate experiences during life,

and we also accumulate roadblocks,

in the form of aggregate shame

You can think of this as a False Self

with a Counterfeit Spirit

This counterfeit self becomes your doppelganger

A thing capable of doing what you would not dare,

and a way to present yourself

in a dark world of forms

Everything You Aren’t, Is What I Am

For if you were to meet your total-stranger doppelganger,

they would only differ from you proportionately

They would be braver than you

More resilient to the opinions of others

It would be more perfect than you

More comfortable in it’s skin than you

It would be everything you aren’t

It would be like that form from which you have been fleeing

A doppelganger is a husk of ectoplasm with pretensions

What Are You Going To Do Sweetheart?

What are you going to do?

Pretend like she doesn’t exist?

But she does exist

Not in that creepy house down the street

She lives in you.

Over there,

in the slums of Paradise

And in moments of devil may care freedom

that you give yourself free of shame,

that is her surfacing to have a look around

To have some fun with conventions

and respectability

The Tortured Tension Of Your Failure

Your doppelganger makes it seem as if it was a dream

But it wasn’t

With hindsight, it seems all too real

Until the next time,

and the time after that

With a tortured tension,

you become water,

restlessly, violently,

seeking to reach the ocean

Water that does not reflect

Water that is afraid to reflect

A liquid nihilism,

that is born in a mountain,

and lost in the stream

She Is You, And So Am I

And if you indulge your doppelganger’s nihilism,

she won’t have to force her way into your life

She will become you

And then you won’t even remember who you were

Hoping the uniform you now wear

becomes an imperfect methodology

to provide true anonymity

from a multiplicity of bilateral and three-dimensional self-lies

Your Flesh Is Mine, Because I Own It

Flesh cannot reach every recess of the mind

It cannot document every emotional chord,

and it cannot splice the discordant pieces within us

But a doppelganger can

It becomes responsible for the sanitized accounting of the mind’s depictions

A slick tool of modernist identity craft,

making it impossible to separate the teller

from the telling

It prompts problematic pairings

of algorithmic look-alikes

based on the essentialised ethic

of sexual attributes

I’m Right Behind You, But You Can’t See Me

Then one day,

you catch yourself walking 15 paces behind your doppelganger

The impossibility of the situation seemed like an absurd concept

that only existed in ‘what if’ scenarios

quietly played out unseen in your fear dreams

But now your Doppelganger

is walking a divergent path of your life’s choices

And her success is not yours

Just remind me,

what was your dream?

You Are Leftovers

Doppelgangers come for your soul,

and stay for your leftovers

They are unburdened

by the true inertia of human nature

Sometimes,

after a lifetime of negotiation with your doppelganger,

you realise the words you could have said,

or left unsaid

Because doppelgangers sip amnesia,

as they change the destination of your journey,

downward

I Know Where My Doppelganger Lives

I have a doppelganger

And it is very real

When I recite the rote details my life events,

it slithers further into me,

and out of me

Every touch alters its truth

until it makes me recognizable

Like a whisper in a community garden,

making it better to remain silent,

than be seen

I Bite Your Truth

In film number 250,

I will introduce you to my doppelganger

The mythic will become real,

and it will leave bite marks

on the body of truth

Maybe,

if I hadn’t been acting like a reverse Peeping Tom,

trying to look out into the world untouched,

this existential dilemma wouldn’t exist

Me. Yourself. I

In film number 250,

you will see,

myself

herself

Itself

All people deserve respect

But not all actions do

I should be thankful

that there will be only one of us left standing

when it is all over

She Lives In A Hole

Through a cloud of wants and desires unfulfilled,

truth is eventually born

And the answer to what created

the hole she lives in,

is the good graces

of unconditional ambition

that exists at the centre of the Universe

Where everything makes sense,

because nothing is ever incomplete

To be known,

despite, or because of

the loathing and the lies that were told

is a doctrine

about a human who is not worth being

Believing that there is something

worth giving an unconditional fuck for,

is what you choose not to do.

But it’s going to be such a great decade for you.

Isn’t it?

Fuck You. And Fuck The Roof You Slid Down On

The emotional belligerent

is an intransigent itinerant,

who threatens harm

No, no, no

You will not hurt me

as I curl up in a circle

in the corner

From my perch on the porch,

it looks like a round white pupil

staring at its angel wings

An eyeball watching over everything

Scared.

And unblinking

Feeling some kind of wonder

about what is to come.

At a time not of its choosing

As if its presence explains

the revelation itself

The Rewards For The Sweat Of Creative Labor

The Moon is a bag of salt

gathered from the sweat on slaves backs.

In the morning it will be gone.

Used up,

in the process of creating

Another day

Another film

Another award

ᐧWhen you are booted out,

onto the face of earth,

and then immediately disconnected from the reality of your present,

you will be forever driving

towards a place called redemption

Then spending a lifetime trying to get back out

Was it worth it?

You Are Poison

As presence explains,

what they struggle to put into words

What are they feeding on?

Because I feel their hunger

Even poison tastes good when you’re starving

The poison reminds me,

how they stole,

every chance

to not meet compromise

You Missed Out On Your Biggest Payday

A conquest

for power

with purpose

to forget

the consequences of

a hunger that must be met

To live

is to feed

on the living,

then hope they forget

they are dead

All choked up on your dreams,

speaking in whispers,

about how you forgot to feel,

when you beat at the walls

to accumulate bruises

The Stories You Tell Yourself

Justification

is when nothing is under control

Chaos,

is the nature of all things,

with thin fine threads

of what is,

and wasn’t

It is the consequence of need,

to project yourself to be

who you really aren’t

The gap,

and the disparity,

are the stories we tell ourselves

To fix us,

and change our story

Parasites And Leeches

Here I am

Right here

Right now

With a basket full of blessings,

taking my part,

in creation

What’s the difference

between a parasite,

and a leech?

Not much

What’s the difference

between a doppelganger

and a lack of self-awareness of lost opportunity?

Not much

I am a dangerous person when turned loose with words

Charles Bukowski. American poet