When your hand shakes
It is not palsy or drugs.
It is your Doppelganger,
emerging from you
The enemy within escaping outwards

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

We accumulate experiences during life,
and we also accumulate roadblocks,
in the form of an aggregate of 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

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

And 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

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

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

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

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?

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

I have a doppelganger
And it is very real

When I recite the rote details of 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

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

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

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.

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 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

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?

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

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

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

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 Patreon, Vimeo & Squarespace?

Not much

I am a dangerous person when turned loose with words
– Charles Bukowski. American poet