MADMARCUS WTF

In my 27 years of life, so far, I’ve lived a strange existence. Only recently have I tried to actually get to know myself. I guess before this point I didn’t think the self was something you had to “get to know.”  I figured the self was something you were born with and like the eyes it never truly changed. Before I get off into a thousand different philosophical discussions I’ll just try to get a start on spilling some current problems. Like stated above this problem is one of identity. For me it’s always been a “thing” of mine. Being a twin half of your identity is already set for you. I guess it starts there. We each had our roles. And before I get off into a thousand different twin conversations I should just get back to my original problem, Identity. I figure that I have quite a few “identities” all of them are me and I am all of them but the image, avatar, icon, archetype that is probably the most representative of me now is the one of “Mad Marcus”

            The image of Mad Marcus is subconsciously one I am comforted, horrified, and amused by all at the same time. Although this identity was one I chose, it is also the result of a series of cause and effect circumstances almost as if it chose me as well.  I hope one day that I will be able to chronicle all the nuances and circumstances with the depth I feel they deserve, if anything to prevent Mad Marcus from happening to anyone else; but for now the abridged versions of what the image is, why I chose it, and why it fits, why it chose me, the power of it all, and the down side of it all.

            To begin with the visual representation of my “new” identity, Mad Marcus. This visual image got its start in cyber space. It was one I chose to represent myself in place of my actual face in several places. I chose an avatar of Myself wearing a mask that was hooded and the face was a sheet of black and expressionless. I have my hand up with a “thumbs up” gesture and behind me is a mirror that from that vantage appears empty. The image takes place in a sloppy indoor setting. This whole scene is in black and white. Later the Identity took on color and revealed that the hood was actually red and my hand gesture took on a fist, the scene was open, outdoors, and green. Not even I know what the next manifestation may be and what it all means.

            I chose this identity about a year and a half ago. It was six months after my ex girlfriend at the time dumped me. Although the relationship officially only lasted a little more then two months it affected me and my already weak grasp on reality and even the desire for it. Before I get into more details on this matter, again the abridged version. The reason I started with was simply because I didn’t want my Ex to see my face. I didn’t want to be loved in the way she or others were experiencing it. Like many great assholes before me I felt I had reached the gates of heaven only to find it was a lie and a vacant lot. I felt lonely and wanted to communicate while not being loved. I thought that if I went into cyber space with out an identity I could go into it incognito and not risk being loved. I didn’t have to risk resurrecting dead ideals.

            Another aspect was always having people tell me who I was and what I was; I didn’t think I got a fair shake. Whether my thought on the matter was justified or not is irrelevant. See my ex was a friend that turned into a lover. She thought that all of my other female friends could be the same thing and didn’t like any of them. Several of my other female friends hinted at the same thing; some still do. Although I don’t see that or get it, I was forced to at the least respect it. So the mask went on. The original attempt was to be the ANTI-Identity designed to show them all they are wrong about me and what ever ideal of heaven, love, or the person they thought they knew.  A year and a half with the mask on and I still can’t shake the implications.

            As far as the lie of heaven and it’s vacant master, my edge has softened. I was taught in the past ,as I stated above, that my perspective on what was real wasn’t really relevant in the first place. If I knew it was a lie to begin with…was it really “untrue?”  Was truth  and reality of any value in the first place or was its affect on me the important part? What I would call heaven maybe a lie but it affected me in a way I wouldn’t want to take from others. No, the answer was not there then in any epiphany nor here now. The answer is never coming maybe it left with its master? I don’t know. Even if the answer came I’m not interested in any answers. I’ve evolved past sustaining myself on rotten truths.  Before I go any further into the “meta-physics” of love I just wanted to express that there was a problem and the identity of Mad Marcus was a symptom as well as a tool.

            I guess the problem is that I never agreed with what ever identity people assigned to me, good or bad; If I even had one to begin with. From the very beginning of my life an identity was allusive. I didn’t even have an official name till after I was born. The name I was given was often misspelled by people. I wonder if spelling is important, or even a name or a face.  If so people were not addressing me as Marc but as someone I wasn’t, Mark. If so then I shared my face with another being already. I could go further down this rabbit hole of “what’s in a name?” or I could get back to the problem.

            If I don’t have an identity, then why do people know me, could they even love me? It used to even bother me that people talked about me when I wasn’t there, good or bad. If I ever did anything uncharacteristic people that knew me for only a few weeks would tell me it was uncharacteristic. So what character am I, if they don’t know me? Why does that character have more power over my relationships then I do?

            I remember a time when I picked up my twins glasses and hat and imitated him by taking on his image and satirizing his characteristics. Next,  he got up and tried to satirize my characteristics…but couldn’t. He didn’t know me and he pointed out that nobody else in the room did. I guess the satire fit.

            Another time I was on the trunk of a car eating ice cream with my ex girlfriend and we were talking about people on cyber space that only knew me as “Mad Marcus.” one of my friends asked me who I was. I told him I didn’t know he should contact my Ex. She thought he was weird, so I told him he was always in character. She said the same of me. Then I realized that she may have been a liar but I was an illusion. More proof of the misrepresentation of love and heaven.. Still the specter of  it remains as well as its implications.

            So I was an illusion I still had friends and love. So I wore a mask to avoid hurting others and myself. They all still knew me and the anti identity became an identity all in itself…notice I say “in ITSELF” and not myself…a failed experiment.  So why is it not over?

            Around the time I chose this identity I was at a point where obviously love (intimacy), Identity, and reality were problems. Problems where each were affecting the others.  The fact that I have problems has been established. I heard of an Einstein quote “a problem can never be solved on the level on witch it occurs.” All my problems were within myself so I had to take a step outside of myself.  Or be doomed to repeat the problems. Further, I had to step out of reality itself. How exactly does one do that? You can’t find a how to guide anywhere you just have to do it in your own way.  I used Alcohol  to let go and writing to create something new and express old truths. Poems and stories that reflect my problems with all of the above. I had a plan.

            At that same time I was afforded a great opportunity to start over. I had just moved into my new apartment. It was empty and far away from anyone I knew. I was all alone in this place without interruption. I figured Id use my time and experience to delve deeper into the self and reality. I figured I would, in my own words, “grow a demon in my basement.” With the idea that if I knew how to build one I could destroy one. But just how do you build a demon?

            Demons aren’t exactly something that are real and can be built like a robot. So how do the stories go? Fallen from heaven. I figured I would conceive an important figure from my own personal experience with heaven and project feelings downward into my basement. Poetically it fit. That is what I was going for in the first place.

            There were dreams and Nightmares; Several a night.  Dreams that would deter most people. They even cautioned me to prepare myself better and take another step back from what I was imagining and their own implications. Then there was a video for a song that depicted everything I just wrote down. A person dumping all kinds of personal effects into a trash can, mixing the ingredients and creating the antagonist of the video, a demon. In my life it doesn’t surprise me that a video depicting my very actions would share the same image I chose long ago as my Avatar. It also doesn’t surprise me that the songs title called my basement demon by name. Jack.  The songs title is “Half Jack”  I was half Jack. A demon born of dead hope and the space it leaves in a person that never leaves. Perfect place for a demon to grow. Nursing on the ashes of a burnt heaven.

            I thought I could build a demon in my basement, but nothing changed in my basement. On the other hand, my new and empty apartment was filling up nicely. The empty walls I took as a representation of my identity’s clean slate were filling up nicely. I couldn’t help but notice how awfully “like me” they felt. It felt right and comfortable. That is the horrifying part. Nothing is different. My identity is still the same, people still amaze me with how much they know me and my little quirks and characteristics. The intimacy that suggests, the intimacy I adore. The intimacy I can’t understand. The love I don’t trust. The heaven I believe is a lie. I saw its burnt out husk after all. I still want it to be true. I miss it. But its time to grow up now.

I used to define evil as something that causes sorrow. A friend of mine pointed out that love causes sorrow, and anything that comes from love can’t be evil. To that I said I don’t believe in love that strong anymore. That was my friends point. Evil is something that is afraid of love….I didn’t tell my friend that I think evil is something that doesn’t trust love.

Am I evil. Yes I am!

The horrifying part is the demon I built was myself, and it’s the same one that has been here. I can put a mask on it. I can change its name. I can start over. Its only a chrysalis to support the metamorphosis that I observed, and I still am no closer to figuring out how to kill it. 

TO BE CONTINUED: