Discovering You are Nobody

Today, I have no past. I’m just me. Pecking on these keys, waiting for the next writer’s challenge. You see, I’ve given up on being “somebody,” as in that poem by Emily D., “I’m nobody, who are you?” It’s such a fucking relief being nobody, I can begin to tell you, so I won’t.

I write creative content, so I am already a suspect liar. The world is filling up to the brim with liars — very successful ones — in the so-called “real world.” So, I decided, I am not going to be part of this real world of yours anymore. No, I’m not going inside to insanity. I’m just waiting for my next assignment to create.

That’s it. I’m not going to do the assignment here. Only when some editor of some fantastical pulp fiction anthology gives me a challenge. Or somebody wants me to write a poem for them (never had a request yet, but I’m still hoping), or the world begins to turn inward again to read instead of to gawk at talking heads, listening, and hoping they’re telling the Truth.

That “Truth,” by the way, is already inside you, and you don’t need anybody telling you what it is. You know. It’s down deep inside, below all the instructions, teachers, officials, parents, lovers, friends, and animals. It’s so deep you might cry, you might want to die, and you might save yourself by finding who you really are!

That’s what I’ve done. I know who I am. I’m nobody. I’m waiting for your next creative challenge. I am poised above my keyboard, ready to put my menial, humble, and aging mind to work. It’s more fun than I’ve ever had in my life. Seriously. Most of my other life was pain and inner agony that I wasn’t doing enough to be what you all wanted me to be.