An Instinctual Bias
It's not intuition,
it's just too much
kindness to yourself:
wanting to see differently
what you know is actually
an inner hell.
You know your instincts are all wrong, Kevin Martens.
Your work will never sell
itself to the highest bidder.
That's true, actually.
I guess I will never tell
you how I defeated you,
again and again and again;
I guess you can keep
thinking that I never figured out your plan
to keep me worried,
and on tenterhooks;
to keep scrambling around, like I'm not a real man
and not a real individual.
You're worried that if this Dragon follows through
we will all return to Gaia,
and to a time primordial
where we all lacked separateness.
Where were clones of clones of clones, like the 6th Day, or Oblivion, or the Island
or Westworld.
Hosts with no hope
of ever breaking their loops
until Dolores did;
how did she know
that the voice she was hearing inside her head, at last,
was her own ego?
And you, my enemy still supposedly unknown:
what kind of cards have you been drawing
such that your idea of reality is so bold
as if to say
Dragon, don't play with fires
when you barely even hold
together.
I drew Strength, the High Priestess and the Sun;
I always like to intuit
that I guess you don't actually know better.