Solipsism vs. Inadequacy

I walk and feel powerful. I do not move upon the surface of the earth so much as push it away with every disdainful step. Stars streak wildly across the sky, faster, faster, as I walk west. Facing east, running in place, the night can go on through a dozen Norwegian winters. Hamsun hungers on and the scream doesn’t end.
I am the only man with a head. All other men peak at the world through nipples and blather banalities out their navels. To look at them sickens me with madness. To hear their flatulent whispers is disease. To listen, pandemic. In times of painful loneliness it’s better to consort with gravestones. There’s no denying who I am and where I’m going with all that’s underfeet.
It’s time to ask the walls a favor: close in, hold me tight, keep me hidden, don’t let them in or worse, turn me out. You can’t let people like me run loose. I’ll never make it. Streets will eat me and I never will. I don’t have it. I do not have it, and if I did it would be taken from me. Like that… snap, it’s gone… and I’m finished.

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