Metamorphosis by Kafka is an excellent portrayal of ostracism. I think anybody who’s faced bullying can relate to the concept of feeling like an insect with a fruit lodged in their backs. These days, bullying has obviously extended to cyber-bullying, and you have people posting vicious nonsense on Facebook or even here on WordPress. But apart from the moralists who spew vendetta and try to curb artistic freedom with their preachy jargon that revolves around a nucleus of ‘values’, ‘abstinence from sensuality’, and ‘virtues’, when they’re secretly watching porn and justifying their hypocrisy by reciting the Kama Sutra, or the haters who can’t help but say something as disgusting as the debris you’ll find on Indian roads, which the moralists, complain and complain about, but don’t take any initiative to clean up, you also have this new peculiar bunch of bullies, who operate in sociopathic ways. I’ll call them the ‘sorrowed narcissists’. They are often a bunch of women who have had their hearts broken and thrive on drama. They just cannot let go of rejection. They have no sense of individuality or existing as an independent entity. They need somebody else to endorse them. And they seek other men in difficult circumstances or idiots who are really children, and talk using a thousand emoticons and love praise. I have to take something from Kierkegaard who took something from Boileau and apply it to this context: ‘un sot trouve toujours an plus sot, qui l’admire’ which means that a fool can always find a greater fool who admires him. So basically these women appoint these man-children as their guardians of light and those heroes of maidens go around the blogosphere, contacting people and doing everything in their power to ostracize the men who rejected these women. These women also spread chaos by copying and pasting personal messages, and making what’s personal public by discussing their affairs with bloggers from all over the world who’re really strangers. They edit messages sent and play the victim card very well. It’s always about somebody using a sword and piercing their breasts with it and the usual, “Oh! Broken Heart! Oh Splintered Soul! Oh those cruel narcissists!” What they don’t realize is that they’re worse and keep their own Pandora’s box full of deceit and secrets, and have an over-inflated perception of art or who they are. I was in such a tragic situation recently, and still am, but if the sorrowed narcissists don’t stop their games, I’ll have to expose them for the charlatans they are. I do have their messages stored. The problem with these people is that they think they’re kind souls or good people, and are spreading the sweetest fragrance across the blogosphere. The truth is when you read them, you’ll find hate, vehemence, agenda and sickening filth. Hell, I’m not a good person. I’ve judged people, criticized them and even targeted people, but I never target a person by calling their name out publicly, or try to find support and seek to end someone’s career as an artist with half-truths and broken lies. If you can’t handle me, don’t read me is my philosophy. That old adage which says that misery loves company, must be elevated to drama loves company, when it comes to this group of fine folks. And they claim to write confessional poetry, but honestly there is no such thing as true confessional poetry. It’s confessional to a certain degree. I respect it, but if you really want to write a confessional write one about your jealousy, bitterness, possessiveness and the agendas that you hide under your absolute foolishness. Hell, why even use a poetic technique. Just jot down a few points, and say that you have nothing better to do with your life, or you won’t seek psychiatric help for your condition, or that you can’t live without misery, or that you wrecked relationships. Go ahead, and jot and jot and jot. Or stop your nonsense, and live and let live. If you want to tackle an idea or a person, my suggestion will be to not call them out, or try to ostracize them or stalk. The last is the worst of it all. The same women pressing the like button thinking that a man’s posts are intended for them. It’s easier to fall out of love, than it is to fall into it, and in many cases there was never love, just some phone-screen nonsense. So get over it. We don’t write lines for you. You don’t even enter our minds, and we’re focused on our careers and getting a life that you don’t have. And trust me, sorrowed narcissists think that the world revolves around them, but will never be there if a man really is down. So, for all the men who support them, think twice, before you decide to take your foolish quixotic stance, and protect the tree of life or whatever you call it, with your rose-cheeked emoticons and a flaming virtual sword. And these women don’t believe in symbiosis; they’re parasites that won’t let the man move on, if he finds another woman who’s actually stronger and deeper than they only dream they are. So these women can keep their little childish, ‘fuck yous’ and their silly quasi-inspirational posts, or poems that are full of aporias and misconstrued judgments, their sickening blame games, and their innately inane idiocy and get their fucking act together without romances with men they don’t know from Somalia to Romania, or they can keep at their absolute treacherous nonsense, but if it gets too personal, I’m not keeping quiet either. And while they decide, this song is for them, and anyone who supports them, since they do think they’re the female Elvises of this world. And before that branch of radical feminists who want to sever umbilical chords and change the dynamics of language so that the words, “I love you,” will become a paradoxical, stupid, “We hate us,” arrive here in all their seemingly alluring beauty, well, you lot can read and then listen too.
P.S. Don’t press the like button. You’re not all that precious.
© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)