noun: willpower; noun: will power
  1. control exerted to do something or restrain impulses.
  2. “most of our bad habits are due to laziness or lack of willpower”


  1. a person inclined to question or doubt all accepted opinions. synonyms: cynic, doubter.
  2. an ancient or modern philosopher who denies the possibility of knowledge, or even rational belief, in some sphere.

“It’s a fair risk. You can always work high level retail.”
“At least you have something to go back to”
“If it doesn’t work out, you can get another position selling clothing”

Those are ACTUAL answers I received from few soon-to-be-former clients (verbally, in my presence, SMS, email) that I had informed about my “retirement”. Observation is ultimately a side-effect of a Replicant’s (Nexus 6) consciousness[1], the price I pay for being so incessantly self-aware. I would not be able to pass a Voight-Kampff machinewith [2]incalculable algorithmic returned conditions. Blush responses to provocative answers be damned.  I may have a limited lifespan, but I feel like there is more I can do to extend my warranty.

Unilateral in my resolve. The will to act is personal.

The tiny lazy streak that was instilled in me has turned a corner. Assorted carbon based lifeforms cannot envision my potential to rise. I do not blame them. For they do not know what they say.  They have never seen a will like mine before. An oddity.  New possibilities cannot be undersold. I sold them luxury clothing, but did not know I was a nerd. I was wearing a mask while serving them. Bespoke suit does not equate a bespoke mind. An individual mind. A brain that can function with alternative realities that I have the right to explore. I found that to be fascinating. The audacity of the pigeonhole.

Therefore, I am not irritated, irate or wounded. I understand their worry. However, the skepticism that they had was unwarranted.  This subtle denialism has given me the rage I was seeking. As I metaphorically dive into a vast ocean of premium gasoline. A swarm of Firebugs fluttering aimlessly, kindling subconsciously those Stygian endless waves into a flaming gulf of pyrotechnical wonder. I, Albert Fougy son of Mrs. Fougy, rocketing out of the reverse-puddle like a Dark Phoenix. Black smoldering inked flames. Nilotic.  Soaring above towards the heavens with the titanic explosion of a million stars. A supernova remnant bounded by an expanding shock-wave of interstellar aura.  A superbad nucleosynthesis in which I  project crucial protons and neutrons.[3]  The Gods of every intelligent species of this known observable universe cannot contain the billions of hydrogen, helium and lithium from my spiritual essence. A Black Gold Supernovae that can trigger the formation of new celestial bodies. A luminosity recorded in the annals of history.

Shining Eternally!

[1] Blade Runner geek speak.
[2] That was an ether.
[3] Spitting bars.

Supernova remnant. I am.

Category: Embrace The PainSpoken Word