All around him openly frisson, when he says he is famished. Conceivably it is his guttural melodies that overawe. It may even be that the associated theatrics belie a comic with a not-so-cryptic erratic edge. The message though is often clear enough for the provision of his demand with alacrity.
As one that comes across in ways legion it seems for even the most profane to ponder being so revered many admit boggles. Some of the supposedly most pious mill his pithy verses. They seem to want to present a saint, an anachronistic contortion of veritable coalitions, with doubts about his piety once rife fading at first it seems with time.
Ever since the decree at his birth, that mystery cements his fate continues. Not even his rejection at times of an incarnation purported to herald the age of an anomaly of the joint psyche that blurs perceptual precincts seems to correct the summons by the high priests upon which life in general appears to predicate.
Being after all the given guarantees the penchant for much said than done he contends, an admission it seems of the chronic neglect inherent in an attrition process that renders the soul even more irreverent. The internal struggle he claims to endure though remains muffled even as it manifests, relic of an atavism that nonetheless generates increasing interests more so in tandem with the spiritual unravelling in progress.
The instruction of a deified no doubt creates a watertight maze when not even its mode commands contrition. Yet, the ascension of the man-god continues nonstop as some of the most petulant coalesce sheltered incommunicado in a schema of proclaimed grace in the guise of guile. Candour it seems trumps the revealed in as much as there remains room to manoeuvre the nuances that may attract dissent.
A reality branded by a sense of pure mission often must at times conflict with that goal being underrated, as being scrutinized seems to suggest. A mix of brutish cunning and privilege assures secure passage through transitions ordinary others almost invariably pain through. The apex of enduring immediacy though seems to be cruelly short, an amalgam of shame instantly bestowed.
The tenuous link with professed truth seems to bear no semblance to the perceptual incongruence of perversion that an attempt to sync both shows many would argue. Indeed, there seems to be no gainsaying the assembly cruising circumspectly to deliver a brew of dubious claims as truth. What sickens many say is the symbol of fate in a mission of shame, the derision of collective wisdom implicit in resultant actions, worse still.
At first, he is simply benign, destined to operate incognito given the real concealed that, expressed as truth, rejects it delivered otherwise. Thus, his tantrums are supposedly mere expressions of a universal truth. Presumably, it is also the case that it is gratified right away to pre-empt a misrepresentation that is inconsistent with the professed truth.
So he goes about his business in somewhat peculiar ways, many assert. Regardless, the priests must connive it seems to propagate a perspective rooted in impregnable myths. The credo of an ailing notion must continue to nourish a moaning lay. Someone has to milk its detractors to mortify its adherents. Either way, it must ram its way through history to nurture the unborn. Many insist though how sad it is for so many to embrace such so-called truths.
However, his station remains exalted, his brazenness, apparently inspiring to the multitude that venerates a dogma others insist attests to its charade, a tortured assemblage of ideation that elements lost in an orgy of shenanigans tout. Yet, he is unfazed, it seems, his schedule for his mission apace. He says he is bound by fate, nurtured by truth he would deliver to all, faith in which is the pill of life.
As has been the case all his life, the prompts never seem to cease, the caricature of a prince in borrowed robes afloat on a celestial trip to wear his crown in a golden garb that glows to blind those that shun the message, the assumed retarded on a planet of doom, alive. He says matters have become more urgent lately with even more querulous spirits in contention for his crown.
At a point in the transition that nature appears to have formulated for the realization forthwith of budding potential, he readies for what he perceives as eternal bliss. For someone whose life is shrouded in confusion, who struggles with a wager harder he says to quell than his hellish monstrosity trapped in a cranial contraption, mystery he asserts not just explains his plight but sanctifies him.
After numerous delays to enable his cosmic communion full expression, he declares his time has come to confront his fate. They all say he is a good man, the modern-day messiah whose place among the spiritual elites is assured by his singular devotion to the vision of his progenitors that many simply fail to see. His instructions are clear they say, delivered by him, to all, and by which they assure him, all will forever abide.
Such is the waywardness that a distinct order about which an entire nation revolves manifests in relation to its perpetuation and indeed, that of all else still many contend, who insist that something needs to occur to reveal the threats tarrying inherent in caving in to a notion that is nothing but a sham. Yet, no one still seems able to proffer the solution.
Meanwhile he continues to ballyhoo the goodness that is about to wrench the prevailing consciousness with impunity. While the rest awaits a faceless fate, the deed would be done in full public glare. A lifetime of twisted faith is coming to roost. Not even a last minute dissension in the ranks it seems will stop the expression of presumed celestial angst, the very reason of an immediacy dated in history that must now recur.
The stage is ready for him at last he says, to deliver his act, and take his place in the mystic clouds above. At the point though that he readies to mount the stage it suddenly collapses, to end it seems a very sad dream.
