DeathDreamsGender & SexualityPsychology

Ace of Cups

When you have a hys­teric per­son­al­ity (dis­order), like I do, all the world is a stage.

Because it is impossible to truly come to terms with the fun­da­mental empti­ness at the core of my being and still live, I cloak myself in shim­mer­ing dark iri­des­cent vest­ments, and wear a mul­ti­tude of masks, painted in the col­ours of every woman.

Each of these is enti­cing to dif­fer­ent people in dif­fer­ent ways. I per­form, I angle, until I hook someone that makes me for­get that fun­da­mental empti­ness inside me.

I pour myself out, I let my cup be filled up, and I drink and drink and drink.

Until the drink becomes bit­ter, or the cup is wrenched from my lips.

I often try to deny myself my stage. I leave places and people and things behind.

And I am left empty again. Parched and starving. Para­lysed by memor­ies until I man­age to find the cup that is the Cup of Obli­vion.

But I can­not be alone. Because being alone means being alone with that empti­ness that is the great lethal secret of my exist­ence.

And so, the show must go on.

Thanks, you’ve been a great audi­ence. I raise my cup to you!