King Mumblehead

‘I am Lord of the Seven Different Types of Stuff,’ I told my devoted band of followers, only they didn’t really want to have anything to do with me. I had my own YouTube channel with no likes. I had very few views and no likes. One person liked me but they changed their mind later on. ‘I am The Lord of the Seven Different Types of Stuff,’ I repeated, mumbling incoherently to myself. I was the Mumbler, mumbling words for the General Benefit of Mankind. I was the sleeping god – ‘the One Who Must Not Be Woken’. I had hung a ‘Do not disturb sign’ on my hotel room door. I was the Dreamer of the Forgotten Dream, I was the Filius Philosophorum. Men came to me looking for answers but by the time I responded they had forgotten their own questions. ‘I am the Mumbler’, I repeated, more loudly this time, but no one was listening to me. I was the role model for generations upon generations of psychic parasites. Frozen forever in my own personal time-trap, I was forever capitulating events that never should have happened in the first place. If I had a sense of humour I would laugh, but I don’t. Slumbering fitfully, I dreamt my own existence but it wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on. It wasn’t worth a damn. I am the insane god and not only am I insane, I am utterly impotent – a dog on the street has more power, more self-determination than I do. And yet at the same time I know things no other human being knows, I know things no other human being would want to know. That’s why I started my own YouTube channel – so I could tell people about these things. To tell them about the things. That’s also why no one has why no one has ever viewed what I have to say on the matter, but I’m okay about that. Or maybe I’m not okay about that, I don’t know – I’ve never played a straight game with myself and I’m not about to start now. I don’t know how to start. ‘I am Lord of the Special World that only I know about’ I declare grandly, but it wasn’t actually a real world at all and I knew that. I knew that only too well. What happens when you spend your whole life trying to make things be a certain  sort of way and creating havoc in the process and spoiling everybody’s day, including your own, and yet you never even existed anyway? What kind of karma would that create, I wondered? What kind of karma would that create and who would it belong to? That’s a question we all want an answer to, of course. What happens when you spend your whole damn life frantically fretting and obsessing over getting things to be a certain specific way and it turns out that you never even existed in the first place? Where would that type of business leave you? What type of bad taste would that leave in your mouth, and whose mouth would it be anyway? To tell the truth, I am utterly worn out by wondering about all these things. I am frankly exhausted. I am wandering in my mind, imagining things that make no sense at all. ‘I am the Mumbler,’ I cry out hoarsely, in awe at my own magnificence. ‘I am King Mumblehead and I am the Lord all of All I Survey. Only I know the things that I know. No other can… My elation knows no bounds and the depths of my despair cannot ever be plumbed!’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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