I’m not a man anymore. I’ve moved beyond that. I’ve become the other. The unknown you fear and loathe. I exist in a state of perpetual redefinition that allows for no form, no name, no image. You can’t have me but I most certainly have you. At least, your attention anyway. I snatch it for my own and use it to line my pockets. It can rest there for when I feel like feeding its curiosity with the remaining bits of oddity that plummet as crumbs from the mouth of a mad specter of a being. One you can’t see but surely feel. Of course, you wouldn’t know what you were looking at anyway would you? I might as well hand feed you spoonfuls of fear and trepidation. With minds starved as these any nourishment will suffice. So I begin my work moving from a man of mild manner to this. The noise under the bed. The shadow in the corner of your eye and on the streets of your city. Your boogie man. The other.

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