feeding on myself

Strange day...the day after my birthday, truly strange. I made some good connections. Found out some important, and generally positive stuff.

And came to the conclusion that I am in this all, alone. There are days I feel like a fraud, the "Romantic Poet of the Internet", the "living legend", the "Amomancer". I feel like the burnt body, near death, crawling with one good arm from the carnage of a life, having to depend on his will to live, alone, to make it to...to what? A painful and ultimately futile recovery?

Yes, the talent is there, the intellect, but it is like I am slowly peeling away the inside of a hollowing ball to convince the audience that it is full of something that no longer remains. The machine runs, the output comes out...

but there is nothing going in to fuel it, to be processed into the magic elixir of love and hope. So, it feeds on itself.

I feed on myself.

Is everyone a self-parasitizing organism? I don't know. Perhaps they are and just some/many/most/all are unaware of it. Maybe I am like Neo in the Matrix, awakening in my cell, seeing the illusions shatter and splash and dash themselves out in the raw air of truth, only to be ultimately flushed away, discarded.

The debris of what, in the end, was an illusion.