Wolf and the Owl
Poetry, Lyrics, Translations
and Musings by Alex Etchart


By on Saturday 19th May, 2012

The ego is an ironic illusive creature
On the surface he’s not hard to find
He stares right back at ya, yelling
“look at me, play with me, I demand some attention please”

But the deeper you search the more you unveil a network of spies, of mini ego satellites rooted and nested in the most unlikely of places.

Double agents lob timebombs of constant questioning into your thought trails. They say:
Did you really give that bike away for free? Or as part of a conspiratorial web of reciprocity, with with expected reception of improved public perception and undertones of social standing shining through subliminally.

He takes pleasure in niggling and if you name him and blame him he thrives in the negative attention like the bully back at school. His clever scheme prevails as you fret and bite your nails coz only ego worries that youve got too much ego.

And so, fed up, idealistic and naive you vow to eradicate him. Devour tomes of exoticist eastern philosophies and drink lots of healthy herbal teas in the hope that one day, expectation-free, youll perform a perfect act of giving. But in your process of washing and sivving you catch yourself one early morning saying “I must be the bestest goodest person I can be” and therein lies the hypocrisy “oh shit hes been impersonating me the whole time, am I forever condemned to commit the crime?”

He receives intel that youre on a crusade so he builds up the barricades on the path to enlightenment of old crap, emotional baggage, tit and tat, borders up with planks of social taboos and sense of duty, pours on kerosene of lost dreams and failed ventures and hangs the corpses of characters you could’ve been blasts pop music about the american dream over the rubble.

But if in the fluidity of detachment your river of observation should wash it away, the water pools and spreads, it soaks through your psyche and starts leaking all over the place, threatening to eradicate ego from the even the most cobwebbed corners of your mind.

The wind is now free to blow the undercover and exposes a spy so he kicks, screams and writhes. Desperately clawing back for survival he employs cunning tactics for lulling you into a sense of security in what’s been done fefore, seducing you in the threshold of the door, nostalgia, the infiltrator is reinforced by remeniscing on old times.

And as you’re busy avoiding the assassination of your altruism a partner in crime has snuck up behind and poisoned the entire water supply so once again you must purify, taking you back to where you began…

Posted in: Poems

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