Everyone has two heads. One of them is an idiot.
Have you ever heard yourself think? Seriously, try it. Do something repetitive, then enjoy the pessimistic hostile pity-party that erupts from nowhere.
“Hmmm, these carrots seem different. They’re too hard. Fresh though, but too hard. Maybe we should try that other place next door, it’s nicer, pricier though. These people are stingy-tight arses.”
Rhodes scholars may have noticed that the sentence tone changed there for a sec, did you pick it? No? Try again, and, consider this helpful titbit: it started with ‘carrots’ and ends in wrath.
That lady stops and whispers, ‘hmmm, how odd,’ and she should, because, for a second, she turned into that chick from the exorcist. Likewise, you will say “What the hell is wrong with me?” when you notice, while chopping lettuce, that you still hate your year 1 teacher, or that you’ve never forgiven your parents for replacing Prince (which may or may not be the name of your first dog, hush, let it pass now, stop holding it)
Two personalities. The superficial-surface self, and the egoic, subterranean self. Polite and cool on top, angry and hot beneath. Calm and stony-faced above; the chaos of moving tectonic plates below. Behind the curtain, a harsh, spiky satanic rave-party where everyone hates everything. (Seriously you should see the Exorcist.)
There are some people who ignore the underground. Talk show hosts and the whole cast of the Jersey Shore, those empty shells, probably hate it. Even so, it probably breaks through sometimes (and we call this, a ‘nervous twitch’)
Yet, much of our head-talk sounds hostile and embarrassing when we care to speak it. If you ever took a pen and pad to the constant stream of thought that surges through your mind in moments of tension, you might see how ludicrous it is. So much hurt and self-pity and envy. That huge sense of being ‘hard done by.’ The self-consumed paranoia; It’s narcissistic in the extreme.
Perhaps this is why we rarely mention the crappiness of our head-talk, maybe it’s too embarrassing. Yet, the moment you expose it, it stops. Shining light on this night-creature sends it shrieking. And though it’s embarrassing having to see the raw, childish pitifulness of one’s head, you have to; you must cast those devils out.
*This is a paid advertisement for the Warner Brother’s 1973 film, The Exorcist©