The Anti Role Model
“Tell me more. Tell me more how to not be like you.”
Bend your mind dear
Now your mine dear
Earth is grinding
Keep on beaming
Are we dreaming are we dying?
He’s the blue to my red,
night to the day, alive to my dead.
He is the feast of great hams, fruits, delicacies only I can imagine as I’m starving. He is belly full and I am looking into empty cupboards - eyes meet only the final beans of a coffee canister.
Despite all this. Despite the sly grin he carries through his day, his night, his conversations with me, and the way he smirks at even those that tower him. Despite this, despite it all I still agonize against the words coming from his mouth. His sound waves. Those vocal chords tailored by the Hand of God to call his throat home rub my ears like sand paper on sunburn and with each vowel that lands on my being I wish to grab him by the throat to strangle away the very voice that ultimately will lead me where I need to go.
That voice will, is, my northern star. This is the beauty of the anti role model.
I hope he’s fulfilled.
His delusional self satisfaction is illogical and this is, some say, a gift. But for the outsider, for me, for the one interacting with him and receiving the brute force of his advice, I shiver at the idea of being like him. Judgmental, unable to see anyone as a unique being. I revert to seeing them as an extension of myself. As someone who, objectively, has it easier because of the darkness personally clawed through.
Mediocracy is a beast best slain at early age and when I encounter men, women, they, them, its, that haven’t learned to ride their demons, and to whip them into shape for their own benefit I’m left confused. I wonder, always, what gets them out of bed? If it’s not to become the best, be it capabilities, looks, metaphysical traits, excelling in their field. If it’s not to touch the canvas of God with his skies of blue, women of velvet, peaks of death, then what? Is it to condescend? To view thyself as an entitled cockroach that must spread his phlegm across any and all that he’ll encounter?
When one doesn’t have a role model. As I believe not everyone should: it’ll confine, trap you into a path already macheted through. They become the goal. Free action is removed because the model of who you aspire to be is already designed. Sights set higher after myths of a role model evaporates. Take pieces of those you admire. Embody partial characteristics of those you respect. Learn from those you value. But every week, we’ll say make it Sunday morning for the irony of Divine timing, kill your idols. Whoever you’ve spent the last 7 days putting on a pedestal, take sword to the idealization of their life in your head.
Thus… when one doesn’t have a role model, it’s the anti role model that dictates direction. This is giving them power. This is putting them in place to decide the future of the experiencer. Anti role models can be clustered by the beliefs they preach, the habits they walk in unconsciously, and the actions they take pride in.
It’s awareness of fellow human being that will allow this. It’s paying attention to the unique Human Experience of others that open this door. Physiognomy, religious ideals, goals they’ve reached, ambitions they’ve yet to let die. Criteria that matters to the one judging is the only criteria worth noting. It’s fruitless in consultation. You believe different than I do, thus you’ll shoot for a different realm of success. But that success, that ideal, the pinnacle you believe you’re capable of reaching, should have tributaries, small pathways on the sides of the road that the anti role model has traversed, fallen on his face into, sank his teeth deep into the mud as if pitching a tent of mediocracy right there. Dedicated to staying in that place. Trapped by what? Pleasure? Ease? Convenience? What disgust you?
Use their footsteps to go the other way.
LOVE YA & HOPE THE FOURTH WAS GREAT!
WINSTON
SOULED IDEA
UNDERGROUND PREACHER
THE BLUE EYED BANDIT
THE RAWEST ALIVE
