Although I got mad respect for my cultural heros, I suffer no delusions about their abhorrent personal behaviors. In seems that in order to channel true genius one must engage in a persistent battle with the shadow self. Admittedly, dope fiends, drunkards, child molesters, woman beaters, and ontological misfits have been my lifelong idols. One can embrace the artist while loathing the cretin who occupies the physical form/body chamber host.
I thank baby Jesus every day that I did not follow the intended control system child development blueprint model. My parental handlers worked tirelessly to imprint their authoritarian dictatorship model on my head space clay. The organized religion guilt mafia tried they hardest to lay the mythical/solar godman/redeemed savior trip on me. The state worked in endless shifts to manufacture the unquestioning obedient Über-child citizen with forced allegiance to the flag, a hand over the heart, and a meaningless recital of jingoistic nationalism gutter poetry. Nice try fuckers and a better luck next go round.
Integrating the shadow requires that one acknowledges and embraces the dark side of the human experience. Evil, hate, envy, chaos, disintegration, and moral discombobulation are a necessary experience in the roller coaster ride known as life. The ejaculatory advocate of the perpetual pure heart, the effusive light warrioress/warrior, and the grinning mug eternal optimist have got something to hide. Refusing to embark on a periodic dark night of the soul journey is a form of self-sabotage that may result in maniacal blood-soaked violence at the most inopportune time.
Here is Charles Bukowski at his absolute worst.