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I have had no pleasure; but the hypocrite in me is smiling in the pain!: A poem

I feel like an elephant on a cloud; only surreal, never real; a hoax! I have no affinity for any number; not even with all the numerology in me! You can interrogate me all you want! I am as quixotic about myself with the blindfolds, as I may leave you quizzical! I feel as foreign as the most distant star (!), whose light will never reach you all! And, I never belonged to this planet; even though I was the first spirit of Pangea! You know, I’ve begun to feel as reclused as a Buddhist hermit, whose avowed nothingness is his Nirvana! I’m even over with the twelve dimensions, even with the first point of space; like a nihilism that only exists in its non-existence! The Dadaist, Tristan Tzara, wanted the demolition of the past! I go one step further in writing off all time – as if that act would entail my vaporisation! Where is belonging if eternity collapses on itself? I forbid myself to think a concierge awaits me, when it will never arrive. The future is no reception, like a grave that has been exhumed and has no remains; there are no relics of memories and no horizons of expectations. The present is only your nauseous garbage! The magician is not the only illusionist! I never walked in hypnosis!

Just look at me smiling away in my immense sacrificial grief! Am I not the biggest altar of hypocrisy?