Self Discovery of a Troll
I went to the gym nearly daily for 20 years. Last summer, I had an accident that, for a number of reasons, made it impossible for me to work out for nearly a year. I had laid out of the gym in the past, but not as someone well into middle age. I was astounded how differently people responded to me as my body began to show its age-related changes. I had anticipated my death during the accident and felt lucky to be alive, to have a body at all -- just as I had during the years I watched so many of my friends die of AIDS.
But it was within six months of the accident that I was called a troll for the first time. Now all I can do is nurse a compulsion to put a blue rinse in my hair.
ask oneself before another: by what means does he calm within himself
the desire to be everything? Sacrifice, conformity, trickery, poetry,
morality, snobbery, heroism, religion, revolt, vanity, money? or by
several means together? or all together? A wink of an eye in which glimmers
a deceitfulness, a melancholy smile, a grimace of fatigue together betray
the disguised suffering which the astonishment at not being everything,
at even having concise limits, gives us.