Paragraphs from Sam Vaknin. An oldie but still funny. Cajiib. Do peruse below.
When I have money, I can exercise my sadistic urges freely and with little fear of repercussions. Money shields me from life itself, from the outcomes of my actions, it insulates me warmly and safely, like a benevolent blanket, like a mother's good night kiss. Yes, money is undoubtedly a love substitute. And it allows me to be my ugly, corrupt, and dilapidated self. Money buys me absolution and my own friendship, forgiveness, and acceptance. With money in the bank, I feel at ease with myself, free, arrogantly soaring supreme above the contemptible masses.
I can always find people poorer than I, a cause for great disdain and bumptiousness on my part.
Money has nothing to do with my physical needs or with my social interactions. I never deploy it to acquire status, or to impress others. I hide it, hoard it, accumulate it and, like the proverbial miser, count it daily and in the dark. It is my licence to sin, my narcissistic permit, a promise and its fulfillment all at once. It unleashes the beast in me and, with abandon, encourages it - nay, seduces it - to be itself.
Money liberates my mind. It endows it with the tranquility, detachment, and incisiveness of a natural scientist. With my mind free of the quotidian, I can concentrate on attaining the desired position - on top, dreaded, derided, avoided - yet obeyed and deferred to. I then proceed with cool disinterest to unscramble the human jigsaw puzzles, to manipulate their parts, to enjoy their writhing as I expose their petty misbehaviors, harp on their failures, compare them to their betters, and mock their incompetence, hypocrisy, and cupidity. Oh, I disguise it in socially acceptable cloak - only to draw the dagger. I cast myself in the role of a brave, incorruptible iconoclast, a fighter for social justice, for a better future, for more efficiency, for good causes. But it is all about my sadistic urges, really. It is all about death, not life.
