the man who would not be shot

this is about one person. i do not have the liberty to name him or to put his picture up here. maybe i will- but that is left for decision once my discourse has been completed.
he is the man who would not be shot. in his raging existance he denies everyone around him an impression of himself. no one is allowed to claim him, or his shadow. he couldn't allow that. he was under tremendous social pressure to appear the way he does. confusing and so terribly stubborn. maybe marginally deranged.
but purely in appearence. purely.
he may have deined me the most basic joy of having a picture of his and saving it as a contact picture etc, etc, etc. but he has allowed me to look inside his psyche. why? i don't really know. but i am glad i looked.
he has loads of photographs with those he calls friends. and maybe in time he will allow us the priviledge of being called his friends. maybe it will be worth the wait. maybe not. maybe he will deny all claims. as always.
but without taking offence at his behaviour i proceed to write about what i have found inside. no absurdities.
a soul that survives on dark prophesies and fragments of himself being torn out to give to people. a human being who is scared to love for he fears the hatered that follows love.
to explain-
when you love someone so deeply that the beloved becomes something you are wierdly possessive about. you become so possessive that your life spins out of control and hurles itself mercilessly against stone walls of reality. and shatters to sharp shards of pure hate. so much so hate that you want to destroy a beautiful thing. so horribly fight club- strange- but true. but what our man here does is- tears graffiti -that he has himself created. perfect and so devastatingly beautiful.
he wants love. he wants friends. but he won't reach out. he fears the cycle of love, hate and torn graffitis. it's natural. we are all allowed that much fear.
there are moments that words and tears slip out. doped or not. sober or not. and unfortunately i have chronicled them in my head somewhere. and the idea that he way ever draw strength from me over whelms me to tears. not that i don't want to be his strength. i fear that my strength will not be enough.
and the day he turns to me- we shall exchange places. if he would let me be him. it is just that- i understand. i understand every displaced emotion and every hate mail. i understand the solitude and the fear of being alone. i understand the chessboard patterns.
for the rest of us- we are greys. the man who wouldn't be shot is just black and white.