Adonis Diaries

“How I was transformed into a dictator”: Autobiography of a well-intentioned person (Part 1)

I have been re-incarnated several times this century and ended up sort of a dictator.

My soul never learned much in improvement and I was punished to a re-learning process; I guess I am not clever enough to revise my continuing education into more beneficial alternative opportunities that are valued by a sustainable mankind

It was my bad luck to have re-incarnated in this barbaric, stupid Europe of the turn of last century.  The first half of the 20th century witnessed my karma being embodied in Mussolini, Stalin, Hitler, and reached as far as China in Mao Tse Tung and Chan Kai Check.

My luck changed for the better as my soul transferred to the Middle East:  I greatly enjoyed the “bonga, bonga” all night parties, lavished million on famous and glamorous cute ladies, stashed billion, and made powerful State leaders eat from my hand, and even kiss my hands.

Trust me, it is much more fun to be dictator in Egypt, Tunisia, Libya, Iraq, Syria, or Yemen.

I had a sabbatical in Iran during the Shah and Khomeini.  The last incarnation was no fun at all: I guess I was too old to relearn the joy of the living.

Lately, I experienced how dictators in the US and England behave under Constitutional democracies:  The skin is different and the terms are short-lived, for appearance sake.

As I incarnated Bush Jr. and Blair I wrote my autobiography.  I refused biographers vomiting my life story all over the place.

Actually, I didn’t write a single sentence:  I just corrected “moral typos” and appointed my wife to watch over this appointed assistant of a biographer.

You see, I much prefer that the vomit be my own, and the stink carrying my own egotistical signature and style.

You see, I am a man of action:  I hate to read, on account that I am dyslexic, a very believable and common excuse nowadays to flee reading like the plague.

What I hate most is writing.

You see, my calligraphy is awful: How do you expect my hand writing to be legible if I refuse to practice writing? Can you imagine me typing? Am I a girl with fine agile fingers?

I am told that Mao wrote poetry while on his thousand-mile march, fleeing his nemesis Kai Check.  Bull; I saw his poems: They are written in kinds of picture, pictograms, symbols like the Egyptian Hieroglyph; It does not count as genuine poetry; call it Chinese art design.

In this part of my autobiography, I will not dwell on details, which are highly juicy, and that you would rather hear about than knowing the basic processes that drove me in these crazy mental sickness of hanging on to power.

I urge you to believe me that I am fundamentally a good-natured guy, and very well-intentioned.

I was appalled by the state of affairs, the anarchy, the humiliation and indignities that I personally suffered of in my childhood.  All I did was a simple logical and intelligent extrapolation:  If this is how I feel then my cherished community must be feeling the same.

The people needed to be saved and I was ready to sacrifice my comfort and peace of mind to coming to the rescue of my beloved community.

Dictator my ass!  I am a martyr.  The main culprit is the people.

This stupid people wanted to believe my lies out of apathy and laziness in the mind.

Is it my fault if educational systems hate “subversive” line of thoughts and prohibit individual reflection and true freedom of expression?

Is it my fault if the economic system has evolved to capitalism and generated financial multinationals?

The culprit is this failed Soviet Union with its awkward communist ideology that refused to hand over power to the workers and the people.