Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei

The first time I read a translation of this, it was “Good-bye Mr. Despair”.
As Japanese honorific titles go, it has been my understanding that although “Sensei” does mean “Mr.,” it is at about the top of the chart as these things go, and might better be regarded as “Master.”
When I re-thought the phrase as “Good-bye Master of Despair,” it took on the nuance of a changed paradigm; one in which I was my own worst enemy.
Well…once I began to recognize how this one concept was tantamount to a piece of flawed code that was imbedded in almost every program downloaded into my personal bio-computer, I felt simultaneously over-joyed and overwhelmed.
Hell, in many ways it was a part of my basic identity, and that just pissed me off in a very nebulous sense because I don’t believe that this is necessarily a required part of my operating system, i.e.: it was learned, meaning that somebody, someone taught me to accept that flawed aspect of self-awareness so far back that I was too young to realize what was being done to me at the time, and too deluded to recognize it later…at least until now.
I say nebulous because there is no need to try to identify whom or what it was specifically (a ridiculous waste of time with no real payoff) and because I perceived it as being a part of the culture of my life, rather than a specific entity to whom I could assess blame (which is equally pointless), yet inherently crippling.
I love the way a particular word of phrase can trigger such profound effects on me.
I am not cursed; I am blessed.
If one acts as one’s own attorney, they have a fool for a client.
If you act as your own therapist…you have a crazy person for a patient.
OK…I see no problem in that.
I always was blessed; good times, bad times come and go until you recognize the folly of thinking there was any difference.
We make the difference.
I remember the frustration of losing my ability to recognize the opportunities to express my gratitude during my most successful endeavors.
There was a time when nothing was ever good enough to suit me.
Now almost nothing is more than enough, and it suits me just fine.
I also remember the bittersweet poignancy of losing nearly every material possession I owned overnight in a hurricane, only to experience a genuine euphoria in realizing that the ones I loved were safe with me and thinking “It’s all just stuff…things…there will be more someday.”
When my reality was crumbling and my life was exploding I often wrote between three to six thousand words and still worked forty hours every week.
They were beautifully tragic, awe-inspiring times filled with heroic angst, optimism, betrayal, romance and heartbreak that turned on a dime and gave back eleven cents change.
Madness and Majick danced with me on the roof as the house burned beneath me. Love seduced Logic while Romance beguiled Reason in the pale moonlight…
But every time…just as I was about to find the Prom Queen’s tickle switch on Firestone Alley while we watched the submarine races out on the bay…or in the middle of an eighty mile an hour drift through the apex of an off-ramp, or onstage in the middle of the best song I ever wrote, …or while searching for the right words to undo the unforgivable…that defective code would pop up seemingly out of nowhere…
Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei.
I say goodbye to a part of myself that was never really me.
Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei.
There will always be pain somewhere out there, but I do not have to hurt myself any more.
It will no longer be necessary.
Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei.
You will no longer be necessary.
Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei.
You will not be missed…at least not by me.
Sayonara Zetsubou Sensei.
Goodbye Mister Despair.
Chazz Vincent

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