Let's workshop this poem about the paradoxical psychological maneuvers people are prone to make to conceal their motivations from others and even themselves.
Head Cases, All of Us
To hide even from himself
that the wellspring of his visions
is thirst for social capital,
he gravitates toward visions
that ostracize him—ones
he whispers would lift his capital
were the world wiser
(as he trusts they will one day,
among at least a worthy minority).
“We need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.”—Kafka (against the safe-space cancel culture pushed by anti-art bullies, left and right).