When a dim light shines,
if you’re bold in darkness,
you’re gonna look ugly,
you’re gonna stand out-
no matter what you did-
So don’t hold anything back.

But whatever you do,
don’t do less:
don’t be Igor.

Don’t be the willie the squid
to somebody’s humboldt,
giant, colossal, or kraken;

complacent, accessory,
and just happy to be there-
alive in darkness-
in the shadow of a shadow,
thriving there vicariously;

If the power to do wrong
is in your own hands,
make sure those hands
aren’t taking orders;

If you’re gonna fuck shit up-
not only as an occupation
but as a way of life,
strive for something more
than a villain’s assistant-

Be the creator.
Be so good in a monster’s role,
a real monster takes your name;
be Vlad the Impaler,
be Dr Frankenstein the OG.

Be unstoppable short of miracles-
be why Popeye takes to spinach;
Reach for the stars ,
and take them with you.
Be a big man.
Go all out.
But a word of caution…

Igor is ugly.
Almost ugly enough
to be a monster,
but he can’t hold a candle
to life that’s been reanimated.

Don’t end up the real monster.

Unless you’re fortunate enough
to be burned at a stake,
make sure you are cremated-
perhaps by Igor-
to reduce if not eliminate
the chance you are reanimated-
curtesy of new waves of you-
just in case you’re so inspiring,

or you could wake up one day
a catfish in Chernobyl,
a lamprey in a tuna can;
a magnet to all beef of the sea-
you will be a real monster-
the antithesis of a master card:
accepted nowhere.

You’ll be closer to a Ghandi
than to a Che Guevera-
and like neither,
the only people you unite
will seek to destroy you
with pitchforks and torches;

You will be the monster
slain in every village
made of mud, superstition,
plagues, and straw roofs;
you will be this monster,
and will be treated as such.

You will be the proof of God
to whoever kills you;
you will be the pitty
of every scapegoat.

As igor asks himself,
was the juice worth the squeeze-

There was a time it was.
Don’t be Igor.

Just tell him to spread your ashes.