Looks like we might be all right, in the end. The clouds have dispersed, the days of twilight and sleepless disorientation ore over- for now, at least. Finding myself again, more self-sufficient than I’ve ever been, no relying on external sources of warmth, support, approval. Still prone to errors, but they only serve to make me stronger. And, anyway, perfection is no longer on my to-do list.

Does this sound a bit like a just-out-of-rehab speech? Oh well..

Who was it that described writing as a form of death? For us, it’s also Life; the painful life of unintelligible entities, of internal chaos and external disarray; the lonely life of disembodiment and surgical rationalizing. So we live and die on pages and screens, we exist in stories within stories within stories, and somewhere somehow we lost sight of the boundary separating reality from fantasy.

Of course I’m repeating myself, that’s ok. It is all part of the process. The mind moves in cycles and refuses to follow its own empty rules, or any imperatives of linearity.

More from Ghostwritten (this book is killing me):

"Does chance or fate control our lives? Well, the answer is as relative as time. If you're in your life, chance. Viewed from the outside, like a book you're reading, it's fate all the way."

Maybe everything is accidental; patterns are nothing more than tricks our brains play as they struggle to deal with what they are unable to grasp, predict or influence.

Yet sometimes you just can't shake off the feeling (or the cliche) that it's all connected, somehow. Yesterday and tomorrow, reality and fiction, your thoughts and other people's thoughts...

Is randomness or repetition the main principle of human existence?
Don't you ever wish we could simply stop wondering?

Behind this deceiving veil of transparency we call waking consciousness, creatures from our unspoken dreams await. Underneath our feet the roots of infinite ideas are spreading, fragile mental artifacts swept aside by the broom of time. But when the game is over, only they might be left behind; our single chance to get a glimpse of eternity, to leave an indiscernible mark in some remote corner of the Milky Way.

How would you like to be remembered?
Me? Not at all. Let oblivion cover my footprints with snow. For it is not my whish to linger here any longer than necessary. Immortality is for those who can still invest in the possibility of redemption.
What a sad waste of imagination and hope…

Ok, I lied. So what? No more rules. I'll blog whenever I feel like it. There's always an audience, real or imaginary. And why would I want to restrain myself? The point of gaining control is to lose it.

I shot my rational side long ago.
No, it didn't kill it, only made it wilder, and more defensive. Occasionally it resorts to incomprehensible forms of self-mutilation. When feeling threatened, it hides its head in the ground. It even has the tendency to forget it's supposed to be...rational.

What if it was all a test to see if you could have me? Does it make any difference? Meaningless questions.
Why me of all people? Was I special? An easy target?
A little bit of both, I'd like to think. Aren't we all?

I chose to take the risk as I'm choosing not to regret it.
I'm also choosing to dramatise it, humiliate myself by writing about it, then get over it and not care. No sadness, no bitterness, just a tiny bit of irony. And obviously a lot of reflection. Excessive amounts. I'm not worried, the sea will wash it all away.

Dear Ghost,

So the time has come to bring this to an end.

This situation is quite peculiar; normally I refrain from expecting- even less demanding- anything from strangers. Don’t get me wrong, the only thing I ever wanted from you was time. A few more moments in the sunshine, unburdened by the shadow of tomorrow.
Can’t have everything, right?

Well, it’s good to know we’re opting for scenario No 3 (ok, without the mind-blowing part). It was my favourite, from the start. I’m not ready to die yet, and I’m fed up with compromises.
Launching a tabloid will be a challenge, of course…but, hey, it can’t be harder than being a king.

Anyway, no more obsessive blogging for me.
While it is no longer possible to stop, I can at least slow down until it ceases to be an addiction. To say that I understand exactly why you kept reading- or even why I kept writing- would be a lie.
Still, it definitely made the whole story worthwhile.

Now before I start throwing up at my own melodramatic bullshit,
I’ll say…No not goodbye. I’ve said too many of these already.
How about, hope we’ll see each other again at some point.
This is the Digital Age, after all.

Superficial discussions, games people play because they think that’s how it's meant to be, the pointless process of socializing, wear your mask, say hello, thank you very much, ignore the longing in their glances, as they pretend your smile is real.

When we’re all human, flawed, temporary, and what we yearn for is some peace of mind, the warmth of skin on skin, a break from shallow interaction, a silence that’s deeper than any words can be, eyes that actually see what they look at, even if only for a moment, then goodbye, that’s it, the flow of life carries us away and we run run run cause there’s no other way to live or love or die..

From David Mitchell’s Ghostwritten :

“What have I done? Where does this myth come from?”
“What myth?”
“The one that plagues all men. The one that says a life without darkness and sex and mystery is only half a life. Why?”

I think I’ve seen your face before.
It must have been
The bloody battle between Good and Evil.

I can’t recall whether you stood beside me
Or at the opposite side of the fence.
Did I ever aim at you? Did you ever hate me?
Or did you stay with me until the end?
I can't remember who we fought for,
If we won.

So, please, remind me, were you there
When we discovered
That every night, while we were fast asleep
-The innocent, the wounded, and the dying,
Ready to fall, yet human, and afraid-
Our generals would walk out in the darkness,
Our enemies would come back in their stead,
Having exchanged handshakes, and plans, and some appraisal,
Pleased with themselves for fooling us again.

We never noticed them.
They were our leaders
And we were there to follow, not to doubt.


No hidden meanings here.
I have no clue where all this came from, or why.

Can’t say I didn’t see it coming.
To a certain extent, I feel relief .Like I’ve just come down from a long, intense trip, seeing things clearly for the first time.
Persistent irrational hoping can be a serious disease.

Still, the irony of everything amazes me.
It is as if, throughout our lives, we get to act in the same
film again and again and again. Only each time you get a different part. Yesterday you played the victim, today you are the villain, tomorrow you might be the hero…or the badly-paid extra
who dies in the first scene. The worst thing is, they don’t even give you some time to practice.

So, you may be wondering what comes next. But there are other questions you should be asking .Such as, How do I get out? When will I learn? And, more importantly, Who the hell is watching this?

Let pride be our shield and cynicism our fuel. It never ends.

Nostalgia seizes your mind when you least expect it.
Do feelings fade or evaporate?
Life is just a long process of letting go.

Danger. Toxic emotions. Nuclear desire. Beware.
When they say be careful what you wish for, is that what they mean?
Watch the traffic lights set in the distance.
No, I don’t have any idea what I’m talking about.
Unsuccessful attempts to sound poetically deep.

It’s the sun. The sun. Blowing our minds away. Every second spent in the shade is a second wasted. Concentration fails. My screen frowns on me. Abandon ship immediately.

It’s august for fuck’s sake. I’m supposed to be on some island eating watermelon. I miss mosquito bites, salty skin, vicious wasps at seven in the morning, hair that can never be combed again, melting condoms, sand in our food and ears and underwear, drinking gin cause the water ran out, 24-hour soundtrack courtesy of the waves, stolen figs and rotten tomatoes, endless nights watching starwars on the sky, intoxicated singing by the fire, stupefying afternoons praying for a breeze, loosing your socks and lighters and phone and mind and not even caring...

What on earth am I’m doing here?
You foolish, useless, indecisive loser. Get out now!

Confusion reigns in the halls of ethereal substances. Fire exit signs are reflected on frozen oceans. Look outside your window, see, the world has turned upside down while you were asleep, now only you’re left hanging there in the middle of nothingness.
Your shadow is banging on the walls, screaming “let me out!”.
The universe doesn’t care about futile human battles.

So, Wake up! For in the end what do we ever own but these fleeting moments, when we stand naked in the sun, bent by the wind, and time keeps slipping like sand through our fingers.

If nowhere can be anywhere, shouldn’t everywhere be somewhere ?
There's nothing unique about your ideas, you know...