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...

I’m starting to feel a bit like an S&M teddy-bear owned by a child with multiple personality disorder.
You mean a schizophrenic S&M teddy-bear under the delusional impression that it is owned by a child with multiple personality disorder. A cuddly psychopath, in other words.
True. Not very cuddly, actually. What would Freud make of it?
Trust me, you don’t want to know. Just deal with it.
But I’m finding it almost…enjoyable.
That’s exactly why you have to deal with it.
If I do, will you let me read Harry Potter?
Only after you finish Derrida.
Bitch.

Consciousness can feel like a curse in this age of duality:
Our bodies stuck in the present.
Our minds constantly chasing the future or haunted by the past.
Our kind was clearly not meant to experience inner peace.
Blame drugs for the knowledge, and everything else.

My twisted suffocating love for this twisted suffocating city goes deep, you know. It only takes a sunny Sunday at Brick lane to get me hooked again. Every year, the same story…Guess I’ll have to starve- or something much much worse- before I can leave this place.

Why do I always have to crave what brings me down?
Or do I see it all as a challenge I must go through just to prove I am strong enough? Whatever. No more analysing today.

At risk of sounding morbid, I’d add death to the equation.
That’s the only way to cure loneliness once and for all; the rest is simply a distraction. Of course, we might as well learn to live with it.

(Ok, I cheated. Death is the ultimate cure for most human
needs. But couldn't we go on pretending that I have the
answers to everything?)

Ah, the unresolved mysteries of life: is chocolate a substitute for love, or love a substitute for chocolate?

I can’t write much these days because I’m feeling…fine.
Obviously I’m not going to complain about it.

It’s kind of scary though.

Nothing ignites the fire of creativity like a few drops of melancholy...

Yes there was irony in the last sentence. And I told you I can’t write.
This is probably the right moment to shut up.
To quit or to quote, that is the question. (shoot me!)
Ok, quote, then back to being uncreatively happy:

It’s cruel you know, that music should be so beautiful. It is the beauty of loneliness and of pain, of strength and freedom.

The beauty of disappointment and never-satisfied love. The cruel beauty of nature and the everlasting beauty of monotony.

Benjamin Britten

All these years have passed and I remain unable to grasp the
whole point about relationships. Experience only confirms what
I suspected from the start.

Why do people have to take pure, harmless attraction and forcibly turn it into this restrictive entity by giving it a name? So that it can be governed by rules. So that it can have a beginning, an end, and a long draining black hole in the middle.

Eventually, it transforms half of those involved into possessive maniacs; the other half into cruel egoistic liars. Until no one
can stand it anymore and they decide to part in the same
way that they first met: as complete strangers, only without the foolish optimism attached.

Rules are made to be broken. You can’t stop the world from turning or people from changing. Security is just an illusion, anyway.

Or maybe that is simply the story I tell myself to keep going.