By far, this has been the weirdest and most unsettling time back home. Why? Because nobody has changed. They are just involved in different scenarios, which I haven’t been following, and this is how people drift away from each other. Updating people about my life is the least I want to do. Sometimes when you have nothing to say, you force yourself to say something utterly banal, and it triggers a bad vibe because you didn’t want to say it. You just wanted to break the silence.
I should’ve lied. Lies can be wonderful if you admit that they are lies.
What if you don’t care?
I love people who have every reason to laugh, but they never seem to have the last laugh: The Comedian, Bill Hicks, Pagliacci…
I principally admire those who can express their anger verbally. This is anger for real: John Lydon, Bill Hicks, Alec Empire…
Do you see the difference between you and these people? Probably not.
I did something wrong again. One more reason why you wouldn’t speak to me, and I’m still telling you everything. Anyway, if I hadn’t done it, I’d have never seen the big picture illustrating a dark hole from which I need to save her.
There are so many people on the High Street and the Internet trying to coax you into donating money. When you tell them you can’t even help yourself, they remain persistent by telling you that you have to help others first. I said thanks for the advice; I am trying to help my family. Now get out of my way; I can very well manipulate my-fucking-self, too.
I made an unnerving discovery when I re-read my unfinished book. In the last two weeks, I only managed to write no more than 1,500 words; half of it was based on rewriting. Anyway, I discovered that I was mimicking Houellebecq (except that I don’t express myself as articulately as he does). Do you remember when I told you that, unlike him, I have hope? In the last chapters, there is only a glimpse of it—hope is the face of frivolity. And honestly, I never realised it until now.
The problem is I’m sorry; I can’t rewrite it again. She is who she is, and I am who I am. That much, I figured. Either she has a huge thing coming up or nothing. I will always be where I am, with nothing grand. I gave her a choice.
When at home, I’m glad that my dreams aren’t just fragments but complete stories. I’ve managed to dig deeper and reveal some fire. Also, it seems that in my dreams, I still fantasize about beating the shit out of him. But he always escapes by changing his outward appearance through shapeshifting.
Apparently, what I write is offensive. If you find my writing offensive, you don’t want to know me. Let’s pray together that you won’t ever have to. On the outside, I’m just a coward, not worth making friends with, and I shall be glad if you view me that way. It’s less effort to make. I never said I was a good friend. I never said that. I prefer my laptop as my companion to anyone else.
Even my ma calls me a selfish bastard, but you know what, I prefer hearing it from her; it makes me think she doesn’t know me although she knows me best because she knows my worst. And this is why she means the world to me, and you never will.
It scares me how you, one by one, get married and father/mother a kid, no matter if by choice or accident (Yes, I wrote “accident”). Once that has happened, you blindly push me away, and it’s always too late for me to push you away first. Anyway, it’s ok. I’m serious; it’s ok. As long as you are happy, nothing else matters, I don’t matter, and I don’t want to matter.
Please understand; I’m truly happy for you. The only sad thing is that so much has changed, and there’s no place for me. I’ll choose to wave goodbye instead.