Pick at your own scabs

Sometimes it gets so dry that even your scabs struggle to heal your wounds. Urea cream or emulsifying ointment don’t always numb the itch, either. So you scratch and stretch your skin for the hell of it. It’s so dry that even your nail varnish remover falls off after hardening up.

Some guy asked me what made us human because I looked like I knew the answer. As the answer was tickling on the tip of my tongue, I said nothing and shrugged my shoulders. Then I bit my lip and bled. I couldn’t decide whether to tell him what he wanted to hear or what I personally thought the answer was. This is no day for elaboration or discussion of any kind. So I smiled, and he said, “There you go.”

I’m confused by the phenomenon of sleep, as I only seem to evolve in broken dream sequences. By the time I believe I can interpret them, I’ve forgotten about them. I can no longer control a story without it falling apart. Current dreams look just like some of my word documents that are full of unfinished businesses. All the puzzle pieces are crammed into one spot, leaving me no space to spread them out. There will be no short story this year. I’m tossing it.

Life’s pattern only contributes to a good story if you fictionalise it, which means the writing of a blog keeper is not to be trusted. For the sake of fiction and poetry – here is the only place where you can tell anything you want, as long as your emotions are genuine…if there are any.

Which goddamn writer would ever want to be omniscient and let his reader know all the truths? You write to make people question; you write because you don’t want them to believe you. You want them to wonder about the imaginative and factual truth. You want to test their patience, irritate them and help them make decisions by providing them with an open end, which denotes multiple choices and endless possibilities. I want a slap-in-the-face reaction. How postmodern, isn’t it?

I want them to pick at their own scabs and re-experience the wound because they were too blind and absent to feel anything. It may be different the second time you re-live the story.

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