Perhaps it is just my need for a small ounce of formality pushing me to define my being, as every person senses they ought to.
I am alive.
With this statement I am trying to convince myself of it.
Indeed, breathing and moving are quite the clues to a living human, yet I have just died, so it’ll take me some time to realize its meaning - and, evidently, its truth.
For a very long time have I not come to myself and asked about reality. I assume it was because I was afraid of the answer.
I used to consider myself very cautious, cunning, intelligent, kind. Those are though not the tags I am looking for.
I am dreaming.
I am here.
Yes, those are it. I am definitely dreaming and I am here - I am always here, as ‘here’ somehow locates my state at all times. I am where I am. Why am I dreaming? Because in no world would there be so cruel people, as to take notice of outlandish presences and still not make them known to the others, but instead choose to become out of land themselves, to have power over the weak, wealth over the poor and accusations over the innocent - innocent not in the eyes of the Law, but in the ones of God, surely, until they are brought by the Devil to do his deeds in order to escape Hell - turning against their own, against free will and equality - and against the unknown, as it seems. The fact that it is only I who kens of this, I am sure to believe that it is only imagination, delusions and illusions that brought me here, also my power of convincing and the art of conversation that made others believe it as well. But where is here? It might very well be a park, a garden, a vacant building or my own mind. Yes, I could very easily be trapped there, in my desperately lying mind.
The mere purpose of me remaining here though is for escape. Even when Destiny was left in my hands, along with Fate that was already there, I knew - it was a chimerical Destiny.
Hence I commit myself to sleep and wait for it to take me to a place without no name, if it trusts well to do so. I personally think it is a great waste of my breath - to live and know it’s a dream. To have no true value, to be surrounded by importance and relevance just for the sake of my spirit’s utmost wish. As if I’d be truly significant to an impossible - what a definitory word that is for humanity and its essence, impossible - Universe - or to mine, for that matter. As if I was indispensable, but I must confess my lack of role in this play. Not even my mind pays much attention to me and starts a journey on its own.
I’ve been considering institutionalizing myself, but then I wouldn’t be able to be here anymore. I like it here. I like the pleasure, the love, the passion, the curiosity fulfilled with unthinkable answers.
I like the pain, the despair, the separation, the loss and the uncertainty. All this confusion - it makes it seem alive. As if it is. It is...
I’d also like void, but it is so lacking of any commitment and focus that I think my fear is activated whenever I’m drawn to it. I’ve been inside it for many a day and it is almost finished. I finished the void.
I believe I am waking up and, yes, fear is consuming me at the thought of truth. If I am right, then I’ll be dead. If I am wrong, then I’ll be damned.
But what is the point of everything when, no matter the level of convenience and accuracy, I cannot feel that I am at all? My being depends on yours, you see. But what if - what if - you’re REM?
Oh, you’d constantly deceive me, I promise. It’s what I’d naturally expect. And imagination meets expectations, am I right?
I cannot help myself to fully enjoy you at random times of borderless limit between real, unreal and surreal. When you materialize and when you evanescence, when you whisper your lies - should they actually be mine? - and, lastly, when you are not here.
But why bother with mysteries unsolved?
I know I’m mad; I’m born in madness.