I didn't want to die without showing those around me that they were wrong, that I'm not worthless, lazy, useless freak. I broke out of the role of victim and became a hero. This was the most important mission I did. All I cared about was to survive as a misunderstood child, to show my strength, to reach the top by my own laws, fulfilling the ideal I had raised myself. Through my heroes, I crown myself empress of life and death in the last dream of my life, just before the total annihilation of the worthless, weak and falible human being that I was. An excellent plan, which I am implementing. It is too late to hope for anything, the real experiences of my life have already killed my hope and faith. I have two feet on the ground, the mushrooms have me leaning very close to reality. I have been able to observe the laws of nature at work, and because I was born with good eyes, I have been able to see through human masks. All the misery that I was exposed to only further murdered my heart, and if it weren't for my imagination, my heroes, my embodiments of strength, I would be long dead.
It has been very instructive to see how the life-death pairing of my youth has changed as I have moved into the declining stages of human life. My playful, creative imagination has always been represented by the figure of the mage. At the age of twenty-four, he appeared as Rabbit-hearted Merwil and gifted me with a humorous space adventure novel. Much later, at the age of forty-three, he came out as Gloom and delivered a story full of a deep understanding of the human condition that is no longer humorous, even if it does contain a touch of black humour. Importantly, death is in Star City Roulette, but as a remote possibility, in the form of a dark threat that my beloved blonde hero can avert. Meanwhile, Merwil is very close to this dark menace, but I'd rather not write about his strange kinship, I won't shoot down the punchlines of his story. In the case of the imperial mage, there are no more hidden hints or subtleties, the whole story deals with the consequences of a fatal sin and someone's botched plan for their own immortality. Yes, such a plan causes an awful lot of suffering for others, and the female protagonist, representing life, is given a mission to stop the inevitable happening. The key figure in the plan is the imperial mage, who is merely a tool of the plan-master against his will. This dark fantasy drama is truly a mature work, and brutal.
Even as a young woman, I had a tendency to kick the social beliefs that served a hierarchical system of oppression and to dream myself into a Christ-like figure who was at once vibrant, mischievous and wise. "Merwil had a olive in his palm. 'What are you doing with the seed?' - he asked me. I didn't even hear his question because I was admiring his beauty and trying NOT to imagine him without the bathrobe. He continued to talk. 'So if you deign to really listen to me.' (Like I didn't do that. A mischievous giggle on my part.) 'I give it to you to plant in the ground and it bear fruit." Being a 24-year-old young woman and not a nun at all, it was quite clear that when we ran into each other at the galactic nightclub called Star City, I wasn't really into deep philosophical counseling, and he was just trying to make sense of the chaos he'd fallen into. Nobody understands mages, that's true for them too, but they are decent and hardworking guys. So it's a bit of fun for him and for me. As for him, he told me that I was one of his figures existing in the inner curvature of space-time and that it was impossible for us to hide together based on cosmic laws. We were mutually shocked and separated to process the shock of our unexpected mutual admiration. Mutual dismay has turned to acceptance over the years, and I'm rooting for my beloved blonde hero. Merwil, the hero of the Milky Way, and his love (former holostar, but by the end of the story, she's elected president of humanity) Barbara Rubedolla.
While I was writing the imaginary scene, I didn't feel the anxiety that was killing me inside, but as soon as I looked out at the reality that from next week I have to be on the bloody battlefield again to keep myself alive, well, I don't feel happiness. I look at the usual well wishers in cyberspace with a bitter face because I know what reality is and we are all liars. I put together the usual survival plan, but for a couple of years now I haven't been able to add a sincere smile to it. At the beginning of 2019, I still believed that hard work would pay off. (Sorry Merwil, the soil was not suitable for the seed, after a couple of years the tree dried up, it was hopeless to hope for anything.) So I sucked it, no matter what, it just will a pitiful wrangling, a fool replacement act, but since I had also acquired a routine over the years, hiding my bitterness will be my biggest challenge. Ironic laughter accompanied by some tears. Oh, how fucking happy 2023 was too! I managed this without a permanent fixed income. So don't make fun of me about happiness and don't lie to me, because even though my self-control is strong, I already know very well what kind of creature a human is, what I am, so we don't play with each other. I will be fair to death, honest and devoted in my work, but when I close the door behind me, do not come after me, because in my inner circle there is only one goddess, myself and I have no tolerance for evil. And I don't hope for anything. I know exactly how my life will end. Everything is going according to plan, as I have dreamed for many, many years. And that is precisely why I know that my externally inspired hope of becoming an internationally recognized writer is completely false. However, even with an old head, I admit that my youthful self was a striving, innocent being. She is the only one I feel deep regret for, she is the only one I mourn. So I'm not going to make false wishes, 2024 won't be happy, it'll be just as hard-fought year as the previous ones.
Nincsenek megjegyzések:
Megjegyzés küldése