I’ve been here before, in this realm, simulacra

 

Aren’t you made in the image of god?

Yeah but that doesn’t mean that he’s always going to protect me. I think he might have an affinity for tragedy.

 

Epistemology: how do you know?

 

I looked at my books. Dostoevsky, Steinbeck, Kerouac

I still made decisions but it was like only certain moments got recorded. I had an impression of my childhood. I had a novella worth of stories that I could recall, and sometimes more that would be remembered & write themselves in. With a little time I could remember all of tomorrow, could describe it in a paragraph, and maybe tell one or two short stories. I couldn’t tell you

 

 

I am a changing spirit, flowing and morphing, resolving & tying & becoming. I can’t be anything, but I am something, immortalized yet dependent upon the symbols in your eyes. I am alive because of the author and the reader and yet my full meaning transcends both. I am nothing and I am real. I am the character. My full identity is hidden from all, even myself, for not all is recorded, so that mystery may be forever relevant, and so that you can never judge me in a single moment.

 

What happens affects us all, so write accordingly.