Unfinished mystery interrogation

Fuck this, I am getting a new computer. Not going to be marooned with this piece of crap.

He slapped the ‘piece of crap’ laptop to life.

       You’re already marooned, for god’s sake. You’re sitting here, on an electronic device, being sucked into the imaginary realm called the internet.

But then, it’s not really imaginary, is it? If you bully and put down someone on the internet, they feel it.

If you can experience something as real, does that make it real?

But then, that would make dreams as real and opaque as waking consciousness.

That’s a terrible thought.

Then again, what’s real?

[That’s what the philosopher in him wanted to ask.]

Oh, great… here we go again.

What? What’s wrong with questioning?

Well, it’s quite bloody pretentious to discuss the nature of reality when all I really need is to get the fuck outta here.

There’s no way out, Chuck.

There is…

Not if you want your soul to be saved, Chuck.

That’s just spouting religious crap now. You know that I don’t prescribe to this bullshit.

I do, but what if-

How do you know there is a soul? And how do you know it needs saving, even if I self-terminate?

Oh and why the hell are you calling me Chuck?

You gotta believe in something, Danny.

This is your great argument? Of all the things you could have said, you think faith is the way forward?

Well, if there is a soul… you’d be kinda screwed. Just sayin’, Johnny-boy.

Yeah, but there’s no way of knowing, is there?

Maybe there is. When you’re sunk in the alcohol, or choking on the smokes, glug-glug-glugging it all down because it hurts so bad, is it your heart that hurts?


No, your heart is an organ. It can feel fuck all. You just think it does, cause that’s what people have been saying for centuries. It’ll only feel pain when you physically get stabbed in it.

I’m sorry? Who the hell are you to say what I can and can’t feel?


Words avenge memory

Words avenge memory.

That’s what it said.

Actually, the literal translation was

words revenge memory

but I assumed it meant the former. It has a great ring to it, a big, sonorous, pompous ring; but what on earth does it mean? Do words make up for what you don’t remember? Do they justify what you remember?

I am aware I have not written in a while, so perhaps that’s what it was trying to tell me. It was mystical, ancient. Some sort of force of the universe, perhaps, if you believe in that kind of thing.

I have been away from myself far too long.