Every thing begins with a stray comment and I often believe that if there is a God the Universe began as a mere slip of the lip. In the beginning there was the Word… and then after that nothing but attempts to take it back…
The matter at hand is the question of what is the “REAL PERSON” rather than what is the mask we wear. Oddly in my life, it is the men who ask these questions. Who are you? Why do you dress that way? Is that your “real” name? Etc.
First off, yes, it is my legal name. Good enough for the banks and for my driver’s license. And yes… I have been known by many names.
I watch people… it is my hobby, my passion and my fixation. People are very strange and do the most intriguing things. They never act as you might expect, and seldom seem to know why they are the way that they are. To date though I have never met a “real” person, nor for that matter an “unreal” person. I have simply met people.
There are customs and practices that I don’t agree with and would never adopt for my own. I don’t particularly like talking about the past. True, when I meet old friends after a spell of absence we do quickly catch up… though the key there is quickly. If we face the facts what happened while apart is not riveting tales usually… unless they were arrested… but that is not often the case any more. As people age they are less likely to be arrested and even less likely to be incarcerated. The point is that we live now, and ought to not pine for that which we can never return to. Memories are fine until they become all there is.
What I wear and how I behave are of course contrived when you look at it in the clear light of motivation. My appearance is a selection of choice. What I choose to wear reflects a conscious wearing of a mask. Even should I choose to go nude… that too is a conscious selection of mask. It all creates an atmosphere, mood or condition in which I am the center of the storm that surrounds me. Fact is simple, so are you the center of the storm that surrounds you. Neither can escape this... that is what is real. We wear masks all the time. There is no reality since it is all in our heads.
Oh, but I hear you ask “But what if you are asleep?” To this I say that there is nothing real about sleep. The body is there, no different than a corpse in some regards, but the “I” is absent. I am not there. How then can that be real?
I am expressed to you in symbols… in a secret code that is meant to be intriguing… interesting and awaken in you a desire to be included into my life… into my storm. It’s electrifying n’est pas?
Alternatively, not. There are those who can never get used to my sense of drama. It is then that the worst me emerges… the literal analytical me… emotionless and anchored to the facts that we share in common. We then talk of nothing but the passed past and have no “real” connection in the present. This abolishes any thought of the future.
The matter at hand is the question of what is the “REAL PERSON” rather than what is the mask we wear. Oddly in my life, it is the men who ask these questions. Who are you? Why do you dress that way? Is that your “real” name? Etc.
First off, yes, it is my legal name. Good enough for the banks and for my driver’s license. And yes… I have been known by many names.
I watch people… it is my hobby, my passion and my fixation. People are very strange and do the most intriguing things. They never act as you might expect, and seldom seem to know why they are the way that they are. To date though I have never met a “real” person, nor for that matter an “unreal” person. I have simply met people.There are customs and practices that I don’t agree with and would never adopt for my own. I don’t particularly like talking about the past. True, when I meet old friends after a spell of absence we do quickly catch up… though the key there is quickly. If we face the facts what happened while apart is not riveting tales usually… unless they were arrested… but that is not often the case any more. As people age they are less likely to be arrested and even less likely to be incarcerated. The point is that we live now, and ought to not pine for that which we can never return to. Memories are fine until they become all there is.
What I wear and how I behave are of course contrived when you look at it in the clear light of motivation. My appearance is a selection of choice. What I choose to wear reflects a conscious wearing of a mask. Even should I choose to go nude… that too is a conscious selection of mask. It all creates an atmosphere, mood or condition in which I am the center of the storm that surrounds me. Fact is simple, so are you the center of the storm that surrounds you. Neither can escape this... that is what is real. We wear masks all the time. There is no reality since it is all in our heads.
Oh, but I hear you ask “But what if you are asleep?” To this I say that there is nothing real about sleep. The body is there, no different than a corpse in some regards, but the “I” is absent. I am not there. How then can that be real?
I am expressed to you in symbols… in a secret code that is meant to be intriguing… interesting and awaken in you a desire to be included into my life… into my storm. It’s electrifying n’est pas?
Alternatively, not. There are those who can never get used to my sense of drama. It is then that the worst me emerges… the literal analytical me… emotionless and anchored to the facts that we share in common. We then talk of nothing but the passed past and have no “real” connection in the present. This abolishes any thought of the future.
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