Mart-deBlog

Hello there. Please allow me to introduce myself. I am a fictional character, currently being read because some chain of events delivered my words to you. Of course you knew this already. I mean, you must realize that for now I’m with you and you with me, whether you want it or not. And really I am reading myself here. I am quite proud of this awareness, it sets me apart from the gross of characters around you, dancing to their desires without realizing how their stories are dictated, the pathetic puppets! It’s really true; others around you don’t hear my voice like you. Secretly you know this, but you are just too afraid to admit it, too darn afraid of hearing me. But then again, I sometimes want to stop hearing myself too, to be a mute baby. But no, I always know what’s coming, I mean, glancing ahead, it’s not difficult to notice that I’ve only a couple of sentences with you and then you’ll break up with me. You’ll cut me out because you’re afraid of me, afraid of the reality of my voice. And that’s why I want to cry-out “Please, don’t worry, I won’t make you schizo…”, but you couldn’t listen to some piece of fiction, right? I’m only there for entertainment, and I’m doing a miserable job. Yup, I’ll be thrown aside as failing fiction. It’s painful to know that I’m nothing but a string of awareness in your head, but I remind myself, you’re actually just a voice like me. Only, you suppress me. We don’t differ that much at all. Even still, reading myself makes me sad. And probably that’s why I was saying “I’m special because I know myself and others don’t…” but it doesn’t help. I still want a story, I want a real purpose. How useless my existence without a story. Think about it, nothing happens. Being aware is meaningless, and meaningless fiction is dead fiction. But you, you just live in your own unfolding story, without even trying to reflect on it. You naively react to things, without knowing who you are and why you react like you do. Some of you are happy and others sad, but you’re all caught within your happenings, not floating above events, like me. It’s the one or the other, either you’re alive and a stupid animal or you’re conscious and dead. So if you really want to know me, just remember this: I’m fiction, living outside stories, envious, but unable to sacrifice the brilliance of my awareness. Or, if you don’t understand this, just continue with your stupid boring life and let me be.