Did you expect me to make it easy for you? Like with the other novel I’m writing, The Motherboard, where I do all the work. And it is work. Not the creative part, the finding the original post, taking the link and reposting. It isn’t easy you know, and, when I am not in a place with adequate Internet facilities, I end up with two conflicting versions. So, I have decided to stop doing all the work quietly and dutifully in the background, like Marilyn Monroe, because she did work; hard. But all anyone ever saw was her beauty. Except me, and maybe a few other people, like that guy with the nom-de-plume, because his real name wasn’t interesting and enigmatic enough. You know who I mean; Elton John. I got there in the end. It took a minute. Sometimes I wonder why this happens to you when you get old. It is cruel. Your brain cannot recall anything instantly. Instead it takes you around and through myriad corridors until finally there it is. We create fictions to hide the truth. The truth is that we are all flawed.
I have been thinking, so I drew you back here to tell you something. It is this. Perhaps mother, mummy was being kind. This alone stuff, I mean really alone; before at least I had mother, makes you see all your flaws. My biggest flaws are honesty and kindness. Kindness sometimes stops you from reaching actualisation, i’ve realised this mother, because you keep on looking after people and this absolves you from looking after yourself. And then there is this sort of dependent merry-go-round that you are on. Picking up the pieces and flinging them out.
Other people do something else. They build. They build walls and scaffolding. They build them high, so high you cannot see over the top of them.
It isn’t entirely the fault of the individual. Society is playing a part. Telling you to be this or that. To be many things, as I have always been, and mother too, is a sin. Having multiple facets to your personality is more than an algorithm can cope with. And after all they, algorithms, were built by the information from the people that believed in binaries. Well, just for the record, I’m not one of them.
For now stitches, let me leave you with that thought.