Unlucky.
Sometimes you want to stretch something that doesn’t exist over what does, to create some kind of terrifying and eerie metamorphosis, with nothingness as its backbone.
Literally nothing, born from something. Something that was once valuable and important, but is now just ash—ash made of invisible and unreal flakes that have long dissolved inside you and are now dissolving into the atmosphere.
Now the content of seemingly real memories is completely unreal and feels like just a dream. But you’re not crazy, all of it happened, yet it left behind only gray flakes of ash—ash that doesn’t exist.
Actions, events, and circumstances turn out to be stronger than time. Stronger than space and the laws of physics; they can, like the best detergent, erase everything from the past, over which even God has no power.
So is this good or bad? Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad. And sometimes it just doesn’t matter.
Only what’s real has meaning. And the unreal remains unreal—a metaphysical chunk of gray matter, like a mirage, even in dreams. In pleasant dreams of a tape you’ve already played out, of your yesterday, which now is completely unreal.
It’s erased, it doesn’t exist anymore, like your imaginary friend, like a movie character, like a memory whose viewing limit has been exhausted.
The phantom nature of this phenomenon is hard to explain because it’s pleasant to imagine what never really was and now definitely never will be. And the most disgusting thing is that neither the Bible nor you nor the spirits of your ancestors will tell you whether it was real or not.
So keep wandering, fool.
