What’s up?

“You were right. You were right about many many things. I submitted you to one of the hardest tests that I could have imagined, but one that I did not design. I submitted to my intuition, and I surrendered to non-determinism. Just yesterday I reminded one of your friends that I am a storyteller, and his words were revealing. You are in my dreams and you are in my life, and it is my words that have seduced you from the first instant. I got what I wanted and I got a whole lot more. I like the distance and I thrive on the distance. I also know how to create the distance. I know that I did not let you in my life. I let no one in my life.”

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Or as the O’Pumpkin would say: sup. What is new? What are the news? What is going on? What on earth will lift the misery of boredom?

I do not know, and I do not have a clue as to what will ever alleviate boredom for the animal that we call the humans. I am however fascinated by the subject of boredom and why it is that we judge our inner state as one of being bored. I am not prone to boredom, but I am allergic to it. That is, contrary to what my ego would like to believe, I too am human. I have been away. I have been reading. I have been writing. There is nothing new. Not really.

I return to this idea of boredom after an unexpected turn of events that had me once again dreaming with the man of my dreams after I had spent a few days among colleagues much too preoccupied with what seems to me to be the banalities of intellectual life. Mind you, these are the banalities that I love. Having failed to become a farmer – my initial dream in life – I have turned to intellectual life for lack of ideas as to what else to do. Politics is on another page. Politics just landed on my lap, and it is an orphaned child, a bastard in reality that needs some care.

The thing with the dreams and the man of my dreams is that those dreams end up being reality, and I for the life of me, can not and will not understand how that can be so. I believe in very little, and I am at best skeptical of matters that seem implausible to me. That I dream in my sleep with somebody who is real and whom I know is nothing unusual. That the dreams end up repeating themselves when my eyes are wide open and that man is in front of me in the flesh, is at best disconcerting. It is this phenomenon that has me calling this person the man of my dreams, when the last concept that I would ever subscribe to is that there is such thing as ‘the man of my dreams’ or a ‘soulmate’ or anything like the right one. It is not a deterministic world, and in such a non-deterministic world these romantic concepts are allegories of the imagination that reveal neither moral nor ethic, but soothe the senses with a fantastic lie. Fantasy is not an antidote to boredom, but certainly is a great drug that relieves the anxiety it creates. Life is made of wonderful banalities and a few emotions and dreams. It is an adventure.

You were right. You were right about many many things. I submitted you to one of the hardest tests that I could have imagined, but one that I did not design. I submitted to my intuition, and I surrendered to non-determinism. Just yesterday I reminded one of your friends that I am a storyteller, and his words were revealing. You are in my dreams and you are in my life, and it is my words that have seduced you from the first instant. I got what I wanted and I got a whole lot more. I like the distance and I thrive on the distance. I also know how to create the distance. I know that I did not let you in my life. I let no one in my life.