鬥牛士Álvaro Múnera Builes良心大發現！

鬥牛士Álvaro Múnera Builes良心大發現！

相信各位應該在FB上或是別的地方看過上面這篇po文，「鬥牛士找回人性，向鬥牛說不」，受到感動我們紛紛按讚。

但我們看到的真的是如那令人動容的文字所說的嗎？網路上搜尋一下我們發現故事主角Álvaro Múnera的確是鬥牛士，他也的確最後反對鬥牛。但過程呢？故事發生的經過是，在一次表演中，他被牛刺中左腿，然後飛上了天，之後他就下半身癱瘓了。

隨後他在西班牙Toledo及美國Miami住院四年半，在Miami時因為受不了各方指責他虐殺動物（或者他也確實懺悔其虐待動物之不對），所以最後他反對鬥牛。

這一切並非如優美文字所說的「忽然間，我從這公牛的眼底，看到和所有動物都一樣的純真與無辜，牠看著我對我懇求著，就像是對公義的哀號，深深地沉入我心底，當時我好比是一位告解者，我意思是說當一個人坦白地懺悔了，是希望....他能獲得寬恕，我那時覺得自己真是毫無價值，糟透了！」這段文字出自何方神聖之手我們不知道。

而我們所看到的這張「因良心苛責而情緒崩潰」照，在西班牙文中則稱為desplante –藐視或是挑戰– 例如我們會看到鬥牛士跪在牛前面（也許會被有心人士解釋成鬥到一半良心發現，祈求牛的原諒也說不一定），在鬥牛中常會出現。也就是說，這是鬥牛士對牛表現其優越性的一種舉動。所以這照片並無任何「不可思議」處。

以上是一些google一下就會查到的資訊，但我們並沒有這樣做，我們不加思索的接受了我們所看到的，並以為是真實。真實是什麼？有朋友昨天才提起這問題。優美文字敘述下的就是真實嗎？我花沒幾分鐘、打幾下鍵盤找到的資訊就是真實嗎？可惜的是，我們不能百分之百確定，我們只能用推斷和多方資訊來判斷，然後得到一個暫時可以相信的答案，而這答案可能在明天，或是後天可能就會被新證據所推翻。今天我們的沾沾自喜，也許在明天看起來就會像白癡一樣。也許明天我會因為今天說了「鬥牛士Álvaro Múnera沒有在場上發現良心」這話，而看起來像白癡一樣。

真實是什麼？也許真實就是我們所選擇相信的版本。我們要浪漫的版本、殘酷的版本、可愛的版本、溫馨的版本...這清單可以很長。我的建議是：不停地質疑吧，這有益健康。也許我們不能得到答案，但最少我們不會輕易相信。

這又不免讓我想到了旺中案，當我們所得到的資訊被獨大的一方所壟斷時，我們還有空間做思考嗎？我們無憂無慮的自由生活真的自由嗎？我看到連現在我們還有其他資訊來源可以做參考時，我們都沒有去做這動作，等我們沒有多元資訊來源時我更加沒有信心了。我對未來非常悲觀，而人們對世事的漠不關心（還因為認為不理政治非常清高，而沾沾自喜）讓我更加悲觀。但請不要搞混這悲觀跟活著不快樂，這是兩回事。

恐懼做為指引的力量

我羨慕三種人：第一種，有信仰的人；第二種，有伴的人；第三種，知足的人。我羨慕他們因為我並不屬於這三個項目中的任何一種。

下午老天爺賞光沒有下雨讓我和朋友得以悠閒散步，在漫步搜尋午餐的路上她的神情奕奕地談著教會。我告訴她我一向對宗教很有興趣，但是就是沒有辦法去「信」。我無法說我相信我並不真心相信的東西。但是我一直很想要有個信仰 - 有個比自己更高遠的東西可以依靠，在黑暗的時刻可以避難及搜尋慰藉。但這想望並沒有構成「信」的正當性：「祂」不會因為我信而存在，或不信而消失，會改變的只有內心。這也就是說，不管我有多麼想要信（佛祖、媽祖、上帝、阿拉或是濕婆都好），我沒有辦法去信一個只存在我想法裡的東西，並相信祂會拯救我。

稍晚，坐在飯桌前，我一手拿咖啡一手拿餅乾與阿叔及阿嬸聊著天。「你阿叔有在買股票，」阿嬸傾身向前，「但都是在賠錢！」話還沒完他們兩個人就一陣笑呵呵。看著他們，這種有人了解你並陪你過日子的溫暖感覺讓我也笑了起來，但是我不禁想到，我已經習慣了一個人過生活，我還有機會及能力接受生活中不只只有我嗎？我的笑容隨著這想法而煙消雲滅，但基於作客的禮貌我還是保持微笑。

晚餐時我們移師餐廳，繼續聊著我的未來這話題：
「讀西文的畢業後大部分都在從事什麼工作？」阿嬸問到。
「很多都是去做貿易，」我熟練地回答著，「啊有的跑去外交部或是繼續讀博士。」
「但這都不是我想做的，」我緊接著補充，「我想要做出版和寫書。」
這寫書的想法是我近幾年才發現的，一直以來我只知道坐在辦公桌前處理文件很無趣，以及四處跑和寫東西時我很快樂。有一天我忽然察覺到我想要的只是成為一個透過我雙眼 - 而非經過他人 - 看過這個世界的人。我不夢想賺大錢，我不要做大官看人敬禮，我也沒有興趣擁有高學歷，讓我快樂的東西並不是這些。

當然，這很美好，因為它是夢想。而現實告訴我們除非你家印鈔票或是抽中樂透（而且沒有因為揮霍縱慾過度而死），否則夢想需要很多時間及金錢的累積才會有那麼一點點成形的機會，而成形並不表示就會開花。這鐵的原則我懂，所以我猶豫不決，心中充滿了未知及不安，我的未來到底在哪裡？我是否會成功？還是我會敗的一塌糊塗到最後什麼都不是也什麼都沒有？思緒至此，口中的佳肴沾染了苦味，我不禁羨慕起那些可以因為有穩定工作而滿足（這並沒有貶意）、有伴可以傾訴、有信仰可以做精神支柱的人。

憶往

代表不同時空的影像隨著音樂的起伏而出現、消失及替換；歡樂、痛苦及感傷也亦步亦趨地伴隨著這些包含著人事物的畫面。這大概是我最常想的事情，幾乎每一個地方都有令人難以拋棄的回憶，只是回憶拋棄了人，讓人陷在回憶裡。到現在為止不管我多喜歡一個地方，我仍然無法定下來，因為我思索著：要如何拋棄記憶裡的那些地方呢？所以我不停的從一地猶疑到另一地，聽著之前的音樂，看著過往的照片，同時創造新的回憶。這，真是可怖的存在。

映在牆上的影子

新北投捷運車廂緩緩地駛向月台，透過貼著點狀圖形的窗戶及車門，我依稀可以辨識出門後站著的人影以及類似木製洗澡桶的圓形狀裝置。列車雖然只有幾節，但這真是一列裡外色彩豐富的車廂。那圓形狀玩意兒結果是個螢幕，我想大概是在介紹新北投的景點，而且可能也因為這緣故所以列車開的特別慢，讓我們可以慢慢欣賞兩邊的老舊公寓以及它們的舊日容光。

約莫兩個小時之後，我再次等車進站，午後原本冷清的月台現在擠滿了下班族和討人厭的國高中生以及他們有關手機的討論。拯救我逃離煉獄的特快車不疾不徐地在鐵道上拖行。於車門開啟的同時，返家心切的人潮好比如獅子看到獵物搬飛撲上去。一直困惑我的是，為什麼人們不等車廂裡的人先出來然後再進去呢？這疑問已在我心中駐足了快十年。某次在電梯裡一位中年男子因為湧進的浪潮太過洶湧，導致他勇敢踏出的右腳在有機會落地之前就被擠的潰不成軍，最後只好發出無奈的怒吼：「讓我先出去！」

我坐定位之後發現對面原本應該是椅子和窗戶的地方現在有一面大約56吋的液晶螢幕，而窗戶則被畫有圖案的牆面所取代，要凸顯的重點顯然是液晶螢幕裡氣定神閒地在寺廟拜拜、拍照和逛新北投的妙齡少女。在這「新北投-北投」一站的距離裡，影片總共撥了兩次，這顯然是要讓旅客有機會可以好好地欣賞並記下少女所拜訪的優聖美地。而我也的確為這設計所動容，在離螢幕約兩公尺的距離裡彩色牆面佔據了雙眼的視線範圍，帶觀眾進入另一個空間，成功地把地獄來的國高中生們打入邊緣的角色。

我回神過來，猛然發現我在移動的車廂裡盯著一個螢幕看。我頭左右轉，迅速地巡視一下四周，發現除了我之外沒有人在注意影片中精彩的劇情，每個人都低頭在看手機。我忽然有一種感覺 - 一種活生生的感覺 - 如果牆面瞬間崩解、消失，然後我發現我站在蕭瑟的海灘上跟外星人握手，我大概也不會覺得太訝異。

Consistency

I saw the ceiling darkened by the advance of the hours and, when the irises got used to the gloom, the faint glow printed on it by the streetlamp through the drawn curtains. It's as if I've been staring at ceilings my whole life while thinking about nothing in particular. Most often I found my thoughts drifting from one trail to the other, then on to something else, and later it would find its way back to the starting point. This process would go on like automation till thoughts gave way to slumber.

As I lay there on the bed in my friends' house I had a sudden feeling that my life reflects my thoughts in form - drifting from one place to the other familiarizing with and specialising in none. Where am I going and what to do next? In my case the latter conditions the former, yet it was the former that sets the goal for the latter. However, under close scrutiny it should be better described as both happening at the same time.

I have the rather unrealistic dream to write and publish travelogues, think of Paul Theroux or Michael Asher (British writer and desert explorer). Problem is, I couldn't figure out ways to get there. Two big reasons (or excuses if you insist) being: 1) domestic expectation (read: pressure) to establish a "stable career" and then a family of my own consisting of me, my wife and my children. Flagrant foul of which would result in great domestic disturbance bordering on the edge of a crusade against the offender. 2) doubt and fear of stepping into professionally unknown field at an age when your friends are happily making kids and big bucks at work. The resulting disorientation is great.

This dreadful state forces me to think quickly for even if my family should stop talking about it I couldn't drive it out of my mind. It has successfully taken over woman as my leading preoccupation. As a matter of fact, the idea of a girlfriend might even seem a bit unthinkable. These days I dedicate my time between soaking in photography and trying to figure out my career (and some other meaningless activities like staring into the ceiling), this may sound productive, but it is constantly interrupted by the inconsistency of my thoughts which has led me to my own wretchedness.

The Virtue of Writing

Too much convenience is bad for your health, while in modern society it's just all too convenient. I gave up on digital cameras because they leave no room for imagination, we use them precisely because they provide us with instant feedback at no additional cost. So I turned to film photography about 2 years ago and contrary to what people prophesied I'm still using my film camera, and most importantly, I finally find joy in it which digital failed to provide me with.

For the past 2 years I've somehow lost the habit of writing, something which I valued greatly for it served as a means of reflection and intimate friend that I don't have in real life. It was replaced by Facebook, I now have most of my friends up there, having access to their latest updates with the click of a mouse, yet the hole in me's grown bigger. I realized that Facebook is not the answer to my plight, and that I need to go back to my old practises.

I was surprised by Esther's remarks the other day telling me that when a friend asked her what would she like to read in English on a regular basis, the first image surfaced was the blog Old Magazine. I didn't know I had another reader apart from the toastman (haha)! Her letter was a reminder to what I enjoyed doing. I've been looking in the wrong direction for salvation, I should get back to writing and release my ghosts here.

Not as Free as a Bird

The need to be on the move, wrote the man sitting in front of the computer. The day before the day the man was writing these words Cecilia questioned him why, despite his proficiency in the local language and all the experiences of travelling alone, was he wasting his time staying home instead of being out there wandering around while he was still here in the foreign land.

His first reaction was of course to defend his own actions, but the words just fell short of escaping his parting lips. What reasoning could be the justification to his staying home all day long? There wasn't, and he knew it. He had, at the moment of being questioned, already several excuses conjured up to counter the attack, but he simply knew that she was right, these becauses were just excuses fabricated to cover up an ugly truth - he had no control over his own life.

Over time, he was getting used to the thinkings of people that don't move around that much. And he was somehow adapting to these ideas and accepting them as normal. Little did he know that this was taking its toll on his spirit. Weeks and months preceding to this present day when he was writing these words, he picked up a trace of some sort of suffocation - the nature of which remained unclear to him. Suffocation then led to gloominess, and gloominess led to a state of lethargy.

Then it finally dawned on him what was missing, and the remedy couldn't be more straightforward - he just needed to be on the road, to break free from these ideas that restrained him from breathing the free air. It was this very reason that he didn't defend himself when she questioned him. However, along with this realization also came the reaffirmation that man cannot be totally free from foreign influences most of the time, and this inability to be true to himself renders him unhappy.

Prosper Mérimée, 1845

Desire is a capricious thing, it plays with the reality, then it fucks you. This is a dual layer problem. You see on the tele the glamorous side of the life that is in the well-to-do Spain, and you imagine how good it would be living like that there with a nice, beautiful sheila. Then you proceed with seeing yourself there. Shortly after that, you actually believe that you're there, and so you're filled with a sensation of euphoria.

But of course, you are well aware that it's thousands of miles away. And the thing is you are happy about where you're at. You found yourself falling in love with this country full of chaos, misery, poverty and state corruption, yet populated by lovable people. O lovable, yes, you met her, and the scouts report that she's without commitment of any kind. Judging from her attitudes and the way she acts you can sense a trace of happiness. You are exhilarated.

Then desire makes its way into your thoughts, bringing along indecision. Experience teaches you that patience is a virtue, yet it also tells you that you are old enough to get serious about it before it's too late. This battle between fantasy and reality takes place every time you are close to felicity, and the result of the conflict is always you licking your wounds by yourself. This time around, however, you've decided to let fantasy controls you no more and set foot on solid ground.

A Contrast

When you speed past them in your car the question just pop up: am I worthy of all this?

Quite often you see these lower caste of the Eskimo guys on long stretches of the highway pushing their carts just to get someone to buy their ice creams.

There're people bearing the sun standing in the middle of the road cleaning your windscreen, selling you water, fruits, beans, pets, steering wheels, sun glasses, cell phone cases, slingshots and whatever else you can imagine. There's no age limit in this booming industry.

You used to wonder why can't you do something about it, but then you came to realise that by simply buying ice creams from them don't really change the situation and that after a while you just don't see them at all. You knew the world is not fair, but there are times that you just feel more so than ever. You should rejoice at your good fortune. There's a life, you think, and here's mine, two totally different worlds coexisting within such a short distance. At this, you can't detect a trace of smile on your face.

Overlaption

The remembrance of Nuria and the Spanish department transported you back to that place and time, and at that place you would remember - with fond memories - Nicaragua. So, while you're still in Nicaragua, you experienced a sensation of being at the same moment in two places separated in both space and time. This mixture of times confused you for a moment, therefore you were somewhat at a loss, and for a fraction of a second you actually thought you were back there thinking about where you are at right now. But, of course, that only lasted for a fraction of a second. What dawned on you was that you will inevitably miss this place, hence you were happy to be here.

Murmurs

The skeletons of two adults and two children lie curled-up, perhaps to save space. Alongside them are pots: gifts placed in the grave to use in the afterlife.

I wondered what were their stories and what will be mine.

Évidemment

Contingency is an interesting thing. The past is easily reawakened by an image, a smell, a song or simply a sensation. This "image, smell, song, sensation" is tagged to that memory by chance. Picture this, you were at home and your flatmate was listening to France Gall's Évidemment. Six years later, in another foreign land, you came across this song in your iTunes library, and so the familiar tune brought you back to the good old times and helped you to reconstruct better this bygone epoch, or simply that living room where the event took place. But note that this past could very well be related to another song, image, smell or sensation, Évidemment is not so evident as it might have seem.

Nevertheless, you did were transported back to that place and time, and along with this you remembered other things as well. A tour back to the past is always welcome, however, like what we'd said the other day, it brings both joy and melancholy. And as you are remembering the past with a mixture of feelings, you realize that the present will inevitably be memory in a future time, and that you will remember one of these days with "both happiness and pain" or of this particular morning in Managua in which you came across the song that made you remember Salamanca, and so in an attempt to pass that memory forward and to include her in it, you sent it to Ka.

The Impotence

You can live in a complete state of happiness when you don’t know a thing about this world, but once you are contaminated by the mundane matters, no matter how minute they are, there’s no going back to the good old days. You first wonder, then question, and in the end you want to do something. However, the reality is something far more complex than you’d ever imagined, and you find yourself shackled, unable to move or to act, but only to watch. Being forced into playing the role of a bystander is no joyous task, nor it brings any conscience to the mind. You see the injustice going on around you, you see the brave souls out there braving the elements fighting for their believes and their causes, you see the intimidation from the higher places, and you feel the urge to join them, to fight for something you can relate to. But you are also very aware of your current situation which impossibilitates you from carrying out any forms of tomfoolery.

You think to yourself with resentment of such perfect timing, how could this be happening? The situation is deteriorating around the clock, yet you're bound to leave for another land. A sense of powerlessness doesn't have to go over you to make you understand just how impotent you are. It's by no means like what they say in the telly ads, where a bunch of sunny fellas turn to the camera while dashing into the ocean waves crying cheerfully that you can decide how you want your life to be. I'm sorry, but it's just not like that at all. Sometimes the wave is just too strong and you get swept away so easily like blowing a dust off the table. Some congratulate you on your travelling to another country free of charge, while others think it's lucky to get away from the shit that's already been going on for months, but you just want to stay, as a freeman (in its relative sense, for you are never free), to fight for what you think is right. It's as disheartening and demoralizing as seeing what you've so painstakingly built over the years being destroyed in no time.

Paul Newman (January 26, 1925 – September 26, 2008)

All I know about Paul Newman is that he was a famous actor, so while I was reading the news and staring at the picture of him holding some trophy or something I experienced a surreal sensation going over me, it was the same sensation I felt while reading Nuria's email.

She said that the other day in the office someone brought up my name all of a sudden, so everyone started to discuss about my life in the army and imagining how I would look like with a butch haircut, then little by little the discussion died down to daily shores, and the subject was forgotten.

Vivaldi - Nisi Dominus, RV608 VII

09:50 23.09.2008

The world was set with a retro-futuristic style... We were a merrily newly-wed couple... One day she was violated... I sought revenge on the perpetrator... I failed in my vendetta... He escaped... He returned with more sinister intentions and minions.. Our lives acquired a fugitive tone...

It was blurring enough trying to remember it in the morning, let alone at 0855 of the next day while listening to a lecture. The thing about being in the army boot camp is the great deprivation of physical freedom - not being able to freely move around, not being able to move without getting an order. Every movement is conditioned, turn left, turn right, sit down, stand at attention, stand at ease, look straight ahead, eat, applause, jump, run, stop, drink, stand up, sleep, wake up, sing, gather, refill your water bottle, pee and shit, clean your plate, move forward, salute, go down stairs, change clothing and wipe the sweat off your forehead.

The picture of how openly and wholeheartedly you would greet and embrace your family and friends surface to your mind's eye and you take great pleasure in envisioning these images. You also think and dream(literally) about the sheilas. On the bus into the camp you looked out of the window thinking not about the days ahead, but about Evl, you knew why you thought about her at this particular moment, but that was a secret that you could never reveal to her - for maintaining your friendship's sake. The picture of her happily holding her niece by the beach turned you oblivious to the changes to the scenery and the dynamics on board the bus. You see her face, you hear her voice, you think about her life without you, and you sense two roads that will not cross path.

The other night you dreamt about CM leaning joyously in your arms. You were in an elevator that was going up. The setting was also retro-futuristic, just like Lang's Metropolis. Interesting.

The recurring images of them made the idle moments not only easier, but also blissful despite sorrowful at time. They offer a means of detachment and bring up genuine smiles upon your face. What's so curious about this fact is that the deprivation of physical freedom somehow brings about temporary freedom of imagination.

Popularity Can't Buy Life

Little did he know that he was the one who got once more lonely nights to spend now that the thesis is done. Nothing to do, no reason to stay up late in the study room, no where to go but home after the library's closed, but there's no one home to go back to. There're times that I love it, and there're times that I loathe it, but I pass through them one by one on my own all the time.

Reasons why I don't call people whose numbers I have in my cell when I'm caught in the mood is always the same: I don't feel like being funny, I don't like big noisy music nor smoke. I just want someone who can sit with me without words, without looking for a topic, nor excitements.

The Dark Seed

This woman, who wore an expression not unlike the one when a writer penned down the last letter to his masterpiece would find it hard to suppress, stood in her backyard next to the railroad with her baby, I suppose, in her arms came into view. She swayed gently and talked to the infant in such a way as if she was doing it an introduction to the train that pulled out of the station.

I suppose that if I had snatched that moment with my seldom used camera it would be a hell of a picture, one that's worthy to be put on the desktop as a remainder of the love that exists and surrounds us, of something worth fighting for. I also suppose that everyone is doing precisely the same thing, conscious or unconsciously, which ironically produces, or takes a part in its making, something called conflicts.

Ironic, eh? The child of love is conflict, this is where the arithmetic fails to reflect the reality, it's but abstraction. One plus one equals two, but love plus love equals not greater love but conflicts which in turn bring about destruction, death and the negation of love itself. Lives are ruined, hearts grow weary and peace is unattainable for everyone is dead focused on giving the best to their loved ones, or sometimes just the minimum survival. Again, we see that 1 the best for the loved ones plus 1 the best for the loved ones equals not 2 bests for the loved ones, but conflict, a struggle to get the upper hand so mine gets the best or gets to live. Well, we're not saying that there's anything wrong with fighting with your kids or whoever on your mind, hey we're all just doing it! but just that this alone attains not peace.

Hey Jude

Well, I just rang earlier to see how was her mom, who had an accident a couple of days ago, some kid on a scotter hit her from behind on the red light, and I was told that she died 2 days ago. Of course, it's not the first time someone died, but the feeling remains weird, gone out of existence just like that. I've been thinking about it again, well, it's always there on my mind, just that recently the frequency of its waves is on the rise.

Prior to the phone call I was on the fifth floor of the library, sitting next to the window with the sun infiltrating through the glass in a luminious yet not intrusive way, it was around a quarter to 4. The place was spacious and warm, it was cozy, my books and papers littered across the round table as I was the only master commanding it.

This question about "what's the point?", as you may very well have noticed in my earlier entries, has been one of the centre of focuses; this futility of being, this if we should return to a state of nothingness, which shouldn't be even called a "state" because being non-existent is not existing at all, is not occupying any unit whatsoever in the universe, is simply not there, and since this supposed "it" is not even there, how shoud "its" state be? to which "it" are we referring to exactly? that which is not there? which is that which? Anyway, it's a sodding dead end, man has been asking this same question since the dawn of History and still he cannot come up with a satisfactory answer, one that puts his mind to rest in peace. He has so far failed in his attempt, it's futile, and not going anywhere but to embitter onself, yes! embitter oneself! Despite the fact that I knew it all along, I didn't quite realized that what I've been doing was assassinating myself!

So with this not so novel realization came two choices, I could either go on like this for the rest of my life, or I could let go and enjoy my life (well, it's not that you can tell from the appearances, but appearances hardly matter). By "let go" of coure I'm not insinuating giving up completely of pondering on it or doing something so totally stupid that puts my very existence on the verge of extinction, on the contrary, I know I'll keep thinking abou it, that is something which is still beyond my power to change, but it should not prevent me from enjoying my life.

Scenic

I took the train back home a day prior to the election day. Before I reached the station I thought it would be packed with heads eagering to carry out their rights, instead I was shocked to find out about the state of political apathy, well, I can surely understand the dislike towards politics in Taiwan, but the unwillingness to hold on to one's own right is beyond all comprehension, and don't justify yourselves with exams and papers or that kind of shit while watching your goddamn stupid telly programs where a bunch of stupid teens make fun of each other or like rubbish, because I'm not less stressed than you're.

Anyway, let's get back to the train station. So I got this nice window seat for all my through-the-framed-glass pleasure. The train pulled in one of the stations, the curtain slowly disappeared and revealed the scene - a deserted and partly darkened bench next to a lamppost. Then among the lot that walked into the stage was a female character who first vanished to the other edge, but then decided to come back looking to both directions as if she was waiting for someone, or probably just unsure about whether this was her train, with a look that tells you that that someone failed to show up.

Upon not getting a satisfying answer from her cellphone, she stood there for a while, not knowing what to do, and kept her glances to one side as though trying to avert eye contact with the audience, an attempt to hide her thoughts from the outside world perhaps, out of gloom or custom we do not know, for masquerading our feelings is no alien practice. So, what do to now? That is the question. And then perhaps a decision had been made, for she sat down on one edge of the bench. Then with a humming sound, the platform was brought back to life and slowly pulled the scene away while she still looked to the side, and filled it with darkness.

The World is Not Enough

In this world in which we inhabit we are unable to express ourselves truthfully, or at all, and an alternative is thus required because man's heart is not content. Throughout the history it found its outlet in art under its various forms. In recent years, it found in blogs an ideal, free and most of all, least time-consuming means to compensate the incompetence. Express yourself, the motto of all blogs is thus because that's what you are incapable of.

The virtue of virtual reality lies in its nature- virtual, which inherently disconnects it from the non-virtual. Hence all virtual expressions of the sentiment is to be disengaged automatically from the individual, which is non-virtual, the moment it is typed. The daily interaction between men ceased to have significances of any kind for the virtual has taken over the non-virtual as the supreme contender in this game of communication.

In consequence, the virtual becomes the real, and vice versa. And man, despite being aware of the substitution taking place, is powerless in this regard for he knows not how to express himself in a real setting occupied by equivalents. The counter measure cunningly devised is that of frivolity. Under its guise, man is to survive the day and head back for the safety of virtual reality. As a result, there is nothing left in the world but the virtual, ergo the world is not enough.