There are illusions in every fold of a page, every shot of a film and every step we take. There's a masquerade where dancers seduce us to a familiar melody.
Illusions deceive us, they do, but that's when reality strikes. When you realise that that girl staring at you doesn't want anything, you are sunk to the lowest reaches. The years pass by at an alarming rate and all the while all we can do is jump around in the folly of some amusing delusion engendered by the tyrannic power of our imagination: blessed in a life with some meaning, cursed to forever live with a lack of logic.
And emotions, they act and try to explain things that aren't really that way.
But we love those many illusions. We love those shadows on the walls as we kneel, shackled to the scene where men make shapes with various objects. We love those red, green and blue pixels that contrast with those cyan, magenta and yellow pixels. We love those dreams that we take for reflections of a better world in which we desperately try to escape reality.
We are shackled to the pillars of reality and illusions, and only one thing can set us free.
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I might have dreamt all the while I filled in that form and put crosses in those boxes. I handed it back to a man who had once taken the same decisions as I did. He's like us all, he's a human, but he's part of them, and so as typical adolescents we evoke his name in derision. I see the creases on his forehead and even though he is supposed to be that great Collossus in a big office with a big suit, I can see in his eyes the trace of a tired life.
I signed the form with my own blood, and only now do I feel I made some sort of mistake. I chose the easy way out, the highway out of a challenge, the way out of a life I could have earned my worth in. And I know, oh how I know that some filled the form like me not to get out of a tough spot, but because they truly wanted to do this, and use this for the life they wanted.
I feel like I don't fit in what I wished to do for now. I feel like my participation to society would only be superficial, written wankery to prove that I'm the most subtle of the thin dicked ugly bastards that amuse old men so that I can feed my family or my ambitions. There should only be few of us. What society needs is those people who sacrifice themselves in the name of human progression. Thankfully we have many men and women up and ready to jump into the fire or bite the bullet in our place so that the rest of us can run along and live our lives as usually.
I may talk to this to a lot of you but most of you just wave to me in an attempt to ignore what I say, or you even try to turn the subject around. I understand you, and I praise that blind determination you all have. I wish I wouldn't think about things like this, but since those realists bitches appeared into my litterary cursus and whined about how the world wasn't represented like it actually was (that's the whole point about art, idiots, getting away from this stale reality) I began to see things differently, and I understand why some of those guys are so sad and disgusted about life. There are moments when a rationalist like me just wants some bright light brutally shone in my face to blind me from things that are around me. What I need is another illusion.
Red
