Into Darkness

Let your guards down, we are here to shoot each other freely with our creativity. Harmless to the body yet the most dangerous to the mind. Yes, yes, we'll bring out every single fucking thing we have deep down in that mess of stories and make a new one out of them. Let's create a new life now.

To begin this little honesty game, I will first state the obvious: you are a liar, so am I. We are liars who always falter when asked a question because, you know, we have to recall all the lies we’ve spread around before. We put the poison in people’s minds, just a fraction that will take over the rest later on. You’ve started it; you’ve put the poison in my mind but I was dazed enough to ignore it, so it stopped trying to dominate me. Yet, for no apparent and said reason, you haven’t. I call it craving for dominance, you say it’s only help. However, we are different kind of liars: You have a voice and I don’t. Now, my boy, that’s some big difference. I seem to enjoy the whispers in the dark - like secrets you share with a companion of old times - as opposed to your favorite exultant roars. The bullshit in the books... the books say liars end up on the same road but look where we are now. North Pole and South Pole, shivering, waiting sun to come around, hoping for the hopeless, whispering and roaring.

You are wild, so am I. We don’t listen to anyone but ourselves - okay, maybe not. You don’t listen to me whereas I hear your calls and orders. When the cycle began, the wildness was a treacherous characteristic to have, especially when it was combined with naivety. It sill is but we grew to control it. At least, I think so. Maybe not. We still go senselessly crazy when we hear the drums coming from the forest we call “home.” Don’t pull the “I-have-no-idea-what-you-are-talking-about” shit, you know what I am talking about. Thump, thump, thump. It vibrates through our body and the blood flows through our veins so fast that muscles are forced to move. Thump, thump, thump. The beat. Thump, thump, thump. Your heartbeat, my heartbeat. The call from home that says “Come back to your true self, children. You are the lasts of wilds. Save yourself, not the mundane.” We claw at the ground, claw at blocks of ice to reach home where we should find ourselves again. One more time. Once again, only to hear that lovely sound of knowing what you are. Each time the drums begin pounding, we start another journey home. We haven’t been able to complete one but we will. Hope is not dead yet and last time I checked, it had a long life expectancy.

You are dreamy, so am I. We always dream of lands that don’t exist in the present time but might in future. We believe. I whisper and you scream. “We know.” Stupid as we are, we just are. If our knowledge and thought is all we can have, we must make some use of it. People can’t see beyond the horizon; just like this metaphor, they are lame. This is also why we poison others with lies; we want to keep our dreamland safe until they see the world from our point of view. Give me a fucking break, you can’t pretend all these things are not true. If you are worried that people will take over that dreamland, I say you should calm down. They know it exists but they won’t be as powerful as we are. How do I know? I think. I dream. I know. But they don’t. In that dreamland that they always fail to understand, we release all the evil that world put in us and be the wilds again. Release the pain, the anger, the grief, the despair and the logic. Release everything but stay dreamy, wild and a liar. Then, wake up the next morning at places you would never want to be but have to. We think about that dreamland when we are doing something we are beholden to, wishing for a small escapade in the depths of dreamland’s forests. A wish, another day, just breathe.

You are real, so am I. We seem like divine ones to their eyes but we are flesh and blood. We can get hurt if one knows where to hit. We hurt differently though; you go for a drama and I keep quiet so people will pay attention to you and you will turn the volume of your screams the fuck down. So is they do, so is you do. We adore profanities and have them around the tongues we speak as much as we can. Fuck, fuck, fuck. See? They can’t fight us anymore. We cry, we bleed and we will die. Yet, I am sure we’ll make the best of it. The best of all. Divine conspiracy with no divine players. Plans ready, equipment new and reality check done. Of course, it’s not an “end of the world” thing, it’s more of a quest. A quest to call every almost-dreamy mind -every mind we have poisoned- to the dreamland and into the wilderness. An army of poisonous minds. Fuck, bring it on. 

Now that all this nonsense crap has been said I feel as though I have to draw a conclusion. What conclusion could there be? I shot you, now it’s your turn to do the same. Do it before brilliance of this fades. Do it before I turn the page and write another 3 pages about how far gone we are. Do it before I draw my very obvious and simple conclusion: you are lost, so am I. 

So many beautiful things and none real.

What a shame.

Fuck it.

Story is not over and will never be.

#ThomasBergersen