Maintaining this strange area comes with fragmentation. Some points of no return. Where’s my Virgil?
There are some words that, when written, crumple all the borders. It’s that point where you say, “Ah, so I really would never link this to my real life identity.”
Not to say that there is a real life identity :-)
Ghostpowers!!
Still, half of what’s written stomped that border down. Only to invade the emptied city with pottery scattered along brick walkways. Let the quilt flow off the balcony; there’ll be no one to catch it.
Swan diving along the petite bridges between districts, the army in a faux-celebratory mood. Little did they know the spikes deployed right below the shimmy waters.
Little did they know that crushing such borders comes with a split mind, a departure.
Just as lies are chains, so are split identities; and I’m not even deluded to think that this fissure comes with any benefits or certainty. All required is a clever phish or some logs to trace an IP. Maybe the devices I use are backdoored from first boot. Fragile!
Such paranoia may invite feasters – so let’s not grumble so much.
All of this is not to mourn, but rather to display as a morbid plan and yet appropriate for the landscape.
With whatever spectre fed as you lay each word, each smithed-brick for a cathedral of split-personalities, you’ll find it only grow restless and, if not gnaw you apart, consume you in the process.
Maybe there’s something peaceful about maintaining this lab experiment.