Treasure chest

[picture: Shinya in action, the fantastic drummer of Dir en Grey]

I went through my usual summer cleaning binge. I threw away stuff, recycled old magazines, gave books and items to friends or charity, recycled old letters from people I no longer am in contact with. Suddenly, while being amidst a mountain of torn paper I stopped fully, because I found a small pile of letters. They were the letters my fictional characters had written to the characters of another lady. We intended to write stories together but this never happened as she was ill and we eventually lost contact fully. But the letters were there; I had kept copies. First letter I came across was the one gentle Sergios had written to one of her vampire characters. I paused and re-read it.

It is hard for another person to understand why a writer may feel the way they do about a particular character. After all they are not real, right? But Sergios is or rather was me. All my characters are pieces of my personality, facades of what I am, was or could be. And as such I love them more than I love my own two hands. My hands will wither and rot one day, but my characters are immortal; they are the closest thing I have to a soul.

I stood for a while. Remembered all the things I know about my dear Sergios. Felt very depressed because he belongs to a different story line and the copyrights for that world belong to a company, so I can never have anything published. I wallowed in my misery for a little while and eventually scolded myself because I once more remembered what any serious magic practitioner of magic (and anyone familiar with the fundamentals of physics) must not forget: energy is NEVER lost. It changes form but never vanishes. The solution had been there all along: I slapped my forehead and concentrated, then called upon the Liberating One and handed them all to Him. There you go, these are my creations, the closest thing I have to a legacy. Take the old characters, the undeveloped stories, all those "what ifs" that will never take place in any world and return them all to the Heart, the Creator/Creatrix. Let Him/Her have it all back. They were once born in dreams, I now return them all to the Womb of dreams to be transmuted and reborn and returned to me to a new form. He naturally was only too happy to do this, and I was not happy at all (because I am such a insecure, sentimental sucker) but felt released. I bet that if a child was looking at the sky that night they would see this flock of multicoloured pegasi passing by and vanishing in the black horizon...

Ahhh, what the hell. Some things are never meant to be. Back to my boring life of blowing up reality, snuggling with Archangels, scratching Yahweh's face because he kept bugging me and showing me his hurt nail, slapping the asses of Japanese rock superstars silly because they won't let me be, fondling the Babylon whore and lending her money and getting into the pants of my female email pals in dragon form during my sleep. Now, if only I could figure out a way to win half a million euro, it would simplify my life a lot but spare me none of the drama.