вторник, 31 октомври 2017 г.

Prologue

My life was never planned well enough for me to be unhappy. It was always a free fall toward the inevitable happy end. Or so I thought. Because, you see, having a plan means you anticipate a result. You expect the Universe to rearrange itself in a particular way. But you fail to notice that it is humanly impossible to predict the chaotic mash of consequences that is our cosmos. Yet I find we are addicted to anticipation. It is one of the acts that helps us make sense of everything. With the death of religion, and the unimagining of our Gods, plans for the future became our refuge from the unknown. The atheist modern man needs to believe that our world is, for the most part, predictable, for if the contrary is true, his life would be controlled by "chance". What then, one could argue,  is the "chance" for God(s) to exist in a Universe so vast and chaotic? It is a question we often ask ourselves about extraterrestrial intelligent life, but not so about God. Maybe it's the evolution of Gods in our own mythos, from harbingers of chaos to enforcers of order and justice, that led to this peculiarity. As we started to shape our world more and more according to our fancy, Gods became more and more trustworthy. They became less demanding and more subtle until finally they were spent out and disenchanted, like a premature marriage to a high school crush. Still for our ancestors it was obvious that our fate is not our own, as I have seen for myself. I've known fate's ugliest of faces and I've been touched by its softest carresses. I've been lifted to the highest peaks and plunged into the deepest caverns, by this sometimes cruel, sometimes kind, but ultimately indifferent entity we call chance-luck-fortune... Why so many words to describe only one phenomenom?
But I've allowed my train of thought to roam too far...
I, myself, was never good at planning. I never expected anything from anyone. And not because I was self-sufficient. Oh, no, God forbid! It is mostly because I never believed the world works that way. I took whatever came my way - good or bad, and I was happy. Or should I say, I wasn't unhappy. Until I met him.
He was the equivalent of a "tall dark stranger" in my life, though I am a man and, as far as I know, not homosexual. He came one night like a storm, like the God of Chaos himself, and disappeared as suddenly, leaving only shards of a broken life behind. My life. But that story will have to wait. I am only in the beginning of my tale and already racing ahead of myself.
As I said, I was never good at planning. This, I hope, will explain the poor literary quality of this transcript and its characters, as it is written the way memories come back to my mind. Foggy and uncertain, without the privilege of charts and plot summaries. If you could forgive an old man one final extravagance, than you may procede with deciphering the tangled strings of my mind. If not, you are advised to spend your time elsewhere.

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