If you see this, start to follow

I want you to believe what I say. There is nothin left to say. Writing a novel to make some money. All I need is one follower. Just to k ow one person reads what it is I do. Sometimes I forget what it is I do. What we do most of the time is what we need to do. There is only one way to chage this but I am not sure if the time to change has passed. We are moving towards the final chapter. Back to the nowhere.

Something else from the middle ground. A never before, never original push from nowhere. Where does it go from here. Words and more words put out there and only read by me. There is success to he had but not real success. The only success we can have is to be able to send those words out there. I am not smart enough to work out things like that. Somebody smarter than me works that out. Should we stop trying because we are not going to acheive all the promise of our childhoods. Watch the potential and see it fail.

What is success? I want to make sure I know what success is.

It's been a long time.  I thought things were going well but there is always sometime when things start to go wrong.  Writing is hard but should be the thing that makes me free.  What do I want from writing?  I am never sure there is anything there that will make any difference.  I work all the time never free to do what I want. I make good money but never enough to live on.  It seems like it is the same for us all.  Looking for the free space, looking for the difference that makes us something special.  Do we all want to be special?

There are always questions, there are always more chapters to the book.  Nobody gets this but I think I get it.  My confidence comes and goes but what is the difference.  Confidence makes us able to interact that is all.  Sometimes interaction is over-rated.

We need to make this the best we can.  Should I start to talk about my character Rabbit or can I get away with the stream style.

Style from the stream.  Give me a job where I work from 9-5 and that is it.  But I have more now.

The search is for things of beauty. Things of beauty are what makes a difference. A difference between the 9-5 and what is outside this. How do we get stuck in working for living. Working and dying as fast as we can. Surviving until the weekend.

The nowhere is just the beginning.

Gradually putting things together.  Gradually pulling things apart.  Watching for the gaps that appear .  Having nothing special to say.  The special is where the deception is hidden.  We are nothing but animals.  Nothing but animals grubbing about in the dust.  It is all about the competition.  It is all about whether I am doing better than you.  Can you still write a novel with no structure and no no characters.  Is a novel still the same thing.  Is it the same conception that Dickens or Dostoyevsky had?   Too many questions and no answers.  The constant questions a distraction from the white spaces between the areas of uninterest.  The white spaces of mathematical interest.  The white spaces that we all see but some of us ignore and some of us obsess about.  The white spaces that might mean there is something more.

I will never understand where I am. I never want to understand where I am. Watching is what I do. Watching you and the you next to you do the same stuff over and over again. The borderline between the watching and the doing. The pointlessness of both. The nihilistic world view kicking in. Can we ever get away from the nihilistic view point? Is this viewpoint pushing us away from the hidden?


Questions and no answers. There are no answers but only questions. If we ever answer the questions we will see where we are and the illusion is destroyed. If we know where we actually are then I might scare us to death. What do you do for a living? It means nothing whatever you do. You are not special. There is no special. There is the lucky and the unlucky. The unlucky are becoming the silent majority. The majorty that will never rise up. The majority that will get stuck between those that take and those that take.

Sometimes nothing comes from nothing. Where the sum of what we do is nothing. Nothing is just a concept. This whole novel is just a concept. I feel that everything that we do is just a concept. I always get a feeling that there is something hidden from me. A secret that everybody else knows and won't tell me.

I think this is called paranoia. These are normal feelings and the feelings that make us feel special. I kind of know I am not special. That is why there is more interest for me in writing this.

Is anything I do special?

Does this make any difference to what I write. This is hard fought and hard won. I find most things easy. Most things are far too easy. What is difficult is moving away from what is easy. That sounds really stupid but I am trying to work through what I want to say.

My biggest fear is being you. My second biggest fear is not being you.

Where do we go from here. My guess is your biggest fear is not being you. I am working on the assumption that you are reading this. This puts you in a certain demographic. I don't understand this but let's move forward. Nothing works but where we are.

Again I worry, where do we go?

Will anybody follow?

Nothing makes sense but this doesn't matter. It is the search that messes us up.

With no search we can be happy.

Moving to where my world begins is the beginning. I never see the beginning, I just see the end.

What comes next? Watching a world of genius. Watching a world of shit. Nothing makes sense and nothing else matters.

Life is hard for those in the middle.

Those in the nowhere ground.

Where success is all that matters and all that is unachievable.