Gary, the Unicorn, and the Warrior

      These blades we carry all along our paths, believing they should give us some guaranty, a sense of security, and a false impression of having gained some control over «the end» just because we wield certain means to it. The infuriating desperation for this certainty we sometimes admit to each other, secretly, in whispers, when there is no stranger around and when we are less – by a great deal less than usual – angry at the world. Carefully, so that unintended ears shall not hear, we admit the dirty little secret to each other, but never to ourself.

     It is first and foremost loneliness which drives us to take up a tool designed for cutting, for clearly cutting off; cutting off from people, from time, cutting off a piece of this world and claiming it as our own. How well did that work out for any of us in the end?

     An official apology should be in order, though, since the two of you should not have had to pay the price. None of you would have had to suffer any moment of it your lives long, were it not for my selfish desire to feel a little less lonely in the struggle to cut open a path through life.