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Two forums—the public, and that’s where it stays. Two brothers, but only one son. Two eggs, but only one bird. And the vault, always there, in front of the stage. And that’s it. Lights out. The show is over, another begins.

The original post for this Friday was five pages long. Raw. Different from anything before. So different, in fact, that I had to put it back in the drawer. Personally, I found it much more interesting—potentially intriguing for those who share a certain shade of history. That piece deserves its own special stage. Not this one. But most of you won’t even know what I’m talking about. I know, I know. I’m not saying much—how could you know, right? I know. I know. Very few people in this world know more about me than what I’m willing to give away.

Having said that…

This is a post where I—right now—write about… what exactly? There was something I wanted to share this week, of course. But why? There are things that are unique, perhaps even helpful to others who might relate, but why reveal my flanks? Why lose the shadow that has come about through true natural law? Perhaps due to confusion? Definitely confusion. Few people tell us what to do in life, and rarely is anyone right. Rarely, when it comes to life. But then it dies. The script. The post that was written, planned, ready to be posted. Unless it is reframed.

Is my writing now confusing? Frustrating? I’m actually asking you (not that I have the pleasure of getting an answer from your side at this moment). I thrive in being vague—speaking about something while never truly revealing what I mean. And no, no—just don’t. Please don’t. Give up if you’re thinking, I’m gonna figure this guy out. The number of times I’ve heard that before… When I hear it, I chuckle. It’s like watching a guy stare up at a skyscraper—nothing but glass on one side—saying, Yeah, I’m gonna climb that.

Not with me. I’m too vague. Too flat a glass. No grooves on this mountain to latch onto. Slippery to the grasp. Elusive. Vague to the limits when my brain decides me to be. I’ve mastered that skill for years—since ever—to the point of being completely fluent in it, unconsciously. Impenetrable. Too vague in its vagueness.

But hey, if you’re a genius and can read through me, feel free to introduce yourself. You might just be that one human being with some serious psychological powers—the Einstein of psychology.

Digress.

This state of writing—being vague and all—this disorganized free flow of thoughts… Perhaps it’s part of the evolution of this blog. It was heading toward oversharing. I can’t allow that anymore. Not here. A public place is public, and always will be. What’s the beauty of life if everything is saturated, overexposed, and known? Shadows give an image its beauty. Why would I take that away? I can’t.

Shadow posts for the shadows. Public for the public. Only public ones exist in reality, because reality is what we say it is—not what it actually is. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be attached to a country, or to any particular group at all.

Evolution of writing.

What I’m up to is… here we go again. Thoughts wandering. It’s easy to share things about yourself in writing, staring at a monitor when you’re alone. I know it. I’ve seen it for myself. And here lies the dilemma. The crossroad. Which way to go?

Self-expression is already covered. But this isn’t a place for full self-expression now, is it? There are better spaces for that. So where do I go? What is this blog going to be—for now?

How about a talk?

Can you even have a discussion with a reader? Or is it just a monologue? My voice—your voice in your head—saying things, as you, the observer, listen, judge, interpret… filtering it all through the content of your mind, your past, your beliefs, and so on.

So what do we do?

Said I, as if I’m going to get an answer from you. These words are frozen. The real hands that wrote this will be long past the moment of writing—especially after upload. A child of the moment.

How did you even find this place?

Why are you reading this?

You have to be. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have registered what these words have said to you. Buuuuut… I digress.

Or should I introduce another character? A second voice? Make it a dialogue—an internal one.

What do you say?

– No.

– What do you mean, no?

– I don’t know. I don’t even know why I’m here.

– I need a… you know, I need an object, a second mind, to see where this blog is heading.

– Well… how am I supposed to help?

– Imagine you’re on a stage.

– Where’s the script?

– It’s free flow, freestyle—whatever you want to call it.

– What would you do in my place?

– If I just suddenly appeared on an imaginary stage with some guy rambling about something he doesn’t even understand himself?

– Yeah.

– Well… I would—look. Observe.

Why does this imaginary place even exist?

Why do we even have faces that we don’t see—staring at a screen, watching these letters appear as the human body sits there, in front of the monitor, looking at sentences and getting a weird, meta vibe?

I’m in the room now. Sitting in front of a monitor, fingers typing on the keyboard. Somehow, I was lost in something we call imagination—visualization. Seeing things that aren’t really there. And when you visualize, you stop paying attention to your senses. You don’t see what’s actually happening. You don’t register what you hear.

Daydreaming, they call it.

Zoning out.

Some people don’t have it.

There was this one girl I met—I asked her if she “sees” the plot of a book when she reads. If she sees the characters speak, move—like watching a movie. I thought everyone was like that. But some people don’t have that ability. No visualization. No high-level imagination—no inner eye that sees the unseen.

If my real eyes saw things that weren’t there, I’d be concerned, to say the least.

But the inner eye…

And I’ll leave it at that.