Virtualife

It's about 16 years now I'm officially online; I was here because of my job then, and because of my pleasure now, yet so many things have changed since the past century, including what a job -or duty- really is, and most of all what pleasure could ever be. That is, not physical at all.

I proved myself to be the greatest Ace ever the other day, while watching a JB collection that I downloaded as soon as I discovered the meaning of that word; as I wrote once, you can lie about everything to everyone, except for yourself and what you really want; that's it. In the 90s we didn't call those JBs, but that's just another name for the same old crap; which is something that doesn't affect me anymore, in any way.

This is the real change, in a man's life; even though you're well aware of the illusion of your flesh, you can't even think to have control on it since such nasty things are able to modify your metabolism, and you know you just cannot lie about that. You must recognize the falseness in that solid reality without even thinking, that is just what we read about it when we used to study on books; something we can actually give a shape in words like everything else, in the world of words, and yet the very essence of it, of its unreality, the magick source of the very human paradox, as manifestation of maya; because eyes are "windows to the soul", and it just takes one single look in there to understand, to know at once everything you have to know. Those eyes show the Great Fake itself, that is what Italian people call "specchietto per allodole" more literally than figuratively in this case, which strangely enough has no equivalents -let's say- in English, and yet is so fitting for a bird hugger as the blogger is and, in particular, for the most "recent", the ultimate, definitive, alleged temptation I ever had to face; more and more the real falseness of this world tends to reveal itself as soon as you know that that is just a word, plus "L". That all of this is just a word game, where your name is the main dilemma, and the only possible solution; that you are a word in a universe made of words, in a whole history of words; where the most incomprehensible is the most valuable, and all that one really needs to know is the inexpressible.

After sixteen years dwelling more or less daily in the virtual world, I'm finally aware of my offline virtuality; in the meantime my body is as bunch of bits flowing on the web and it seems to be way useful like that, where some few hundreds users, yet virtually all of them, may enjoy its shape for their own private pleasure; because that was my ultimate bound to it, the only one that anybody could never deny, as long as we're breathing at the bottom of the sky. I'm not particularly proud, nor ashamed of it; now I know that was just necessary to understand all of this, the inevitably fuzzy mumbo-jumbo about indescribable things that so many authors had to face and handle, in order to sell their ideas. Once again, this time the author was the only one in need to buy it. Still incomprehensible, but eventually valuable; at least for the blogger. My detachment doesn't seem to make my inner beauty less remarkable to the eye of the seer, but then again, my showing it through my outer things, my limbs, its lowest element, along with the very positive response from the seers, suggests that I'm still walking the right path.

My secret ID isn't indeed my secret me, but the direct way to know what is it all about from the strangers' POV, so that their reactions could suggest me something of what I'm not allowed to see. And no, my dearest user, I am NOT an "Adonis", but it's through your eyes I can see how divine I am now, being nothing.