These blogs are a test.
A test and a present.
Because to engage with them is to review them and to review them is to either resist and sit in a binary box bound by the hegemonic constructions of academia. Or You can challenge yourself to see how many meanings are meant.
This may be the only time I write where a green door might not be a green door at all.
The “Other” We can do that yeah?
‘The other one, the one called†’… Andrews.
The “writer,” that does not get cited in academia.edu.‡
The “writer” that will write his own book reviews on Goodreads.
The “writer” that ticked a box to prove he was human in a Minimal Turing Test.†‡
The voice in first-person.
The distance between the “I” and the name.
The “I,” closer to a “real person” but further from the truth.
The “fictive” and the “creative non-fictive”.
Unknown in most #Non-Area-Specific-Medias.
A “real… Self”.
A “non-aggression treaty”.
A realisation of self sonder and a sellout to his own voice.
The one things avoid.
My feet strike the floor to the beats of songs pressed in my ears by wires and other such real-realisms,
they pound their way across a cobbled road,
A cobbled road in a generic seaside town with an economy propped up by students that are in turn disliked by the locals as reward.
No real reason.
Other than to look at a wooden gate signifying the start of a front garden.
The garden of “Andrews” found from the snail mail address.
I see his name on facebook.
I like crude humor, cheese, top hats, the taste of sweetness and the prose of Pratchett;
‘he’ shares these preferences, but in a vain way that turns them into the attributes of an actor.‡‡
The real goes on.
The real goes on.
The real goes on so that ‘Andrews’ can exist.
And yet I live.
I water and feed it,
Occasionally rest it to help “Andrews’s” body carry on living,
so that “Andrews” can spout nonsense words written down in places that do not matter.
This justifies me.
The “me” and the “I” and the “Aye, aye Captain!” behind the spouts.
“Andrews” finds no security or self in the spouts of “I”.
Or is it…
I find no self nor secure securities in “Andrews”?
‘The writing and the life are thus separate things.’†‡‡
The big other is the rules.
The small other is personal perception.
The real is binary truth.
The small other is the personal perceptions of the rules dictated through the other.
Hello other. I’m two of the three. Guess what you are?
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