Is it possible one can be his or her own fictional character of the book he or she is writing or wants to write? Or are you reading yourself? Who are you besides words and grammar? Who are you without stories to tell and the story others regard you as?

Yesterday I went to the cinema with Alwin. We saw 'A lovesong for Bobby Long'. It struck me, this movie, because it contains exactly that what keeps on occupying my brain lately. I wonder when and if I'm real since I seem to be busy describing everything, controlling everything by words each hour, each day again. What am I without the romantic, dramatic way of interpreting the world? I live my life as was it a book which I write myself. Could it be possible, for once, not to write but to just be? Let others do it or not. Could it be possible to have a drink with my brother, smoke a cigarette, staring outside, thinking my thoughts, being together with Alwin...without putting it all on a imaginary stage?

By writing this, by thinking of all those weblogs in this world, I feel recognised somehow; isn't everyone who tries to share his or her life with through media like this, trying to write his own life? Are you real or are you a character which you made up for yourself to show the world? Am I real or am I what you want me to be, reading this, getting these thoughts I share with you, into your brain?

All is fictional, especially the truth for it's what you want it to be.