I hope everything is fine with you.
My life here is okay, a bit monotonous sometimes now. I stopped writing altogether. I hope you unlock Pandora's Box someday. I am words-starved. I want to read something that feels like I've read something; like you know, verses or maybe just strings of words that seep inside you and fill you with a riot of thoughts, feelings or probably that do nothing at all, but just reach your soul. I want something to reach my soul, you could say. I realize how futile it is to write when what you write doesn't reach your reader's soul.
Maybe that's not why one writes, on an afterthought. One writes because words suffer inside one's soul unless he gives them away, one at a time.
I imagine if I were living, I would have so many words to give away. It would be interesting to have them reach someone else's soul, churn up more words, words that would incite someone else's soul to churn up even more words in another's, and then my words would be immortal in a strange way, even if they got lost in translations.
Well, also, not very important. And you will never get to know if something like this happened. Or when this chain broke.
Must I leave this discussion?
Here, I swing from terrible boredom to intense working bouts to horrible breakdowns. There are brief flashes of romance sometimes. Work sprawls all over my week, followed by heavy drinking and drunken dancing on fridays and typically hungover saturdays.
I am not afraid of separations anymore. Friends, men, enemies come and go. There is no story taking shape. Its a formless improvisational theatre scene. Some random dialogues and moments, saying yes to most things, enjoying sometimes, not enjoying sometimes. When I think of my life here, frozen frames come to my mind, moments where I had fun, nothing deep or intense, but things don't have to have depths. I have realized, mostly people try to rationalize everything. The human race loves to find a pattern, a meaning, an order in the chaos. What I think I realized is this: anything can happen and without a pattern and totally useless but they can be still worthy, because they made you feel alive at that particular moment.
I have exhausted all my stories. My 6 months in Vienna fit in less than a page.
Best,
Rai
P.S: I re-read my letter to you. (I always prefer 'letter' to email). I am going to post this in my blog, because this is the most from-the-soul I have been in a long, long time.
