the year that was

So here I am looking back at the year and before I start reading the Best of’s lists, choosing best flicks and great songs, I ponder about this country, and… oh boy….the year that was! I realize I live  in a country where its congress investigates social climbing and party crashing in Washington, as well as if chimps are pets to be kept at home (after one was accused of improper behavior), while the economy is still in the slumps, and unemployment rates soar. I live in a place where hordes stare in front of the TV after a father pimped the image of his child pretending he was lost in a balloon in the sky. I see the new york media thrive in unemployment publishing its meaty Daily Gloom for everyone to suck on. New York! who knew!?! after having gone through the worst, where’s the spirit for chrissake? Maybe I am an optimist being realistic, certainly am not a pessimist. But ah….the irony.  It’s been a year of Bernie Maddof. And me, a highly qualified, exceptionally talented, and kick ass amazing executive over a year unemployed.  I do look forward though and expect the best. And my name is Candide and I live in the best of worlds (grin). Well for the first time in many years I focused on personal relationships, something that was in the back seat. I’m living the most challenging relationship ever, where I get to discuss everything and all things, and that is great and exhausting at times. It is intimidating to unprepared men. It is adult and it is humane. I can easily state that I, we, grew as human beings, and hopefully will have a wonderful continuum….. He lies.

metafiction

I have started to generate my reader. “The fly on the wall, the curious, the corporate, any given giant looking in through the glass to find my soul. Because you have made him or her be. He or she is the hit on this blog, where I list my musings in the universe of pop culture, media and the intimate self. At the same time I struggle with the idea of being the narrator of a fictional story. The fact that I am building my narrative in life, narrating my musings online makes me a fictionist. Do I truly have the ability to see through the mirror? Or am I daydreaming and delusional?

I, the author start writing about you the reader. You the reader-given the enormous amount of text at your fingertips online and the possibility of playing a game with me about returning to human settlement…whatever that is…. start writing cutting and pasting what you would like to read from keywords. In doing this you are authoring me to the dystopic middle landscape.

Lifespan, lifescape, lifestyle, and game. I read about the human experiment of 5,000 years and in any fictional character I hear my voice. It’s the social fiction that makes me transport myself into the story. Like blogging or tweetering. I cannot lose touch with my sensibilities and perform to my writing. I feel daunted because nothing really matters when you are just the narrator. Ignorance is bliss. Silence is bliss. But voicing out my thoughts is part of my self.