A writer should have this little voice inside of you saying, Tell the truth. Reveal a few secrets here. – Quentin Tarantino
Frustrated, The Man sat there and looked at the effervescence of his computer screen from within a desert of red. Outside of his window, the kangaroo which had been plotting for months to kill him remained there as if nothing was afoot.
The Man, eating Vegemite by the spoonful since he couldn’t use his barbie without fear of the kangaroo, was in disbelief with what had transpired in recent months. It’s as if, in his younger age, he was wiser than now. Or, a thought in the back of his head, a creeping schizophrenia was setting in.
“I need a surf, just to clear my thoughts,” he mumbled to himself.
He knew he wanted nothing to do with that which he created – his Frankenstein – the minute Gavin visited the CIA. Not long before that, when WikiLeaks turned to Bitcoin after Visa and Mastercard shut off their account, he knew the “stampede” was coming. He knew that if he stuck around the questions would be unending and he might lose his freedom over it.
So why now, in such dramatic fashion, had he stepped out into the world? Revealed himself? He couldn’t answer that for himself. So many hours staring at this screen, he couldn’t tell what thoughts were his anymore and what thoughts were those of some other Redditor. When he let himself be known – that is, his true identity – amid a hot Australian summer, he thought he could follow his plan to its conclusion. But, months ago, with winter setting in, his usual seasonal disorders led to a dizziness of thoughts upon which he couldn’t dependably act.
He had embarrassed himself and he had embarrassed the very […]
