Autocortépistole hétéroglosso-anachronique (ça veut dire que c’est une courte nouvelle sous la forme d’une lettre en anglais avec des paradoxes temporels parce qu’elle est adressée à soi-même).
J’ai créé la bannière moi-même avec mes grands talents de graphiste. Vous savez, ceux que je n’ai pas.
I have lived the perfect writer’s life. Born in 98, right before the famous computers bug. Dead in 02, having put a whole century between those two dates like a man who did not want to give up his story without becoming part of a greater one. Alive while things lasted, alive during the ascent of the true pinnacle of humanity’s best hopes. I am not writing you from the dead, but surely you wonder: why English, why now, why this?
Your centennial self is not the polyglot you longed it to be. I forgot what it is to be you, but I know I am merely going to put more questions in your head that I cannot tell you to dismiss, so please bear with me. I am old and tired, you know what I am for you have seen some version of me in so many works of art that you condemned for their lack of enduring pragmatism. I have seen enough of this world that had already begun to disgust you. It is too late to philosophize about it any more, and to risk losing myself with any turn of phrase that I tear out of my code-ridden brain cells.
All you need to know is that, like all other people on this forsaken rock we have doomed in a blink, I have only one language in my head, this English whose live quirks you were dreaming to witness during your lifetime. You did not. All that science taught you was negated in the past few decades. We were going towards a revolution, yes, but did we ever question whose revolution it was going to be? Maybe we did, you know better. At the eve of their advent, they thought dementia would be gone, along with all mental disorders and that updating our minds was all that was going to be necessary to avoid our programs’ blithe deliquescence, but I have come to believe that Nature is indeed well designed where we still think it to be resilient to our influence.
The Internet was renamed at some point between your time and mine: they called it Earth 2. They split it between countries. I mean the actual countries, at least until the Baby Doom generation took over and made it their own. It all happened like you were so proud to envision it. With a ”few” exceptions, as you were no visionary.
Now your why’s have all turned to drivel-looking questions : why bait you with apocalyptic sermons and time traveling indulgence you could pretty much imagine for yourself? Why have I become the self-involved ranting old-timer you had sworn never to be?
Because you have to change. But not like you are afraid to have to change. Change your mind, not your ways. Take responsibility for your dreams, and stop barricading the satisfaction you forbid yourself to feel under what, deep inside, you think to be humble and worthy refrainments. You think you are cutting yourself off from the world even more, but all you do is imprisoning yourself out of yourself. The world will come to you and you already know that you don’t know what to expect. I do. So let it come.
Yo soy el que tú serás y tu fuiste el que yo fui. Te entregaste a la poesía, y no lo lamento. Aprenderás a morir con felicidad. Tienes miedo de vivir… No eres culpable de vivir como tú vives. Serías culpable si vivieras como los otros quieren que tú vivas. ¡La Vida! El cerebro hace preguntas, el corazón da las respuestas. La vida no tiene sentido, ¡hay que vivirla! ¡Vive! ¡Vive! ¡Vive!