Oh happy days, happy days. I managed to finally break into the top 80,000 books sold on Amazon. I believe I was at 79,985. Hey, that is something! To those of you out there buying my book I give a heartfelt thanks. It's for you guys that I write the strange things that I do. I won't say I don't find humor in the oddities that bubble up when I sit down to create. In fact, I am as amazed as most at what appears on the screen following a session of transcribing my subconscious.
As to me and the revelations I've discovered in my life: I've discovered an odd thing concerning the twin and I. Now many believe in some of the old superstitions that twins dress alike, act alike, think alike, and even feel what the other is feeling. The strange fact I've discovered over this past year of living with my twin is that he truly does share many of my dreams. The interesting part is how he views these dreams versus me. A good example is that we both wanted to be writers, something I never knew about him. Now his choice of genre is quite separate from mine. He is more the horror/action oriented type. Me, I'm into whatever. My stories shouldn't be shoe horned. It's hard enough describing them let alone classifying them. There is also our drive to stay fit, various plot ideas (I don't share any of my future projects with anyone and yet he seems to know quite a few of them though with a twist), and more. It's just strange hearing him speak about things I generally think about. Maybe we are connected and if so does that speak on a spiritual or genetic level?
Oh, I'm going into weird metaphysical territory here. Imagine if it is true, that genetically we carry traits that determine thought and view. Is this due to the genes of our parents? Maybe a freak mutation? Maybe it evolves and changes as we grow, starting at one point but generally altering as we mature. Strange, strange theories those.
What does that say about a human being? If we are quanitifable on the genetic level does that rid us of our uniqueness? And if we are not unique, then is life really all that special? Is there really nothing more to us than a chemical reaction? I'm not sure how deeply I want to peer beyond the mists of mystery. Sometimes knowing the why only serves to lessen the value of the question.
That is the price of learning I suppose; every fact draws us further and further away from innocence. Oh, that purity of beginning and how each day and every thought serves only to stain once immaculate form with scars and graffiti. Evolution in any form, whether physical or mental, seems to only draw us further and further away from our origins. The light of enlightenment only blinds us to the beauty of the world, scorching fields of fantasy.
I am a learned man. Could that be why sometimes I no longer have faith in possibility?
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