Good, Bad, Ugly

Yes, of course from the movie title. The spaghetti western, with some actors who were OG’s of the film industry, for that time.

I know it’s difficult for me to accept the bad, and the ugly, with the good. I think too often it should all be good, always. Well, it’s a state of mind. It’s all in my head. I read in a Buddhist text once to have tea with my demons. My demons being the stuff that is bad and ugly.

By writing fiction, I can let it out. These characters, that I find myself wanting to give voices to, are fictional even in my head. You see, dear readers, I tend to blend fiction with non-fiction. It’s all perception based, how I perceive fiction, is that the fiction exists, in another dimensional plain. I don’t believe myself to be these characters, I don’t snap in and out of the characters… What I do is I voice the characters dynamics through words. What makes this character tick? Why does this character feel the way he/she/they/it does? It, being unknown, maybe supernatural, probably not identifying as a human being, some being, that isn’t human. See, It from Stephen King? That’s Stephen King’s creation, yet, I could use the word, thing. In a way, Gollum from Lord of the Rings was a similar creation. The novel Black Mouth by Ronald Malfi deals with an unknown being, or presence. Presence creates, which allows for us to sense what is or what isn’t.

Also, what may lay hidden. In my fiction work, I may think, why reveal the purpose of the presence? Maybe the presence just sort of, disappears. Yes, that is very similar to the character V from, V for Vendetta. I thought that was a fantastic way to end the graphic novel.

Do I believe this could happen? It’s possible. Anything is possible.

Do I desire chaos to consume the world? Not for a moment do I desire this.

It’s not always fun, living life. What I realize is we can’t be perfect. Our love, even my love, is fickle-d. It’s whimsical at times. I mentioned that book, The Art of Love, by Erich Fromm. I really do need to purchase that book, so I can read and learn how to be a more unconditionally loving person.

That’s what I want. I want to be the same throughout. I want you to see the difference between me when I act out, and when I’m being more or less who I’ve always been.

I act out these characters. Therefore, it’s an act. It’s a performance. It’s meant to make you feel. Maybe it’s a warning, similar to 1984, or, V for Vendetta. It’s not real, but if we give up on love, what could possibly happen? It’s real in the sense that, in another dimension, this is what is happening, in this reality.

There are many realities. Fiction is make-believe, it’s made up. It’s not really real. Jason Voorhees isn’t real. But we can all imagine it being real, because it’s a made up reality we’re willing to suspend our disbelief for. We can go along with how the make-believe reality plays out. This is true across the board. We enjoy certain activities because we are willing to agree with what’s being said. Sometimes, we strongly disagree, but maybe, there’s a reason for that. Maybe the arc of story comes back around, or, maybe it’s all a fall, then a rise. Fall and rise. Sleep and rise.

I’ve been ranting and raving again. Sort of.

Know that I’m not part of the 33. I’m a storyteller. Take everything I say with a grain of salt. I’m real, yes. Although I’m here to perform. It’s fiction. Most always.

The rest that isn’t fiction, I’ll delete that. Even non-fiction is creative. Although, I don’t need no sympathy. No pity. Life isn’t as awful as I make it out to be. Sometimes it feels like the walls are closing in, soon to collapse and crush my body to death. But they never do.

And I’m still here. I have not died. Nor have I caused death.


-Philly Webb

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