Nocturne #28 – John Weak
My imagination is boundless, like a fictional editorial. I often picture myself as John Wick facing assassins, but in reality, my biggest foe is the broken coffee machine. Yet, I find freedom in the "mud" of reality. Fantasy is my friend, and on my white unicorn, I plan my dreams.
I always knew my imagination had no limits. Sometimes I feel like I’m genuinely a writer in some fictional editorial office, penning every idea with the same enthusiasm Einstein used to explain relativity. It’s just that my inspiration comes from strange figures, random scenarios, and slightly mad characters. I fixate on details, observing them and searching for the reasons they exist. This way, I fly off somewhere every day, and every flight is different from the last, just like my Nocturnes.
Of course, reality is a bit different.
In the morning, I’m still buried in bed, and before heading to the office, I imagine myself walking calmly like John Wick through a street full of perils, the odds on my neutralization rising, every hired killer hunting me…
…Meanwhile, my most dangerous opponent is the broken coffee machine.
But still, in the shadow of these fantasies, I often remember that moderation is the compass that helps me not to cross the line into surrealism. Then again, is surrealism so bad? I could stay there completely, and I don’t need any chemistry (drugs) for it.
But sometimes, it feels right to get dirty in the mud of reality. In a way, this is freedom; it’s real and genuine, a place where I can scream, laugh, and feel it. After all, who fantasizes about wallowing in the mud like a pig?
Fantasy is my dearest friend, who always stands by my side and asks: “Hey, what should we do now?”
And I, of course, “mounted on a white unicorn,” lay out my big dreams.