Only the impossible is worth the effort!

Some writers repeat and repeat their themes and ideas until they get it right.

This is a story. This is pure fiction. Maybe you'll find yourself in it. Maybe you won't. This is how I rewrite my life.

"There is always the danger of automatic writing. The danger of writing yourself towards an ending that need never be told. At a certain point the story gathers momentum. It convinces itself, and does its best to convince you, that the end in sight is the only possible outcome. There is a fatefulness and a loss of control that are somehow comforting. This was your script, but now it writes itself.

Stop.

Break the narrative. Refuse all the stories that have been told so far (because that is what the momentum really is), and try to tell the story differently - in a different style, with different weights - and allow some air to those elements choked with centuries of use, and give some substance to the floating world.
In quantum reality there are millions of possible worlds, unactualised, potential, perhaps bearing in on us, but only reachable by wormholes we can never find. If we do find one, we don't come back.
In those other worlds events may track our own, but the ending will be different. Sometimes we need a different ending.
I can't take my body through time and space, but I can send my mind, and use stories, written and unwritten, to tumble me out in a place not yet existing - my future."

-The Powerbook, Jeanette Winterson

Last night I got into bed before eleven. A first in a long time. I read for a while, then decided that what I was reading was worth sharing. I climbed out of bed and got my phone, climbed back into my bed and scrolled down my list of contacts until I got to your name.
Dialed.
"Hello!"
"Hey"
"How are you?"
"Yeah good. How are you? "
"The same. What's up?"
"Nothing much. Just feels like a while since we caught up."
"Yeah.. it has been... how was the gig the other night?"
"Good. It was great. Really rocky. Really loud. It was fun."
"Sorry I missed it then."
"That's ok... how's work been?"
"The same.. work is work."
"Oh! I haven't told you yet. I found a job!"
"Yeah? What is it? I read about it on your blog but wasn't sure whether that was fact or fiction."
"I'll be temping for the Red Cross. Start next week. Finally, I'll have some income."
"Income is good."
"Yeah it is... I'm also doing some work for the a French Theatre company."
"And how's that?"
"I don't get to see th play.."
"Why not?"
"Well, I stand outside and deal with ticketing and wait for latecomers and guard the door."
"Sounds like fun."
"No it doesn't. You're just humoring me."
You laugh. I like the way you laugh. It's deep and throaty. It feels warm, like sunny afternoons. It sounds honest. Like an uncle's laughter.
"I'm reading a book."
"What's the book?"
"The Powerbook."
"Have you told me about it before? It sounds familiar.."
"Maybe. I talk about it a lot. I finally bought a copy to keep for myself. It's not as nice as the copy I read. It's not black bound and square at all. It's red and has a naked lady on the front. It's very indiscrete and I try to hide the cover when I'm reading it in public."
That laugh again.
"So what's it about?"
"It's about two women. It's not one story, but many. The characters change. They wear disguises. It's a little bit about writing. About reinventing identity. It's a little bit about the internet. It's a little bit about travel. It's about boundaries. It's about desire. There are lots and lots of passages I like to quote. Or remember. If I highlighted them I would have a very bright book and hardly any white pages. It's a lot about love..."
"Hmm.. ok."
"I shouldn't be reading it."
"So stop."
"I can't. When I finish, I'm going to re-read it. And then when I finish it again, I'm going to re-read it again. And then again and again and again. Maybe until I really can quote from it. Maybe until I know it by heart. Can I read you a passage?"
"Sure."
"What a strange world it is where you can have as much sex as you like but love is taboo..."
"Mmm.."
"I can't do this."
"Ok."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have even started it. I'm sorry. I can't do this."
"Ok."
"It's all wrong."
"Ok."
"Why does it feel so wrong?"
"Hey, you don't have to do anything."
"My brother's reading a book called The Game. It's about the art of seduction. About a bunch of guys who think they've nailed the formula to pick up any girl they want. They call themselves PUAs. Pick up artists."
"Sounds... interesting."
"I don't know whether to be offended or laugh at it."
"Mmm.."
"Weren't we going to go out together? Weren't we going to be each other's wing and just go out and have some fun?"
"Yeah... yeah we were."
"What happened?"
"It got fucked up."
"Didn't we say we didn't want to do that?"
"Do what?"
"Fuck things up."
"Yeah we did."
"So why did we do it?"
"Cos we're human."
"I'm sorry. This is mean isn't it? To talk to you like this? Does it bother you much?"
"A little. Quite a bit."
"I'm sorry."
"Are you ok?"
"I'm empty."
"Do you want me to come over?"
"No... You know, I used to hate doing this."
"Doing what?"
"Talking on the phone."
"Why?"
"Too much distance. Too much silence wasted."
"I could come over."
"No. I don't want you to come over."
"Ok. What do you want?"
"I want to rewrite my future."
~.~