A region of empty space

It’s hard to have a relationship in this world. Other people are not the same from day to day. I might wake up next to a woman three days in a row, or three hundred, but I never know if she’ll be there the next morning, or the next hour, or if the world will change completely while I’m not looking. She might even change into another person altogether. I might recognize something in her eyes, or she might not be a woman at all. She might turn into a man. Or a mailbox. Or a region of empty space. Or a feeling. Or a song. I might only recognize her as one recognizes someone in a dream, as in the way something is actually someone, and that someone is actually someone else.

Τσαρς Γιου, “Inventory” (Sorry Please Thank You)

Από συνέντευξη του συγγραφέα (ολόκληρη εδώ):

How do you write your first drafts? With outlines and a pre-planned structure, or by writing free form and letting the story materialize as you type?

It is mostly writing free form. I don’t outline in general. I’ll just type a bunch of words or write a bunch of words long hand, and after a while they start to gain a critical mass, if I’m lucky, and some of the [parts] aggregate into sentences. And then those sentences, if they’re interesting, will just persist. It’s almost like a laboratory environment where I’m growing live cultures, and day after day I’ll go back to the same story and help it grow. And when they grow big enough, they just stick.

A lot of the times, something I thought was going somewhere will just die. And I’ll kind of watch it die because day after day it will just die out. In my mind, what I’m doing with all of these words that eventually combine with others, is like planting a bunch of seeds and seeing which ones will grow and prosper, and hope that they’ll tangle with each other and eventually form some sort of bush.

[“Standard Loneliness Package” | “Hero Abjorbs Major Damage” | πλέιλιστ | πρίβιουσλι: How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe]

Time is a machine

I don’t miss him anymore. Most of the time, anyway. I want to. I wish I could but unfortunately, it’s true: time does heal. It will do so whether you like it or not, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. If you’re not careful, time will take away everything that ever hurt you, everything you have ever lost, and replace it with knowledge. Time is a machine: it will convert your pain into experience. Raw data will be compiled, will be translated into a more comprehensible language. The individual events of your life will be transmuted into another substance called memory and in the mechanism something will be lost and you will never be able to reverse it, you will never again have the original moment back in its uncategorized, preprocessed state. It will force you to move on and you will not have a choice in the matter.

Life is, to some extent, an extended dialogue with your future self about how exactly you are going to let yourself down over the coming years.

Τσαρλς Γιου, How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe