Because I Need to Know the Truth!


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I was hypnotically entranced by the awe-inspiring passage and deliriously rambling on, “The scree’s migration… the scree is a town… it’s a peaceful community… rolling stones…,” while breezing into the bedroom. As I was about to turn on the fluorescent lamp, someone snarled form the darkness, “What are you babbling about, son of bitch?”

I was spooked by the grave voice and said frighteningly, crossing over myself, “Who the hell are you? Manifest yourself in Jesus’ name!” And then I turned on the light and gazed at the inauspicious silhouette. Lo and behold, it was Gerardo. He was motionlessly sitting on the bed, with his laptop and morosely glaring at the wall.

“Christ, I thought nobody was in the apartment. What were you doing in the total darkness?” I asked bewilderedly. But he grievously discarded the question and uttered tersely, pointing his index finger at the screen, “Look, my friend… look at here… just look!” It was Jessica’s Facebook page. The message said: “I cannot forget your pretty face, my sweet angel. I always think of you. When do you intend to radiate New York with your lovely smile? I miss you so much.” He explained me that it was her ex-boyfriend from New York and showed me her reply: “I miss you, too. I am coming to New York around April. We should hang out, love.”

After a brief pause, he cried out, “What a whore! I can’t believe it!”

“Calm down, Gerardo. They are just messages. You’re not sure that if she is really going to New York. By the way, how could you access to her messages?”

“I stole her password,” he snapped.

“What? Idiot, again? Why do you always steal every your girlfriend’s password? Do you remember what happened when you stole Maria’s password? You saw what you didn’t want to see and almost broke up with her.”

“Because I need to know the truth! I can’t trust women. I have a constant suspicion on them.”


At Last, I’ve Started Living in the Artist’s Life


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The apartment was dark when I got back. I sank into the sofa, lit a cigarette, and gave myself up to merry reflections for a while. In the dim living room, it looked better than ever. The dining table, which was in a state of huge disorder with the manuscript, the dictionary, books, and notes, greeted me charmingly. “At last, I’ve started living in the artist’s life,” I thought to myself pleasingly. In this cheerful mood, I picked up Last Joy on the table lay open at pages where I had left off reading and pored over the enchanting words of Hamsun:

“And here I lie, left behind with the scree and the little juniper bushes. How strange it all is! The stones in this rubble, maybe there is a meaning to them, they have lain here for thousands of years but maybe they travel too, going on indescribable journey. The glaciers withdraw, the land rises, the land sinks, there is no hurry, it just happens. But since my mind doesn’t connect anything with such an idea, it grows blind with anger and braces itself against it: the scree’s migration doesn’t exist, it’s just words, a little joke. Well, then, the scree is a town, and all over the ground here and there lie parishes of stone. It’s a peaceful community, no big events, no suicides, and there may be a well-formed soul in each of these stones. Still God preserve me from some of the inhabitants of these towns, heh-hen: rolling stones. They can’t bark, nor are they of interest to pickpockets, they are only dead weight. Well behaved, to be sure, but I do hold it against them that they display no fiery gestures, it would suit them to roll a little. But there they lie, no one even knows their sex exactly. On the other hand, did you see the eagle? You just be quiet….”

What Is Wrong with That?


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He lights a cigarette and puffs in the air. And he asserts, “Shogo, I didn’t say you’re wrong. Of course, you’re absolutely right, my friend. A writer should write a book from his heart. But you should understand his point of view: he thinks of writing as a business. He wants to make money through his writing. What is wrong with that? That’s why he concentrates his energy on how to market his books and considers about the best way to spread his messages. Some people just think like that, so don’t take it personally.”

I am getting peeved and utter, “Gerardo, you’re missing my point. If he completes his books and then gives his attention for marketing, I’ll underhand his way except stupid keywords. However, look, man, he is engrossed in marketing books before he finishes writing them – that’s utterly ludicrous. In the first place, one must concentrate on writing his book with all his might, and then he starts thinking about marketing. I tell you, my friend, if one writes a great book, he won’t be unnoticed.”

“As I told you, you’re absolutely right; however, you should understand some people think of writing as a business. Just like that. You just need to accept it. And I know you’ll never accept it, because you’re the most obstinate son of bitch I’ve ever met under the mighty sun, ha-ha-ha…. By the way, I have a telephone meeting in ten minutes, so see you at the night, my friend!”

He Thinks about Writing As a Business, But Not Art


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I am hugely disappointed in Majid. I still do not comprehend why he does not try to write from his heart, since his mission as a writer is coaching people how to have inner peace in their heart and how to get rid of distractions from one’s thought – he is preaching spiritualty. Majid’s attitude toward writing is deeply disturbing my heart and soul. How on earth doesn’t he care that he spreads absurd messages all over the world every time he posts his senseless articles? How could he possibly say that he does not care the quality of his writing? I am heading back to the apartment with a much troubled heart.

Gerardo has been working in his room when I come back to the apartment. As soon as he catches sight of me barging in the room disconcertedly, he startles, “What’s up man? What’s wrong with you? Why did you open the door so violently?”


“I’m sorry, man. I just don’t understand modern people. Why do they always think about money? Why don’t they care about the quality, but only care about benefits? I don’t comprehend anything, man!”

“Calm down, Shogo. Just explain me what happened,” he is soothing me by offering a cigarette.

I let him light a cigarette for me and collapse on my mattress. I am looking down for a while to compose myself, then begin telling him everything what happened at Starbucks. He listens attentively to my story and speaks, “Shogo, you should understand him. This is his way of writing. You can’t force him to write in your way.”

I am shaking my head and explaining him more clearly, “Gerardo, you don’t understand anything. I’m saying modern people are something wrong, for they only care about money. He thinks about writing as a business, but not art. If he wants to be a writer, he has to write from his heart and stop thinking about keywords. He used the same keyword over fifteen times in a short article that is preposterous. And he always checks which keywords are frequently searched on Google before he starts writing an article, that is completely unacceptable as a writer to boot – I tell you, my friend.”

You Think about Rewards Too Much


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“Shogo, I think you’re downrightly a dreamer and ingenuous man, indeed,” he looks at me squarely and counters, “I know it is a better way for authors to write from one’s heart, for sure; but if you can’t sell any books, you’re merely wasting your toil. I’ve met many writers in my life, and I think you’re an exceptional one; you are unique and have a rare talent. However, I tell you, it doesn’t matter if you’re a great writer or a shit writer. Think about it, for instance, you write a great book, a masterpiece, so to speak, but nobody notices your work. In fact, you have wonderful messages to convey to the world, but nobody can hear them due to your ignorance of marketing. On the other hands, if a shit writer publishes a mediocre work and knows how to market his book, people naturally notice his book and read it. At that juncture, he is better than you even if you’re a great writer and write a magnum opus. Are you following me? This is because, at least, he contributes some messages toward the world that can be heeded. If you can’t sell your book, you’re nothing, nonentity. I’m sorry to bring this to you, but this is the reality, and you’d better deal with it. It doesn’t matter if you’re a shit writer; the essential thing is whether you know how to market your book.”

“Of course, I can easily understand your conception; yet I truly believe you should write your book from your heart even if you can’t sell your book, other than writing hogwash for money. All in all, you think about rewards too much. Anyway, I must go, for I promised my friend to eat lunch together. See you around, Majid.”

With that, I walk out irritatingly.