The last time I wrote for the 'net, was somewhere around 1999. It was a different world then, both the virtual and the real one, and I was a different person.
About ten years ago an entity was born out of an idea, an identity if you will. His name won't be mentioned here, but some of you might know who I'm talking about. The initial idea was that in the web one could be immortal. There was no pain, no trouble, no situation from which you couldn't escape, or simply turn in your favor. In the web, you were free. Free to be and say anything. To a writer, or at least for someone with aspirations to be, that was power. Real power. And so this idea, this identity came to life. First just as one of many on the boards. But with time came power, came daring, and the idea grew stronger. The identity grew to be more than just a witness. Suddenly there was a will to be a little more, to not just see change but be a part of it, to fight battles on it's own, to make a little, if only an infinitesimal part, of history. A true warrior born. A being not afraid to speak up, to speak back, and to be true to the one
thing that was important over all the rest, to the idea from which it spawned. And that it did.
A little more time passed, and the battles stopped being public, but never stopped being fought. Every time the "real" world grew too heavy, too sad, every time things were not how the warrior dreamed, or "were not supposed to be," words came out. Battles were fought. Blood was drawn. Some ideas were hurt, some were shattered, but others only grew stronger. And thus time passed and the world changed. So did the warrior, and so did it's host. But the story never did. Always there to save the day, brave enough to dare, strong enough to suffer, whenever the host might fall, the warrior was there, more than willing to fight, win or lose, ready to move on, to fight once again.
And then, a few weeks ago, there was another battle. But when the smoke cleared, when the fires started to die, something was different. For the first time in more than a decade, when the fight was over, the warrior was nowhere in sight. He simply disappeared. I'm really not sure if he finally died, or he couldn't find the strength to fight again. At the end of the day the problem really isn't what happened, but what does it mean. In the end, was he proved wrong ? Was it really all not worth it ? Is it true that the world isn't meant to live up to dreams ? Is it crazy to think that if you wish, if you fight, hard enough you can make them come true? Is pain and disappointment at the end of the road for all us crazy dreamers?
It might be that the line between the warrior and the host became so blurred it was becoming hard to tell them apart. It could be that an idea can only become as strong as he, or they, who believe in it. It just might be that struggling on two grounds as two entities, can never be as effective as fighting as one. I think the truth is that two halves aren't the same as a whole.
So what happens now ? I have no idea. All I know is that for the first time in years, the night brings no transformation, and both worlds are seen through the same eyes. The original idea is alive and strong, and the fire that spawned it is as bright, brighter in fact, than ever. I'm sure that more fights will come, more dreams will be born, more paths will be walked, and more adventures will be lived. And I will be there, sword, heart and words in hand for all of them. And you're all welcome to join me.
Read you later !