I want to disappear

Peeps, I know I keep harping on about this topic, but bear with me, okay?

For most of my adult life, I’ve had two guiding desires. The first was to write – to create and explore hidden worlds, to see the birth of strange heroes, to walk and suffer with them, to see them die or triumph, sometimes both.

The second desire was to be nobody.

I don’t really have the energy to explain that desire here at length, but I mean it literally. However, I wanna put it into context with that first desire, the desire to write.

How could these desires coexist in my single body? Because, the way I see it, to write is to eradicate the writer.

Writing doesn’t require the writer. Writing is art, and art isn’t made by its maker, nor does it need one. All art needs is an audience.

“Author” is just a fancy mask we writers wear. We wear it because we’re afraid of our true purpose.

Our true purpose is not to exist.

I want to move myself from the position of writer into the audience of my own works. The audience is nameless, while being intensely personal. I want to be the one who experiences my works. I want to be the one who learns from them, who suffers from them, who is at their mercy, who is loved by them, who is comforted by them.

That is the sweet, agonising destiny of the audience. And the destiny of the writer, the only real destiny possible, is to disappear.