Twisting the Tale

AT left, a photograph of the labyrinth at the villa Pisani, Stra (Venice, Italy). The use of the photo comes from the generosity of P Tasao. Thanks, P!

I'm plotting.

I'm circling back, confusing the trail, changing black for white.

I'm not playing fair.

I've entered the layer of Emmanuel Goldstein. Maybe I too will be subjected to the daily two minutes of hate. (1984).

The world I've created came apart at the seams from rot and mildew as all empires do. In my case, I've precipitated the decline through an open secret that tears away at faith and government institution but which a large number of the population deny as truth.

It's a bit like the AIDs deniers. Mugabe can say all he wants; but, people still die.

I'm trying to wrap a plot inside itself by telling myself the tale and not getting bored. I've read clever literary bits before which did not interest me for long outside of the clever machinations of the writer.

Instead, I'm thinking Casablanca: who is the real bad guy?

"Just like other men, only more so."

I'm off to twist the tale.

Wish me luck.