You may forgive me for being disorganised but I have got so much to tell you. So much, that it is difficult for me to put my ideas in order. The good thing about writing a blog is that I do not need to carefully structure my posts in the same way I would if I were writing the chapters of a novel. My mind is full of bits of information I would like to share with others.
I do not really know why I would want strangers to hear about me. It might be because I am vain or perhaps because I am simply lonely. I do not wish to be like those vampires that go insane due to the fact that they have no one but themselves to talk to. They live in their own memories, mentally revisiting those moments when they were stronger, younger.
Vampires do become old. It may not seem like it but we do. I am no longer in my prime, even if my body looks as young as it did when I died. My thirst for blood, my lust for life are in decline. My treasure of memories is slowly fading and it is so painful to realise that my past is rapidly turning into an unrecognisable pile of broken fragments. Maybe in a couple of years I will read these posts again and use them to help myself remember the old days a little better. I know for sure that I will be able to recall a lot less than I do now.
I have not posted for about a month but it has been for a good reason. I was trying to live in the present. Normally I am comfortably installed in my flat, isolated from humans, thinking about things I have done and nights that will never come back. I only socialise with your kind when I feed myself but I do not need to do this as frequently as I did a hundred years ago. I can have dozens of quiet nights in watching telly, reading, listening to music, brooding over the past, being a boring caricature of what I used to be.
I usually avoid interaction on the Internet, at least I had refused to use a computer until recently then I decided to open up a little bit. I set up my Twitter and Facebook accounts, I started blogging as you can see, then I had pictures of myself taken. I went for pink hair because it feels trendy enough, I might get a couple of fake tattoos to feel entirely in fashion. Why will I not get the real thing? Because ink does not work on the Undead but even if it did, I would not want to have anything "permanent". Immortality is already bad enough.
It may seem like I have more time than you or anyone you know but I might as well snuff it one day. I may be immortal provided I am not exposed to fire, sunlight, overwhelming ennui et caetera, yet this planet is definitely mortal. Being human is just as pointless as being a vampire. Life, in all of its forms, is essentially pointless and silly. You have a certain amount of years to somehow carry on with existence and you must put up with the same stagnant, repetitive, purposeless cycles of loss and heartbreak. You might as well have some fun in the meantime and perhaps try to experience a few little joys before your time is up, which is precisely what I did.
My little joy arrived in the post a few days ago. It was an autographed copy of the book "The Mannequin House" I have just won in a competition. What? Do you not think vampires find these things pleasurable? Well, you are wrong. I was thrilled. My human exploit is even recorded on video. You see my name in the credits here:
As you can see, yours truly has been a bit naughty on the Internet and being mentioned by a writer, if only for a second, is always a bonus. The reason why I was not very active on my blog was that I tried to mingle wirh humans a bit further because I needed to reafirm my existence, to feel alive. I talked, danced, pretended to drink. Not so long ago I was in a seaside town called Rhos-on-Sea, at a pub called The Ship. I had been there before, with Rhiannon... but I shall tell you about that later.