"But then what exactly is that reality?"

Hans Op de Beeck.


"I wonder where my son is. I see his body daily. He eats and washes, masturbates,
relieves himself and sleeps at the oddest moments and in the oddest places in my
house. But where has he got to?
The times I’ve thought: I’m going to chuck the whole digital theme park out of the
house. But what’s the good of that? He’s a grown man, he must do what he thinks he
has to do. Of course there’s recognition, and – I admit it – guilt. He’s holding up a
mirror to me. Wasn’t my scientific obsession just as much a virtual biotope? Wasn’t I
just as much alienated from real, concrete existence? So am I supposed to deprive
my son of his virtual life? Wouldn’t I be killing my own child?
In his maze of apparatus Thomas has found a kind of continuation of himself, an
extension, a prosthesis. Perhaps his virtual life is the real, essential life for him.
Apparently freed from his own body, he dwells in complete abstraction. Via
technology he achieves an existence almost free of matter. Perhaps virtual
relationships and contacts are more open, honest and authentic than our clumsy,
physical communication? Perhaps he can finally be himself and not what others want
him to be? Perhaps his situation is in fact highly enviable?
(...)
Dad daddy-o,
How’s the old boy doing? How’s things there in that spa that our know-all Lauren forced on
you? You let yourself be bossed around by her far too much, Dad.
The house is very empty right now.
I miss having you here, even though we don’t talk much. I like hearing a door slam or when
you’re on the terrace smoking a cigarette seeing the living room curtains billowing in the
wind. You are the snatch of sound that wafts from that lousy old radio in the kitchen. You’re
the blanket I find over me in the mornings when I’ve once again fallen asleep on the sofa.
You’re the smell of toast and coffee. Come back.
I’ve already given you a life in cyberspace. It’s fun playing you. You’re very popular.
Nevertheless I’ve modelled you 100% on yourself. You’re a very marketable item. In your
cyberversion you already have a new girlfriend. Her name’s Mary. Haha. What’s more she
gets on very well with my virtual Helena.
Yesterday the real Helena was here with Elias. It wasn’t a visiting day, but she couldn’t find
anyone else, so once again I would have to do for our child. He started playing computer
games straightaway. So again we didn’t say much. And before I realised, his mother was at
the door again and they were gone.
Now you’ve gone I’ve lost all grip on the transitions from day to night. You were my clock.
My sense of time has gone. Everything is dissolving into a huge timeless zone of directionless
contacts, images, words, sounds.
Am I crazy, father? Am I crazy now that I consider my love of fiction just as authentic and
sincere as my love of reality? Am I crazy when I sit staring at a photo of Elias for a whole day
but don’t look at him when he’s with me here? Have I gone as crazy as my little sister?
Tell me straight: do you think I’m crazy, father?
Love,
Thomas
parte do conto SPA, aqui em .pdf.