In the kingdom of 00110000 00100110 00110001

Between the borders, within the city, inside your home, inside your room, inside the codes and digits of virtual interaction you reside. You own that tiny space of distorted reality. It is yours to play with and control. Your brain is hooked up to the collective unconscious, filtering and manipulating archetypes. Your avatar remodels itself to suit the wishes and desires of the audience. We are the gods of our symbolic representation. What’s most real is virtual.

Reality is a simulation of something more sophisticated: ascension into ones and zeroes.

We worship what we create.


Intermittent voices

I saw you in a memory

I met you in a dream

The proximity is unbearable and too tempting. You run away to escape her. You run away to escape your own thoughts. As always, she finds you in the most sacred place in your mind. You realize there’s no escape. You run from her into her; you are running from yourself.

You’re bound to this torment for eternity.

And yet…

You are my favorite word document

For you

Hey, friend. I see you. I see you trying to understand my mechanism. I see you attempting to deconstruct. I see you reaching out. I see myself meeting you halfway. I see the conflict. I see the clash of ideas. I see two souls engaging in a mesmerizing dance. I see us losing our footing.

Hey, friend. I see you struggling to get your voice heard. I see you trying to break out of your shell. I see you reaching out to a place unattainable. I see you longing to be accepted. I see you fearing the unknown inhabiting your friends. I see you trying to fit in. I see you shaking your head. I see you sighing inwardly. I see you gazing at the map.

Hey, friend. I see you in arguments of color perception and subjectivity. I see myself looking at you and finding the genuine and soft blue, the vibrant and lively pink, and the purple that contains multitudes. I see you emitting light you are unaware of and pulling me to your orbit. Gravity keeps us alive, but yours will be the death of me.

Hey, friend. It breaks my heart that you haven’t told me what I already know. You claim to hate assumptions but the insinuation is unmistakable. I thought better of you. I thought we stood on solid ground. I thought we were past this. It bothers me that I care this much. It bothers me that you don’t.

Hey, friend. I am trying to reconcile. I am trying to let go. I am tortured and dying. I am at the gate wondering if I should look over my shoulder or step foot and move on. I cannot dance forever.

The Other

Your evil has always been greater than your good. The voices echoing inside your head are your own. You like pain. Where you stand when pain visits, such trivial matters don’t bother you.

Your rationality and critical awareness of the objective world are only there to prevent you from losing yourself to the voices. Your obsession with the truth as the ultimate virtue is your defense against the hell residing within you. Truth, you hope, can save you from hell, from yourself.

Should you unload your neuroticism in full force? Do you begin with the infamous plunge into the heart of matters and speak with that self-serving mix of blunt and critical self-aware rhetoric?

Self-deprecation and authenticity always soften the harsh blow you want to deal. You accept criticism but only if it’s of the kind you approve of. Your seemingly extraordinary objective perspective is a subjective ego-driven construct. Reality exists to be judged, and your existence in it gives you privilege because you are aware of it. You are but a petty soul who wanted more and constantly shouts against the void. The only thing you wanted was a hug. A hug to fend off the voices and the other you who you fear is truer than you ever were. A hug against your fears of not deserving one.

One more step to be an eternal flame.

New Age Messiah

You want to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. It’s almost an infantile fascination with the hero figure, and you want to embody that persona. You offer a helping hand, a calming presence, a hug of reassurance against hell, and all the empathy you can muster. You are too proud to reciprocate. Heroes are tortured, you think. Heroes live in solitude. Heroes shout against the void. Heroes save the entire world because they choose to.

Your inability to reciprocate vulnerability damages your soul. You long for a world of empathy and mutuality, yet you’ve always detached yourself from your problems, stepping outside of your body to shine a light on it. What frustrates you most about others are your own flaws.

You want to save the world from hell.

Invigorating people’s spirits is akin to breathing life into them, to will something from nothing.

You want to save yourself.

Late night confessions

Tell me, father, how strong is your conviction? Do you choose to believe or is belief the only choice? Are you ever visited by doubt?

Father, eternity kills me. Funny, isn’t it? Space-time is the only home I have ever known and the very thought of leaving its boundaries fills me with existential terror. I think it’s a byproduct of being human. No matter how much we try to transcend our existence, we remain bounded by where we exist, and we exist behind the veil. Behind the only truth.

Ever asked yourself why we bother? Why we build civilizations and keep climbing towards the elusive summit of an imaginary mountain? Why we want to dissect, theorize, and understand every minute detail? Why, despite being deeply aware of the futility of seeking ultimate knowledge, we keep trying to absorb as much as we can? Understanding our environment Is the first step towards controlling it. If we can exert control over our surroundings, why not extend our reach to dominate existence itself? Gods in the making.

Behind the veil is the only thing that ever was—not before or after, but ever. The weight of that truth is enough to negate existence itself; thus, we are shielded.

But, father, how strong is your conviction? Do you choose to believe, or is there no choice?

Extraterrestrial stand-up

In this room they are vulnerable. I see the splendor of their souls. Molecules interact and communicate inside their brains. Meaning is created and destroyed. The prefrontal cortex is activated. This room is a giant X-ray into the human experience. Pain and suffering, joy and sadness, euphoria and melancholy… I find myself drowning in the imperfection of it all. It almost moves something I never knew existed inside of me. Is it pity? Remorse? I should not be able to catch such illnesses. Whatever it is, I don’t disdain it. it’s been good. I hope you find peace in oblivion.

The E word

One must be consciously aware of the tendency to regress into a repetitive distress-state whenever existence emerges out of its all-encompassing cloak to stand forth and stares you in the eyes. Human beings accept death as an inevitable end, but that doesn’t necessarily bring comfort, as the ambiguity associated with death conjures varying images of the outcome. Those who struggle with existential questions are often plagued by these images. Existential terror is unique because it is a byproduct of being human. The only escape is a thrust into the heart of the agony. The sufferer seeks an antidote to that life-induced illness: truth.

To be consciously aware of one’s unconscious thoughts is the one and only way truth can be sought. Neurons in the brain are constantly going haywire searching for direction, so truth-seekers must impose order on the chaos of their own bodies. The alternative is to relive the same hell perpetually; the unconscious desire to dwell within the realm of the familiar, even if it eats at one’s soul.


A snowflake is beautiful because it falls from the sky. The place where angels and divine beings reside. Infinity enveloping infinity.

A snowflake is poetic because it dies. Watching the beginning and knowing the end. The journey is a tragic reflection of life.

A snowflake is almost unique. Two snowflakes can be alike, but one can waste a lifetime chasing a game of probability stacked against all odds.

You are almost a snowflake.