Before Life

A punishment for failing to be authentic to the self you never recognized.

The strain of the perpetual self-imposed struggle against life.

A self-proclaimed savior possessing nothing but pain.

The threads you weave are treacherous. Your edicts are built on unquestioned preconceptions. The voice commanding you to suffer meaninglessly always went unchallenged.

Who are you among people?

Here, in the moment… where are you?

If you can bear one moment of pain and live through it, you can endure the next, a reassuring thought. The assumption, however, is that pain will eventually subside. You want pain to carve its place in your psyche. If the moment is painful enough, it lasts. Pain is how you discern reality and what does not slowly kill you is of no value.

A prophet proselytizing oblivion.

A numbness interrupted by random surges of neurological activity.

A consciousness condemned to solitary confinement.



Expired mental states

Communication. Possessing the facilities but lacking the incentive. At your best you look forward to it only to end up with disappointment, never knowing what you expected and couldn’t find. At your worst, you avoid interaction and count the days until you no longer need to be in the presence of people. Do you build up on other people’s philosophies? Is it expansion or replacement? Is there meaning? You’re capable of empathizing more than ever because now you see the view from the other side. The days are squeezing the life out of you. You fear looking back and finding your own hands around your neck.

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?

5:00: a.m

Is sleep warm up for death?

We spend a third of our lives engaging in a state of altered consciousness and minimized physical activity. We delve into the depth of the unconscious only to wake up and question its meaning.

We sleep because we need to.

Senescence drives our programmed deterioration to the impending end. When electrical pulses no longer reach the brain and cognitive function is lost, we enter an uncharted territory.

We die because we must.

Sleep and death are the inevitable unknown.