Snowing Down to Reality

It’s a picture perfect of winter outside... The sky has cleared up a bit since yesterday - that’s the one good thing about this island: clouds drift away as swiftly as they appear - and the wintry sun is a dim golden glow on the snow.

The naked trees have a thin layer of whiteness spread along their twisted limbs and the evergreen shrubs are half-immersed in a blanket of snow. Birds are fluttering from roofs to treetops, wings black against the sun that seems to set low forever in this winter time. And when I pop my head out the open window, a gush of icy air greets me, full of mordant freshness that tickles the skin. It looks and smells just like winter indeed.


The news are full of snow stories, of course, and the media even managed to come up with a new expression: Frozen Britain. I’m really starting to think they have that one person sitting in some office, somewhere, hired and paid for the sole purpose of coming up with such catchy expressions. It’s probably the case. Why not? Everything these days is delegated to the maximum and every task imaginable has been split in smaller ones so that no one person ever does anything on their own anymore.

Apparently, division of labour speeds up the supply of any sort of goods and greatly increases it. The great downside of this, and to me it is a huge one, is that we end up with people who are unable to do one COMPLETE thing themselves. They can do part of a thing, but someone else is now forever needed to complete that thing. I don’t see how that makes us stronger or more evolved in the detail.

On the whole, we do look evolved because the masses end up making a complete thing, but what doesn’t fit is the fact that in the detail, each individual is maimed: not one person can actually do a damn thing. It bothers me no end. It makes me feel as though I was handicapped from the start. Maybe that’s exactly it. That division only served to nurture consumerism, and the price to pay was that it handicapped us as individuals. We don’t know anything completely, we only know bits of things.

Even if you gathered all the bits that you know, it wouldn’t even come close to knowing ONE thing completely. Therefore knowing a lot of different parts does not equals to knowing the whole. We are handicapped. Our minds are like a limp foot. We ‘know’ a lot of various little things, perhaps one little technique in the detail, but we remain ignorant of the whole. Our knowledge becomes even more limited and so does our perception, if not our reality itself. We feel more knowledgeable because we seem to know so many little things, but we are really more ignorant than ever before.


The proof is, again, in the pudding. Not only are we growing dependent on complex, faceless structures from ‘above’, but we don’t even realise it. How could we? The only way to realise that is when those structures collapse, and suddenly we have to rely on ourselves, and... Surprise! Most people couldn’t save their lives even if they tried. They wouldn’t even know where to start. In that sense, I feel like we’ve been turned into mindless chicken, except our type of chickens live in 'luxury' homes rather than inside a wooden den.

Take away the landscape detail, and all that’s left are chickens.

I was watching a heart wrenching documentary on TV earlier on the state of dementia care homes in Britain... These poor people being treated like bothersome objects by staff that couldn’t care less, or so disheartened and bored that they no longer cared to show the pensioners any trace - not one ounce - of compassion, let alone to treat them with dignity... So many ancient faces, their faces withered by the years, crackled like the finest pages of parchment... left to rot in solitude and complete apathy. One very, very old man who could no longer walk grabbed the journalist’s hand and begged in a weak, rasped voice: “please, please...”

“Please what?” asked the journalist in the softest tone.

“Please... Help us.”

As I said, heart wrenching.


So that’s what awaits the masses, eh? Now that the fabric of society is being dissolved to nothingness, now that children grow up to kick their aging parents out in the cold, now that parents kick their young out of the nest before the time is right, now that every person is out for themselves, for profit, in the vacuum that is the pursuit of so-called happiness... We are conditioned not just to live to work, we are destined to end our days in ‘adequate’ facilities stripped naked of any remnant of dignity.

Ira, Irae for Anger

I can’t believe what I’ve just heard on the news... I’m so shell-shocked and angered I almost wish I hadn’t moved from my bed to walk to the living room and switch the TV on. It was Channel 4 news and some guy was talking in front of a projected image of a graph about the latest UN recommendations from that rotten Copenhagen meeting. My mouth opened in utter surprise, perhaps it was dismay, as I listened to what was being said. ‘Climate change’, the biggest fallacy of our times, was being used as an excuse to push the ugly agenda on population number control - read population curbing, here. The summit’s forecast? In a few years, the 6 billions of us will shoot up to 10.5 billions, and guess what, that’s bad for the climate.

One of the main recommendations? I quote: “Educating women to curb climate change”. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Some guy invited on the news program was talking about the need to start volunteering to only have one child - Hello, China. Well, girls, hang onto your ovaries tightly...

Apparently women are the ones who need to be educated so they will have less kids. It’s a shame they forgot to propose mass neutering of the male population, that would seem like a quicker fix for dear climate change since the majority of women at least in the developing world are still under the thumb of their husbands who are the ones to pick them from the cot to marry them - if they’re lucky not to end up on the meat rack of the rape/ sex exploitation business - and... guess what? They want kids.

Of course, I don’t care about who gets the nip as it is utterly irrelevant in the greater scheme of things. The real issue isn’t about who is asked to get educated (but I needed to express the depth of my anger and contempt for such an obvious patriarchal world government, as always), it is about the wave of horrendous control coming our way from all sides. Just as they dropped that bombshell on the news, they swiftly moved on to discuss upcoming elections in Britain. How sweet. Let’s talk about Labour and Tories, as though the two parties weren’t really about the same thing fundamentally. As if either could bring anything different than what their identical agenda from ‘above’ dictates. As if the ‘politicians’ reciting speeches they don’t even write themselves were really in power of anything but their own fat, corrupted wallets.

Mark my word, first they placed a few issues here and there, like climate change. They revamped it so it looked serious enough to get sheep - oops, sorry, I meant to say people - worried. ‘Don’t use plastic bags, it hurts the planet’, ‘use three bins to recycle everything’, ‘don’t take a bath, take a shower to save water’, ‘don’t eat meat, cattle is bad for the climate’... They used to say things like “think about your grand-children’s future”, but wait - what grand-children? The invisible ones? I don’t see how we’ll need to worry about it once we’re no longer allowed to reproduce.
Then, they start talking about ‘volunteering’... Volunteering to sterilize yourself, volunteering to get abortions (it’s good business for them, they can even recycle aborted embryos and experiment on them - for free)...

Now, let’s sit back and watch what happens next. If ‘volunteering’ doesn’t produce results, they can always impose it on us - hello again, China. After all, they did just that with the Lisbon Treaty, first with Britain, then Ireland (everyone understands the Irish people made a mistake when they first said NO; they really meant YES, right?). But wait - China is one of the big players these days. Forget that there is no democracy or freedom of expression in that country - if you look around closely enough, you’ll realise there is no such thing as a democracy here, either, except we were told time and time again that there was, and like wishful thinking, we all kind of bought it at face value. Ah, the beauty of conditioning.

I have to say I’m more than a little miffed no one ever dared propose less drastic solutions first to that so-called climate change business (ohhh, it is a business, and a lucrative one, but not for us).



Like, I don’t know... I’ll take a silly example: say a ship laden with passengers, food, water, furniture and bricks was beginning to sink in the middle of an ocean. What would common sense dictate we get rid of first? Would anyone really decide people should be thrown overboard first to ease the weight? Common sense would tell a person to throw away the bricks, then the furniture, then the food, then the water. Then you’d lock hands with fellow passengers, pray, and hope you can make it to the shore swimming, or something - or maybe enough time would have passed for another ship to pick you up.

In the case of so-called climate change, I’m left absolutely astounded that people should be the first ones to go (in the sense that we should first stop having 'so many' kids), when cars, planes, fuming factories and all that technology are all nicely kept untouched. Nah, they’ll tell you, stop having so many kids, that’s the real solution - leave the cars alone. Don’t even think about it, just do as we say. We know best. We are the experts, you’re just a drop in the ocean, you know nothing, mate.

By the way, I love the word ‘expert’. Apparently, you can become an ‘expert’ after 10 years of studying a particular subject. Can I claim to be an expert in smelling BS since I’ve been smelling and studying it at school compulsorily for almost two decades? Or does it only really work one way - the corrupt way?



And finally... I kind of miss hearing about global warming in the news every day. What happened to that term, eh? Now it’s all about climate change, but who can spot the not-so-subtle shift, here? There was too much noise within scientific circles, or debate, as to whether it was global warming or cooling, so instead the media was told to go for the blanket term: climate change. See, that way, you can’t accuse anyone of lying - EVER. I mean, doesn’t the weather change all the time, but more importantly, doesn’t climate shift a little over the years naturally?



I don’t know... Maybe some time soon they’ll announce that what really happened to the dinosaurs was that they were all so big that all their farting led to the ice age. If I say that, no one will take me seriously, but if a team of ‘experts’ backed by governments went on the telly to say: “Dinosaurs were so big and there were so many of them that their gas emission became too much to handle, leading to global cooling”, then I wonder how many would simply take it for truth.

Thoughts

I have a test this week in Ethics, which is a poor excuse for a module, if you ask me ( it only lasted 4 weeks). We’re spoon-fed half-baked theories we must accept as moral because it is the PC thing to do and then we have to answer stupid questions to show how well we can play the PC game.

It’s a heavy week in terms of assignments and tests, but I still found the time to read a whole little book last night... No... Not a classic, I’m afraid, but a cheap, laughable romance that inspired the True Blood series on TV.
See, reading it was alright. The writing world has this unique capacity for boundless limits in terms of shock-value, dissent, mainstream or ideals. It’s a funny, quite violent and lusty kind of cheap series, but it is in no way as gross or perverted as it presents itself on screen, because the written word gives you some kind of control over the images that are created in your mind - which a TV or cinema screen does not.
The only scar I’m left with is the familiar, exacerbated daydreaming state in which I slip for a few days following a read. I can then move on to the next read.


There can be no question as to the effect 2D depiction of events has on the human mind and its psychological workings. Perhaps I should call it the psycho-pathological effects of modern leisure.

The power of the screen is immense and under-estimated only because we are used to its effects on us already and can no longer distinguish the potent influence it yields.

There is at least one universal truth in this world and it is that governments, just like the majority of westernized people, do not give you anything for free. Ever. Yet, here they are encouraging you to get a better quality picture for your TV. They’ll put the price down on that commodity just so the poorest can afford HD at some point soon, so they can have better viewing. At the same time, the price of bread has shot up to three times what it was a mere couple of years ago. At the same time, the bread we buy is no longer the quality it used to be, and there is simply no way of knowing truly what it is made of. And that’s only bread, here, as an example.

Our fridge at home is pretty much empty most of the time, not because we can’t afford to buy food, but because we simply have no clue what to eat anymore. On Sunday, right after I’d popped by a friend's house to retrieve my notebook, I went shopping at Morrison’s and felt like buying some fish. The choice was dire so I settled for some salmon steak. It looked nice enough under the plastic cover, pink and healthy, just as any piece of salmon would. It definitely looked the part, whatever it really was.


I mean, I’m sure it used to be a ‘real’ salmon, but what the poor piece of fish won’t tell you even if it lived, is that it comes from intensive farming and was filled with hormones from the start, without forgetting the random toxins and chemicals added to the mix. Once the fish was cooked, I cut up tiny pieces for my cat to eat. He barely touched it, my fish-lover cat.
He had started to go crazy smelling the fish cooking in the oven, though, and was impatiently pestering us for food. Imagine my puzzled look when I finally gave him what he wanted only to watch him sniff the stuff and walk away. If a cat could ever sneer a snort, I guess that’s what mine would have done.


Can a cat be naturally more astute when it comes to survival instincts? I ate my share, but he certainly did not.

Of course, the horrendous ‘beauty’ in this is that eating the garbage we actually pay to have is unlikely to kill you on the spot. Of course it won’t. It might not even show any side effects.
The thing is... Even if our bodies really worked just as well as recycling bins, I would have hoped that we, humans, had more esteem for our kind. Apparently, we don’t.


I guess I’ll say it myself: “The European Union is kind of sinister.”
Tim had said that in passing and we barely brushed the significance of that gut feeling. Yet, what is the EU but one piece of a bigger jigsaw? It’s a nanny state hiding behind the safety blanket of human rights . The ‘nanny’ is more likely to turn out to be a previously convicted rapist masquerading as a social worker to be close to its victim. We are, by the way, the children of the state, whatever age we might be. We don’t own or know ourselves, or aren’t supposed to; we don’t know what’s good for us; we don’t know the difference between right and wrong; we couldn’t survive on our own. The state ‘knows’ all those things for us best. What makes up the state? Men just as fallible as the poor sod next door, except those in power have connections and money to become untouchable.

Here lies the dilemma: man needs society to an extent. Society becomes crucial to pass on knowledge and harbour development, and without some form of society, even a simple group of people, mankind would most likely wither to a pulp. It is equally detrimental, if not homicidal, to imprison man under the thumb of corrupted chiefs.

I’m worried, yet at the same time I’m not. How could that be? Well, we’ve been there before, we’ve faced that kind of crossroads before, truly. I know what can’t be stopped: the slow rise of a tiny portion of people who will become the power’s best pest. Rebels whose weapons comprise a pen, a brush or a voice. For every rebel killed, another rises in his place, as surely as the sun sets down to be born again the next day. In that sense, truth seekers have already won the battle on the bigger scale. In the end, who needs superheroes when we have the mind?

I don’t know how or when we got to the stage where we surrendered our lives to be ruled and governed by corporations, but the fact remains that we have. It’s hard to picture it in our heads, and it’s even harder to picture the gross significance of that fact. First, how does one picture in his mind what bears no face? In some countries, like England, a company becomes an individual entity before law, just like a Jane Doe or John Smith, yet the company is no single person but a conglomeration of so many people running it that it becomes a faceless entity in reality.
A company, however, is to the corporation what the chihuahua is to the German Shepherd or rottweiler. These faceless entities are what now rules the world. For every ‘famous’ face or brand, there is a corporation behind. Fact.

Another Midnight Day

Looks like it’s set to rain all day... The cover of grey clouds is weighing on the city.

I don’t know why I’m surprised anymore when I stumble across stuff on the internet. Like, I don’t know, learning that rice has been genetically modified with human genes (2007 Daily Mail article). It’s not like I’d never heard of GM food, is it?... I just never imagined they would go so far as adding HUMAN genes to food. The sorcerers behind that - I mean scientists... - like to say they’ve discovered a way to cure children’s basic diseases in third world countries by adding stuff in the rice. Shame they don’t bother ensuring clean water first in those countries... But if they did just that, they would be sorting out the source of most diseases, so where would the profit be?




There had been talks before of how they could now add vitamins, even vaccines straight into your tomatoes, I’ll have you know. Where does it stop? Can you even hope to escape the current dictat?

Where is the so-called freedom when you can’t even choose what you put in your mouth?

What are we but human recycling bins in the end?

It seems that all is well as long as there is no immediate effect to link their mojo to sickness. The trouble with such insane tempering with nature itself is the long TERM effects, but when you are surrounded by chemicals, there is little hope of finding the root cause of disease caused by the tempering.

Funny how it’s always the same kind of disorders that prevails in western societies, eh? More and more children are born with eczema or will develop the condition, and the number of women suffering from hormonal imbalance that can link to infertility keeps growing. Perhaps mum is right after all, when she jokingly says that we were the dinosaurs. Aren’t we changing into freaks of nature, after all?

The deadly cocktail of food tempering coupled with whatever they put in those vaccines...
It wasn’t enough to inject cattle with hormones... No... Not enough. Not bad enough, not enough profit.


How dare I even protest? Look, they’d say; look what we gave to you, ungrateful little sod! Look at the pretty city, the supermarkets and leisure we’ve created for you! All that comfort... Your ancestors were either enslaved or they lived in shacks, starving. Now look! Look! How dare you even question that today’s way of life isn’t better?

I can’t watch programs on slaughter houses. I can’t watch, let alone think too much about the line of cattle going for the kill one after the other because it reminds me of our humanity, except they made the landscape prettier for us to an extent. They break sheep’s legs when the beasts refuse to comply and move up along the chain that leads them to their death, but they can’t do that with humans - not in such an obvious fashion. So they break our legs, and they eventually break our necks through illusions, because all that really separates us from cattle is the ability to reason. The latter forces our butchers to be a little craftier when it comes to placing us on the line that will lead us to death. All for what?

ALL FOR WHAT? I don’t know anymore... Is it really all for profit? Is money that big a deal, to the point of turning people into pure evil? Where does the poison come from? Who brought it to us? Such a waste... A waste of life. The real genocide is that of the mind. Once you’ve killed the spirit, I can’t see what’s left to save.

Life is wasted, flushed down the drain, but most people understand only things like ‘waste of time’, or ‘waste of money’, or ‘waste of energy’... What does it mean when you say ‘waste of life’, huh? It is, once again, the total sum of all that is humanly wasted. My own life, and probably yours, is a distorted version of what it ought to have been... At this point I wouldn’t know how else to put it. Look beyond the veil of illusions and the comfort that numbs the mind.

Poisoned on one side, told how special we are on the other... If that’s not perversion at its extreme, I don’t know what is. It serves its purpose, though. We end up utterly baffled, confused. "But look at what they gave us on that side, look at how they try to save lives, how they try to perfect our comfort - they even gave us HD tv, mate... Surely they can’t be hurting us from the other side. It doesn’t make sense."

There, my point exactly: it doesn’t make sense. That’s the goal.

The nihilist society

Things have to get worse before they get better... It’s hard to see how much worse things can get on all levels. We’ve got to the stage where we no longer have any idea what it is we put in our mouth, but we carry on mindlessly courtesy of adaptation and, well, conditioning.

Take my case, for instance. I was born when supermarket giants were already the norm, just as banks, credit cards and the media were. I never stopped to wonder about the voices that came out from the radio or television sat in mum’s living room because I was born and grew up surrounded by these machines from the start. I took them for granted, as a normal occurrence of life. It’s hard to question what seems to always have been there. It’s even harder when the general consensus dictates that it is a good thing.

Isn’t it a shock to the system when you suddenly learn that what you always took for granted and safe turns out to be reckless and life-threatening, maybe to the point of being in fact evil? At this point, I no longer long for an escape into a fantasy world - it almost feels as though I’ve begun to drown in some dystopia. As Cara would have thought: “Of all the fantasies I’d longed to escape into, this one was not one of them.”

Everything is distorted, twisted according to some agenda, and though it appears almost impossible to spell out exactly what is going on, one thing emerges clear as a diluted, mid-summer blue sky: all that is done is done for profit.

Science is no longer a potential wonder for mankind, it is a weapon. You read of genetic manipulations under the guise of ‘human interest’. Where does one draw the line? The scary thing is that a majority in power, and even within scientific circles, don’t believe that any line should be drawn - ever. Why draw a line, they would smirk, when all a line does is limit you. So you hear of mice being grown a human ear on their backs and the justification for such gross barbary is simple: to further scientific and medical advances in the hope of 'saving' more human lives.


In one corner, you have pro-life folks storming against individuals who choose to abort their foetus or embryo. In another corner, you have a bunch of scientists planning to use embryos for experiments. Science has become another blanket word and anything goes under its guise. To live. To survive. To remain in this world for as long as possible. That excuse is enough to carry out the most perverse of actions.

Sure, on an individual level, one could not be blamed for wanting to live or survive... It is part of an instinct as old as the Earth itself - that of survival. But... No, we are not supposed to live forever, and no, we are not supposed to get our own way every time, and no we are not supposed to justify the means for an end. In every trauma, every terrible event or set of circumstances that befall us, there is something for the person to learn from - to grow. It doesn’t mean it won’t be hard, almost destructive at times, but it is the only way to grow as human beings.

Childhood is about learning boundaries, hence the constant breaching of such boundaries. Adults are meant to guide and teach, and make sure whatever boundary is breached, it isn’t one that is too horrendous or destructive. The aim would be that through the experiment of breaching boundaries and learning from early, basic experiences, one would reach the adult stage of life with at least a rough idea of which boundaries need to be respected. The rest of existence is spent refining such notions. In other words, we then spend the rest of our lives getting to understand better the ethical and moral side of existence as human beings with the unique ability to think and reason. Well, that’s what ought to be the case. Instead, we see adult life being squandered in futility where materiality and greed become the only purpose for mankind.

In the end, capitalism and consumerism are direct tenets of a nihilist society.
Greed leads to corruption; consumerism leads to want, which leads to greed, which eventually leads to corruption. Here is the pattern that defines what we call a capitalistic society. Profit becomes the beating heart of the system and under its umbrella greed, corruption, consumerism and wants are like arteries departing from it.

There is no such thing as a selfish trait or gene, it is a nurtured, grossly distorted consequence from all the above through conditioning and the need to adapt to survive.
Profit and its pulsing arteries such as greed, consumerism and corruption lead nowhere but to a nihilist conclusion. The process by which it destroys itself is akin to a cancer eating at a body from within. Everything else slowly withers and perishes until only the umbrella and its departing arteries remain, and when that happens, all else is destroyed, and even the umbrella begins to dissolve to nothingness to give way for chaos.

On the sense of Purpose

I like to imagine sometimes that whatever bad happens, there must be a bigger picture somewhere, and there must be something good to draw out of it. I even like to think of hardship as a helpful tool to grow as a person, or that it is one of life’s tests... That there is a reason behind everything that happens, if only we can recognise what it is, which means taking the time to understand every face of a situation.

Well, since about last night, I’ve never doubted such a theory more. It almost makes more sense to think we’re all random, just as this world is despite its inherent natural balance, and it just happens that most people are rotten, and you just have to live with it or drown. You drown, you die, end of. There’s nothing more to it, and everything that seems to make sense is part of human make-belief - the need to place a meaning on things for ourselves to make the randomness of life more bearable.

So the reason we invented work, for instance, is to give ourselves the shadow of some purpose in life, really, so we have something to do while alive. If we didn’t, then we’d just get bored, I suppose. Boredom can easily lead to depression, and most people would just end up killing themselves, one way or another. Without purpose, a thinking beast becomes a time bomb. There’s no telling when or how it’ll blow. It could wipe itself out, or it could take others down as well. And all that because of a lack of purpose, whose impact on us is named depression.

When I was little, my main purpose in life was simple, albeit impossible to achieve, but then kids tend to have great dreams that are only dashed later down the line. I lived to escape into a fantasy world. Failing this, I could see myself becoming an ‘actress’, so I would keep as close to the fantasy illusion as possible, you see. Life happened, of course, and with it waltzed in a set of unpredictable changes in circumstances. I didn’t get to die when I realised I would never escape reality, so for a long while I lost all sense of purpose. I got depressed. Surprise, surprise.

Then the writing kicked in, and I found myself a new purpose in life that allowed me to cope better with this reality for a while. If I didn’t have that delusion of a purpose in mind, then what would be the point in anything? This is a very serious issue, because it questions the core of what we are, as a species in this world, and it digs into the heart of the mind.

Thinking and reason coupled with the ability to feel emotions leads to the intrinsic need for a sense of purpose. This begs the question: are we doomed to live forever in a prison of delusions?

If you need to convince yourself that what you do fills a purpose in life, then it is a delusion, but only if the premise entails that we are all here by chance, down a chain of very natural events. The whole Darwin Theory, to put it simply, here.

There Is No Truth Out There...

... Only convenient versions of it.



Can anything we say or write fit with such verbs as ‘to be’? To be, is, was, will be... The verb alludes to certainties or facts. I am me, I am a girl, I am a person, I am a grown-up... The sky is blue, the clouds are white, the house is big, the dog is barking, the cat is jumping, the weather is foul, etc... I wonder if all these shouldn’t in fact be replaced by a verb that would reflect our limited perception of reality.

Am I, or do I actually only seem to be?

It seems that I is me, and it seems that I is a girl, because of what the majority would say, what they all came to agree on as a crowd - or majority. The sky seems blue, because my eyes tell me that it resembles most the colour we all can see and agree to call ‘blue’. The grass seems green for the same reason, yet a horse could tell you it is red if it could talk (and that's according to the latest scientific research).

There are no certainties, only man-made agreements based on what we see, hear, smell, touch, taste and generally sense or experience in common as a species.
We know that senses are misleading. We smell a certain scent with our limited ability to smell, and a dog would smell something different because his sense of smell is so much more developed. We see the bricks that made up the house, but if our vision was stronger to a certain point, we wouldn’t see the bricks as such, we would see the particles and atoms that make up those bricks that make up that house. Reality would then look quite different at least in appearance.

I wonder where we are heading as a society. It frightens me no end, not because I just happen to see the worst in all technological advances, but because there is not enough time spent on dwelling on consequences. We move on according to our findings, and in that sense we cease to be the masters of our advances. We lose ourselves in a race against time, in a race that has no defined finishing line. Where do you stop, then? And would stopping ever matter, or only the pursuit of knowing more about the world and its neighbour? And can you really understand the world if you haven’t spent the time to know yourself?

Could you say that a ball is a ball if you had never seen one before? What if one explained to you that a ball in round and red or blue and that it bounces when you throw it? Would you then know what a ball is? Well, would you?

If you knew that a ball is round and red or blue and that it bounces when you throw it, you would be able to distinguish such an objects among others. You could point a finger at it and say “ball!”, but would you know what it is, or what it is for intrinsically? Chances are that even if you fail to understand what it is actually meant to do, you would give it your own purpose in mind. You might decide that it is an object to play with, to throw against a wall and play. You could also decide that it is a present from God fallen from the sky. Or a pretty ornament. Its purpose becomes a man-made concept, and it seems that beyond that silly example, most things around us are given the same treatment more or less.

It matters not that meaning eludes us, for we can always give our own meaning to everything.

In a world full of man-made beliefs, I ask one how it can ever be possible to find true meaning.
Are we doomed to only experience reality according to what people agree to perceive as reality, or is there a way beyond that?

Of course, the ball example is flawed in the sense that man invented such an object with some pre-defined purpose in mind. In a way, the guy who created that ball must have wanted to create it so he could play football with it, for instance. But then, if that purpose in mind isn’t explained to others, how are others supposed to know what that ball’s purpose is? They will either remain perplexed, or they will grant it a whole new meaning, hence purpose.

If we look at the advances in sciences, even, we see that men are now more capable than ever to understand the mechanics of a great deal of things that appeared a mystery to us not so long ago.


Whereas one might have once thought that the heart was merely an organ holding all the romantic feelings of the person, we now know that it is one of the main organs necessary to survival, that it acts like a pump to make the blood flow and all that. In that sense, sciences have managed to go beyond imaginary or limited means of understanding. They can tell you that the purpose of the heart is to act as a pump, for instance, and they could now tell you the purpose of various things with quite a lot of certainty.

What disturbs me is the illusionist base on which everything, absolutely everything, rests. We perceive reality in a limited way, in so far as we perceive it as a species and agree together on that vision or perception. What makes sense as purpose in our minds only happens to fit in with our perception. It might well be that the heart’s true purpose is quite different in truth, but we can only perceive a certain purpose for it according to our own limited perception of reality.

I am such a product of my own society, aren’t I? I look for true meaning and reality because I happen to be immersed in more illusions than ever. Removed too far from nature, one might begin a journey back to simplicity, only for the mind to find a remnant of a sound base on which to grow understanding away from too many false assumptions and mistaken conclusions.
In that sense, I am reluctant to put too much faith on granted knowledge, the one that allows a person to skip steps to understand only a certain portion of knowledge.

For instance, in my case, knowing that the Earth revolves around the sun is not true knowledge, it is granted knowledge. I do not know all the theories, calculations or means to get to that ‘fact’. I am merely told that it is so. Because it is a ‘fact’ most will agree on, it must be true, and therefore I ‘know’ that the Earth revolves around the sun. I keep in mind the historical factor that the person who one day told the world that ‘truth’ or discovery was put to death because back then people weren’t ready to accept that the Earth wasn’t in fact at the centre of the universe, or that it wasn’t flat. This mere historical event shows the crucial role social agreement plays in the way we shape our reality.

If anything, granted knowledge is to me nothing more than a risky potential shortcut to mistake. I would rather take the risk of wasting time doubting what is actually true as part of granted knowledge, than assume without truly knowing.

It matters not that in the end I should know very little, because as I wrote it before, I hope that what I do come to understand will at least be as close to true knowledge as humanly possible.
In an ideal world, there would be no mere scientists, there would only be philosophers who happen to be scientists.

There is no truth out there, only convenient versions of it.

Glimpses

I haven't written anything for a while, now. Sometimes I feel like thoughts in my head just keep repeating themselves over and over again and I don't see the point in rehashing the same old things. It doesn't make those thoughts any less relevant or perhaps even true, but it shows me that I lack answers, and still more questions in my head arise. It's tiring at times.

So I had a random read at my old writings, and I found this entry in one of my diaries which brought quite a few strange memories back to the fore, somehow. It happened sometime this year, between March and April.

"Last night was very strange and made me feel as though we were suddenly back a century or two in time, in the slums and glum of poverty in the dark entrails of London. Scenes from Dickens’ books kept popping in my mind... To give but an idea of the scene that played out before my eyes. Mum had just come back from a long day at work, and she had quickly prepared her dinner, a bowl of soup and some chicken, when the landlord finally came. He knocked on the door and we barely had time to clean the mess around us.

I hid the cat’s food away from sight, but the rest was as it stood: cluttered and messy because there is simply no room. I was still in my old pajama pants and wore that huge canary jumper (which I wear today, and almost every day because I get so freaking cold in here), my hair held back in a loose ponytail. He came into the room, wearing a black suit, and stood there like a lemon, really, for an awkward moment, not even daring much of a glance around him. He had a folder in his hands that contained the ‘contract’ and direct debit form, and asked for the rent, which is when it all kicked off with mum, of course.

She began to tell him how much money we spend on the electric just to keep the room warm... About 5 quid a day. She told him that it had now been 2 months we hadn’t been able to use the shower, let alone any hot water at all. He opened his eyes wide in fake surprise, muttering that we should have told him, even though we had. He said something like ‘English people always live in cold rooms anyway” in such a dismissive tone that mum just hit back with a “I’m not English so I don’t live like that”.

At some point mum began crying, saying something about living like pigs. I had to bite my lip not to laugh, really, because I knew she was playing with him. Dealing with ruthless, cold and heartless people who only live for profit on the back of more vulnerable people teaches you to play along just enough to survive. You can’t get angry at these people -not in their faces- and you can’t tell them the truth about their abject ways. You show them that you’re as vulnerable and weak as they like to think you are. The truth is that if you let out what you actually have a right to say - the truth of the matter- they would kick you out in the cold in a heartbeat. And then what? What do you do then?

As soon as mum started crying, the landlord seemed to lose his footing slightly.
“M’am, m’am, please, don’t cry,” he mumbled, taking a step forward and bumping into the things scattered in this tiny room, not knowing where to place himself. He looked at me and I simply shrugged, rolling my eyes in desperation. So he suddenly told us we could use the bathroom upstairs where the prostitute used to live - she moved out last week, you see- because there would be hot water there, and we wouldn’t have to pay for it. He says “come Aliska, come, I’ll show you, it’s a nice shower.” So I follow him upstairs, still in those dirty white and pink pants and bright yellow jumper, and I almost want to laugh at my appearance. I wonder for a second when it was exactly that we fell so low, and already we have stepped into the prostitute’s old little room. In a corner there is a shower room but when the landlord tries to turn on the light it doesn’t work, so he must show me the hot water in semi-darkness. I feel the warmth of the gushing water on my hand and I nod as he keeps saying “you see, you see, hot water! Ah, you see, it’s nice, it’s hot, you can shower now.”
I glance at the floor and see the streaks of grease and black dirt all over it and he sees it, too. He mumbles an excuse as to the dirty state of that wonderful shower, saying it will clean itself when we actually use it. I bite my tongue again not to express my disgust at him. I almost want to ask him if he would shower in that filth, but what’s the point when you already know the answer?...

We go back downstairs and mum hands him about half the rent money, and though he seems very hesitant and asks several times for the full amount, we promise to give him the rest as soon as we earn it. He leaves us at last and we are left hating the fact that we are now well and truly stuck in that shit hole. Yes, to move out we would need enough money for a deposit and first month rent, but we have barely enough to pay for this dump.

There are people out there who have known at some point in their lives what poverty was all about. Losing everything or rising from nothingness... One day it might well be that I won’t be poor anymore, or that I won’t have to be poor to follow my beliefs against corruption. I would never want to forget. I could never forget or pretend that these things never happened. They happened, one after the other, each worse than the previous, like a vicious circle. These are horrible times, they really are. They make you question if you are still human, or a poor excuse for a human life. They make you question the people out there feeding and building their wealth on people like us. They make you question the core of human existence, societies themselves and their ruthless order.

Poor people have to exist in order for the rich to be. If you want something, then something else has to give. If you already had a taste of getting what you want, then you might feel sad at the account of some poor sod’s struggles, but you will no longer be able to let go of your wants. That is corruption of the mind. Because of this, and because of the natural envy that grows in most people’s inner hearts, there must always be poor people to grant a wealthy status to a few.

I could die tomorrow and be safe in the knowledge that I lived a very human life in the end. I experienced a wide spectrum of what being human on this Earth really means. I pushed, and pushed against the boundaries of my own mind to try and make sense of what my eyes showed me. It started out like so many others out there, more or less shielded from pure reality thanks to the power of my imagination that fed constantly on a plethora of illusions, but in the end I had to face glimpses of our reality as it stands before us, far removed from any cushioning veil of delusions.

If I try, these days, to remember how it was like back home, when I was still so young and blissfully unaware of the realities of life... It feels like home, a bittersweet wave of wistful remembrance growing hazier as time goes by. It feels like another life, perhaps just a dream I once had."

Dreams

I managed to wake shortly after 5am. The sky is a steel blue, the air fresh and eerily quiet for now. I fed the cat, and then rested my thoughts on strange dreams I’ve been having... Such dreams are usually vivid enough for me to remember pieces of them.

The first one was two nights ago, and in that dream I was back in our old flat. You’d think that after all this time away, my memory of the place would betray me, but in the dream, the flat -the building itself- was painfully familiar, and even the detail of nasty neighbours I’d rather have forgotten was there. I wasn’t a kid in that dream, but I’d been playing like one with some boy who was a kid. We got back to my flat, panting from running around too much and the stinky next-door neighbour stormed out of his flat to warn the little boy to be quieter... The flood of emotions I felt within that dream was so realistic... It was the same type of scorn I used to feel for the low-life who used to beat his dogs ruthlessly and let his children stink, wearing dirty clothes - all 5 or 6 of them.

I sneered at the man’s threats but what changed in the dream was his response. He wasn’t fazed by my disdain for him, he laughed instead and pushed his way into my flat to sit on the pink sofa. I was going berserk by then, fearing mum’s wrath when she would come home to find the horrible man in our flat. The little boy was still there, hesitant. I could tell he was very afraid of the balding, overweight man with small, narrowed eyes. I kept trying to have him leave, but he ignored me, smirking. After another moment trying to get him out (I was even holding a baseball bat...) he suddenly leaned toward me to whisper words; words spoken so fast that I fail to remember them exactly, and it woke me up at once. It was something along the lines of “did you know about your father...”
It had to do with a secret, or some secret object that belonged to my father, or something stupid like that. In the end, the dream made no sense whatsoever...



Last night’s dream was a different breed altogether. It was about the black hole within me, or a part of it. It was such a convoluted dream that I wouldn’t even know how to describe it accurately. I saw myself wandering places, even getting to some beach at some point, crowded with people lying on the sand, by the strong waves that rolled against the shore. I was looking for someone I loved. I was so focused in the search - I ‘knew’ who it was only in the dream, but I had lost him- that I could intensely feel the pain of having lost him. It was a remnant of pure love, the crazy type that makes you obsess over a person. Within the dream, I had memories in which I drowned my sorrow, and I kept searching for the guy, in vain. I had memories of how it had felt to be with him, though I’ve never experienced anything like this in reality. Thinking of that imaginary love, the memories made me feel complete, but as I searched for him all alone, I could feel the emptiness his departure had caused in me. I didn’t want to wake up from that dream... I didn’t want to wake up because in that dream, the guy I was looking for was real, somehow, and there was hope that if I searched for him hard enough I could find him again. As soon as I woke up, of course, I realised that it was all nonsense.

Dreams that seem so real that they give you that fleeting hope are the hardest to bear, really. I love and hate them at the same time... I saw his beautiful face, full of love and care, and I longed to be with him again... He felt so real... So real even in absence... I woke up before I could find him, of course.

What I find strange about dreams sometimes, is how you move along the convoluted plot that makes no sense in reality and feel as though it is the continuity of some other backstory... For instance, I would be dreaming about something in particular, and within that same dream there would be remnants of some other, older dream I had in the past as though the latest dream was but a continuity of the other, somehow... It gives you the false sense of it being real.

Where is the beautiful, caring face I saw in my dream? I want to believe so much that he is in fact real, that there is a chance I could find him with my eyes wide open rather than closed...

Reality dictates that dreams are just what they are: dreams.

December 2008

The trouble with ‘modern’ music is that no matter how much you like a song you end up sick of listening to it after a while and so the supply must be constant so that people get their fix. I’m an entertainment addict, I won’t deny it. How could it be otherwise when I am so naturally and easily distracted or dazzled? The only difference, I would guess, is that I know I am being fed opium for the brain. 

At times I try hard to go cold turkey but in the end I know every fibre of my body is soaked in illusions. I keep going back for more because it does numb the pain of living, the ignorance I know exists within me like a giant void nestled in my chest.

So come on in Britney, Christina, Pink and whatever other popstar the world will spawn next. 

It’s funny to think that until only recently I was dreaming of becoming an actress, and a famous, glamorous one at that. I bought the whole fame factory story and just like so many others I kind of believed the vibe. And then I suddenly understood that all that showbiz glitter is part of a much bigger illusion-making machine.

 It didn’t bother me that I should be part of such a machine, as long as I was part of the illusion. It is the realisation that I could never join in the illusion making that now puts me off, and so I retreated into the only thing I had left: writing. When illusions become more enticing than anything reality has to offer, existence becomes a form of burden: nothing is ever enough. No illusion or delusion feels real enough and thus you look for more ways to keep the dream going.

If I wasn’t corrupted already then I would be writing about deeper, more meaningful things, but my mind can only handle dreams and fantasy- the very ones that turned me into a living zombie. yet here I am attempting to keep the machine going... Spreading the virus like a good lapdog... My social self, a good chunk of what makes me who I am is definately common and weak; another, more subtle and easily overlooked by my person, fights hard to wake me up. Perhaps that is part of the reason why I write the way I always do, writing fast to capture the gist of what I really mean even if my social self doesn’t get it. “Impressionist writing” allows me to dive deeper and reach that hidden part of me, the only thing worth salvaging, just as an impressionist would capture a certain light fading too fast. 

And then, as I try to read myself I am often baffled and unable to really grasp what it is I am trying to say. Only after a few months or years does it suddenly make sense to me. So now I am waiting, i keep writing and barely ever bother to read back because it would be far too soon and useless- I, of all people, would not get it.

Words are just like the wind. They mean nothing, they are devoid of all true significance in reality. They can only affect a person’s ego, but that’s it. They have that effect only because we grant certain words the illusory meaning we wish to give them. Everything is based on make-belief, from our perception of reality to the notion of social contract. Our notion of existence rests solely on a string of agreements between a majority. The apple became what we call an apple because a majority imposed the term on a specific shape their eyes could see and so on. Who is to say the word means anything or that the idea we have of it isn’t flawed from the start? And why does it matter anyway? Who cares? My questions are so basic and perhaps idotic that nobody cares.

We basically made up our own sense of reality and only see a certain angle of it through the objects, feelings and more abstract notions our made-up vocabulary allows. What would happen if one was to ignore what is ‘named’ or defined and begin to examine what lies in-between? The lack of words to define what lies between the table and the chair means that we can only get confused- but we can tell there must be something else apart from a blanket word such as a ‘gap’. There are so many ‘fillings’, words invented to avoid having to face what we fail to grasp within the realm of our reality... ‘all’, ‘everywhere, anywhere, people, time, emptiness...” 

Those words in themselves mean nothing at all, they are utterly empty and rest on the assumption of generalities. As a matter of fact a generality is more likely to lead to a false conclusion or a greater margin of error in one’s reasoning and therefore using general words to make do with what we fail to define accuretely can only be cause for concern. No wonder we as thinking creatures so often fail to understand one another. I truly suspect that one of the roots of human discord rests on the limited and often mistaken use of words- languages. 

I fail to understand myself because what I feel more often than not falls beyond the set of words we use to define emotions. I guess our make-do languages aren’t good enough for me. Because they are such a reflection of our own human limitations they frustrate me.

A mind's realm

Perhaps both Carroll and Orwell were right in the end. Concision must be one of the keys; not to make an idea easier to grasp but rather to allow words to keep their true meaning and everlasting strength that will get to you. And perhaps the careless overuse of words without thinking hard enough as to what we truly aim to express has led to writing perdition, which in turn leads to every word written to become weak and meaningless to the ear and the eye.

Ideally, one would have the fluent knowledge of every single language that exists in the world and gather every word that would complete the other fully… Then we would, maybe, achieve a perfect language and perfected expression of the mind. Perhaps, if one was to express anger through words and convey that feeling completely, they would use many different words from various languages whose words contain subtle variations and would add the forever lacking element preventing us from truly expressing what we had in mind.

Creating a universal language based on the best of every existing languages would symbolize the highest state of an ideal called harmony, or cohesion. From then understanding would flow much better and there would be less room for hostility. I suspect that every single human being, apart from the mentally weaker, perhaps, understands the other perfectly well intrinsically; it is the words we utter or write that lead to confusion. They are never a good enough medium to convey a thought.

But what is a thought, and is any of my thoughts different from you or my neighbour? What if we all had the same core understanding within, the same pattern of thought but languages and the choice of words from the start only serve to create a widening gap between my understanding and yours?

Within the realm of my own mind, it seems possible that it is truly an infinite realm in the sense that my mind goes on as another person’s mind begins and so on. And so it appears that the realm of reason might well transcend all that is material and palpable but we end up negligent of it because our eyes are not merely the windows to the physical world, but the very means of self-deception drowning us in constant illusions.

We seem to think that reality can only be perceived through what can physically be seen, touched, heard or experienced. Therefore reality is what it is according to a very limited state of perception, limited by the physical realm. The mind can transcend all rules and coupled with the power of imagination it knows no limits. Though it would be deemed removed from ‘reality’ because imagining a flying horse is not possible- it is not part of our physical reality- why could it not still be what is real and what we actually see with our own eyes the true illusion or dream?

The laws of gravity tends to prove that we, as beings in the physical world, are indeed real and the flying horse born out of my imagination is in fact the illusion or dream. Gravity gives to our living experience a sense of consistency and a sound base as to what can or cannot happen. If an apple falls from the tree it is doomed to reach the ground unless some physical factor prevents it from doing so- such a my hand catching that apple as it falls. On the other hand, it seems that one has yet to see a horse flying away through the skies. Because the mind is never constrained by any rule and only limited by the unknown, it can defy every single physical limitation and one would readily add that in any case what is spawned from the mind can easily remain just inexistent- a figment of the imagination.

But then… If I truly believe that the mind’s realm is indeed as real if not the only real realm, then I shall put all my energy into making that horse fly. If one has a strong enough dream or thought then one is likely to pursue it to the end, and this in turn might explain the strive people find within themselves to create or better what surrounds them, for instance. One man dreamt that one day he would fly, and others after him also shared the same dream.
Today we can fly.

If the realm of reason, coupled with imagination, is capable to fuel man’s drive to make ideas and dreams a physical reality then what is more real in the end? Is the core of reality born out of our own minds and then translated into a physical reality? Is it really impossible that what I see within my mind could be more intrinsically real than what my own eyes show me everyday?

16.30: Sitting under the apple tree
The sun merging with the sea
Spreading its fiery wings
In endless whorls and rings

Of doom, a hazy dream
Rocking the flawless beam
Of dying light and shimmers
Within the mind of dreamers

Under the apple tree the wings
Of birds, a cloud of feathers
In the misty grim lingers
Beyond the earth and sings

For all to hear and see
But blind is the heart
And misled to depart
From the dying apple tree

To the core of idealism

I ignored the inevitable for so long that while I remained safely in the nest, sheltered from too direct or deep interaction with reality, my mind wasn’t. It kept growing faster than my emotional side. And now my mind seems to expect far greater things than my person can live up to because my emotions are unruly, almost alien to me. The only way I could ever express them is through writing, venting wave after wave of unfathomable pain, regret, bitterness, love and anger. I have simply no perspective as far as that deeper side is concerned. All I do know is that it is very strong, very determined, narrow-minded to favour efficiency and result, and quite ruthless because it no longer cares for individuals but humanity as a whole. I’m beginning to see every person as interchangeable, more or less akin to any other animal having dozens of offsprings and the only way to prove to me that you are beyond such randomness you would have to step up with your own life to achieve a greater purpose: that of striving for the god-like experience and hopefully succeed. Anything else would be trivial in the sense that whatever you ‘choose’ to do with your life can be done by anyone else in your place. Therefore you are not unique, you are not a true individual, you are expandable and interchangeable.

Why the God-like experience? Because it makes sense. Once you reject religion in all form and shape, you let go of crutches and morals instilled in you without giving you a chance to ever be able to reflect on them objectively. Then, as you reject all, there is a void, an emptiness. You get to a very dark place where there is simply nothing left. To reach for truth or what ought to be, even in the hope of finding a higher plane or being, the only way would be to strive to reach up for that ideal or sense you have in you. How else can you reach a ‘god’ if you, yourself, don’t attempt to step up to its realm? So far, religion has always alluded to the idea that gods were perfection and that we were forever imperfect, therefore bound to remain pawns or guilt-ridden creatures of doom. Either you remain safely nestled in the illusion of religion or you follow logic to the end and as you turn away from such notions as religion you must be able to see the argument through to the end. Otherwise you’re an idiot. You’re worse than the friend who blindly believes in whatever god he was conditioned to worship and fear.

Why? Because you are the one boasting to have rejected religion but unless you come to the conclusion that men can then transcend the ideal of god to become their own gods -their own strive to perfection- you’re nothing but a fraud. A coward too afraid to face their own true self. I’m afraid, too. I’m scared every day, every second of my life, but then I am really human: while I feel emotions, I do not let them govern me. I ensure that whatever it is I feel will only serve to make me stronger, higher.

On writing and other things, again

17/07/08

Cloudy and rainy again. On the verge of breaking the 160,000 word mark. I’ve added the sledge travelling part and went along with those characters of mine through blizzards and endless sheets of whitness where horizon and land merge into one infinity. I saw those huskey dogs run wild, dragging the sledge behind and I felt every bump on the way. Whether I actually managed to convey the experience in words is another matter, as always. My last big journey will be trekking through the dense tropical forest that leads to the Shores. It will only be a short trip but I’m looking forward to letting my mind travel in the far-flung regions of perfection. I cheated time and gravity all at once. Whilst my body is bound to this reality, being stuck- a prisoner- between grey walls, relentless noise and ugly landscapes that make up a city I can no longer stand, I have at the same time travelled so far away that it blows my own mind. It is as though I have really been to those unreachable realms of beauty and sheer wilderness. I went, saw, felt and remembered like a true explorer. What I do not know is whether I was able to translate everything I saw, felt, heard and experienced into something I could share. Yet I know now that what I have written is my most precious possession. It is my own escape, a world I created along the way that is entirely mine even though it now stands on its feet and has its own ‘spirit’. I may have thrown in the foundations but the rest that ensued was of its own accord. The world shaped itself into what it ought to be, not according to what I wished it to morphe into, in a way. Or perhaps the grey walls and relentless noise around me, the gloom and crying skies, were the very element that helped me build a world so far removed from my reality. I longued for sunny horizons and green landscapes, glimpses of purity boyond the ruthless materiality that is everywhere my eyes look.

So much so that in the end the perfect world was born- out of a mind that felt smothered alive and reaching out for air and freedom it can never truly obtain. I suspect I shall never win such freedom, for I know very little of what it ought to be. I only yearn for the ideal it instills in my mind. I’ll always be a prisoner of this reality and a pawn of materiality. It is inevitable. All I have is a yearning mind and itchy fingers eager to better themselves. These tools are my only defense, my only way out. Beyond that nothing much truly makes sense. Everything is veiled or concealed from its truth. Every object, every palpable thing is known without knowledge and taken for granted. Even the food we eat everyday isn’t known. It is so far removed from its original state and has gone through so many different processes that it is but a lie to think we know the finished product. 

If I picked a tomato and turned it myself into a puree I would know what ketshup is.

I look at that glass bottle and the only way I ‘know’ it is ketshup is thanks to a label telling me that it is. Social conditioning also instilled in me many templates of what certain things ought to look, feel or taste like but unless I haven’t discovered the thing myself, from its initial state to its finality then all that I know is really little more than an illusion. No wonder I feel trapped and confused in a world where everything that surrounds you is based on a tacit agreement that we ought to know things simply because a majority says what they ought to be.

 It seems especially true of food. How do I know what that beef steak really is, beyond the safe label stuck on it telling me that it is? It’s pretty much a game of trust and I should be trusting enough to take whoever’s word for it but in an age where only profit and money prevail, I find myself lost and frightened. Even if I decide not to trust what is deemed to be, even if I refuse to believe readily that the beef in front of me really is beef, everything has been so far removed from me for so long that I have no alternative but wonder forever. I have no option to go back to the source and learn- truly- what beef is, what that piece on my plate is. It seems that while we appear to live in a world of great material technology, we’ve never been so far removed from reality itself, living off understandings on what everything ought to be- living off one illusion to the next.

Anyway, I need to go to the bank pretty soon and that really pisses me off. The bank itself is a perfect allegory of illusion-based reality where the bank is a term that refers to an unknown agglomeration of people and powers. There is no real relation or exchange between the individual and the bank, only the illusion of one through numbers of people and machines. Hence the difficulties and headaches such encounters always seem to give us. In the spectrum of Reality such encounters are in fact at the lower end and could be deemed more likely to be an illusion than not. Fact.

The End

When I was very little I used to lie down on the bed and as I closed my eyes I could imagine myself anywhere I wished. I saw everything as though I was there. I was there. And then, eyes still shut, I would feel my bed spin in place faster and faster and I was so afraid- not because it turned so fast that I was dizzy, but for fear that it would stop if I looked. I didn’t want the spinning to stop, I wanted it to take me away, somewhere higher and I didn’t care that I could never find the way back. And I didn’t care that I would lose myself. But then, every time I would fall asleep and when I woke I was back in the bed and nothing had changed.

Too much

       I know nothing because the society I live in, more than at any other given time, is based on illusions- tv, cinema, the internet... How can I not be from a generation of eternal doubters? How can I not question what is imposed as truth when deep down I do not know how we got here? Every single thing we know is reliable as far as the source on which your knowledge is based is. 

How can you not question it? How can you just accept it? Do you believe everything your neighbour tells you? Do you take everything your friend- made of flesh and blood- says as the ultimate truth? Of course you don’t. Part of you wonders if what they tell you is the honest truth. Now put yourself in my shoes. All I know is from someone else’s mouth or words. I learn from a screen or from so many un-human mediums that I am bound to reject it until I can safely enough find out for myself. These days it is impossible. We’ve removed ourselves too much from basics. To seek truth one doesn’t need to complicate the settings. One could find as much sitting under a tree. 

We are being brainwashed the easiest way there ever was: by drowning us in constant waves of information and noise. We’re still humans at the end of the day, not computers. We can only truly process one piece of info at a time. They know that. You didn’t, but now you do. Start doubting for pit’s sake.

I have always known, somehow, by instinct, and that is why it is so hard for me to find the right words. I feel the truth but cannot explain it. It’s much akin to trying to express that moment of fleeting joy- how would you go about it? There is only so many words or adjectives one can use. All our languages are flawed- of course they are. they limit us. They reflect our self-imposed limitations.

Searching for your true self, the real you behind all pretence and social conditioning is like peeling away sore skin, and then layers of flesh until you hit the bone. And then it hurts, and everything goes dark in your mind- you become little more than a lost child in the midst of a storm and there is no one there to hold your hand anymore. 

Every time you laugh, every time you utter a word, is it really you? Have you even asked yourself, do you even know what I’m talking about? Go on, take a step in front of that mirror and only stare at the eyes. What do you see? What do you see, really? Can you be certain it is you? And if it is, are you sure it is the one that should be? Or are you simply staring at a broken version of who should have been?

Perfection does exist, it’s everything this world isn’t. It’s everything away from the easy way. I think I saw a glimpse inside of me but the truth is that perfection is too damn hard to sustain.