My Writings


Artwork: Calypso Noximera

Alone. And before me – a wasteland stretching to the far ends of my vision – the barren, forgotten land of my mind. I carry my being through it, as if performing some valuable, fruitful activity, but I am walking in circles, head bowed down. My intellect, the one that occasionally elevates me above primal instinct – it tells me that there is no way out that a human, or indeed, any living being can find.

The truth is that I am lost. And, carried by strong, heavy wings, another realization soars above it – I am not moved by the knowledge of being lost. Far from it – my idiotic being will find a way to entertain itself in primal ways, passed down through generations.

You, me, all of us – we are here for His entertainment, but, alas, I must have lost my sense of humor along the way. I do not find my misfortunes or, indeed, anyone’s as even remotely entertaining. How sorry we truly are – and I – like a dog – madly in love with Him, unable to fully, meaningfully express my love, throw myself at His feet and hope that He understands.

I see people hurt, and I understand, even if they do not. How strange it must be – to be unable to express how you feel, to act on primitive drives and to be surprised at the outcome. Faced with this reality, to “face” yourself and call yourself wise. I would lie if I said that I am any different.

I wasted far too many sunrises in the quagmire of my mind. At times I even developed the understanding that I should be happy, joyful, as the sorrows that are so familiar were absent. It is difficult to live like this.

All of this has made me humble, at times even kind. Rarely now do I allow myself to burst into pride. I do not see how one can open their eyes to the world and not be humbled. I also continuously fail to educate myself to live free of expectations, as a man’s muscles are too fragile to shape the world to his liking.

Fears and aspirations – both are equal in their nature – between them I make no distinction, as I look at myself, I see the wounds that they have opened.

Wounds that I need to close at any cost, not a moment too soon, lest the world salts them as an insult.

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