They say in death everything goes to oblivion. That is not true, I have been dead for about a decade, the void I lived with has never gone to oblivion. From a friend, to a foe, to the reincarnate of a friend or a foe, reincarnation has never served as a third chance. It served as nothing but a proof there is no way out of this circle in which I got locked by my very self. The circle of self deceit. I always come to my senses every now and then and figure out the insignificance of my very self is not induced, it's the truth behind my truth. My core has been empty ever since I came from the void. Born a hollow shell, pulled the crust that surfaced the void slumbering in me, then crust has gone for the void to submerge my insignificant existence again. And none of it has ever parted to oblivion. There was nothing to be forgotten in the first place. Not long ago, I have parted with the last lie I have been told. I was told I was human, but even this lie never lasted.
Monday, February 05, 2018
The void from which I came
Episode 59
They say in death everything goes to oblivion. That is not true, I have been dead for about a decade, the void I lived with has never gone to oblivion. From a friend, to a foe, to the reincarnate of a friend or a foe, reincarnation has never served as a third chance. It served as nothing but a proof there is no way out of this circle in which I got locked by my very self. The circle of self deceit. I always come to my senses every now and then and figure out the insignificance of my very self is not induced, it's the truth behind my truth. My core has been empty ever since I came from the void. Born a hollow shell, pulled the crust that surfaced the void slumbering in me, then crust has gone for the void to submerge my insignificant existence again. And none of it has ever parted to oblivion. There was nothing to be forgotten in the first place. Not long ago, I have parted with the last lie I have been told. I was told I was human, but even this lie never lasted.
They say in death everything goes to oblivion. That is not true, I have been dead for about a decade, the void I lived with has never gone to oblivion. From a friend, to a foe, to the reincarnate of a friend or a foe, reincarnation has never served as a third chance. It served as nothing but a proof there is no way out of this circle in which I got locked by my very self. The circle of self deceit. I always come to my senses every now and then and figure out the insignificance of my very self is not induced, it's the truth behind my truth. My core has been empty ever since I came from the void. Born a hollow shell, pulled the crust that surfaced the void slumbering in me, then crust has gone for the void to submerge my insignificant existence again. And none of it has ever parted to oblivion. There was nothing to be forgotten in the first place. Not long ago, I have parted with the last lie I have been told. I was told I was human, but even this lie never lasted.
Friday, July 07, 2017
Shreds of a Soul
Episode 58
It comes to me every single night, bright as a divine light
that shines from a crack in the firmament. However, it’s an infernal figure
that reminds me I have not been whole for years, and so I shall never be again.
If I am a mistake to mankind, I hope one makes a mistake and understands me.
The words my mind dictates as my lips open gates to pour out my heart content
are beyond comprehension. What could be stronger than an expression not yet
created? Or maybe the expression I want to make is this one left behind in a
yonder world where people had plenty of expressions. Is it purer to reveal
man’s madness in words, or to reveal it like a beast does?
Suddenly, sleep is where I am most alive. All my vitality
weighs as a shred of glass when I try to weigh it against the universe while on
the edge of a cliff. Once I dreamt I was understood, and it felt like seeing
the countenance divine. How could my senses be alive and my being is gone to
oblivion at the same time? How could oblivion be as vast as the seas hanging
above my head, where a whole being with its every expression can be lost? Is it
my arrogance or my helplessness that is desperate to demonstrate I am still
alive?
The feeling of living for something is just as good as the feeling of
dying for something. Why can’t the answer lie in absurdity? We exist because we
can’t choose otherwise. We die of our vulnerability, yet we keep denying it. We
fight for immortality knowing it’s never there. We claim supremacy while we are
the real and the newest parasites on the planet. Why am I wishing to be
understood when the world itself is absurd? Why am I asked to feel when the
whole universe is all about apathy? Everything and everyone is replaceable,
every creed, every belief, doctrine, idea, or even countenance divine. Why
should there be an answer for “being” if “being” itself is the answer? Why should
everything make sense and fit in the books of philosophy and epistemology? Why
am I condemned to reason? Could a scorpion help but being a scorpion? It's no merit, and no choice either.
Friday, March 24, 2017
Silence (The day I turned a deaf ear to revelation)
Episode 57
The day I turned a deaf ear to revelation
The most influential and important words in our lives started with silence. In silence, they held a stronger notion. Upon wording them, they lost their strongest features. Upon wording a notion created in silence, it's simplified and altered to a deformed form of the notion. For in words, we try to reach the surface of the ocean and be seen by those who won't hold a treasure as precious and dear as the one who forged every single gold figure of it. You never hold dear that you have not created and seen taking an aesthetic form after it has been but a dull figure. And what is meant to appeal to senses is but the shallow figure and not what the creator held in heart for his own creation. Once I read the writings if a madman. He said he was safe from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us. In silence is a shelter. In defining silence is nullification of its essence. Is not evolution of language but the strong proof of failure of spiritual connection? Or is it just the inevitable desire for being understood? And aren't doubts the strongest proof of a higher connection with our demons in a form of self annihilation? Or are they just the fear of rejection of one's demigod?
The day I turned a deaf ear to revelation
The most influential and important words in our lives started with silence. In silence, they held a stronger notion. Upon wording them, they lost their strongest features. Upon wording a notion created in silence, it's simplified and altered to a deformed form of the notion. For in words, we try to reach the surface of the ocean and be seen by those who won't hold a treasure as precious and dear as the one who forged every single gold figure of it. You never hold dear that you have not created and seen taking an aesthetic form after it has been but a dull figure. And what is meant to appeal to senses is but the shallow figure and not what the creator held in heart for his own creation. Once I read the writings if a madman. He said he was safe from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us. In silence is a shelter. In defining silence is nullification of its essence. Is not evolution of language but the strong proof of failure of spiritual connection? Or is it just the inevitable desire for being understood? And aren't doubts the strongest proof of a higher connection with our demons in a form of self annihilation? Or are they just the fear of rejection of one's demigod?
Revelation to The Mute Prophet
Episode 56
He was summer, I was winter. There has always been a season between us. But I have always looked through the heart of spring to see him. He was sheltering from burning heat of the sun in shades of his solitude. I was sheltering from merciless winds of winter in a cave, also in solitude. His life was my revelation, yet I felt so invisible behind his back. When I awoke on another deserted side, I have known he looked in the heart of bare trees of autumn to see me. However, I was only a faint image and not a revelation. I finally got to land on his window as part of my condemnation. Asking of him to pet was of no use. All my croaking meant nothing but a malicious noise. Croaking was my only way to tell him I was the faint spirit of winter he saw behind his back. In my life he was my distant revelation. In my death he became my torture. In my awakening, the purest of revelation came the mute prophet that I am and said it was time to bid my summer farewell. And hence, it came to an end.
He was summer, I was winter. There has always been a season between us. But I have always looked through the heart of spring to see him. He was sheltering from burning heat of the sun in shades of his solitude. I was sheltering from merciless winds of winter in a cave, also in solitude. His life was my revelation, yet I felt so invisible behind his back. When I awoke on another deserted side, I have known he looked in the heart of bare trees of autumn to see me. However, I was only a faint image and not a revelation. I finally got to land on his window as part of my condemnation. Asking of him to pet was of no use. All my croaking meant nothing but a malicious noise. Croaking was my only way to tell him I was the faint spirit of winter he saw behind his back. In my life he was my distant revelation. In my death he became my torture. In my awakening, the purest of revelation came the mute prophet that I am and said it was time to bid my summer farewell. And hence, it came to an end.
Friday, January 27, 2017
Tuesday, January 24, 2017
ONE
Episode 55
ONE
The feeling of a mountain between a green meadow and a rain shadow desert. Neither here nor there. One day I landed on one of them. It was the breeze that whispered into my ears what my eyes have denied in blindness. The feeling I have got on both wings of mine. The cradle and the grave. T'is but a fine line between them. Was this where fraternity grew between myself and my demons? Nay, t'is merely the fragile and inexplicable moment at which my petty self overlooked both sides of the mountain range I am on. I was finally exposed to mortality. I was exposed to how fragile and insignificant myself was and finally I realized I am a trifle bit close to any possible end. I was overlooking the green meadow of ignorance, while unbeknownst to myself grew the rain shadow desert where the crowds ceased to exist. The pilgrimage started to the peak when the ascent was inevitable to the shrine where one can genuinely be one. Growing gnomic is not unusual. Individualism draws the plot of a play much like the eternally existential scene of a lost soul quoting "to be, or not to be; that is the question". Much like diabolical hallucinations without surcease. Has a demon even been into virtue? Only common mind would retort "No". Neither the rain shadow desert was my abyss nor the green meadow was my canopy. Whoever said an essence must be of a patriotic nature must have denied being of all beings. T'is what keeps one from killing themselves in despair that they may call their essence. The voices in one's head bring forth the end of stillness of the mind in visions to the mind's eye, truthful and divine, yet foretold naught by prophets and holy men.
Friday, September 30, 2016
In loving memory of Ernest William Rhymer (30th of September, 2016)
Blessed be thy merciful hands on my speechless and motionless companion, for the less he felt the longer he endured. I know my face was like a washed out water painted portrait to him, and lack of comprehension made me no clearer than shades of death walking in the streets of Egypt to have done what had been written in a harvest of heads of slaves to be. Myself shall not dwell in this image for my companion comprehended it as much as I understood his gestures. For I have felt despair of not being understood I can understand a man's will to die after a fortnight of only crawling in his own head. Just as one cannot take away a man's will to live, one cannot take a way a man's will to die. And when the cold hands of death came claimed the harvest, he was still in the merciful hands of sister morphine.
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