Origin of Thoughts

As long as you live, may you always remember that you were never born to love, rather you were born to save yourself. We are not capable of affection even if we think we are, because what sustains us is the belief that we, as humans are never complete, and in the back of our minds we never wish to be, but it’s surprising how easily we assume that someone can complete us.  We’re spread across all of the island, some on the cliffs, others on the shore. Sometimes we wish to catch, other times, fall.  But we can never love.  When we think we love someone we are simply tempted, that we are able to accept their differences, and we hope that they do the same for us. We connect because we suffer or we have suffered, we connect through the similar miseries and sorrows.  But no, we can never love.  Affection is misery. It is a surrender. But in its completeness, affection is non-existent.  But affection, in its own true n...

For the most part of our lives, we remain foolish. In our childhood we were too young to care. Our distractions drive us away from the real tension that we create. And what we create will always be a questioning thought, which we don't need in the first place. Maybe we revolve around these thoughts, because we have nothing else to do. We roam around criticizing people that aren't like us, we worship those who rebelled the way we couldn't, we laugh when we live the way we always wanted, and just when we become what we realize, it's still missing something. Beyond our addictions and regrets, our whirlpool of emotions and the numb feelings that never, ever leave us, we will never know why we still do this. And yet we still do it. Humans are foolish. They don't just stop at survival. They explore existence and they'll never get tired of it. It's foolish, because then happiness will be at a distance, but the ones who make it will realize that there is more than ...

Imagine an age, an era, cramped into a single moment. We're bridges and buildings, burning, falling, rising, touching skies then falling again. Nothing remains forever. But the remains are forever to stay. It's an age cramped into a single moment. It's in one moment, which you pick up your pen. Inside you, you dust off the corners of your brain, search for the right words, the right depth, the right freefall. For that spot on the paper, which will be the beginning of your story. Blink, blink again, or close your eyes altogether and feel your soul searching, picking, and scratching in your flesh to find the right idea, the right treasure. Drink. Drink while you still can, drink everything you see. Drink the emptiness of the glass, the whiskey bottle, there is still some inspiration wandering. Drink the smell of your ink; drink the feel of the paper against your palms. Drink the passion of the love you just made. Search for more. You're still thirsty. Yo...

You. It's strange how we crave for isolation but disgust our loneliness. Imagine this. How would you feel if you were changing the world but nobody knew? Today, my loneliness could not embrace me. I kept looking for answers, for reasons for why I am how I am. Why I exist. What difference do I make. I make no difference. I want no one to help me. My own isolation guides me. I find little, sometimes no pleasure in blending with people. What do I do then? I work. I work some more. When I'm done, who's going to be the one to see what I've done? The people of course. The people I forgot about. We all do this. If you don't, you're one step ahead of me. If you do, you're still ahead of me, that is,if you haven’t lost your mind questioning your existence like I did. How often have you not been able to explain your sorrow? The truth is, you can. You actually know the reason why you are in such a pain. Your life is purely doubtful. Your existence...