The shaping Trauma.

The shaping Trauma.

I truly do find life boring, everything about it is dull to my eyes, from the wonders to the fears, nothing about life is special to me, and yet my biological programming demands I live according to a natural purpose. To grow, procreate, and die is what I am programmed to do, just like many others. Though as humans it is also innate for us to find our existence special and unique, this ideal creates in us a delusional belief where we think highly of ourselves, making us by far the most insane animal yet known to our own species.

I laugh. I do not consider myself a “fighter”, nor do I consider my self a “leader”, or anything in specific, though I think an “observer” would give to my current persona an accurate representation. I play accordingly, giving my self a script and following that scripts to near perfection, making some perceptive people around me question my “humanity” and by default going up to me to ask directly without a drop of shame or self-doubt, “Hey, are you really human?” To most this would certainly seem insane, or ridiculous, but the reality behind this question has emerged more than 4 times if I count with intention.

Why am I saying what I am saying? I guess I am in a state where I have nothing but to share words with the only species I know that understand what I say, or atleast the words I am writing. My species are intriguing to me, not interesting most of the time but I find that humans if given the required tools would be the most interesting creature I can think of yet. To some I am a sociopathic monster, to others an enlightened old soul, and to the rest simply a crazy human being whose tragedy has consumed to near insanity. To me, I do not care what I am, but I have consciously programmed myself to improve every aspect of this mind and body only because my biological programming is in a growth state. I can say that I am nothing, I have no intentions of commiting crimes, like I have no intentions of commiting altruistic actions. Curiosity to what I can observe the next minute, the next hour, day, month, year, century, or millenium is I think the only working engine I have to my disposition.

I am aware of this personas flaws and inconsistencies, aware that perhaps this core personality is nothing but the result of a past trauma, but things are what they are and my lack of intention to change something, or more importantly, my lack of interest for intention is far superior than any other unconscious programming of mine. I read your blogs as much as I can, I talk to people more than I care to admit, I observe so much that people have become nothing more than predictable patterns. The more I see, the more I comprehend, but the more I comprehend, the less sense it makes. Human beings, what can I say, fascinating creatures indeed. Only a paradox can explain human behavior because althought there is nothing special about them, they manage to be intriguing, and at times exciting.

For now I well indulge in my well known coffee addiction, end this blog, close my laptop, and sit on my roof as I watch cars pass by, wondering what purpose people find worthy of their short lives and why. I am truly nothing but curious, and glad I am not a cat as surely I’d be an example of an old proverb, if not the incarnation of it instead. It was… as a hedonist would put it, “a pleasure” to write for those reading my blog, as it is also a pleasure to read those who write for I who reads.
Enjoy right now, and from this personas advice, do not let another persons ideals shape your experience, wonders come when one is loyal to a singular perspective, the peak of an expression only experienced by those who are willing to sacrifice something superficial, for something truly beautiful. Hardships will come, but from broken wings, new hope never explored will emerge.

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The truth behind You.

The truth behind You.

Humanity will cease to exist when humanity transcends it’s boundries.

I want to use words to simply paint a picture, it’s fun to write and make not all the sense you want to make, but create an abstract picture on those that read the words you’ve written to allow a feeling. But there’s something I want to share.

All life in earth, all life anywhere, life in all, what people see from what they call “TV’s” is not life, but it is not a lie either. Movies with plots that make our souls jump and think outside ourselves for perhaps once, with stories that we do not live yet feel as if it were real. All that is, all concept learned from these things we call TV’s are only a version already explained from eyes that we feel are we, but are not.

When all human concept is taken out of place, when all human concept is taken out of grace, imperfection loses beauty and vision is lost truly. All that we hear, all that we see, when see from afar, behind that screen is not the beauty we see when humanity is you or me. It’s the excuse behind a barrier, the excuse behind us being foul, humans are imperfect that’s no mistery but romanticizing all does make harm for it is an excuse for the limitation we imply.

Pretentious existence when we think we are excused from mediocrity and our species as they stay fall, not today, not right now, but eventually all this foul vision will bring us not the beauty that we were shown but the destruction that we hid behind that beautiful image inside that show.

We will rise, when we fall.

Broken wings, new hope.

Broken wings, new hope.

When I fall in the brink of insanity
I’m lost and can’t find myself, I’ve fallen.
I need help, but that seems a distant dream,
The attention given to my mistakes blurs my need for help.

No matter how much the raven speaks, it’s wings…
They’re broken, it can no longer fly.
Only legs to explore the world, it’s all nightmare,
From below the heavens, it all seems hell.

Birds can only see and hope, as the sun shuts down.
The demons of the earth reveal the agony of loss.
Earth creatures see and attack, the moons glow shines,
Only a show of the blood drawn from this creature.

Oh heavens, why must magnificence die,
To live and fall, only to see the end with broken wings.
Broken hope, when death approaches the blood becomes…
Wings fall and rot, only to be replaced by claws and fangs.

And as the cycle enters the last round,
Agony once more turned into strength, into new hope.
The raven died, but from it’s corpse a beast was born,
Hell becomes it’s kingdom and predators it’s prey.

New hope, new beginnings, new life.