I is the only problem.
The idea that you exist is the problem
In separation of anybody
You will carry on after your body has disappeared
Because you are the indivisible that
Change eternal
Permanence is a delusion
Any and all ideas of permanence are the cause of all our suffering
We suffer for what?
A non-fictional account of a pathological pursuit.
An innocent offering.
A compassionate bleeding.
I have felt, in the most genuine sense, that there’s nowhere to go in this life.
And this was true. It is true.
But how could I know, I would find a valley so vast?
Wants us to drink rice liquor. Dinner table of a five-story townhouse. Works for the UN. Has been to my country. X bashful.
Just one of those if we must sir. Only if we must. Can of “Hanoi” goes to my head.
seasoned to taste, served with a smile
a part of me, as solitary as i am, as uninterested, disgusted, appalled, apathetic, about almost every one, and every thing,
i am still, quite terrified of being alone
not because of the solitude
but because i quite literally become some one
or some thing, entirely different
and i fall through the earth
Two worlds.
Paralyzed. Take me to cookie cutter island. Can’t hear the stark reality of it all. Afraid, aware, too awake? Something wrong? Thinking this is wrong is the problem? I don’t know
Nice cubed squares. Smutty ink. Preposterous mind fucks.
A selfish god wouldn’t make a very good one.
Good to who?
Primarily itself.
If it were selfish, it would experience the exquisite array of all the pains life has to offer.
Pain is pain.
But it’s an entirely different animal when it lives in existential terror.
And so it’s back with a vengeance.
This rubber banding–its elasticity is increasing.
What have I done to cause this?
Nothing at all.
It just happens, like a haunting.
A haunting because I have become forsaken, in forsaking the world, forsaking its people.
1:42am, Ho Chi Minh City // August 20th
Down a dark alley way, a dog looks to me in suspicion, indecisive if I’m worth the taste.
I feel he senses I’m out of place; that I do not belong here.
Everything must return to its source in due time.
A clean slate is a wonderful thing.
One may build from the scaffolding of that which previously came.
But to enter into a situation full of preconceived notions, opinions, prejudices and expectations, limits the situation entirely.
Your mother has it.
Your father has it.
Your sister, brother, uncle and cousin have it.
They all have it.
Even you have it.
The sixty-year-old man says, “Don’t worry, I’m not dying.”
And so he wastes his life.