Existent not...

Absence (by me)

An empty stare

Colourless irises

Looking into nothingness

The absence of the whole

My life reduced to

A blank paper

Where I can

Write no more

Even pain, I have been robbed of

There is nothing

No more

Before my expressionless eyes

The world empties

Reality crumbles

And existence trembles

The whole reduced to

A finite ever-elusive moment

My life is filled with hurt. When suffering reaches a certain extent in which pain cannot grow any farther, my world empties. Meaning empties. Only stammering isolated vowels are left standing. No language is able to inhabit the world of unrealistic non-existence. No meaningful links have I established as not to feel disconnected from the world. It is not caprice, but just mere inability.

Words are never enough. My feelings are ineffable. Not even absence is enough to describe what I feel. A whole complex phenomenon cannot be reduced to a simple lame word. “For every complex problem there is an answer that is clear, simple, and wrong.” (H. L. Mecken quote).

Plastic Hope

Next, Please (by Philip Larkin)

Always too eager for the future, we
Pick up bad habits of expectancy.
Something is always approaching; every day
Till then we say,

Watching from a bluff the tiny, clear
Sparkling armada of promises draw near.
How slow they are! And how much time they waste,
Refusing to make haste!

Yet still they leave us holding wretched stalks
Of disappointment, for, though nothing balks
Each big approach, leaning with brasswork prinked,
Each rope distinct,

Flagged, and the figurehead wit golden tits
Arching our way, it never anchors; it's
No sooner present than it turns to past.
Right to the last

We think each one will heave to and unload
All good into our lives, all we are owed
For waiting so devoutly and so long.
But we are wrong:

Only one ship is seeking us, a black-
Sailed unfamiliar, towing at her back
A huge and birdless silence. In her wake
No waters breed or break.

In the first stanza, the author clearly sets the theme of the poem: people tend to look into the future neglecting the present. That’s where the inability to enjoy life comes from. He says that we are “too eager”, enhancing the negative connotation that that involves. He also describes people negatively saying that “we pick up bad habits of expectancy”, always longing for something that we do not have and always expecting something to happen. He describes our hopes by saying “always approaching”, which means that they never actually arrive.

The poem is dominated by an image introduced in the second stanza; an extended metaphor in which our hopes are said to be “a sparkling armada –group of ships- of promises”. Ironically, the author reflects on “how slow they are and how much time they waste” when it is actually us the ones who waste our lives by means of not leaving in the present. “They leave us holding wretched stalks of disappointment”, the author uses the word stalk, which is the long narrow part of a plant that supports leaves, fruits or flowers, to represent the potential of a flower, just as we are left with only potential and no time to fulfill our wishes and desires.

“It never anchors” and “it’s no sooner present that it turns to past” mean that when we finally get what we want we realize that we still feel empty, that the hollow cannot be filled up, so another hope arises and as we live looking into the future, the present we neglect is already considered past.

In the last stanza the writer uses a metaphor comparing death with a “black-sailed unfamiliar ship” that brings “birdless sound”, making it look very eerie and sinister. Probably he is trying to tell us that today, birds do sing, but we don’t listen to them since we are too busy looking into the future. Expectancy slowly consumes us. So, we have become functionally deaf.

From my standpoint I will say that this poem deals with false hopefulness. We are always desiring things that are out of our reach and when we finally manage to get them we don’t feel complete, so we go on to another hope or desire. We are always trying to find ourselves but we can never possibly achieve that task. I suppose that that inner hollow makes us go on living senselessly. We die without having found ourselves, and that is, indeed, the saddest tragedy. Death has, ironically, become into the only way to wake up from this nightmare.

Sickness

Sickness (by me)

Dead pseudo-life, just abyss

Silly beings, a futile mirage

Going down, steeply deep

In search of burdenless facts

A huge mass of dark matter

Tar-like fluids coming down

A sea of uncried velvety black tears

Jet-black pieces of rotten flesh

What a putrid stench they emanate!

Bruises on my skin

Stitches that no longer stand

Soon, wounds will open

Fetid clots will come out

Decaying sinews will get cut

And all my limbs will be undone

Oh burden, you bound me to life

You make everything real

And tear it all apart

You infect my brain

Pus fills my head

It twists, slithers and always remains

Existence makes me feel nauseous, the very idea of existing nauseates me, that repulsive feeling of rejection coming from me and heading to the outside is disgusting. I am alive without being aware of it, and death should not be of my concern since death is not here now, and the day it is, I will no longer exist. However, I still keep on struggling day after day to battle on, fighting in an already lost war.

No matter what, I always feel I am not myself, it’s never me. That’s the point of insanity where I come to the conclusion that I can longer tell the difference between my desires and the desires that come from the rest of the people in the outside. Sometimes I even feel that my whole being is just a vulgar copy; a badly polished mirror. I might seem authentic, but I am definitely unauthentic, nothing of what I am or have, is actually mine. There’s no me, it’s all theirs.

Perhaps the average people are able to symbolize death till a certain extent, but I hate the human condition, the weakness and lightness of beings and the finiteness of life.

Death II

Death II (by me)

Death spiraling up and down

The twisted roots of the tree of despondency

Swirling like a swarm of locusts

Across time and space

Inexorably erasing my will to live

Uninterruptedly making me die

Joy born, by and from, life

Is just a dread mask

To smother sorrow in non-realization

Turning life in a lengthy consolation

The ultimate aim of life is Death beyond Death

An aimless aim

I am quite reluctant to relinquish my focus on this topic. It could be said that it is taking everything away from me: my strength, my will to live, my ability to believe and my ability to symbolize and fantasize. It is unacceptable. I really do not understand how people manage to resign themselves to the heartless reality that surrounds them. Maybe they find something that makes up for all the suffering that the complex phenomenon of life conveys. But, in my own experience, I have always found solitude, pain and despair; the three pillars in which the foundations of my existence are based on.

I want to clarify that mine is not a pessimistic view of life, it is just a down-to-earth approach to existence.

People usually live their whole lives inhaling the pestiferous stench that from their obsessive, almost-blind optimism stems. In spite of the fact that their lives are devoid of meaning and fraught with futility and suffering, they just go on, hoping for a new dawn to come. But, when the sun never rises, days freeze and hope is lost.

I think that people are not completely aware of the ruthlessness, impartiality and ordinariness with which Death works. I really do not bother about the fact that people accept death, so much as the blithe and idiotic way they do it.

Anti-Christ

Nietzsche alleged that "...one is not 'converted ' to Christianity — one must be sufficiently sick for it."
This is what I have written after having read some of Nietzsche's thoughts in one of his books: "The Anti-Christ"

Jesus (by me)

Drenched in obscure non-truth

Crucifixion

Corroded, hilariously, vile nails

Eroded sunken wood

Perverted pseudo-salvation

Posthumously was He born

Shed his blood was

Wearing a crown of thorns

All the horrid sins performed

He dies every single day

You, the faithful ones

You kill him

Over and over

Over and over again

Overperpetuated pain

Overglorified symbol

Neurotic anti-natural guilt

Distorted irrefutable dogmas

No longer right to doubt

Vicious charity

Ceaseless solace

Brutal love

Undying light

Identity

Amorphous (by me)

Glass-like molten pieces of me
Red-fire incandescent mixed-up pieces of someone
Someone that used to be me
Shattered remains of an unknown unmet personage
Listless remnants of my limbs
Leftovers of who once I was to be

Waiting, hoping, deceiving myself
My bigoted ego
The unbreakable mirror
That reflects nothing, but pain
That shapeless untamable silhouette
That darkens the prison where I stay

Barbed wire around my body and neck
Doing in, doing deep
The stems of the rose of pain
Entangled forever around my brain
Eyeless sound
Fake hatred
Forced love
Untrue feelings, my filthy façade

Where is the craftsman I need
To shape and model my unborn dreams?
Hopelessly awaiting in this illusion
As blurred and diffuse as my confusion
Wild pieces, my jigsaw
The undefined definition
That puzzles me up
And makes my heart want to vomit blood

How many times have I lied to myself? How many tears have been spoiled for the sake of trying to survive? Where have I been led to? Did I get anything worthy enough as to justify so much suffering? If only I could see things clearer…

I am my words, my thoughts… but, are they really mine? Sometimes I feel I am supposed to be someone else’s shadow, to be a mirror of the reality that surrounds me, it’s just untouchable; it looks so distant from here. I am depersonalized. Under a foggy shady crystal everything looks dim and shallow.

Will I be able to turn chaos into order? Will I be able to solve the puzzle of my identity and put all the pieces altogether in the right place? Will I try to, desperately, put myself together while my innermost feelings are dissolving and fading away? This ephemeral hurtful fantasy.

Death

Death (by me)

Hopelessly awaiting
The day I will be reaped
The Greek tragedy’s revival
A whole lifetime seeking
Caught between non-existent lines
Belligerent confrontation
Lightness, weight
Unintelligible divergence
Unimportant choices
Irrelevant corollary
Non-tying artificial burdens

Vacuity
Fear

Worms spitting out saliva
Flesh-disintegration eve
Larvae sprouting out
Swimming
A sea green ocean
Of festering tissue
Liquefied body
Jaws biting
Dismembering
Dissecting

It’s 00:50. I am standing on the threshold of what is going to be an endless night. Everything looks so quite, I am really away from the hectic sounds of people’s murmur. It’s still raining. I can hear no more the droplets crashing against the walls. Even the lurking semblance of the droplets’ dead bodies on the windows has gone unheard. Like serpents of water they vanish, leaving no trail. Under deep silence I remain. There’s nothing else, but my thoughts. An eclosion of incongruity and incoherence arises in me. Inconsistency shows itself, as the hellish choir in my head starts to distort. The voices, my own voice, they get distant. They diminish in strength, they become weaker and weaker, till they get lost. Everything is so quiet, too quite. Only I can feel my thoughts mourning for someone who has past away. Fearing the inevitable and bewailing the unchangeable. I suppose that someone is probably me. I gazed into the abyssal depths of existence and the chaotic whirl dragged me down. I am now the abyss that I was so terrified of. I have touched the core. My existence is naked. I destroyed everything that was me, I destroyed everything I once had. I mindlessly decided to embrace despair and certainty. Death has become into my way of existence, I am at its disposal. Death owns my whole existence. I am dead. Only vacuity will ensue.

Fucking confusion...

All my seconds are annihilated by all those tedious desires that I cannot control. My identity is constantly shattered into pieces when I face the wall, the façade of my reality. When lies are washed away, all those little dirty lies, nothing is left standing. My whole world falls down. This strange illusion, all my filthy thoughts, they just tear my world asunder. Wandering, this rootless entity, my own being, I just can wonder where this confusing shit will lead me to. Inevitable death, ineffable feelings.

My paranoia is slowly driving me mad. The world itself has been smothered in non-truth, people are so fucking hysterical. Everything is so bloody diffuse, doors close up and lights go out. It is remarkably planned, everything we can feel through our senses. The world is conspiring to defeat me, I am not meant for this world, and this world is not meant for me. I am just in the wrong place, at the wrong time, being the wrong person.

Will I ever know who I am? Will I ever be able to be myself in this stupid society that I despise so much, but need at the same time? Right now I’m not anyone. I’m not this, I’m not that, I’m nothing.

Antinomy 6: Love Vs. Hatred

Everything’s so fake. People’s feelings are so fragile and unstable. Everybody seeks pleasure making use of any means necessary, without taking into account the consequences that their insatiable desires, their unquenchable thirsty for pleasantness can convey. Do they know what they are doing? Do they know that their fruitless journey will make no sense in the end? Does the end really justify the means, as they say so?

I suppose what I feel is out of the reach of my understanding. I think I am completely unable to love someone truly. Everybody says: “You cannot love people, because you do not love yourself”. That is, actually, thoroughly wrong. I am, myself, the only person I love. I am egocentric, nihilistic, selfish, self-indulgent and narcissistic. As Narcissus, I am lost in my reflection, I have fallen in love with myself and I have closed up the doors that lead to the real world. I am senselessly waiting, passively waiting. I try desperately to seek myself in other people, but they are not me, they bare no resemblance to me, thus, I am not able to love them. Rephrasing: “I cannot love people, because I only love myself”

My nihilistic behaviour shows, apparently, that I deny reality, I reject reality, whatever it is. Rejection begets hatred. I dislike existence itself, at least, it is not indifference. Indifference is the absence of feelings, there is no love, no hate, no nothing. Just void.

Antinomy 5: Relativity Vs. Absolutism

Once, one of my psychologists said: “Everything is relative”, I automatically, almost mechanically, replied: If everything is relative, the statement itself is relative too, it denies itself. If you dare utter the word “everything”, you are falling into absolutisms. Thus, the statement is false, so we arrive at the conclusion that “Some things are relative, others are not”. Both, relative and absolute things co-exist together, metaphysically talking, they need each other to exist. They are the opposite sides of the same coin.

She just took no heed of my words, and suddenly, she brought up another subject. How the fuck could she ignore me in that fucking way and escape from my logical judgements?

We can then ask ourselves: Is everything relatively absolute or is everything absolutely relative? Can absolute truth exist? Or there is only relative truth?

Owari...

Dancing on shit. An everlasting waltz. It never ends, it never stops. I go round and round as the music flows. Flows right through me and tastes my soul. Those filthy creatures, whispering that terrible song. The deepest Hell I have ever heard, seen or beheld. No sun rises there, where all dreams are unborn.

A dirty façade, my naïve wall. It blurs, it hurts and destroys. It does me in, it burns my skin. There is no way I can escape. I am not in Hell, my mind is Hell itself.

Suffering, the tie that binds the strings of my life.

Antinomy 4: Truth Vs. Non-truth

-Our Song-
Tongue-Tied (by Earshot)

Last night I dreamt that you were dead
The only way that I could find...
To clear you from my head
I find it hard for me to get past all the...
Shit you did to me
In spite, at night I try in vain to get my,
Mind back right

Tongue... Tied
I feel so terrified
I'm so sick of being on my own
This feels like suicide
Tongue...Tied
I feel so dead inside

Some things are better left alone
Completely out of sight and mind
Never to be told
I find it harder to express the things that
No one else can see
But me, sometimes I wait for days to get my,
Mind back right

Tongue... Tied
I feel so terrified
I'm so sick of being on my own
This feels like suicide
Tongue...Tied
I feel so dead inside
Struggling in a world that I can't control
This feels like suicide

Some say waiting, and taking my own time,
Is all I can do
Should've known you'd flinch to hide that,
Look in your eyes
I can hear the words
And now I finally understand,
This feeling of uncertainty that leaves me now

Tongue... Tied
I feel so terrified
I'm so sick of being on my own
This feels like suicide
Tongue...Tied
I feel so dead inside
Struggling in a world that I can't control
This feels like suicide
This feels like suicide
This feels like suicide

I feel so dead, so fucked up. I don’t get anything, I don’t understand what I feel. I’m just so fucking lost. I have been in hiding my whole life, my lies have already blurred the vague image of myself I once had. Everything I used to be disappeared. I have become into this amorphous entity. Something that is devoid of sense. Something that is emotionally deprived.

This is just out of control. I pretended to be, always faking. I do not want to be what I am and I am not aware of what I want to be. I would be better off dead. Non-existence lacks suffering, if I died, I would be able to stop thinking, I would slumber in peace at last. “This feels like suicide”.

"There is no truth”, if this statement happens to be false, the opposite, in this case, truth, should exist to give sense and meaning to non-truth. If the statement is true, it contradicts itself, we then arrive at a paradox. How can we possibly be stating something when, actually, what we are saying denies truth? A truth that denies truth? Thus, the statement cannot be true, it is a non-truth, and it proves that truth, at some extent, exists. “Truth exists”

Truth stems from our judgements of reality and our feelings taint every single thought of ours. Our thoughts result from our effort to create our own world in our minds. The will and power to create, to be “worldly gods”. Truth is purely ours, then “Truth is completely subjective”. If this statement is false, it means that truth is not completely subjective, but when we utter that statement we are being completely subjective, so it cannot be false, it is true.

If it is true we can infer that “There is no objective truth”, if this statement were right, we would deny objectivity, so subjectivity would lose the meaning of its existence too. So, it is false. Since it is false we can infer that “There is objective truth”, “Objective truth exists”, but I think we cannot behold it without being tainted by our subjectivity. Objectivity exists to justify the existence of subjectivity. Objective and subjective views need each other. One makes the other meaningful. Their existences go hand in hand. I cannot prove the contrary. I think they cannot exist by themselves.

We can say that, “No logical thought is certain to be true”. If it is false, it means that “All truth is certain”, but since it is a lie, it cannot be certain, it denies itself, so the previous statement has necessarily to be true.

I have arrived at the conclusion that the only --real?-- truth is that “There is no pre-existent truth in this world”. It sounds logical, but I feel that statement still bears fractures. Truth leaks. This world says absolutely nothing, we are the ones that make it speak. We impose our symbols on everything that our will and power desire. We create our own world, governed by our rules, that also reign over our logical thinking. We then become gods, we take nothingness and make the most of it, and turn it to our whole.

Conclusions:
“Truth exists”
“Truth is completely subjective”
“Objective truth exists, but we are not able to behold it”
“No logical thought is certain to be true”
“There is no pre-existent truth in this world”

Griever...

Winterborn (by me)

The everlasting loneliness
The pain, endless
The scars that I kiss
The marks of my grief
The sorrow that cries
My silenced screams
When my winter comes
I'm, again, at home
Everything freezes
Everything withers
Everything dies
A beautiful shroud
Snowflakes
Ash falling down
The remains of my past
Put to dust
Burnt to ash

I was born in Winter. It was a cold morning. That day everything began. I was, violently, introduced to this world. I was given life, a “priceless gift from God”. I could not choose at that time, neither can I now. I’m an empty marionette, and pain holds my strings tightly. I’m spinning round and round, not being able to comprehend the existence of mine and I feel terribly sick, so much illness hides behind my lies.

I have never felt so lonely in my whole life. I really cannot find anyone who I can identify myself with. I feel like a freak, I just do not fit into society. I am not like “them”, I just cannot let myself be carried by human stupidity. Sometimes I wholeheartedly wish I were blithely ignorant. But, unfortunately, knowledge is in inverse proportion to understanding: the more you know, the less you get.

Everyone at some extent needs a drug to soothe their pain. There are so many defence mechanisms, my favourite one is sublimation. It is the refocusing of psychic energy away from negative outlets, toward positive, or the rechannelling of drives which cannot find an outlet. I cut myself in order to fulfill and calm down my innermost drives, desires and tensions. Physical pain draws my attention and “kills” the emotional pain for a very short period of time. Every time you do it, you want more and more, and you go deeper and deeper into your self-destruction. A cold atmosphere takes hold of your heart and you are left to rot in your own shit.

How can I make myself clear? How can I make myself understood? I see things that no-one else can see, I just do not know how to put them in words. In the end, only silence remains. I cover myself with an exquisite shroud of silent lies. Under the veil that smothers my eyes, time freezes and pain becomes everlasting. There is no past and no future, only a gloomy and eerie present that is overglorified and overperpetuated.

Playing Hide and Seek

Tender Sugar (by Mary Elizabeth McGlynn and Akira Yamaoka)

I run I fall what ripped away
check my body now
was it body or soul
the darkness fades, fades to the light
disappearing now
disappears from the night

And all these nightmares I once had
as a child
the morning always came
it came too late
what did my mind forget
forget to hide
could be the nightmare be still awake
I don't know

In or out, up or down
never know its an illusion
round and round, on and on
every day spins my confusion

Not again, not again, not again
from this dream I can't awake
what is real, what is real, what is real
it's getting hard for me to take
what I need, what I need, what I need
a little something I rely
and the white sugar gently hides me

Oh the sweet sugar saves me
it's the room that confines me
confines me
sweet sugar

Yesterday back and forth
broken door no longer opens
breaking down need it now
mother's sugar always loves me

Not again, not again, not again
from this dream I can't awake
what is real, what is real, what is real
it's getting hard for me to take
what I need, what I need, what I need
a little something I rely
and the white sugar gently hides me

Oh the sweet sugar saves me
it's the room that confines me

I love the way the author constantly resorts to the contrast of some ideas, and the repetition of others to emphasize the continuity and the sickening connotation that those words enclose. I can strongly feel that confusion stems from the ambiguity that the overwhelming onslaught of thoughts bare. To express myself simply: suffering impairs the development of one’s life. Pain and dissatisfaction taint absolutely everything, and gluttony turns out to lead your logical thinking. You need something that you can never possibly get and the symbolic satisfaction is not enough to meet the real underlying needs. Sometimes, they are not even conscious, so you are not completely aware of what is missing.

When your inside becomes into a black hole that swallows everything your imagination could stand, you start an endless journey. You will try to find something to fill up the hollowness within yourself, but as you don’t dare face reality, you don’t dare face your real desires, you will eventually not fulfill the task.The answer of one question takes you to another question, an everlasting fruitless effort that leads nowhere. All meaning is, seemingly, lost. You then realize that you have become into an empty container that is waiting to be filled. But the hunger of that hollow can only be temporarily pacified. Void takes you over.

“Sweet Sugar”, a beautiful drug that makes you blind, you belong to it, no longer to yourself. You cover yourself with it, you bury the truth and the lies, and the non-existent borderline between them. You build your self-indulgent Hell, you are imprisoned among those walls, those walls that are only closing in. You are confined there forevermore. You think darkness fades to the light, but you are actually getting blind. You see no longer colours, either darkness. Light drives you crazy and you are left stranded in the middle of nowhere. Everything can go on senselessly, or just stop, but it does not really matter anymore.

Neurosis

"I have frequently seen people become neurotic when they content themselves with inadequate or wrong answers to the questions of life" (Jung)

Neurosis, also known as psychoneurosis or neurotic disorder, is a term that refers to any mental imbalance that causes distress, but, unlike a psychosis or some personality disorders, does not prevent or affect rational thought.

As an illness, neurosis represents a variety of psychiatric conditions in which emotional distress or unconscious conflict is expressed through various physical, physiological, and mental disturbances, which may include physical symptoms (e.g., hysteria). The definitive symptom is anxieties. Neurotic tendencies are common and may manifest themselves as depression, acute or chronic anxiety, obsessive-compulsive tendencies, phobias, and even personality disorders, such as borderline personality disorder or obsessive-compulsive personality disorder. It has perhaps been most simply defined as a "poor ability to adapt to one's environment, an inability to change one's life patterns, and the inability to develop a richer, more complex, more satisfying personality." Neurosis should not be mistaken for psychosis, which refers to loss of touch with reality.

The term connotes an actual disorder or disease, but under its general definition, neurosis is a normal human experience, part of the human condition. Most people are affected by neurosis in some form. A psychological problem develops when neuroses begin to interfere with, but not significantly impair, normal functioning, and thus cause the individual anxiety. Frequently, the coping mechanisms enlisted to help "ward off" the anxiety only exacerbate the situation, causing more distress. It has even been defined in terms of this coping strategy, as a "symbolic behavior in defense against excessive psychobiologic pain which is self-perpetuating because symbolic satisfactions cannot fulfill real needs."

According to psychoanalytic theory, neuroses may be rooted in ego defense mechanisms, but the two concepts are not synonymous. Defense mechanisms are a normal way of developing and maintaining a consistent sense of self (i.e., an ego), while only those thought and behavior patterns that produce difficulties in living should be termed neuroses.

Extract taken from: www.wikipedia.com

Antinomy 3: Existence Vs. Non-existence

These three very different types of possible motivation can lie behind a preference for non-existence that is not coupled with an evaluation that life is not worth living. The dialectical situation is different in each of them. In the “indifference” type of case, the explanation lies primarily with the weakness of the evaluation. Since life is only just barely worth living, there is room for a preference not to have been born, the preference having arisen from anxiety, tiredness, or a fastidious “perfectionism.” In the “suffering” type of case there is, by contrast, a firm positive evaluation of life as worth living, but there is also a strong contrary attraction to the thought of non-existence because non-existence lacks suffering. In the third, “self-dislike” type of case, one recognizes that one’s non-existence would be preferable according to a standard that one accepts, which makes one’s existence (with all of its pleasures) distasteful to one.

Extract taken from:“Ten Moral Paradoxes” by Saul Smilansky

Why do we exist? Is there meaning behind our, seemingly, meaningless existences? Do we have to resort to objective and subjective point of views again? How do we know something exists? What is existence? Why I wish I wouldn’t exist, when I, actually, can’t produce a definition of existence?

When I realize everything is, everything is there, things are things, I am me, and you are you, I get that horrible feeling, that overwhelming feeling of confusion. I get desperate. All those sickening thoughts bouncing in my head. If only I could get rid of them. “The Nausea”, as Sartre calls it. A state of mind in which you try to understand what is out of the reach of our human understanding. You face “existence”, and you get lost in the fruitless effort of trying to add meaning to what is, by nature, meaningless. All colours fade away to black, and a gloomy atmosphere surrounds everything you can possibly see, if you see anything at all.

I wish I hadn’t been born. I think that from all the possible types, the one that best describes me is: “suffering”. I got sort of shocked when I read that you can wish not having been born and think that life is worth living at the same time. But, I still feel that my evaluation of life is negative, not positive. I wonder, am I lying to myself again? Do I really wish to be alive, or I long for death?. I suppose I just want not to exist, since non-existence lacks suffering.

Antinomy 2: Truth Vs. Non-truth

We can state that truth stems from non-truth. But, is there an objective truth? Can any approach to our existences be objective? I think that from the very moment in which we reflect on something we are subjective. We are subjective because we are able to think, but we can think since we exist or we can exist since we think?

The way we see “reality” is then completely subjective. Do objective views exist? Can subjectivity exist without objectivity? Isn’t it from objectivity that subjectivity stems from? Does subjectivity compulsorily need objectivity to exist? I think it can exist by itself, since absolutely no-one can behold reality from an objective standpoint. Any rational judgement will be tainted by our feelings, because our thoughts rely on a basis of feelings, suppositions and prejudices.

Non-truth. Our lies. We lie to a lot of people, but we also lie to ourselves when we keep on trying to deny, vehemently, everything that can possibly surround us. Then our lies become our truth and the line between them, thoroughly, blurs. I don’t know why I try so desperately to seek out the truth, when I, actually, cannot dare stand the fractures that my utopian thoughts bare. I am immersed in lies.

Antinomy: Chaos Vs. Order

Words, spoken or written, are the representation of ourselves. They are the decanting and the spitting image of our thoughts, our feelings, our theories and our suppositions; in a few “words”, they are an indispensable part of us, part of our existence. A part that I consider very important. The absence of our words creates silence, a curious friend of the oppressed, that little by little, creates its own culture: the culture of silence. This interesting absence of sounds and letters only contributes to the development of my dearest friend. called repression. It, somehow or other, protects me, but, at the same time, it mutilates my limbs, it leaves me dismantled and destroyed.

Our words show us the way our thoughts are organized, and our thoughts show us the way our feelings are displayed. But, I wonder, why do antinomies are so overwhelming? Does the bloody war between chaos and order ever end? Is chaos necessary for order to exist? Why can’t order exist on its own? Why do we always have to justify the existence of something resorting to the existence of something else? Isn’t it an annoying habit? Does this world really need chaos to exist? Is it an indispensable part, or it could be extinguished? Can everything be peaceful? Isn’t it contradiction, when all Verities are on the tightrope and they become acrobats, the origin of truth?