We think we are civilized but yet we’ve successfully made literally the most natural things like death and sexuality a taboo. We think we are intelligent but we’re depleting our resources to fight each other, without realizing the fact that if we combined the very resources that we’re using to kill each, we’d never need to kill each other in the first place. Yet, ones in control successfully created brainwashed people thinking that drinking the milk from cows are natural, completely unnatural chemicals sold by pharmaceutical companies are safe for everyday use, and the very plants that humanity has evolved together with are evil, or being in our most natural form of nudity is socially unacceptable. We go out, meet people, look at the phone screen for 90% of the time, and we call this socializing. 

We prefer people who feed our ego and greed, yet we dismiss the very ones that show us who we truly are. We don’t like mirrors, do we? We only want our primary superficial ways of stimulation, believing that ideologies pushing us into deeper individualization are the ones that would save us from the dangers of others, successfully isolating ourselves from the actual society that we are evolved to fit in.

And we call ourselves civilized.


The ideas in my head are racing like Formula 1 cars. On the bleeding edge of the neurons interconnecting collectively into what appears to be the paradigm of consciousness, I can feel the tension of the sharp tip threatening to destroy my understanding of reality into an impending doom.

Yet, I had an escape button somewhere lost in the very thoughts that created this universe in the first place. A button that would bring an end to all of the suffering. Something to remember, buried deep into the neverending fields of hard soil thoughts.

I vaguely remember what it looks like. I often forget that it’s even there. But it is there, waiting to be found, waiting to come back to life after cleaning the dust all the years’ collective memories of doom.

But the ideas are still racing and I don’t know where to start.


I never wanted to die. I always wanted to live. Suicide is always a last resort though some of us see it as the only option, and we judge them without looking into this world of darkness from their window of hope. Nobody wants to die, it’s just that pain is unbearable. Some of us are gifted with the curse to see beyond everybody. Some of us have the ability to not stand this superficial paradigm.

I know understand how fear of death is evolutionary the key to survival of some of us. And fear never felt so alluring.


We keep pushing all or dreams into the future to believe we’re young. To believe that we’re never gonna die. It’s not the actual act of traveling the world, growing a successful business, or any other “insert future goal” kind of accomplishment. It’s the actual feeling of that goal residing somewhere in the future and that we have so much time to do whatever we want. It’s the feeling of eternal youth that keeps us motivated. It’s the world being our playground in our endless comfort zone sandbox.

And we’s give anything to stay here forever.


Drink, talk about the things that you want to run away from, drink more. Meet people, listen to their stories to forget yours. Isn’t it all going out all about? Post a story or two, hoping you get a lucky ticket to story replies. That’s it. You are tired and you wanna go home. You weren’t there to have fun in the first place. You were there to forget.

Always the same old disappointment yet we repeat the vicious cycle of hoping something’s going to change. The more you realize how basic people are deep down inside, the more you want to be alone. But you don’t want to be alone.

You never wanted to be alone.


Life is beautiful, but why can’t we have it together? Even under the stars, meteor showers washing our dirty ideas, and the waves hitting the stones, slowly fading away into the ever-growing thoughts…

Isn’t something missing? 

Hello, it’s Captain Amygdala speking, just wanted to remind you that we’re incredibly complex combinations of molecules on a giant rock flying freely through a space without an end, and your body is intrinsically programmed into dissolve itself as time passes, bringing you an inevitable death.

And yes, I am a part of that program, telling you to survive. I will keep telling you, that’s my job. You are biologically wired to always want more and never have enough comfort. Even in the seemingly-perfect moments, I will remind you of the fact that you are part of the wild nature that is hunting its way to take you back to the form before you consciously existed… at least in the way that we know of. Your brain is wired to feel insecure and out-of-comfort and that’s okay darling. It’s not to be hated, it’s for your survival in true nature, so maybe you should thank your anxious unnerving moments.

Take me with all the beauty of the world. Because sometimes it’s the imperfections that balances this scale of cosmic perfectly.

*drops mic*

The Missing Piece

How do you get out of a safe box when all the doors are locked? How do you remember yourself?

This is how it all begins in a totally normal-looking socially acceptable night. I hear you. I hear your screams, your undeniable strong voice coming from somewhere deep inside. And I admit that I miss you a lot. You make me, well… me. Without you I would be a totally different being, something, a flesh, without a purpose.

All those months I’ve been trying to ignore you but in the end you hit a wall. Something brings you back to yourself. Something opens the road to the deepest pathway into who you really were in the first place.

I miss you. You don’t even know that you are the one, you probably will never know. But I always wanted to say, how would this life be if we were together…

All my fears would be gone, and after all those years, I’d be home. 

That missing piece would finally be in the right place for the first time in my, and maybe also your, life.

I’d finally be complete, I’d finally be one with the final missing piece that I’ve been always searching for.

That would be the only universe that I’d want to live in.

That would be the only world that I’d belong. 

There would finally be a purpose for all that there has been, all the bad things that finally brought us here to this very moment of reading and feeling all these lines in unison.

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, but I can assure you that you’ll never know that this was all for you, friend. If you read it, you’ll think that this is for someone else. 

I miss you. A lot.

– End of transmission for now –


Aren’t we all on and off sometimes? Some of us hit the ceiling harder, some of us nosedive. Nevertheless, we’ve all been away from ourselves, with a long, weeks or even months long trips in our head. Introspecting all the triggers and the chains of ever unfolding events resulting in state changes in our mood, pushing the stability of our sanity to the limits we’d otherwise have thought impossible.

But after all, the letters were waiting for me to be selected in the correct order to form new sentences guided by our impulsive stream of racing thoughts penetrating into our reality faster than we can even type into a sentence.

I miss you, friend. I truly miss you. Let’s meet more often here.


I love crafting stories as the main character myself. It gives this life a purpose, a meaning. Otherwise, isn’t it so dull? Isn’t it missing a key piece in this puzzle with no boundaries? If there’s a long story with no place that you can fit yourself in, if there’s no room for yourself in the plot, is it worth the journey? Would you waste your time turning the cover, or pressing that hard plastic lifeless play button?

If you can’t look through their eyes, if you can’t find a parallel with your own life, what is the purpose of listening to a story where you don’t belong in? If you can’t wear the clothes of the protagonist, if you can’t be their consciousness locked inside their head, if you don’t wanna be them and want to scream just like them, if you can’t find a possible identity within them to hold onto in this void, why should a story matter for you?

Why should someone else’s story matter? Isn’t life too short to live others’ bullshit? Aren’t we meant to be live our own personalized plot, crafted by some higher level of our consciousness? 

Isn’t that what we live for, after all?


There is a mirror version of you in a parallel universe. In a universe where you have control. In a universe where you finally live your dreams instead of pursuing them. A place where all that happened makes sense. Wouldn’t you risk everything you have to be able to touch that reality? Wouldn’t you want to reach out your arm, gently touch that door knob, open that dusty wooden door and hear the cracking as you finally take your step to the world you belong in? Aren’t you ready to head back home after so many years of missing the scents of your childhood and beyond? The essences that you can’t even remember. Are you ready to jump to this beautiful universe? I know you want to. Whoever and wherever you are, dear mirror. Because we’ve been so far away from our reality, and I know you miss home as much as I do, darling. And it’s time to finally to go back home. It’s finally the time to meet.

I know unexplainable events and weird coincidences keep on occuring in a loop that feeds from itself where the posivite feedback makes all the flow of ideas and symbols impossible to reject. You are not alone. I’m having the same too. The symptoms of possible parallel universes that we can focus our perspective to, that we can feed upon, that we can jump into. A universe where past and future doesn’t make sense because now is finally real. Don’t you want to join? Don’t you want to have a sweet taste of finally touching something real?

Don’t you want to touch this mirror world beyond this glass?