Sexual Object

Maybe the reason I see many people just as sexual objects is because that I can’t find anything else to share with them. So many people can only try to please me with their bodies, not understanding the fact that I’m interested in intelligence and creativity and sympathy to be able to bond with anyone. If you don’t have anything that can make me feel excited, motivated, and don’t have intimate experiences that are worth sharing our time, why should I care about a body without a brain when I can get more pleasure by visiting a porn site? 

Why should I waste a collection of “now”s with temporary pleasures to remember the fact that those people can’t offer anything more after ejaculation? Life is meant to be shared, there’s too much to share, too many places to visit and many things to love doing together with a true partner. A partner who isn’t afraid to live life the way it’s meant to be and go all in. Someone whom I’d be glad sleeping with after all the naughty stuff. Someone who I doubt that exists anyway. It’s funny and irresistibly ironic that people can give nothing more than sexual pleasure and blame you for being true. It’s not just a person, but a whole mental illness of civilization fed by the collective virus called ego that turns their host into a zombie. Stay true my friends.


Working so hard to deserve a happy life, the life it’s always meant to be. You need to deserve it, right? Who came up with the illusion that you need to work hard to have a good life anyway? Life is meant to be good intrinsically. The more we can’t feel the warmth and love of others, the more we uncontrollably isolate ourselves from the society, the harder it’s to bear. But fucking up everything excluding the ego is the norm now. A norm perfectly acceptable in an “order” where being in an area defined by imaginary borders is something to be proud of and worth killing others, or in a world where drinking the liquid of another animal’s breast that contains the proteins to feed its own infant is acceptable.

A world that any sane person with an overview would conclude to be insane. A world destroying itself, out of control. A world that creates its own Great Filter, terminating itself by preventing the jump to the next level in the Kardeshev Scale. Optimize everything for more money, believing in that it’s going to solve all your problems. Put yourself into a digital mansion that exists in the future and work indefinitely until you react the point where you realize that it’s just a digital prison inside your delusional head.

As the world shakes more wildly, how long can you last trying to climb up the stairs with no foundation to support you?


The irresistible urge to shout out. The feeling of knowing that something’s right. The synchronicity ex nihilo, the vibration of complete alignment that something, seemingly stupid from today’s perspective, will make perfect sense at the right time. We all feel it, and we’ve all done it, eventhough almost always not in a conscious manner.

What if our deepest, ever-seeing eye knows everything, and designed time to be the missing variable, when plugged correctly into the equation; the grand function, would make itself vanish, have identity effect, bypass all other variables like a ghost, trap itself inside our head, becoming our partner-in-crime in this ever unfolding story of life? Would life really be exciting if we were omniscient? If time had no effect on the space, would entropy ever exist anyway? Without entropy; the chaos that transform every piece of existence into creation and destruction, would there even be remote chance of the life as we know of to exist in the first place?

Maybe only by going through this paradoxical mirrors of reflecting each other into the darkness, we see the truth. You can’t jump higher if you don’t fall, after all.


A few days ago a friend told me to “bring the fucker boy back” that used to date three people in same afternoon in the college days in a metropolitan city of lies. I could easily bring him back, if I wanted to. It’s not a challenge for me. I did that before. But I’m fed up with the taste of the art of serial dating and mating. I don’t regret anything about those days, it’s just over. It used to be my stimulation, the ego boost before I realized it to be just an illusion. I just don’t want touch any person that I can’t feel an intimate attraction at the deeper spiritual level, no matter how hot their physical resemblence is. When I look into someone eye’s I need to see myself inside their eyes. Only then the chained sequence of events would unfold to place the final piece. Only then I would say that I’m home.

But how do you even get on walking when you don’t know the address of where you belong? Where do you even start? Even if some new person gets the spotlight, how can you trust anyone when the ones you trusted the most went radio-silent? Even then, how can you know that they trust you the way that you trust them? How can you face your actual fears, when all the apparent roadblocks in your life are finally gone? How does the realization of the fact that you still feel the anxiety about future even when all the manifestation-world problems are gone taste like? Does freedom equal loneliness or is it the opposite? Is home nowhere or everywhere now? How do you stop spinning out of your mental control when you realize that you are alone and can’t feel home anywhere? How is the sour-bitter taste of having so much to share but holding everything inside as you can’t feel anyone who reflects yourself back to you to share all this bliss of life with, starts to poison your soul while you feel tied to a bed that you convinced yourself not to get up from?

Do you realize that it’s all in your head? Do you remember that perfect-one model that you keep trying to fit into the bodies of people with no mental capability to tune into the same frequency and see your eyes? Can you really blame them for not being able to reflect you? Can you really blame yourself for quickly getting bored of all the relationships, sex, and all that’s been shared with countless people that you tried to hold onto life with a dream of a happy couple, knowing that many of them cannot please you mentally, but keep pleasing yourself physically as hardwired sexual behavior programmed by your DNA in every cell of your body?

Can you really blame anyone for being themselves? Can you blame any outcome of the series events in this chaotic universe for existing at all?

How many of us are our true selves? What was special with the few that I could get along with? The feeling of unconditional attraction towards someone. I miss it. Am I in love with love itself? Does it really matter? Does any of the meta-details about the mental flows that trigger the actions to optimize our life functions that we are meant to perform, matter anyway? Life is about sharing. Sharing moments, all the good and bad, experiencing everything and knowing someone at the right frequency is also the feeling that exact thing… the feeling of connection. Connection beyond anything that you can experience physically, utilizing the physical world as a medium to negotiate the connection in the non-physical world.

Because once you realize that there’s more, you know that the physical and mental ego-boosting pleasures can never be enough. You remember the fact that you need something beyond temporary. Once you feel the true intimate same-frequency connection you only care about that eternal feeling, knowing that any kind of physical phenomena are just tools of reaching that spot that you call home.

This is how you become demisexual, because after all, life is meant to be shared.


You love stories. We all do. We all welcome any poetic devices that add meaning to our lives. The ones that we feel safe losing ourselves inside. But all plots need an ending, and we reach that point in the stage that we realize to be the last exit before the epilogue.

Stories are meant to be ridden, and some of them are never meant to be finished; their last page end with an ellipsis. The single character that opens doors to all possibilities. Indication of the author’s cue of intending to create the perfect dream world in your mind. 

What if you go down the unintended route? What if you scratch and tear down the last few pages of a book or leave the theater before the movie is over. That story will never end for you. Then you can dream in your perfect ending. Build up an entire world of possibilities in the realm that you don’t want to leave. A realm that you wanted to be a part of, the one that you belong in. Maybe it is the best way to end

Illusion of Time

Hello again. It’s been a long time. Maybe not for you, but for me. How do we define time anyway? Is that the little electromechanical reaction that happens to rotate that little arm on your watch every second? But what is second? Is it really defined by the radiation of cesium-133 atoms? Do you really experience cesium atoms? Do you experience anything in the abstraction realm of this world anyway? From a higher dimension isn’t time just another quantitative measurement unit that cannot bind our experience to any specific moment? Our mere experience of time existing is only in our minds. Once we tune off from the frequency of the thoughts that allow time to exist in the first place, there is no time. The whole dimension of time is an illusion, so are the derived concepts past and future. Once you break away from it and realize that what we are is the only existance, you are gaining freedom in the so-called temporal dimension. Be present.

Radio silence

Life only means something when it’s shared. Don’t believe in anyone who tells you the otherwise.

What happens if you hold on to a dream for too long? Does it become a part of your life? Would it become so immerse that it encapsulates you and your whole connection to this world?

What would you do if you suddenly wake up? What would happen if you find yourself in the middle of a nightmare with no conceivable way of escaping? How long does it take to make you go crazy? What would you hold on to, if everything slips away? 

Going into the unknown. Disconnecting from literally everybody you know. How would it be if you felt an intimate connection to someone? Every night when you go to bed, you’d feel safe. Everyday when you woke up, you’d feel saved. Wouldn’t you take every path that you’d know that will end up home? Wouldn’t life be easier? How long can you walk in darkness leading nowhere? How can you run from your own thoughts?

How do you scream radio-silent? We’ll see my friend. When this ends, everything will be different. Life is meant to be shared, and I think it’s time to start a new life. This is the last battle, the final boss.

See you next year.

So many

So many things inside my mind. So many words to say, so many feelings to scream out.

Knowing what you want is both a blessing and a curse. Wisdom always comes with a price, hence the popular saying that ignorance is bliss. 

I wanna run out, I wanna scream, I wanna scream into the stars, I want to fly into the galaxies. I wanna look into every living being’s eyes, I want to smell all the smells that I can perceive and beyond. I want to jump higher than the highest mountains, I want to open my eyes to see the entire universe. Every possible combination of all the particles that ever existed. I wanna talk to every person. 

All the thoughts storming inside my head faster than I can type or talk. Faster than I can conceive.

I want to listen all the songs, read all the books, watch all the videos, get a ride on every dream that you can think of, breathe all the air in, learn and master everything, embrace all the animals.

When you become the universe wouldn’t you become so alone that you need to find another universe just like you? How can you go on with the feeling of being connected when you need to find another missing piece of a greater puzzle to feed your ever-growing need of connection at a deeper level of consciousness?

How do you find yourself, when you don’t know which way to run? Do you really need to run anyway? Is there any way to silence the berserking thoughts of approaching the inevitable death and being alone?

How do you stop all these feelings, when you are so used to running away from everyday? How can you stop all of it when it screams rights into your face every day, every morning, everytime that you wake up?


Do you feel like you are in a series, and everyone is a character? The characters who need a backstory at some point for the plot to advance. For the plot to make sense. Isn’t it why we watch stuff anyway? It should make sense in the end.

Some of them don’t make sense until the very end; just like some events in our life that we never fully understand individually. But when those fallen pieces join together at the end, every seemingly-random and unimportant piece finds a place. The final reveal. We love it. We all do.

Isn’t life the same? Even though we don’t realize, many people and events that are daily and subtle play an important role in the plot of our very own. 

All the people you love and you hate, all the events that were good or apparently-bad. Aren’t they all needed for this plot to advance? Aren’t they all making sense when you look back in time now?

Didn’t they always make sense? Weren’t all the signs always there and you were just too busy to notice them?

Since we’re at this very point in time, and since you’re here reading this right now, isn’t everything, including this very sentence, part of your backstory now? A backstory that makes you, you. A story in this neverending chain of events which will open the door to the next chapter. Right now, after you hit that X to close this post, a new chapter will begin in your life.

Are you ready?

You are. I know that you are.


Sometimes I just wanna be like normal people. Wake up, go to work, be a slave, come back, spend all your daily gain on stuff that keeps you in the loop. Maybe watch a movie, occasionaly buy something new. Put a little saving if you are lucky. Spend all of it on travel. And I think that’s it.


A life with no purpose, the humanized version of being a robot. Not thinking anything, just obeying and fitting into the rules of the modern society. That’s what normal people do, right? “Live.”

Smoke every five minutes go out and pretending to work while actually doing nothing. Going out with your coworkers after a hard day, spending everything in a restaurant for a few drinks and a line of cocaine in the bathroom. Smile at everyone and talk the shit behind them, expecting a rise in that small corporational fortress that you think will supercharge you. That’s the norm now.

Not thinking, just being a small gear in a stupid machine with no purpose. But I’m jealous of them. Maybe I need to wake up to the scratching sound of the alarm like them, go to work at 9am like them, do what I’m told to do, spend my lunches at restaurants full of corporate robot clones, have small talks like them, find a stupid robot girlfriend just like them, have boring casual sex like them, maybe marry that girl that I’d never really love, but that’s what society expects, right?

You need a job at a plaza, rise until you hit the glass ceiling, spend all your earnings in believing in things that you need to keep you in the loop, marry a stupid robot in that same league, create a casual identity that fits perfectly into the society of the antidepressant-filled people with no feelings.

That’s not my thing, that has never been my thing, honey. It’s all stupid and I’m jealous of it, because they are the ones who don’t think, they are the ones that just go with the flow without questioning.

They are in their small circle, pursuing their little dreams, living their happy lives.

Do you want to be like them anyway?