Ninety nine

When ninety nine is the greatest number that you know, can you even comprehend the existence of one hundred?

I know you’re there, and I know very few people can even get close to ninety nine. Maybe you are one of them. If you are reading this you might really be in this group; the people who can’t fit into the mainstream society, the ones who don’t enjoy what regular people do. The ones that are born with the “illness” to feel the need to create. The blessing of creative freedom and the curse of existential crisis. The ever-growing anxiety and its dreaded manifestation of panic, attacking and forcing us into terror. The chaotic chamber of everything burning down, death and creation dancing with the rhythm. 

Then you meet someone. Someone who shows you a new number: one hundred. Suddenly you realize that you haven’t ever realized the fact that there could be more to all of this. You start accepting the fact that there could be numbers beyond your imagination. You start seeing colors for the first time after living in monochrome. You realize that there could be things beyond your imagination; things that you couldn’t imagine that they could have been imagined, a higher order function in your abstract thinking.

Maybe that’s the point in this illusion called time that you start questioning your paradigm.


I can’t believe this is happening.

This is one of the things that require all my self-confidence to get in front of the mirror and accept. The one that I’ve been running away from. But how long can you run from what’s already inside your head? How long can you deny what you subconsciously know?

There is no point in denying anymore: I miss those days of being in the alternate universe that I always feared for years. The days that I went radio silent for three weeks. It wasn’t only the social life and connection to the Internet that went radio silent. It was everything good and bad about my everyday life that went dark for the seemingly-forever days that I’ve spent there.

And boy, I miss those days of isolation. I miss all the isolation from the routine, people in my life, thoughts, feelings, stress, expectations and hopes. I miss the feeling of knowing that everything will be allright when those days were gonna be over.

Safe mode. It’s like a sandbox game in your brain, that you could freely do anything you want. A game that takes place in an alternate reality, an immersive experience. But when it’s over you are back to the routine. 

Dear internal monologue, what was the trigger that let you enter your safe mode? I need to find it  and enter my safe mode again. Should I repeatedly press all function keys? Shall try to induce a lucid dream by reading my dream diary and constantly asking whether I’m in a dream or not and watch for any clues; the inconsistencies and weird actors, the glitches in the Matrix? The ones that it’s the same places and the same people of ordinary, but something is off. The lights just don’t reflect right. The rendering engine is constantly glitching out and our brain is denying to encode any information that would provide a clue about the inner wiring of our minds into our memory. A session that deletes all the files when it’s over. A session that you don’t even remember existing. But what if we could recall it all?

If we can introspect into the wiring of our brains and observe which memory is associated with which person, which idea stems from which combination of our neurons, can we really understand our minds? Once we understand the role of every neuron and every dendrite, do we know everything about our brain? But isn’t even observing the structure of neurons an input of information that changes the formation of that very structure anyway? In that sense, isn’t trying to understand the fabric of our experienced reality, actually a transformation of it to a new state anyway? It’s like a cat chasing a mouse and never catching it. But we keep trying even if the game is rigged.

How do we understand the fuzzy-logic encoding of all the data about everything that we’ve experienced? How do you start? It isn’t like a file on your computer that you can analyze with a hex editor. It isn’t a sequence of zeroes and ones, it’s a graph network of a huge number of nodes and connections. Is there any idea better than constantly trying to see a pattern and always trying the next combination, not knowing what to look for, like skipping all those songs in shuffle while walking until you realize that you don’t want to listen to music in the first place?

Even if we devise a way to map everything about our three dimensional brain, would it explain anything about our conscious decisions that triggers all the pathways of thoughs in the first place anyway? Once you hit the wall where you realize conventional physics cannot explain who you are, wouldn’t you dig deeper into your ocean of subconsciousness? Wouldn’t you, only then, see the real mirror that truly reflects yourself deep within your soul?


You remember that person that you tried everything to keep in your life who went away no matter what you did? The one who never came back? You remember, of course you do. We all have that person, maybe more than one at different stages in life, that were drowning and held onto us. Held on so tightly and made us feel alive like never before. Then slowly started to pull us down until we drown with them. Until we exhaled our last breath and don’t remember anything beyond that point. A missing page in our book. You know, the small moments with big meanings, the missing pieces. The ones that we try to fill with random noise of little pieces in the withdrawal of the ones that used to reflect ourselves; the ones that we unconsciously used as a device, a secret code that we used to access deepest rooms within our mind that we otherwise have no way of knowing that they even existed in the first place? A virus in our paradigm that distorts everything to a point where you can’t comprehend what is right or what is wrong anymore. The point where nothing matters. A virus that saves us from ourselves, the dark-caped hero.

Do you remember those people who you’ve tried to get rid of, but somehow always found you again. The ones that you can’t put out of your life. The ones with the roles so deeply convoluted with yours that will find a way to sneak into your life even if you lock yourself down in a small room.

Have you ever felt the pieces finally coming together, and understanding why some things or people entered your life? The events that directed you, the people that changed a small wire in your brain that opened a door to a new world? A world that you finally belonged in, realizing that all the paths that led to it was worth it. A life with everyone in your life is at the place that you’d love to see them in. A life where you finally are at the spot that you always deserved to be in everyone’s life. In people that you care about, or in people that you don’t even know that they exist. 

Don’t everyone have their time in your life? Isn’t the function of the universe guiding everyone to their lines that coincide others’ at some point, bringing joy, love, or sometimes seemingly-bad things that you finally realize to be not really bad at all later in this game of life?

Aren’t all these roles are the ones that give a true meaning to our lives, after all? Namaste.

Breaking Down

Everything is falling apart. You wake up into a nightmare more chaotic than the one that you‘ve awaken from. All the pieces that you’ve tried to fit in place, the world that you wanted to love and save, the universe that was your life mission. Everything is falling chaotically into so many little pieces. Nothing but the eternal loneliness feels real anymore. You want to scream, you want to feel alive, but there’s no one to hear you. Everything just makes sense only when shared. But you are lonely in this universe. Floating into nowhere in deep space eternally. You don’t want to die; you want to live. Live to the fullest, visit places, share beautiful moments, you know… kiss in sunset, hold hands and walk bare foot in the sand by the sea, watch the stars at dark night.

This is it. This is meant to be it. Life is meant to be shared but it seems impossible from this point. There is no one.

So, I ask again to myself: what would you do? How would yoy fight to get your life back? What are your limits? Where is your manifesto? You want to travel the whole world but only with someone who completes your missing piece. You want to do literally everything, live your wildest dreams, be yourself, but you are fucking alone. It has been so long since you’ve touched someone and actually felt something real. It has been so long since someone that you’ve got close was more than a sexual object.

So fuck all your good-looking bodies, egoistic identities, fragile masks, good looking profiles that you use to seduce people. It doesn’t mean anything to me. It doesn’t mean to anyone who’s real. 

I just want to be myself. I just want to be real again. I just want to wake up in the mornings without trying to run away from reality everyday. I just want to stay sane, hold hands, share moments, kiss, have sex with true feelings, share good and bad together, fly together…

So, what would you really do if you’ve found yourself in a worse nightmare that you can ever imagine? What would you do if life itself became that nightmare? What would you do if you want to live, but can’t, and only thing that keeps you alive is fear of death? What would you do if everything seems perfectly okay on the outside, but falling apart inside?

How long does it take you to go crazy? Wouldn’t you try everything to escape? Wouldn’t you get down on your knees and hope for a miracle? A miracle that would change everything… a small adjustment in the parameters that would…

Change everything.

Initial conditions

How can you shift your focus from the one thing that’s missing? If you’re working on a puzzle, wouldn’t you try to find the final, missing piece? You know that you’re going to find that piece in the weirdest place in the most absurd way, but how can you give up on your focus? How can you trust what you can’t see, hear, smell or experience with the traditional senses even though you know deep inside is there? There’s something deep in the roots of the fine-vowen fabric of spacetime that provokes your true self against this quantized world that we assume to be reality.

You know there’s something beyond that, something gives you all the signs; it’s one of those people of whom you exist and will going to change your life at one point but you don’t know the name of. Something beyond our current understanding of reality. Something that can beat time. Out there with no strings attached. Something calling us from a parallel universe; a universe with everything slightly different. It’s the same places, same people, supposedly same time, but something’s off. Is it the lighting or the rules of physics or something else… a change in initial variables in this universe caused a dramatic change in how everything feels. 

What if our current universe is the off one and when we calm ourselves down, we can open a door to the one that we belong to. The one with the remaining pieces of the puzzle fixed. The one that you always wanted and deserved.

The one that makes life worth living. The one that you finally can share all the good moments. The one that you aren’t alone anymore.

What if this universe was right in front of us, in the reach of our hands… what is that universe was waiting for us to join the party? What if the only thing that we needed to do is to calm down and stop our obsessive thoughts? But how can you shift your focus from what you need? How can you shift it so slightly that you have a glimpse of what could have happened if there was a microsdjustment in initial conditions?

Panic attack

You’re not going to survive this. You’ll die in fear and terror now. There is no exit. There is no way you’re gonna see the good ol’ happy days again. 

It was twelve years ago when I first heard about you. I had a girlfriend that I was in love with. She kept talking about you, having it in bus, subway, airplane, or basically anywhere crowded. She told me that she was feeling like she was going to die there of heart attack. She always came to meet me by a cab and I mocked her about being selfish and not caring about her parents’ money…

Fast forward to ten years ago and I’m in college, started to make money, successful and popular in his field, have nice friends and a lovely girlfriend. But… something’s not right. Future. It’s always about the future isn’t it? What will happen? What’s going to unfold next? Will I be successful? Will I have a good life? Will the things I already have and appreciate stay with me? Will something unexpected ruin everything? One day I’m home and my mind started to go out of control. I was dying, having a heart attack. Nothing could keep me under control. Terror. Delusion. Confusing what is real and what’s inside my head… Distorting reality. Something that trying to explain to a person who hasn’t experienced yet is like trying to explain red to a person who lived funny in monochrome. Shaking all my paradigm, my whole three-dimensional representation of the universe in one shot. Shaking uncontrollably. That was it. I was gonna die, and nothing matters anymore. All the problems that I ever had have no importance to me. Take literally everything, I just want to survive this. I’d to anything.

Fight or flight. This is where things get interesting. This is where world suddenly turns upside down. This is when you start to feel alive again. With adrenaline rushing over your body to start surfing the inevitable excitement and walk back and forth in the dilemma of canalizing the energy into unleashing your true potential or poisoning every cell in your body until you no longer feel that you’re breathing.

I didn’t die. I didn’t have a heart attack either. It was a panic attack; something that you’d even make fun yourself about feeling that way when it’s over. Something that even the though of it opens a positive feedback loop about itself going to happen, a self-fulfilling prophecy

It was the first time I met you, and it was definitely my last time. From my heart rating up to 180bpm out of nothing to all the overthinking about everything: future, life and death, relationships, family, career, and many others that I don’t even remember. You are a blessing and a curse. A gift of being able to be so open mentally to receive it all, but of having no way of conceiving it all. I hate you and I love you my friend. Instead of fighting you, maybe I should embrace you now.

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.