Creases

I shouldn’t be writing this, but I choose to because I’ve been brought to my senses. It’s simple really, the law states that when one experiences an epiphany, one will allow that epiphany to seep within their every breath, embrace its sandpapery texture and become one with it. Now’s your only chance to become vulnerable and succumb to your true self. Bleed out your ego and hop on that train, it only comes once. 

I met an Egyptian atheist around my age last Thursday who was coincidentally enrolled at my uni. Let me just say how he is one of the most interesting people I had ever come into contact with and how under normal circumstances, would’ve never had the pleasure of meeting him. Normal, we love that word - in fact, we love it so much if it were human we’d douse it in awards, offer it our daughter’s hand in marriage and supply it with premium property overlooking the mediterranean. You become slave to a set of rules, implement them religiously and live a life of bitterness, enviously criticising those that have mastered them. You slave your guardian for a life that in turn leads to slavery and in due time, slave yourself for your offspring and so on. Slavery hasn’t been abolished, look at the hand that feeds you, it’s growing at blinding speed. That’s what we as a society have coined as ‘normal’. Go ahead, embrace your normality: become the successful, married, happy engineer - marry that gorgeous wife, have a child or two, buy that dream house and live your fucking ‘dream’. Revolutionary in every sense of the word, it’s not like the past 17,000 generations haven’t been doing it.

Now, think of abnormality and every term society has associated with that word. Homosexuals, atheists, whores, just to list a few. Embrace their meaning, become each one and uncover why they’ve been (and I’d say unjustly, but you’ll understand later on why not) they’ve been placed under an ‘abnormal’ category.  Is it because they choose to live a life void of normality and void of society’s chokehold? Of course not, society wants what’s best for us. Is it because they choose to live a life of their pleasing, despite it being condemned from every religion that adorns this planet? Yes? No, it’s because they choose to do what they fucking please, and please don’t misinterpret this rant for a life that encourages you to become either of the above occupations; I’m simply chalking out of my comfort zone, embracing this epiphany; take from it what you please, but please, I beg of you, bash out of your comfort zone and for once, embrace the abnormal. Now ask yourself whether its us or them who are living abnormally.

This epiphany won’t change the fact that I have a 2500 word essay due tomorrow; It won’t change the fact that I have a midterm at 8 am tomorrow, either. It will however, amend my 5 out of the required 8 hours of sleep to those of comfort - those manifested with everything beautiful with this world. I hopped on that train and no grade will ever hold any value in comparison. I’ve been awoken.

Thank you, Mr. Atheist.  

I’ll spare you the fancy, 13 syllable word introduction and get straight to the point. Everyone has their secrets, no exceptions. We lie, we’re hypocrites, we condescend, we judge, we hurt. There are no two ways about it, we’re fucked up. Pretty fucking bad, too. Spare me the ritualistic one liners “but there are good people in this world”, “it’s society’s fault” - For once in our fucking lifetime, I’d like to see someone take the bullet and admit that we as humans are fucked up. But as expected, if you need something done, you do it yourself. So I will…

Occasionally, I bash out of my comfort zone and immerse myself in a world of sinning; not the ‘drinking, drugs, sex’ sinning per se, but a world in which social norms are shattered, their marble ceilings painstakingly chipped away. Once naked and vulnerable, your soul can achieve wonders, some you’ll regard with pride and some, with the utmost of regret. Luckily for me however, I can only relate to the latter of that statement. Mistake after devastating mistake. Tumble. Bruise. Heal. And then that pinch, that pinch that levitates you above all your misery and drowns you in realism. Drowns you in truth; that bitter, freezing cold truth that aims to strip you of all that is and once was. But it’s not the painful pinch, it’s the “what the fuck are you doing with your life?”  kind of pinch, the “are you sure you won’t regret this later?” pinch. Yet so often, that pinch is ignored until it morphs into a bite - except this time, it’s the painful kind.

Time heals, I wish it didn’t; I want those gruesome images engraved on my very being, engraved deep within the very fabrics that make me the human I am today. I want to admire every grotesque emotion that crumbled on the inside - the very same ones I endeavored to mask. I want the pain, I want the truth, I want the pinches, I want the bites. I want it all with every breath that I take. But since life owes nothing but misery, we’ll all carry on with our lives void of the truth. Until then, hide your hickeys* and bury them with your fake emotions. 

We’re all fucked, embrace it.

The thought of starting a diary that begs to be quenched day in and out, the sorts of which are cautiously buried in the catastrophe that is my brain never struck a chord with my being. The mere fact that I’m laboriously required to project my thoughts on paper, or in this case a screen destroys a thought, in it’s imaginary realms and star lit features. Leading the life of a flaneur, and an epicure (they are my thoughts after all and reserve the right to lead the life they please) how could I possibly dismay them so as to demote them as mere words? The crux of the matter is that no word will serve to describe my thoughts in all their complexities and apparent bewilderment.

My brain, with its 19 year licensed pilot refused to plunge in the sea of thoughts that have been harboured for too long a time and as such will be held accountable for my absence. Expectedly however, apathy will deem itself superior and hold my brain accountable for nothing, nada, zero, zilch. Zero seems to hold resounding weight on my life, or rather the fear of it. Having zero money, zero success, zero happiness - we tend to live encompassed in the fear of having nothing, that if, god forbid, we lived without material possessions, we would cease to exist, we would become zeroes. We always hear people claiming they “had nothing to lose” that they somehow started at zero and as a result are our shining beacon of hopes for a better life - one we strive for through hard work and honesty. So what if, what if we started at zero - zero everything and in that sense started with nothing? Would we genuinely chase after our dreams or would we subside in our tsunami of apathy and guilt of having to lose all our possessions? What I really want in life and which is only exclusive to my knowing, (because as I’ve come to experience, no one but yourself is capable of achieving that dream) is to lead the life of a flaneur, with no specific holy grail. Because why the fuck not? Why should I lead the life of a routine infused with money and status and power, created by no other than the humans we relentlessly bash at, why? Well, for starters because my apathy, as has been evident of my past, forbade me from achieving my ‘destiny’. And yes, I realise how cliche that sounds, ‘destiny’ - the word we’ve been accustomed to hearing in disney fairytales, ‘deep’ movies, books, religion, family lectures. But at least I’ve mustered the courage to admit life has had its toll on me, that it’s depleting my opinionated take on life. And that, in itself is an achievement, the first step to my ‘destiny’

Many of you maybe wondering (or might not care at all, but since this is my blog I reserve the right to bestow you with my opinion) where this sudden ephiphany has sprouted from - and on many occasions replanted. The answer lies within nature; yes another, cliche: the tree hugging, bear loving, climate saving, hippie. How many times have we heard that before? Taking back a step, void of the adjectives and thirteen syllable words: I kayaked away from shore, far enough from human reach I lay there shiftless pondering on no other than life. And that’s when it hit me: I do not want plenty, plenty is not what I seek, what I seek is nothingness, perfection attributed to the craziness that is life. I want nothing

I seek zero. 

A human instinct so powerful, it’s worth has been embargoed from human reach. Prescribed for one and sheltered from plenty. An orgasmic cataclysm that eradicates sanity in all it’s forms. Beauty, engulfed in evil; love, coated in desire; control ravaged by chaos. Lust - for it has captivated my soul, bashing full force into reality. Broken sound barriers, shattered glass. Mute. 

In a perfectly manicured society, one is expected to live under the guise that innocence stems from repulsion to lust; that somehow, manifesting unto others on a utopian level is a sin. In essence, you seek to form yourself as a functioning, breathing human being through means of another functioning, breathing human being. We scavenge for one another’s pleasure against our dreaded norms. You fall in love, you sign the contract that stipulates pleasure is to be delayed until marriage and all for what? A monogamous relationship that eventually burns off along with your memory. We lead as a populace that serves for it’s wellbeing through a dictated manual. Human nature; disgusting.

Our desires dictate our emotions, and our emotions are what control us - and mine are in dire need of maintenance; failure after devastating failure. That one kiss that teleports you from an ‘innocent’ realm to a realm infested with sinning. What we consistently fail to appreciate however, is that society’s grasp on our freedom is what generates these labels - a recluse’s form of sinning is human contact, a cook’s is burnt cuisine; an academic’s, failure. So yes, I am in fact a sinner, we all are. Make peace with that fact or anticipate anarchy from within; caress your suffering soul, for it will not rest in peace.

We are humans, we are sinners.

God forgives.