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  I don’t  know what I want in life. Somedays I want to make my parents proud, other days  I want someone’s head on a stick. Father tells me of the importance of making a name for  myself, of working to obtain resources and then the importance of distributing said resources to those in need. He says how a meaningful existence is one in thrall to everyone else, a devote beacon of good who is a sacrifice for the world. I think a meaningful existence is a hopeless dream only possible due to the susceptibility of the mind, as goodness is just fabricated evidence for the lie. Father thinks my cynicism is a byproduct of laziness, that it is much easier to hate then love and much easier to falter then struggle. That I am weak and unable to stomach that there is potential inside of me strong enough to rout the guidelines of this world, and that me saying people live in delusion is just a foolish projection. He says just because a quest has continual sorrow and defeat at the ...

When times are bliss, and you can't get enough of life. When times are harsh, and you seek continual escape. When you want to relax for a second, to lay without worry and take a deep breath. Time is always moving. Tick, tick, tick. Everything stops, your very heart stops beating but time continues to tick. It's a complex thing, the most complex and powerful thing there is. Time is life, time is death, time is god, time is love, time is it all.    Times power reigns much farther than its fleeting nature. It is the enemy of the delusional, as time eventually destroys all false realities. It is the plague of the thinker who is stuck in a maze in their own mind with no hints of escape. It is a constant reminder of the frugalness of existence and how small we really are. So, what shall one do against this mighty unwavering, unbeatable foe? What can one even do? The absurdist would say why bow to what has already won, you are here so rebel by struggling on. The nihilist would find i...

I had read a lot of literature, studied a lot of art thus far in my latently troubled life, but perhaps none struck a resonating chord as deep as the one at that moment. Dante, oh his beautiful prose which displayed a soul in a palpable way in this line, in this one so perfect line, which traveled its way silkily down the roots of my mind to my eager tongue.     “Behold a God more powerful than I who has come to rule over me.”   That hopeless resignation, not because it is a dire circumstance, just that it is a journey with only one path be it that path the one to heaven. God was in front of me, adorned in all her beauty from the tip of her hair to the bottom of her feet.    I was transfixed, captivated, blissfully enthralled. The part of my existence that I owned was now owned by God. Every idea that had run through my heads over the past two years. Every thought, every time my head got the best of me as I pondered and concocted false reality after reality. Sea...

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