Existing. Just existing.

My existence hurts the future of my supposed essence; the hell that is other-people haunts my nightmares with its new found light: I hate being honoured with the specialities of today’s society. I do not want a ‘hot wife’, an amazing job or the fame that will turn me into a shadow of my existence. Tommorow may bring the past that is forgot; but, for now, restrain from hating me – or others like me- for mourning the current existence of our body and mind in the concept of the symbolic world, which most – with an absence of Irony- Angelically name as ‘reality’.

“Either be as you look or look as you be,” said the supposedly wise but surely mystique Rumi.

Only the trails of a cretin can footnote this Rumi dribble into an example of today’s model person; much worse: We may come across the survival instinct of one’s most hated characteristics expressed in the colloquial vision, blurred out in the utter made up sound bite of “Be yourself”.

No. I doubt this spinning lunatic, Rumi, meant to tell us to just be ourselves, certainly not in the context of today’s society. And it is very easy for a fat genius to find time to repeat such phrases in the chemically disturbing beauty of wine’s flow through the body, while your boyfriend, Sems, picks fruits for you: resembling the wet-dream of a crazy primitivist.

I shall explain my humbling doubts: I am sure Turkey’s Romantic Sartre was going for something a little different, a little less sober but nevertheless a little more exciting: An idea of yourself that is built firmly on the concrete decisions you have made with what you had done and what had been done to you – that is what freedom means.

Sartre would agree with the earlier, less intelligent version of himself that can be found in the wave created by the spinning Dervis.

Side note: He span all day, yet he was fat ? Strange. He must of had a slow metabolism; just maybe his support for Ottoman rule injected a form of depression in him that turned into comfort eating.

Moving off…

I am what I am because of my, often insane, decisions: Here, in this world, designed by the ignorance of previous generations, I am somebody who has and looks up to and for nothing.

Here… this symbolic world sucks and my fantasies to cope with them have strange into a puddle, dirt that one may occasional find diamonds in … But Diamonds finite; fantasies are infinite.

To End Politely:

The shame of not fitting in – only stringent in the cells of the stupid gene – is not befitting to my current essence. Now, what to do with the pile of shit that I am…

 

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