gentle.

Too often do we try and force a square through a circular hole; it is within our nature to bend the world to our will. The writer who tries to force words from his fingers, the teacher who tries to force undivided attention from the pupil with ADHD, the lover who tries to force the beloved to love; a futile game of forcing nature back upon and against herself. For how can a writer force words from his fingers when he know not what to say? How can a teacher force undistracted attention from the pupil with ADHD, for his dopamine does not permit him so? The lover who tries to force the beloved to love, when the beloved cannot control whether they love or do not love? What a futile game we play upon ourselves; we as Humans think that we can control every facet of existence, bending the fabric of reality to our whims, when this is patently untrue.

In order to live congruent with reality, we must learn to accept that some things possess a particular nature, a nature to which cannot be changed nor manipulated to nature to which it is not.

—————–

Do not force relationships, for it was called attraction for a reason. Attraction; magnetism, is a force so strong that pulls individuals closer to each other, with no regard to the individuals rationale on the matter. A magnetic attraction wills these individuals to be with each other, a force so powerful that no obstacle will keep them apart. It is for this reason that you must not force relationships, for if they were meant to be the attraction between would hurl you to each other like a mailbox in a tornado; unrelenting, forceful and impossible to fight against. To force a relationship is to go against the nature of the individuals in question; to transgress this nature is to position yourself within direct opposite to the natural order of things. Attraction defies logic, and thus no amount of analysis, comparison or intellectualisation will suffice to generate the magnetic attraction that you desire. Do not try to force a square through a circle, for it will be met with universal opposition.

 

forty-two thousand feet.

There’s something so fickle about a feeling; ever fleeting, one moment it’s there, another gone. I am an adventurer, exploring foreign lands, exploring foreign planes, searching. A curious searching, one different to all those prior. A search akin to what an eye subconsciously seeks in the lazy space of a painting. This search, like all searches, lifts me up into the atmosphere; forty-two thousand feet above. I’m above the clouds lost in a familiar feeling. Why do these adventurers consume me so? Am I destined to be the one who wonders?

 

Hong Kong. Lost. I’m walking about, lost in a haze. Symbols reveal their shallow nature as I move past, unable to decipher them completely. I can sometimes understand what they mean, for some things are universal. But most things do not offer me such luxury. A luxury to be afforded; something earned through the fire and brimstone of repetition. Do you know the feeling of reaching to grasp, only to fall within an inch? This is a central theme of Human experience, colouring me a faded hue. Blue, blue, all because of you. I’m the shade of your favourite colour, I’m the shape of your favourite mood; I feel as if I compliment you.

 

The death march.

This is the age of the individual, Instagram, narcissism, butt-implants, materialism and a consumeristic mentally; welcome to the 21st century. We march forward without hesitation, toward a cliff, of which at the bottom, organised Human life does not exist. We’ve turned up the thermostat, we’ve deadbolted the doors from the inside and flushed away the key. The thermostat is broken, it’s stuck on a 4-degree increase; we have nowhere to run, we will melt into our own filth. Is this our own fault, however? In an Exxonmobil world, are we really to blame when the likes of Exxon knew about the impacts of oil on climate in 1977? Is this the beginning of the end? Are we headed for a slow deflation or an abrupt pop?

Is there Human race going to rise to the occasion of collective survival? Or will we sweep our problems under the bed and tell Mother that our room has been cleaned? What will we do when an estimate 100m – 1Bn climate migrants come to our shoes when their homes have been left unliveable? What will we do when extreme drought strikes? The Maldives… they never stood a chance; they will spend their last moments gasping for air, and the only thing left to breathe is a foreign aid budget… they can’t breathe US Dollars, nor can they stand upon democracy to keep us above the salty Indian.

We are fucked.

Our world is so divided; Mr Trump wants to keep those to the south out so bad he is willing to build a wall. But, but what about the health of those within your walled city? What about their education? What about the homeless? Why do you, Mr. President, promote such divisiveness? Why do you not believe in such collective humanity? Can we as Humans truly live in such large groups, or are we 10,000 chickens in a feed-shed, unable to recognise friend from foe, left to our own devices where we peck eachother like mad… until we all eventually die. Our lifetime, I suspect, will see some of the most turbulent times of Human history. To overcome these challenges we must rise about our individual selfish desire and think of the collective; we must cooperate and put the collective needs about the individual. What is good for the economy of the Western world, isn’t necessarily good the planet.

What say you, huh? Dare you put the needs of another before yourself, or will you drown in a pool of your own reflection…

The climate is coming, and there’s nowhere to run.

Bleak city stare.

Have you ever gazed upon the world with a bleak stare? I have.

Loneliness is a wretched beast; an enveloping feeling of which carries me down the road. My true nature is one of routine, a nature that sits like a statue on baron ground… unwavering, unchanged and desolate. I fight my true nature by embarking on adventure, on quests of the mind, the soul and the heart. This great adventure carries my bags from city to city, leaving everything that I built up behind me, though I know it is for the best, this period of adaptation leaves my heart feeling less full than previously expressed. I know that in my heart of hearts that I will again feel a heart full of connection, but today is not that day, and my heavy heart is felt in each step that I take.

On idle.

What do you do when you’re content in your own silence? I lay here after work, a job I enjoy. I desire health and wealth, and those are taken care of. I have loving friends and family, and I think I get a decent dose of them. I lay here on my bed unsure of what to do next; it’s hard to have a desire to do when all your needs have been met. Maslow says to self-actualise, but I feel as if I do that through my work. I don’t desire money for the sheer sake of it; I desire only money for security and to eat meals with my friends and to occasionally travel 4 weeks a year. I’ve done so much personal development over many years, and I’ve reached a point where I am happy and content; I don’t desire much. I feel as if I require a purpose but I’d be just arbitrarily imposing a purpose on a conscious experience that is dictated by bodily function. We are alive to survive, but when you’re surviving what do you do next? Is there any reason to do anything else? Should I just do what induces pleasurable sensation?

If life inherently has no purpose, would it be a benefit to myself to give it purpose? Is it better to apply meaning to my life so that my free time has a purpose? If so, what purpose should I apply? How do I determine this? Or is it better to live a hedonistic life, within the scope of health and well-being?

Whelp.

Signed,

Tentative.

He who has no head.

There lives a man who has no head. A man with a blank stare, a stranger to all the rest. This man feels a symphony of emotion,  yet he denies them power over him. He sits with no head and gazes out into the world, staring out onto things with stoic indifference. His mind races with thought, just like all minds do, but this thought holds no power over him. This man is a stoic, external events bother him less because of the power that lies within the neutral judgement of things; neutral judgement permits external things no power over him, for how can they? How can rain perturb the emotions of a man if he wishes no for dryness or wetness? How can anxiety grip a man who has no preference for the order of things?

“Who then is invincible? The one who cannot be upset by anything outside their reasoned choice.“ — Epictetus