I have aborted myself from my mother’s womb 13 hours before I was due. And so you know, I have some defects.
The prime objective of a great man should be to own his utmost self. Great men should be a god unto himself and of the mob, let them rot away in one-dimensional laughter and futile thoughts.
The revaluation of values.
The god in oneself must muster the strength to depart from traditional values in pure and holy spite for antiquity betrays logic. A celestial mind does not fret the old, for what is old but feeble and delicate?
The value of being human.
It exhausts all force, this constant struggle to prove to man that you are human, one that shant be subjected to any scale or measure. But what is being human if not the continual deterioration of power and possibilities?
The value of life.
Whether a life is beautifully led or just a ‘blind-foldedly’-thrown-to-the-sea-incident, it is without value. Life is devoid of meaning, a random mistake of the cosmos, a shadow of a mischievous phantom treading burning coals in broad daylight, an unforgiveable fault of a ruthless god even.
Men have strived to find solace in existence by attaching purpose in this otherwise random breathe perpetuity but what one has really accounted for purpose is merely an excuse to hang on to things that one has learned to love. Mean have attached reason to living because they have been too attached to living but the depths of existence remains hollow, down there not even an ant resides.
What do you live for? Would that, you would have been informed from the moment of conception or even of birth that that was your life’s purpose. How obtrusive that would have made the world, imposing unto a feeble mind and a little soul the course of his existence. Yet the Bible readily speaks of freewill?
Life is recurrent death to someone who would rather die.
We are god’s forsaken children; mere blunders even, borne out of a child’s play, we were molded from mud as any child does. We were merely the fancies of his lonely childhood. Now, he has grown older but time favors him without limits and the woes of his childhood are all forgotten, decapitated out of his neck. But he expects every human being to pay their dues, to offer some provision to their Lord and Creator. Yet preachers lecture blasphemy evil.
Humanity yields towards a phase of cipher rationality. Should man esteem faith before logic? Great men should be superior to humanity in contempt, in doubt, in knowledge, in destroying faith. Once upon a time God was created out of sheer desperation and simultaneously all of human reason had ceased to exist. But the age of reason is bound to set in and even God is King Canute; incapable of stopping the tidal waves of the greatest peripeteia, the beginning of rage for all things conventional, the revolt of the higher mortals against all things less, the death of God, and the expiration of his mystique. The death of God is the liberation of men. It demolishes the clustered bondage of thou-shalls and thou-shall-nots.
Even the walls have not heard the deafening battlecries inside the chest of this godless priest. How can something so painful be so utterly mute.
Even the most forlorn of souls wander away. Some hover about trying to find justice to existence and often to no avail. They end up being blown away into the void and in there they surrender their last strand of hope.
Some drift away aimlessly like pollen grains falling to the ground, and there they become alive.
And like that, I have become alive falling in love with you.
People think I’m all better now. But I still break at the slightest of touch.
You are a fountain of uncertainty, a drizzle of random things and of random emotions slacked out by the yearning to perpetuate a hopeless war. With you I do not know what to believe in. With you I choose to stay in muddy waters and sinking becomes redemptive. Maybe there’s more certainty underneath the ripples and the splashes than this enthralling surface.
I’m certain of my affection towards you but why do I care to see the mutuality of this all?