#exitentialism

There's an old adage you may be familiar with, “You can’t see the forest for the trees.” That’s where people struggle. We see a tree, but do not consider the forest. What kind of forest are you growing in? What type of tree are you?

you’ve got 9 lives in your head but none of them real nonetheless special maybe talking, talking like you like you were important – Enough to be real to exist on sidelines, the days you can’t speak or seem to shut up like a shut-down machine. Start believing in fire and smile like you mean it and it may start feeling real – you need these reasons to feel since your memory’s…

Things rarely are absolute. Especially on Earth. Duality is attached as a condition to live here. Night to day. Cold to Hot. Joy to Sadness. Nothing is one. Yet metaphysical teaching will tell you that everything is one. It is, just not when you are in a human body. The human body will always split oneness into two. I think it is one of the magic of living on Earth. To be able to hate and love…

:// 𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙸𝙽𝚂𝙿𝙾𝚃𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙴 : 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽

                Agent Kafka stared down at the word he had just misspelled. He had meant to write down guilty ; an adjective many utilized to describe the likes of David Haller nowadays back in Division 3. Instead, in his own sharp writing , he found GULLIBLE staring right back at him . The man exhaled and scratched it out . Black ink flooded the paper of his notebook and stained the next page . He really needed to get himself one of those Moleskines . These pages were too thin . It had become hard to read his own thoughts . He wondered if David was doing that ; SOAKING IN THE PAGES OF HIS MIND . Intruding with his past thoughts as well as future ones . Staining him with his own brand of black ink .      ❝      Right you are, Mr. Haller .     ❞     Kafka said before looking up at the other mutant .  A gloved hand snapped the notebook shut .  ━━  AN ATTEMPT AT KEEPING HIS THOUGHTS PRIVATE .

               ❝   You are nothing more than a suspect in need of arrest . And that is our primary goal , Mr. Haller : To assure you are held within an environment in which you’re no longer a threat to others or yourself .    ❞    Despite his deadpan stare , there seemed to be a light hint of softness to his tone . The same kind of softness cops used to talk bank robbers out of shooting hostages in exchange for a helicopter to the Bahamas . Kafka wondered what a guy like David might have traded his freedom for . HE WAS SAD TO FIND THAT NOTHING CAME TO MIND . His little girlfriend hadn’t been able to convince him to drug himself back into his past safe but pitiful state . Men who didn’t shiver when faced with a lover’s ultimatum were of the most dangerous kind . Kafka eyed him from head to toe from behind the lenses of his glasses . A dry smile was offered   ━━   He didn’t show it , BUT HE FEARED THIS MAN .  ❝   Failure to cooperate with us, however, might require me to change the nature of our relationship .    ❞   

@telegion

                          DAVID

 he  can’t  read  anything  .      can’t  hear  anything  ,      when  the  walls  and  the  ceiling  and  the  floor  are  blocking  the  voices  from  leaking  into  his  mind  .      it’s  disorienting  ,      after  having  his  powers  for  so  long  .      years  now  ,      years  !      and  division  three  ,      what                                 takes  that  away  all  in  one  fell  swing  of  their  arm  ,      like  a  metaphorical  chopping  block  to  his  brain  .      like  pills  ,      but  worse  .      GOD  SHOULD  NOT  BE  SHOVED  THROUGH  THE  SLATS  OF  THOSE  INCORRECT  HUMANS  .      humanity  :      the  biggest  mistake.      they  would  never  accept  him  .      and  then  ,      neither  would  the  mutants  .      government  organisation  rife  with  …  but  you  can’t  hear  ,      no  matter  how  much  you  try  .      only  his  own  mind  is  open  to  him  .      that’s  a  lot  ,      but  that’s  not  even  close  to  enough  .      give  a  man  a  fish  ,      and  he’ll  eat  for  a  day  .      but  give  a  man  the  power  of  God  ,      and  he’ll  turn  everyone  into  fish  and  eat  for  the  rest  of  eternity  .   

 he  has  no  way  to  fish  ,      here  .      he  has  no  hands  ,      here  .   

She doesn’t want lit another cigarette

She doesn’t want to have another cup of coffee

She doesn’t want some shoulders to lay her head on—

Neither she wants to live or die, not anything else she never got bored craving for.

All she wants to do is to sleep, or to throw her stomach up.

However, in blurry sight she takes grip on her pen—though it seems four times harder with all her strength getting dissolved. Her lean arms almost cannot feel anything but the shivering of her body, enveloped in a rather thin skin compares to her scar. Her heart pumps the blood in a rapid, inconsistent pace that her whole body gets confused—beating in the sense of almost in love, but much less painful to be so.

Her body and her soul are in a fight of rejecting each other, causing a fatal nausea to the throat. How shameful, she thinks, that the soul would corrupt her body into a skinnier image due to its jealousy for a healthy body. And the body, however, replied by turning the mind into a squeamish kind of idleness.

She had never wanted to be alone as much as she does today. Though, somehow, she has always been alone the whole time without her being conscious to it.

A few moments later, her suffering redeemed into a very deep sleep.

She got up at 1:30, almost cannot tell the difference between waking up and falling asleep. It was not the first time she got conscious though. A few hours ago, she happened to open her eyes but can only see the defragmented light from the ceiling, dancing convulsively that seems far away for her. Too hangover to wake up, she fell back to sleep.

But right now she pulls herself up trying to do anything she can to tame the nausea. She feels as sick as a politician, but somehow can hear herself telling she already got better. Her fingertips are getting almost as blue as the morning sky, and she won’t take a look in the mirror despite wanting so bad to do so. A devilish sighting is quite common for those suffering in ailment, and she won’t risk herself at it.

While waiting for the pill to work, she sits still, smelling only the unhealthy odour from her collarbone. Suddenly, the memory of a face struck her right on her head. The face of a smiling man—an intelligent, eloquent man whose eyes paid off all her pain in life. Maybe she misses getting up at such hour, catching his figure who would kiss her and embrace her within his broad chest. Or maybe her mind is only playing a trick on her, which she understands as a common phase on sickness.