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Short Essays on Everything





Depth to Surface

Day 1



Hollow and cold remains fill this room, where all life has come to its end, and eyes of vacancy stare into emptiness, where the words hang loose from their noose, and the thoughts come horror-filled and calm, where I speak not from voices of reason or doubt, but from the vacuum within my frame. I refrain and run from fights soon to arrive, hostility of fangs and bare fists, screams of passion hailing contempt and opinions charged with the idiocy of right and wrong. I am left beaten and tired, the cells in me withering from the poison surrounding me, and this silence within me asks and answers with a single word, death, it is death which looms and cries, weeping tears of regret over a life which could have gone another way. My father, my mother, my sisters, they all come to me with smiles and joys; I look upon them in awe of how they cannot hear the silence echoing off the walls.

Cigarettes come and go, like whiffs of air, my bones my dearest companions remain awake under my skin, etching and wandering around my mind, reminding me of who I am, and how holy such a realisation is. The hunger in me begs for funding, yet I know, to let it, is to die once more. Soon the air returns, blinks my eyes and calls my name, then there is lifelessness here, and I am composed of it, decomposed of all matter, simply a ghost or a shell, functioning around these people who cannot fathom what it feels like to be dead. The depression will linger and pass, with invitations for laughs and merriment, and I will partake, but soon left alone too, I will return to this endless nothingness which sees through these eyes and words, a place which can never be left, a place, a turn, a point, a door, which cannot be forgotten or lost, I live in-between the here and hereafter, and if only one could feel how light and heavy I am at this moment, then they would be shocked as to how someone can be within two states simultaneously.

Thoughtless in breezes which I cannot feel, they pass through me without relief or scent, all things have arrived to a zero; energy is at its end. Atoms no longer shake, electrons fall, everything nulls and I am here still, that is what I cannot fathom, that which keeps me here. Anyway enough of that, this is all a product of a deluded mind, an ego gone astray, a life in amends, focus elsewhere, make up fantasy, that’s all anyone is good for anyway. I am a bad replica of myself, I should never show the real me, the me saddened past death, the life which functions without itself, but I still act, for those whom I love, it brings them solace and comfort, especially after my suicide attempt. I eat and eat and smile and rejoice when all are serious and real, they all ask, why I can’t find the ground everyone walks upon, the answer is I don’t know, I am either in a grave or in self manufactured clouds, that’s my mind, and I can’t do anything about it.

Trying helps, empathy too, compassion keeps me here, to live for others is all I do, otherwise I fall through basement floors, all in a mind which has resolved to the bottom of all floors, the cessation of all guilt or futures and a single moment suspended in endless oblivion, and I its primary passenger. Who on earth wants to hear all of this, why on earth am I writing it, how can I change, grow, learn, if all I do is repeat words and shitty themes, I am right to leave, to vacate this place, and see if I was ever alive to begin with.

My heart is possessed of shadows in darkness, invisible to every sense but the sixth, and I have been going on about this for far too long, I need to move on.

I believe had I had an unhappy childhood I would surely be dead, but it is our earliest foundations which define our lives and mine were happy and filled with love. There is no remorse here, there are no currents, everything has left this place and I all which remains, is truth or delusion, and they keep me in this fall, this fall without air or place, this fall into disappearing. Longing is all which remains here, it is the lifeline I can’t let go of, and I am so grateful. It is longing on which I swing; I go up and down upon its lethal rope, hoping I land on the right side of the ground. I do not know where or what this place is called, they say the word depression, though there is no high or low, I am not depressed, I do not exist.

Is it psychosis or a memory of a time far before now, it’s what has followed me most of my life, a dull impartiality, for there is nothing here which interests me, since childhood all disappeared, they said I don’t have a personality, I believe that, there is nothing for me, I have no passions nor regrets, I simply swing on my rope. One can manufacture happiness, it is possible, I do it all the time, but I always return here, no matter what I do to get out, I come back. I don’t want to die, I don’t want to move on, or anything silly like that, all I want is to care and feel, to be a ‘me’. Everyone else can, why can’t I? Or is it the slightest des-encouragement which disrupts all my joy and love; am I too afraid to stand on my feet? They tell me I have psychological problems, what does that mean? Am I to blame, did I choose peculiarity over functionality, dreams over reality, imagination over substance? I don’t know.

How can people be so sure of anything, so rooted and drenched in beliefs, when true knowledge, is knowing there isn’t any. How are people this stupid, to believe in a world set up for them to partake in, it all doesn’t make any sense to me. I am lost and I speak about myself way too much, this is all nonsense, endless rambling without coherency or meaning, I am a fool in clown’s clothing, and everyone can tell. I am boring myself once again, it’s all that happens, I am going to leave this seat and watch TV, maybe then I’ll feel a little better, acting is all there is, somehow everyone forgot it’s all an act. That’s it, I just hit the nail on the head, I feel the euphoria and joy rising like a climax, but that final point fails to arrive, and all subsides soon after. I hate acting, I really do, and it’s just not me. There aren’t many people like me, and we rarely talk to one another, but I am so glad and proud to be able to see, at least I get to step back when most have no idea how to.

Day 2



There was a beautiful flower in my life, its scent delivered romance and freedom, everything about it was fresh to the eye, keen to the touch, and pretty in every-way. The tipping point came, and the flower began to rot from the inside out, I have long abandoned that flower, and all of its kind. Addiction is a cruel mistress, like a flower it awakens life, fills rooms and spaces with love, but as the point tips over into another scale, it only leads to emptiness, and vacant places. Still it pleads and begs with its knees below its shoulders, asking for one last shot at redemption, some new soil and a way to bring it back to life, it becomes a seducer, a menace, and dangerous in every possible way, and to the former addict like myself, it is an open door we must trust ourselves never to walk through again.

This morning brings light and a pleasant act, I feel good, none of the darkness of last night’s, none of it remains. I have long wondered what is wrong with me, long before diagnosis, I realised I was unusual at best, never fitting in, forever at a loss to my environment, at least I know now, that I am a paranoid depressed schizophrenic, who is far along his journey to recovery. I feel love today, I feel normal, and it’s a wonderful place to be. I reside in a place of life and nature, tall green trees, and other flowers which bloom in the cool spring air, flowers which cannot rotten, flowers which show the way home. I feel refreshed and ready, fear lingers, but then again it always has, but now, there is a god who loves me, there is a way within me, to find a home, to find a place I can share and call normal. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, yet it isn’t what I need, because I need to respect and believe in myself, all other things follow.

I don’t know who I’m writing this to, and why I think it’s any good, but I enjoy it, it provides catharsis, healing, it is natural therapy, one between my thoughts and myself, it is kind. My family are so loving, and suicide had been too out of my love and respect for them, but it was right just that once, now it’ll remain forever wrong. There are things I cannot tell anyone, crimes of thought and near action, and I know all I did came from love, not hate, which though no one will ever understand, was the right action to take. It is the bridge my family and I will never meet on or under, it is a bridge only god and I know, and I will keep it that way, if only for their safety and peace of mind. Good intentions mean everything, don’t believe anyone who says otherwise, that is my sole truth, and I pray day in and day out, that I have been right to have made it so.

You may be wondering why I am writing all of this to you, I am because I need to express who I am, and who I’m not, in a way I cannot say to anyone else, it is this unique form which allows me to, and it has been an aid since adolescence which started almost twenty years ago.

Day?



I’m giddy with excitement, little bursts of joy, bubbles of it, rising within me like a soda can, I feel everything, I am everything, I am happy. Optimism fizzes, the air, my sight, all things have electricity in them; I am ready to survive. There is very little here, other than peaceful quiet, little streams of thought going this way and that, light reflecting and shining of matter, flowers in their own little perfect worlds, all of nature kind and giving, and I here, am content to remain in the sanctuary of an approaching dusk, and a calm heart. Deep breaths, and there is lulling here, between my body and mind, a soft comforting swing between the two, rocking, cradling one another to safety and all the while my breathing continues to slow and the feeling in my chest speaks through my eyes, the scars are gone, the pain and anchors freed, and all is silent everyplace anyone of my senses go.

Then it happens, an irritation from another ignites a fire within, a spark, a light, a flame, and smoke, I am transported from Nirvana to reality in the switch of a moment, and my heart speaks of pain, my eyes droop and heavy, flowers shake and become remote and distant, and this is life, the fight, the struggle, it’s almost a comfort zone, almost. I remember now how difficult things can be, how much there is to do, oceans deep with problems, and I thrown, tossed within the middle of them. It’s fine though, nothing is that bad, that sad, life just is, in the end one matures and realises there is little meaning, and if there is it is a single question and answer, survive. I am glad to be alive today, there was never anything really that happy before, but also the world I can see from this table is speaking out to me, and it is saying, ‘distance is not death, it is a view of all you can see, and hence everywhere you’ve been.’ I believe it, we are not, never found islands battling the waves and winds, rather; we are connected by what we see, no matter the distance or reach.

Dumb



Don’t be fooled by stupidity, some stupid people are actually intelligent and so some intelligent people are actually stupid. The reason behind this is intelligence doesn’t feel the need to prove itself; it is relaxed and free to participate in any line of thinking, and most importantly to get things wrong, if anything many ‘stupid’ people are so comfortable with their minds that they may often decide not to use them for long periods of time.

Some ‘intelligent’ people constantly overcompensate, they fear being found out and so are frightened to be seen as slow, they are always weary of making reason based mistakes, and often will argue a mute point to their death, just so they don’t allow themselves to be incorrect.

One of intelligence’s ability is to learn from mistakes and as such intelligent people will often make new kinds of mistakes their whole lives just to learn from them. A characteristic of stupidity is to never make a mistake, and if done, to cover it up, i.e. never learn a thing. Furthermore intelligence far above the norm is misunderstood by the norm, and as such is often taken for hogwash.

Proof of intelligence is the desire to be mistaken, because thinking is fun, exciting, and trying new things with it, being creative, experimenting is an enjoyment, one that is free and often very fulfilling. Proof of stupidity is being rigid with one’s thoughts, adhering to them absolutely, because thinking is only a means to an end, whereas for the intelligence experimenting is the means, and thoughts the end.

Finally stupid people often pride themselves on intelligence, whereas the intelligent are living proof of it, and one doesn’t pride themselves on what they are, for intelligence is not an acquisition nor a trophy, it is a forever dynamic, entertaining, living joy.

Furthermore intelligent people can always see intelligence in others, whereas stupidity can’t see what it isn’t. To conclude try not to judge a book by its cover, because getting to know people, or even yourself is a pleasure and not a competition.

I or Me

People seem less stupid than I think they are, in-fact I am the idiot in the crowd, and just realising it is an embarrassing tinge of good karma. It’s strange how things tilted far into one’s favour turn out to be too good to be true. It’s also strange how the opposite is too bad to be true, and that the redundant average is the pill to awful to swallow, yet remains the most powerful and loving one in our mind’s arsenal.

The idea of normal can feel repugnant and sickening; it in effect swipes one’s identity of every special ingredient one reveres in their life, even holds as an identity within an identity. People are inclined to suffer with negative backlash at themselves, just as long as what’s ‘special’ about them remains, like all one truly has in life is their uniqueness; their internal goldmine, something no other can take away, something above class, status, prejudices of any manner.

Normal though has one thing ‘special’ doesn’t, it has belonging, and that is a power like no other. When one belongs to their family, friends, community, country, region, and all humanity, then there is oneness in life, a brother and sisterhood of love and respect, in that state, no one person falls without the rest at his/her aid. On the pure internal changes in ‘normal’ state, there is empathy and compassion for all, in turn a love so powerful that hate and evil can have no stake.

I’m not one for conspiracy theories, but I do question why propaganda never mentions ‘normal’, everyone either has their own particular ‘genius’ or their own beauty, their own character, etc. Statistics continuously create divisions, lines in graphs, but nobody mentions ‘normal’, when really that’s all we are, we are all normal, we are one community, humanity and for as long as this drilled in division between each one of us disappears, all others will continue, believe you me, 99% of us are normal, and even the 1% who are extreme outliers are people in the end.

The Fight

One’s conscience can be a pain in the ass, a messenger of regret and shame, a depressing realistic view of life through clean eyes, it can haunt and be unrelenting, asking only for its recognition, and resolution to your mistakes and misgivings. Conscience is difficult to say the least, yet it directs one to a positive reality, one with virtues and principles. To fight or ignore it is to plunge into deeper wrong doing, and ultimately live in a hell of your own making. If anything it is the angel on your shoulder.

The further one walks away from it, the more difficult to return, and though all errors and wrongdoing is painful to accept and amend, if you have prevailed against your shoulders angel, the road back to his good graces can be excruciating. Which is why, it is always better to be immediate and humble, if only to spare yourself the heart wrenching agony of resolving the continuous sins you indulged in despite the strong words of your conscience.

All this is the reason why psychopaths and sociopaths are the weakest of beings. They may partake in the most despicable horrendous crimes, but they do so out of cowardice and fear of accepting the small sins we make each day, and the toll it takes to recover them in a positive and healthy way. Psychopaths are so afraid of pain and suffering that they are willing to run from it, and their conscience no matter how awful they become.

Being a decent, caring being requires courage, fortitude and inner strength to believe in good and to pull through, and these venomous malicious humans who can’t face love and all its suffering, will murder, rape, rob, and all other crimes just to remain free of love’s hardships. In the end they live in a hell on earth, but by then, they have long forgotten about the earnest, sincere, beautiful pleasures in life, and are fully committed to the darkness they were too afraid to fight.

I have been aware of these people for too long; I have befriended them time and again giving them the benefit of the doubt, only to find them unchanged and usually worse due to time and the distance it provides. They are the corrupt, evils which only means that they are too arrogant and demeaning to understand they are people just like the rest of us, and that we have strength together, a strength which heals and resolves our crimes against one another, a common bond of good, these psychopaths and sociopaths are so petrified of connection, that they suffer completely for it, and smile all the while.

To Be or Not

Control versus no control. This is a subject I am passionate about, because.... it has to do with everything, and these two primary states, are in effect what determine a person’s life; what they choose to control, and what not to control. Control has the assurance and responsibility; it is the investment in one’s decision making and the security from one’s beliefs, principles and identity. No control is void of responsibility; it is faith in something larger than one’s self guiding them through the choices and consequences of their actions.

Control and the lack of it can occur naturally, without one’s determination of the choices under them, almost like a built in balancing system within us, which on its own accord places our hands on and off the wheel. More than not this idea is correlated with the no-control aspect.

Its opposite is the idea of effort and relaxation, when a choice is recognised as necessary to be guided we do so, when it is seen to be of little importance we let-go to take a breath, till the situation is followed by another, in which we restart.

People tend to define others not by what they don’t control, but what they do. A case can be made to define people on their control and equally what they choose not to. This case is based on people who have either become successful beyond the norm, or failing below its norm. Many people allow their lives to occur with little participation from themselves, they prefer the relaxed state, whereas often the more ‘successful’ persons prefer the power over their minds and environments states.

If Buddha was alive, it wouldn’t be a far reach to presume that balance would be his direction. Balance though is a perfect idea, yet a practical impossibility, so it would appear that each of us choose a particular state to dominate our lives in.

As a ‘relax ‘enthusiast I have discovered that my stress levels may be higher than the more control orientated people in my life, and so it goes that though we may consciously be unable to balance, nature may do it for us.

There are ideas which speak of natural flow, almost a meditative trance where one is in unison within their two states, able to drift in and out of each without any glitches. (I personally don’t believe this) but these ideas to seem to be finding a following throughout the world.

To conclude, control or no control; we utilise both in different degrees throughout each day, month, decade, and given one’s environment; the context they find themselves in. I think these are two tools to be utilised either subconsciously or consciously in order to thrive and prosper, and at its most basic, to survive.

Being

What if there was a stark division in one’s mind, one which is a choice, one which forms one’s life, and all the while remains a choice to be taken at any time, what if it was possible to see the world and your-self from a different perspective, a truer, freer, more capable place where life is more than simple existence, where life is energy at play, this essay is an exploration of that idea.

Self absorption, is a crime of integrity, intelligence and care, it is a puddle in which to drown, leaving an open ocean to never see. To think is to be outside of delusion, and endless self infatuation is the sharpest of delusions. It takes a certain beauty which makes a man want to be all he can be, and watching her in the movie has just awakened me to an aspect I could not perceive, she was the fresh breath of clean air in a life of me drowning in my tiny puddle.

It takes standing tall to be so. It takes grandness, a charisma of walking through puddles with ease and grace because one sees them for what they are. It takes presence. Most people are driven by their love of self, it’s a tiny tragedy in life; most people are small, and as a result sheep, but it’s not a cause to influence for politics, religion or identity, it is the liberation of soul, one that comes from person to person out of comradery and shared love of humanity.

It isn’t a realisation which takes effect once revealed, rather it takes character and work to mature with this health, it takes culture, education, an interest followed by deeper dives throughout it, it is self actualisation in the end, and once you see it, you can see it in others. This actress has made me want to be tall and concise, accurate and legible, she has made me want to live life to the fullest, but my first step must be to enter life; to leave the puddle and swim in open waters, and it is always the first step which is the hardest.

I don’t remember when I lost sight of being great, but I did, perhaps it was ego, perhaps it was defeat, whatever it was it is gone now, and all thanks to Rosamanda Pike. The question may be, how do I be the best me? What field do I develop into? That thinking is shown to be precisely the wrong kind. One is simply all they can be, whether they are successful in career, or in hobby, or nothing at all, it is a state of mind, not a state in life.

I want to love, the real kind, where I am large, and she too, and without infringement on our personalities, rather respect for them, with a common alignment in life, I want romance but only one of mutual respect and adoration, I want love, I want her to be the best she can be, and I the same, and perhaps we elevate each other further than we could go without one another.

It’s strange knowing your mind has been silent for so long, unable to be, due to a delusional self pushing delusion upon it, cheap laughs and ideals, limited sight, tiny goals, alive just to be and nothing more, it’s simply not what we were born for. Rosamanda Pike, thank you for allowing me to respect myself once more, for that’s the sole key to being your best, respect for yourself, without it you are a slave to other’s whims and lives, for you no longer possess a self to respect, and as a result hang on your respect for others.

I still haven’t taken my first step towards freedom, it is difficult to bust out of a lifelong shell, but possible nonetheless. Lack of sleep has drained me of ability to think, and combined with lethargy it all seems so unreachable, the idea is good, in practice it may be impossible, and so I resign once more to my pond, its shallow, impotent reality, an awful energy to abide in, yet easy and effortless; it is my fear of work which keeps me lost and small.

Not working is the fear of failure, it takes courage to overcome life changing failures, failures which defined your life and character far more than any success, yet one must get up and give life another shot, there is nothing more to life than living, otherwise you exist but nothing further. Living then is swimming in the ocean knowing you don’t control the weather.

Depression is quicksand, and existing, its consistency. All that is asked of us is to participate, but we often feel bewildered as to where to start. Start wherever you are, being alive isn’t a show, nor a chess move, it is a mind freed of slavery, it is a mind freed of redundancy, all things fall into place once one escapes the prison in their mind, all things are natural after that.

I am not speaking out of knowledge, rather foresight towards something I can’t see, for we can’t know what we haven’t experienced and I don’t know a thing of what I’ve written here, to be honest, it’s probably an ego trip and nothing more. Ideas like these have nothing real in them, they just sound good, they don’t have much to do with everyday life and I doubt they have meaning at all, they were simply a feeling I tried to capture with reason, which is an impossible task, but enjoyable nonetheless.

As an opposite one thinks about inner exploration before one is launched into the real world. One thinks about wisdom and experience understanding how they operate, a more intellectual and spiritual aspect to life, (this has been my approach to life.) One may view life as spectator as well as action based, and a fine balance between the two as the route to peace within one’s self. One may fixate on both aspects, allowing for control of one’s inner environment to dictate one’s outer.

A puddle may be seen as an ocean in itself, with each drop containing the same properties no matter their quantity, and furthermore view the opposite approach to be ego based, and biased towards the extrovert compared to the introvert. One may even go so far as to believe depth to solely exist inside the mind, with no attachment to society, culture, religion and all other components of the society built around them. One may remain sober in this way, unpolluted by the temptations of reality, and outer life.

Furthermore, it appears to me that Ms Pike is more an introvert than extrovert, and the opposing argument above to be nothing but delusion of an unhappy man, trying to grasp at relief. Life may be seen as an intermediate step of existence, and as such must be maintained by meticulous self examination to better ensure one’s own cleanliness and fortitude against all forces of darkness, inside and out. All of the human aspects can be utilised in this way, and as such a more open and complete human experience results.

It shows here that where the extrovert determines his place in the world, the introvert adapts to it. More so, the introvert is clear to use the word ‘introvert’, whereas the extrovert has no desire to, for it means very little to the former and is a defining point of knowledge for the latter. I was taken by surprise as to how this essay progressed, but I have found that one is usually born one way or the other, and though some knit the fine thread uniting the two, most of us are unable to change which direction we choose to live life through; inner, or outer; extrovert or introvert.



Answers

Silence can be haunting and calming, noise enthralling or chaotic, and we rarely choose which occurs within our minds. Silence may be the mind asking for sleep, while thoughts are its way of asking for engagement. Neither is really better or worse, it’s the context which determines that.

Our minds operate to a large degree on their own accords, consciousness a ripple within it is our identity, and if so, then what is our subconscious. There are theories which imagine one’s subconscious to be the ocean where all others meet in. That in effect we are one; and it is solely consciousness which separates us through identity. If so are we all then only our consciousness, and god a united subconscious which feeds us through him/it.

Another theory pivots us around ourselves, each alone in a world full of other’s like us. If so then why are our minds more in control of us than we are? Also why do we all feel disconnected from ourselves, yet glued to the idea of a self? One may think of it as a series of parts we (the self) operate.

There are ideas which state the self (identity) is an illusion, or that the subconscious isn’t real, and hence all we are is our identity. My question is whether either of these things matter? If one lives without existential questions are they living a limited, slightly retarded life? Or if one does then are they asking fruitless questions which only hamper? Is religion simply an answer or substitute to all of the above?

Is religion a forced response, a battering over the head with answers which cannot be proven, and if so, is it healthy?

The human is built with a single question mark without an answer, one which can spread like cancer, one which can kill, or bring peace and solace. And isn’t the bigger picture silence, and thoughts (noise) a plunge into waters, and isn’t the above simply a man in water, and when silence comes and the water disappears, then does it all really matter? Perhaps the answer is, to allow thoughts their own freedom, flexibility, creativity, and our identity to allow them to remain so in a positive manner? Wouldn’t that be an embrace of all the above? If so, could it be how we deal with existentialism that’s the answer to its questions? Is it possible to rise above thoughts by dealing with them in a different manner?

Personally I know there is no answer, there has never been and never will be, but it can be fun dealing with something you can never get wrong.

?

Atheism is a relief, a joy, a comfort of no hell, and the carrot all religions ask you to pray for. It is freedom from constant worry and angst; it acts like any religion. Religion doesn’t follow the carrot society prays to, it is a group activity, it is belief with a focal point, it is a sole direction in which to face. It is a strict moral code, one with few tangents; a place easy to stay within.

Cults act like any religion except for one key element; one remains due to manipulation and dread of the world they forsook. The world carries on with or without you; a cult is a world within our world, a secluded mass of people, tied to one another in oddity.

Spirituality is whatever you please it to be. Personally I fit into this lumped mass of eccentrics.

Atheism has science on its side, yet science knows nothing of the mind, which is precisely what religion aims to teach us about, just not in a scientific way, these two disciplines rarely intersect without creativity.

Religion is unlikely to embrace science; it is constructed on lessons and truths, moral ones, whereas science deals with proofs.

It seems silly why anyone in this day and age believes they believe in only one of the above categories. Everyone in this century has a religious, spiritual, cult and atheist side to them. We all either define a part of ourselves within a small group of music, film, gym etc, we think of god, whether we doubt or believe, and all of us enjoy the often ‘liberation of mind’ that comes from either a shower, or drink, meditation, art, or anything which floats your boat.

A maybe mute point, but they all satisfy the same ‘hole’ which exists in all of us, a place which asks questions impossible to answer, I would even throw in philosophy into the mix here, just because why not? In the end if we are all frank with one another, who cares? These things shouldn’t be our identity; they are a part of our lives, but not our lives themselves, no matter how you think of it, there’s no need to go crazy, it’s silly to make them so.

Question

Lying and telling the truth can be simultaneous. If one were to think about truth as an untouchable underlying fabric on top of which all is built, then lying is simply a construction obstructing one’s view of the truth, but in effect can’t ever alter it, or deny it. In effect making lying simply a fabricated building posing as the underlying never faltering truth. Which makes the truth and the lie as simultaneous occurrences, more so, everything is a simultaneous occurrence with the truth be it a lie, imagination, joke, or any and everything else.

The opposite view is that there is no underlying fabric, and that all things are up in the air, that lying is the opposite of truth and as two things cannot be at the same place at the same time, neither exists simultaneously with the other. More so that to lie is to negate the truth, and to tell the truth is to negate the lie.

To make it more complex one can look at white lies, and lies which tell the truth just not in a holistic manner, which are the exceptions to the rules.

One can also say that history is written by the winners, and so truth is different than fact and as such near totally subjective.

There is also the angle that with truth one remains comfortable with themselves, those who constantly lie are never at peace.

The phrase ‘honesty will set you free’ can be seen from a spiritual side, in terms of one’s soul, heart and mind being liberated from lies (tainted realities) due the pursuit of a clean reality, and as such finds themselves; their inner truth.

I believe neither of these to be true, because I believe that we are the choices we make, and the more we lie, the more of a lie we become to ourselves, and the more honest we are, the more honest we are with ourselves, and that honesty is the best medicine.

Single Sentence

Love is impossible to describe or tell; trying I’d say it’s the sixth sense in complete unison with the other five.

New diversity

I have often wondered how film lovers don’t enjoy series, and series lovers don’t enjoy films, below is an unoriginal exploration of the difference between film and series, and the people who watch them.

Films are concise essays, whereas series are essays with short beginnings and endings, but with endless middles. Films see series as cheap entertainment, loaded with fillers. On the other hand series see a life take place, a story rich and filled by time and experiences, and view films as short and unsatisfying mediums to race through a subject with very little care for in depth looks at characters and themes.

Films can be seen as free, free to capture any topic, with ease and clarity, whereas series are constrained to very limited compositions, they are only those able to be prolonged for years. Series may see films to be cheap for this reason, unable to tackle the issues that matter most, hence follow only quick to finish subjects, often done with premature satisfaction and monetary gain.

Series can change with the times, allowing events in real time to be explored within a single series, whereas films are confined to the time they were created, having no options to remain relevant and informative of current events. Films though speak for generations, they last; they are past current events and live forever, whereas series are often a hot trend, which disappear soon after their final episode.

The main differences are the people who prefer one than the other. A film lover often finds art in film making, a joyous experience of a new world and perfect crisp storytelling, whereas the series lover prefers story over the artistic experience, a world to immerse themselves in, a world to live in even, one to escape the monotony of twenty first century life. More than this film lovers tend to be individualistic, rather than communal. They don’t watch films to share their experience with others, it is a one ticket flight, whereas series lovers share their experiences, the episodes of their counterparts, they are a full plane worth of tickets, they are the water cooler crowd, whereas film lovers are the more cigarette break crowd.

To conclude I believe this to be a new category of diversity within the human population, it doesn’t fit into any of its close counterparts, including introverts and extroverts. Personally I don’t enjoy series, but I know plenty of people who do, more over I know plenty of people who don’t appreciate either. It is often said that movies and series are both cheap comparisons next to books, being a film buff far more than a book one, I can’t say whether any of the above comparisons are accurate or not, but I do find it to be an interesting subject to explore. More so, series have exploded into people’s lives only recently, to the degree that it has become almost a new medium of art to recognise, being so, we are learning more about ourselves and others with each new addition to our collective imaginative worlds, which in my opinion is the bigger picture, and for once a healthier new one.










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