Others will say there is a way away from this pain. In seeing the truth to reality, that there is no death, no future, no past no begining no middle no end, no separation, no self, no one. They say that this is all built on bullshit. NOT that life is an illusion and may be a dog's dream as I tried to explain to my mother with village blood and village thought. Just that it is all built on untruths. And that upon seeing the misunderstangins for what they are, you enterr into the realm of peace, still of the world, your destiny still friends with cancer or a car crash, yet you will not spend the days with the aches and pains worrying over it and your nights will be free from the nightmares about it. The grown up nightmares, no longer about ghosts and ghouls but about losing money and loved ones.

That just how you got over your fear of the dark (maybe not even that for some), you too can get over the eternal darkness that is the 'I don't know what will happen after I die' or 'how do I be better?' or 'how do I live a life of peace?'

These seem to be the big 3 pains for everybody, be it heaven or hell, or reincarnation, the undeniable truth is that all of our lives feel somewhat unmiraculous and we want more. An ease as we toil the lands, not looking over the horizon, not fighting fearfully as our hearts cry for more. Not being the husband you are but someone who can actually provide wise words to the mother of your child. To genuinely give your child's life that which your father could not provide to yours. Rather than fighting away the yearning with 'I guess this is how life goes'.

My mother and grandfather are bonified idiots when it comes to providing medical advice, and it's become too tiresome to keep pointing this out, but so is everyone's mother and grandfather. Even your doctors are mostly idiots, why else would you keep looking around? Even if they do provide you more time to breath, even if they do bring you back your strength in your knees, what now? Do you return to the life that broke you? Because that is what everybody I know did, everybody who survived cancer, everybody who undertook surgery, no one really makes the change to be free of what broke them. Nobody considers to truth to true health. To true sleep. To truly wise judgment.

This is what I'm after and I do not know the answer. Here I lie with aches in my brains from a flu. Wondering, wondering, annoyed, that I'm ill. Thinking about my next job after joblessness and how this is the one that must be perfect, probably how all the pretty girls I lust over think about their string of boyfriends. This is the one that willl finally settle the score and show everybody that I'm perfect. But what if it's not just a cold, what if it's tumerous and why do you not really care that much if it was actually stage 4, why would it feel like a relief almost? Other than how it might make everyone feel, fuck, it seems better than a lifetime of jail right, having to go to the office to do this and that when all you really want to do is make sea food. Free from having to worry about what everyone will say at every gathering as you struggle with your ramen cart. Free from the concerns of right and wrong over how much money to give those who ask. Free from worrying how long this will last? Isn't this what we are looking for when you bow down in prostration or child's pose, "they said it worked for them so it'll work for me right?" That man with the beard and the smile. That old man with the beard and the smile and funny hat and shinny eyes. That man with the white clothes and all those people who are sat around him. Even though everyone around his isn't that cool, I guess I might as well follow him regardless, who knows I might be someone chosen, someone special, I might be like him one day also, or .... maybe I can take what he has and mix it with what I want and become someone even better.

They say that it is within, that no instruction or practice is needed, that it is there. That once you are fed and shelterred that then there is nothing else, "what about the future?" We say. "Oh yh, that doesn't exist, because ...." something something something. Something how the future can never be experienced, that you are always in the moment, that your mind can never plan for so many issues, that when you will die and when you will lose your fortune is just already written, and that this all must be accepted. That is what they will say. So you say okay, and for the rest of your life you just say, it's okay, accept it, accept it, it is what it is, yet the mind and the body rumble and rummble and rumble away.

So where do we go from here. Where does the father who's seen the snake bite on his baby brother do next when the nearest anti venom is 500 years away. How many people have been killed by bullets shot too soon or falls which happen for no reason at all. God wanted this for some reason or another. But why does he want me to feel this deep casm of suffering also, why can he not save me from this, seems like most be die with their souls burried in this hole of remorse of lovers gone too soon. Child eyes closed too soon. 4 in 6 they say, 4 in every 6 babies born died they say, then after that most people tend to make it, but even they never know when life may not go their way one day. Every smile of every baby boy and every bit of joy provided from all the baby girls, 2 in 3 were not meant to go on this long. And here you are with this bore. Not that there's anything you can do about it, I'm sure you have been trying for so long. Yet here you are in existence, trying to appreicate it, trying to feel it and be grateful, yet the only truth is right now, you do not feel how you wish to.

So what am I supposed to do about it? Make art you say, get involved with the creation of it all. True as I've written this I have felt pretty great, eating fresh carrots in my warmth, thinking about how great all this is and how nobody will really like it, but maybe, because this time it does feel pretty good. But I've been doing my art for 4 years straight and I'm yet to find anyone who liked it ... enough to pay for it. That's the big kicker isn't it. How do I make sure that I get paid from this? And even then seems like most get lost in drugs, booze and whores.

What is it that we are all looking for? What is this houl that we are so desperate to fill but only seems to empty itself? Why can I no longer enjoy a film without thinking about my life? Why does every joy come with a regret at the end, what now? Why is that inbetween so fucking painful? Why is the tram home so painful? Why does the music hurt my hears? Why can't I always just find the song or video that I'm looking for? Why do I hate seeing my reflection in the darkness of my dead phone? Why does everybody from the kids, peers and elders just seem to disappoint me with their actions? Why does my history not please me? Why can I just not still and not think in silence? Is this really all there is to it? Is this actually how everyone else feels? Would religion solve this?

Or does that just teach people how to put on a good face? You can't be a brand ambassador and not smile n wave. Am I still allowed to laugh at a fart that went too loud? And even for those who do reach the upper echolons of their crowd, why on earth are you reading this? Trust me brudda, this is only going to take you down, there's no way someone like that got this far. But in case you did, even if you do reach the highest of highs aren't you still wondering how did the legend's before you go so far, aren't they too talking about nafs, mind, ego, oneness with God, unity. It's still the same path my son. Even if it is the quickest most direct or most safe and straighforward way there, you still haven't made it. Aren't you wondering what's left, what must change? And is the answer really in the books? What of all the others who never quite made it and went ary? Are they really evil or were they predestined by God? And even if none of this matter's to you, the basics of why do I still shout when don't want to, why do I keep eating sweets even though it'll kill me, why do I still think about whores and tits all day, or maybe even those pesky little pedophillic thoughts....

Maybe 1 person on this planet does not have these concerns, but I know the people I'm thinking about as I write struggle with all of this. I can only imagine their response (which I probably should've written long ago rather than repeating the same old point and wasting your time) is you just need to get over it, it doesn't exist, you're confused, you're right but it isn't that way, you've over complicated it, you're over thinking it, listen it's just this ..... and then the rest will take care of itself. Maybe one will ask, did you figure it out?

I did not I'm afraid to say. But it sure was fun just writing this I do say.

Norm Macdonald went through cancer with a smile and made us all laugh. Chadwick boseman went to soon but even the biggest hater will have to admit he was pretty fucking cool. I sit here with this flu thinking of all the dread of existence, oh what a fool. A fluooool, you might say.

However this was my first as an adult, the first one to be so gory, and the first one where I awoke with a deep feeling of … I’m not quite sure right now … this desire for their to be an afterlife, the feeling of how unfair it is to live and for things to just end.

Yesterday I wrote a piece for the sake of writing a piece and I finished it thinking ‘wow, what utter shit’. It was just a rehash of things I’d already written and no longer really believed anymore. This however, hasn’t even ended, but I’m pretty happy. That was a letter to make money, this is a letter for friends and loved ones, for them to see who I really am at heart, a certificate of a moment in my life when I had the joy of creating something that was perfect to me, a snowflake in a design that could only come from me x.

I could not think of a life that would be worthwhile given that at any point, via car or gas explosion, one’s life could come completely to an end. Whether you are my brother who believes in an afterlife or a friend who does not, I still feel you are all living your lives wrong and your children will share the same fait. The question isn’t what’s next, the question is given that it is most certainly going to end, with no doubt, what is the best way to spend my life. I’m not saying don’t live a life of money, … you know what, I was trying to write some advice here, some answers but I couldn’t think anything useful, nothing that was concrete, so I won’t. But I did think, that it’d be nice to write another final piece, another few words for my brother to read or any close friends, just to I don’t know, get a sense that if I did die that I at least left a truly unique piece of me, that piece of me that you think is purely me and not all the bullshit that drives you crazy about me, I’m sorry, and I’m sorry if I don’t die and keep up the bullshit, I’m sorry, I’d bow down to your feet if I could.

My death dream was in typical Mo fashion. Me, 2 black guys (Shola and some typical poor hip hop guy) and an Indian (the indian was either Raaj or Ryan, as in, sometimes it was Raaj and sometimes it was Ryan, most of my dreams have characters played by people switching in and out not sure if you have that to :)). The first 90% was us making jokes about sharing clothes and Raaj/Ryan and Shola getting uncomfortable over the black guy wanting to share trousers and we were making jokes about casting a spell and teleporting to earth to fuck then coming back. Oh yh, the whole dream is set with us as astronauts in a small space station. I never questioned if it was dream, I really thought I was in outer space with my mates, it was perfect. The jokes came to an end and I sent a selfie of me and the earth to Sattish. I saw the facebook messenger screen and saw a conversation it went.

Me - I’m WHOING (reference to doctor who)

Sattish - Lol you watching that nerd shit …… ( then there were 2 other messages but I never really read them fully, I just posted to picture of me in outerspace)

Mo - No Dude, I’m WHOING. *Picture of me in outerspace.

I guess I wanted to surprise him. In this dream there were also many moments I thought of Vinay and was very happy that I was in space with Raaj. And I don’t know how much this’ll mean but now that I’m awake, fuck if that was real would I love it if James was there laughing with me to ( although he would be the most annoying person to be in space with but he’d also be the only person keeping us alive too :)). And whilst I write this, I would really like it, if these were my actual last words, I’d really like if my brother saw this, just to get an idea of who is Brother really is. Yes I drink, Yes I don’t believe in our faith, but this is my heart kid, I met people from all faiths and I found them to be as perfect as you are. My laughs in uni were as perfect as playing with you all day. I often lied to you as a kid and said I had lots of friends, I’m sorry, I never had any friends, you’ve always been to cool one, I only found friends when I was a man, at uni, James, Raaj and even Vinay. They let me hangout with them and were kind to me. Everyone else has just been kinda mean to me to be honest, I’m happy to say that I deserved it if you’re willing to put some blame on mama & papa, not that you need to be angry, they did what they could do, the rest is just Destiny and Fait if you ask me. But this is a topic for a later day, I guess we’ll see once we both die, prematurely or mature.

Anyway, I sent the picture of me in outer space. It was me smiling, one of the few pictures where I actually looked nice as an adult too, I think it’s because I was actually happy rather than just trying to say I am, actually happy. It was a mostly dark picture from the outside and the earth just popping up in its beauty. Like a kipper amount of Earth. It was a beautiful picture, and a hilarious picture to send to Sattish, my brother, as a surprise, Sattish, I’m sorry I haven’t been able to figure out enough about life to make you, Ben and Karan happy, I’m sorry I haven’t been able to figure it out, I’d die before giving up on your peace. And I’d do anything for it.

I had a moment of glee over the perfection of the life I’m living, then the space station began to fall away from the Earth, the falling for faster and faster. My thoughts were oh fuck this is scary. Then the starts became white lines and it hit me that I don’t think this is ever going to stop, I couldn’t move, it still didn’t feel that bad though, it just was what it was, I wasn’t hyper ventilating or screaming no one was, we were all just quite, waiting to see what would happen. I often read that when men saw death right before them and truly felt there was no control they entered into a state of complete bliss. I did not enter this state, I was just in my head. Then the black guy tried to move and got flingged into the wall and I saw his head rip off and his blood smear all over the place, even this didn’t quite get a reaction from me, I honestly I just silently thought, “side character, yep that’s what’s supposed to happen.” Not sure what that means, it was a pretty Rick and Morty esc kinda thing, I don’t think kids should be watching that show man, it’s pretty fucked up and the people who make it aren’t exactly wise. But either way, I saw blood all over the wall and my first loud thought was, “I wonder if I’ll be able to luck out of this one,” then I imagined the funeral and then it sped up more and more, I saw Ryan and Shola and then that was it. I awoke.

The last 4 years of my life have been about learning true peace, so that I could share it with Mama and Sattish. And James, Raaj or Chiara if they needed it. Life if long and death can be cruel. I wanted to know it all. I wanted to spend the time to understand everything so that I was always there for everybody. And even you my brother, for I never ever wish to see you upset, I just don’t know how to make that happen.

That’s why I left our faith, because if there was a true Islam of peace, mama does not have it, the way mama handled your wedding was disgusting to me, and I have nothing against your decision to fuck your cousin, that’s all on you, and I’m sorry if that’s an ugly way to phrase the birth of your child, daughter or son, but I’d be lying if I didn’t phrase it like that too. You did what you did, but mama was uglier than me about it. And I consider it my failure that I was not there to provide the wisdom to stop her. I’m sorry. After 4 years I know nothing. I’m sorry to have put everyone through so much pain and I’m sorry for not being completely honest, I guess I didn’t trust you or was just afraid of everyone making fun of me and losing you. But this path is true to my heart. I want to know completely, with no doubt, I can’t help it, I don’t have a choice, if complete peace is out there. To have no undesirable sensations, through love or death, to be deeply engaged with love and death without any tension, not unwanted thoughts, to be great people. I want this for my mother and father too but I accepted that they might just be lessons for me. But it pains me to think that my friends might be lessons too. That my brother might lose his perfection.

I’m so sorry but I have no choice, I cannot stop myself I am a crack addict.

I have spent 4 years on youtube trying to understand peace. Every thought, during work and night was all dedicated to understanding how to bring peace to my friends now. To sattish, to me, to mama, to farhan, to asim if he needed it, to furqan, to Namrah. To not have my cousins be stupid, misguided, lessons of how not to live your life like all, and I mean all, of my aunts and uncles. However it hits me more and more that this might just be how destiny wants it.

What I want is for their souls to shine. Their uniqueness gifted to them since birth to mature and bring a beautiful fire. To be perfect. Not eating sugar and watching TV, but actually living a life such that the heart will finally stop crying, for it has been crying for too long now. This is my mission. This is what I love more than anything else in reality.

To understand, true, lasting, bliss. And Raaj, meditation will not get you there. Same thing goes for the 5 daily prayers. Just look around you. Look at everyone else, for how many years do you want to be like them. You can do it if you wish, but many years have been spent and close to 100 billion human lives have been spent on such things with no change. Yet there are a few men who were great.

Okay, I’m not gonna re read this shit I’m not a gay lord like sebo ;) love you bud, you too Will and other’s I forgot Sophie, jen and other hoes I didn’t get to bang x. Hopefully it makes some sense, lots of love, keep your Cs away from any As,

kiss kiss, bang bang,

…. MOhammad Arslan Mamoon :)

He’s heard the unshakeable words that Buddha and Jesus did not meditate, that they were not lost in thought and effortlessly in love etc etc etc.

But he is not.

He is not wealthy, talented or compassionate. Even if his smile is more special than others, there is enough abuse of the specialty for false satisfaction, for manipulation, to have made him a disgrace. Made worse by the fact that, that nothing came of it. He’s still jobless and has no motivation to find one, or the fans to fund his life of art, or the courage to commit to one. Just enough time in the day to fantasise and masturbate, to women, the past, unmet dreams or other’s perfection.

Yet he writes. And the moment before he begins, he really feels he has some thoughts worth sharing.

He really feels as though he’s on the tip, to ultimate perfection. He really does feel like the potential has not gone, he’s just not motivated to try what has already failed for others, schools of though, religion and what not.

He’s without family and often basks in the freedom this provides, the sweet delight of silence as far as his village will allow. Free of the ache of wondering when your child will next eat and for how long he’ll smile. Yet he’s always pushing to end this too, even though he has heard for years there is no joy in this, he still goes for it. A minds desperate attempt to lasso all his issues together and solve it all with one perfect honeymoon fuck. But clearly if there is such thing as a perfect … honeymoon, then this occurs when the man or the woman has already found that thing. Independent satisfaction, from gold and whores, from family and Christ.

He smiles at his last few words, is it the mind’s hope that he may one day get paid for this effort. Or was it in their sublimeness….

As monkeys hop from still trees to still trees, running and screaming hoping to not be torn limb from limb, like curious Geoff, the monkey who got too close to the Chimpanzee.

The lion stands in the desert tonight. Alone or with his pride, young, bold, scarred or in old age, ready to be hyena meat some day. Even if he was to die without blood shed and an achy back, what would it all have been for?

A man, sits in the cold, dragon breath from his mouth.

Not quite hating his day like he did in the office and in fact feeling quite alright about it, other than the fear of some day having to give it all up and return to his bondage.

Today, I will write about advertising, fashion and sex.

Why did they pick that model?

Why is she wearing that skirt?

Is this really love?

The answers that you will come up to your version of these questions will be the only thing which moves you to the point of transformation. However if you are drawn to my words then so be it. Just know that these words are not thought through, and will just be typed out.

1. To crush the human in you. You are already weakened spiritually by everything around you. And this is just a kick in the knees. Pulling you and your child with lies of poison. That is what they wanted, intentionally or not, the marketing team and executives will not even know the deep truth of the hell which they have made. For they too are weak to such bullshit, just theirs is a green demon compared to yours, a demon of disgusting lust. A kick to your mind and crushing your soul into a fine powder so that you cannot even be with your mother naked as she is in her last years, her needing you, like you did when a baby, without your mind getting away from you as you resist it, as you feel disgusting unable to be present with her in her final moments before becoming dust and then that’s it, she’s gone. You cannot even be with your lover because she does not look like the fictional witch of your dreams built upon twig foundations. Making you look at every 4 year old little girl and wonder, will she be a worthless ugly bitch or somebody’s whore and society’s fantasy.

2. Stop it. She is broken, that is the only answer and you fucking know it. Stop it, stop the bullshit. Stop the talking, stop it. Stop it. She is broken. If you are wearing the skirt stop the debate and just ask yourself if you are broken. Replacing the skirt will not heal you and taking it off clearly hasn’t worked. The truth relevant to you is that you are only as good as the people around you and the people you see are vile. And they are vile everywhere you go from village to town to city. From tribes to modernity. They are all hell. All you need is the truth to your pain. And be relentless at finding the root, the core cause. Your legs have nothing to do with your peace, your happiness, your joy, your life. The rug will either be swept from under them or they will become old and saggy. How about focussing on the heart and mind they carry, see if you can be at peace. Then see just how beautiful you may be.

3. As you make love tonight, to your hand, a stranger, an addiction or a ‘lover’. Ask yourself, is this really love? Is true love really something that only lasts for a few naked seconds as your mind runs uncontrollably. Is your orgasm really anything good? Have you been lied to, like the people 50 years ago who swore by margarine, like the mothers who force fed their children that vile shit. What if, everything before you is completely full shit just like margarine. Everything. I’m not saying true love doesn’t exist, I in fact know it does and it is out my frightful respect for it that I say this, no one has true love, just moments of hope over it, moments when you feel ‘progress’ but look at everybody old around you, is this really the best that you can manage? Is this really what you want for your daughter? Are you sure this is all that is out there? True love most certainly does exist and it is not hard, it is not expensive, in fact it makes everything easier and costs no longer become your concern, a heart in love, in actual love, must be pure from the get go. Not a heart concerned over ‘consequences’, not a heart lost in religion but in fact a heart which the failing religious types begin to revere and worship. True love my child, is to be with your lovers naked body and be completely present without effort. This is something I doubt you will feel. It is not about excitement, not about fear, not about control, not about letting go, not about intimacy. It is in fact just something natural. Like we were. And being natural is all the heart really wants. To be in the place from which it came. Truth. It is not about being ideally beautiful, not about being ‘attractive’, ‘sexually alluring’, it isn’t about your underwear or your skin, it isn’t about your make up, it isn’t about you stamina or flexibility. It isn’t about how hypnotising you can be. All of this is the lie you have been told and built from. It is something entirely other, which cannot be written about. I can only tell you what is wrong, you must find your own way to the perfect truth. But I will tell you this. You will not miss it when it’s over, you will not crave it in hotel rooms far away, if you find a woman who shares it with you you will never see any other face in the same way, now they are all people who are insulting to what you have found, what you have found is something maybe 1 in 10 billion might see, even though it is all that everybody wants and is looking for. What dumb bitch could give you this? True love will come as a consequence of knowing the truth to man’s natural ways, that which was lost thousands and thousands of years ago. True, dispassionate love, wild freedom to just let your heart shine and letting it all fall into place from an intentioned distance. True love will come from a result of perfection. From knowing the truth to yourself, the truths that nobody in this world bothers to look for, even though they are right there. Son, Daughter, I do not know what your future’s hold for you, or even if you’ll ever exist. But I can say this. Fuck me mate. Being pain free has nothing on porn and one night stands. Being happy alone has nothing on marriage and family. Wild and free has nothing on a lifetime of impure devotion. Homeless, broke and hurt with a pure heart is fine, it blows over like the wind, but the hell of following someone else’s advice, well that’ll last till your soul no longer exists. … And you’ll probably drag your love down with you too.

   That’s the way the cookie crumbles kids. ;)

The image of being a true artist,

The hurt of your mind’s considerations over other people’s opinions.

The all mighty hands of God, the illusion of the self. The war of the mind uncontrollably waging war on itself.

The fear of being a fool. Destiny.

The comparison of your art to a master’s.

The need to ‘enjoy’ every moment.

The image of not being … hurt. Destiny.

The lies of everybody around us. The true path to legendary healing.

True security.

The image of earning like this or like that.

A life, in God’s untasteful hands.

The resilience and defiance of this.

The need to strive and hurt yourself to get on top a hill.

A world of broken amateur humans.

A world only destined for a few true heroes. The truth is most certainly there, just nobody goes for it. Everybody dances and avoids it, always satisfying their images as manipulative as they possibly can be. Deceiving the unbearable weight of others echoing in your mind upon your impure fate. All those bridges burned to still end up in the wrong place. That price paid. The hurt to your image, of the Man .. who is right.

Shakespeare mostly wrote about events which had already occurred or revamped older tales. I hear even the bible is simply an iterative process of creation. Traditions evolving like ice bergs.

So the question is, is there something even the greats are missing in terms of an original voice, or am to fall into the way of the world and simply add in a step in man’s process?

Tarantino will proudly steal from the unknown and I can only thank him for showing me gold from his devoted digging into obscurity and history. Completely ignoring the immense artistry involved in stringing things together and picking the right pieces and tools to make us feel clean again. After months and even years of constant backwash fucking bullshit. Finally an original crook.

But. The question still remains. Is there more? At least for me, let’s ignore man and just focus in. These words are not considered for their tastefulness, yet I am not constantly screaming profanity. As said in a previous piece, man feels differently when shitting in public vs shitting at home. even though the turds will be flushed away into the soil, the consideration of the opinions of another man, even the stranger, will linger a little longer than man would like.

For what honesty is there in your own turds, produced entirely as a product of your life choice. Liquid, smelly or perfection. Man till 50 years ago pretty much just squatted and shat on his land. This then became the food he ate. His food couldn’t hell be perfect. Sure rum and mushrooms are available, sure anxieties of scarcity were rife too, but I mean, at least their shits would have been solid. And no insane mass of copper and plastic to take away your honest reflection of life choices to an unknown place, only for the toxic mass of carcinogens and twinky paste to poison the land. Somewhere, just out of sight and mind, for now at least.

As the cities get bigger and bigger, the fields get further and further away, your beloved’s grave, further and further away. The cars get faster but only so you can do more at the office. Easier to drive so now you too must compete with the insane and work whilst moving. Yet the footballer, who lets face it, was just blessed with legs, heart and opportunity will crush your life long income with one game. Even if he gives a shit performance, one game and that’s all. An understanding of how to not break under pressure and a life long commitment to the perfect joy of just playing and having fun. Whilst you break your back crying for the 10,000 remaining weekends before you can retire and become a piece of mush, with a mushy brain, eating mush, before mushy TV. And the children give you that look of what the fuck have you done with yourself. Even the little girls don’t really look your way ever, never looking you in the eye and never wanting to play. We see kids will be kids, but come on mate. They see a disgrace. And that is everybody who is old today. Bar maybe one man. A Cold forest Fire burning in his eyes. The children see him and see that he, … he is a matured heart of existence, a lion of a man and their nervous system bends the knee and head in awe.

He laughs but he does not hackle, the air around him tastes purer. His eyes are deep. Even when weak the children wish to play around the protection he has around him. A true man.

His clothes, a selection of elegance and awe. His posture and softness in his face. The skin, marks and scars of a life lived. Not a puffy mesh of booze and processed fats. A real fucking man. Never doing the bullshit of all the other adults around them. never too pushy and never too far away. This, is the only man worth being. Everyone else lives in bitter remorse when seeing a mirror and feeling the pains of their life choice. Pills and sugar dulling the mind to the point where they can’t even consider suicide. I’ll do it for the people they say, but you are only a lesson in failure. This was your destiny, I’m sorry. I don’t know what will come next for you, but today, thank you, for allowing me to see that I’d hate to become you. You are the first few products of this generation of industry, ready to be shipped to the afterlife.

The path of an original expression is worth more than every other I have seen to date.

So the question comes back again, is there something I’m missing? Am I just adding a fart into my master’s voice or this truly, truly me. Is there a hill I wish to see which my master’s heart was not meant to be in. Why is it so painful to even consider a time, a brief period without his art. Is it a satisfying meal in a place of gruel or another more sophisticated sugar pill with the utterly dire consequence of hubris that I’m still to see.

What is the impact of another great artist on me?

I guess the bigger question to ask is, what misunderstanding is the biggest obstacle to my unlocking a golden heart of perfection.

He remembers being at the airport last night. All the thoughts, he remembers reading his last piece and thinking how much he wants to be seen as someone great by strangers, but how he’s probably only liked by a handful of children and their mothers.

You see the man is a little broken, his whole life he was obsessed with film and having fun. But now, he spent his early 20’s perusing an office life which only left him broken. To a level of prolonged suffering that only a few can imagine. The levity of the situation is still to hit him to be honest.

His claim, his wish, to show, to see, that man can turn his life around at any point, if he will wish. Boldly claiming he will become an effortless master artist and devotee to truth. However given all the drunk trucks and snakes which roam around his country, this is quite the claim, especially for God, the devil and his angels. To “become a master" and “devotee to truth”. Given all the tragic ends, he fears that this too was his destined story, a tale of failure, misfortune and wasted opportunity. But most of all he fears that he actually has stumbled upon the truth, but an early death would make people stick firmer to their guns. Only shooting them to the very same place, however with a heart less satisfied. Who is man supposed to ‘help’ when everyone is just going to fade away and close to everyone with potential unmet. Wasting away as generic copies of a legend or two in front of them, but never reaching, never showing, the limits of their own original gifts. Their little particular gems of gold, minted into to generic coins of labour and traded for bigger and bigger TVs. To watch another artist’s art and crush their heart’s cry for a life, worthy of existence, it’s beauty, even when weighed against the pain.

But I. Can’t help imagine being paid to sit down and write in utter simplicity. Write away with no thought, my own original voice and spend the rest of the day on an adventure, playing with kids and thinking about the roots to anything I consider impure. Delving into the depths of peace. Removing every lie buried inside me, my DNA.

However, this day had been a long time coming and I guess the dreams and nightmares at the end of all his wasted days were there to prepare him, but don’t take this to be something kind. Prepared him to not completely collapse in panic, however the shame of not selling another piece after his first stayed strong. For he truly thought, hoped, that it would not get this far. Mistakes, definitely made, however which ones brought him to broke he did not know. Does he even still have time to think it through, or is it time to rush through some amends. Unburn a bridge. At least one? ….

…. A thousand ideas came to him, yet a smile still remained for actually getting himself into this situation. He does not have a drug addiction, he does not buy expensive things, his vegetables and animal products all come from the fields around him. His water from the ground, his warmth from his old family duvets, his comfort, in his home in the lands of his family, far from his birth place and friends.

And so the online applications and boredom begins, the horrors and reminders of his old job and the mind waging war upon itself again, with both feet on the throttle. A year of art, to no profitable avail. His first success, worth £1,000, according to some online man 365 days or so ago. Now worth 0.0000001p the screen says and he laughs. He himself isn’t even that fon…… nah, he still likes it, it’s still his baby… Failure or not.

                                                  Chapter 2

The many calls are made and emails sent, CV updates and cover letters bullshitted, but with enough soul that he can not hate it. However, they are only as true as he can bare to afford. There is still much more understanding to be done to know the deep truth to things. A job is landed, income earned, only an hour or so a day tutoring someone in the first world. Securing him quite nicely in his 3 world life for the moment. However, the hunt for greatness still persists on quite desperately. “And this time, teaching another, only brought him the focus and routine required to finally make it to his internal eternal heaven, everlasting perfection.” That’s what he told himself, but many hells have been painted over this man’s fantastical tales.

And now we come to the crux of this piece. Last night the man watched a movie with a young friend. And for the first time in a long while he was in awe of a great movie. Not perfect, but how could another man’s art, who is himself flawed, ever going to satisfy the heart forever. No, even one’s own song sung in a moment of crystal joy, would become a harrowing memory of bliss to a man, who’s life is flawed and full of pain. But still, he was jealous, with a thirst to see what he could write, to see what his own original be like. And actually have a good, G, O, O, D, script, before him. That little pip in his heart, yearning to come out, without all the thoughts which bend and manipulate him with its concerns of not fitting in. 26 years of crushing his life like this. 26 millennia of man, crushing his children in exactly this way. The perfect pip, which he knows is there, sung with disgust and blockages in his chords, few will know, the feeling, of their perfect coming through. And I guess no one but maybe the Sons of God will sing that song all life long.

But what is he to do? Not even try? Not let it out… “But the last 5 paragraphs felt so good.” He things, is this really wrong. Every word he typed the concerns of opinions from close ones roam his mind. And attack every word, hidden behind by his lie, his smile. …

A moment of silence befell the writer. And the joy and excitement of the movie last night came to him. To his mind. The awkward Japanese painting of the Village at night under the moon, and how after time, it became one of his favourites, the idea of creating art for no one, the consideration of what man should do knowing he could die meaning, no, that we will die meaninglessly, but could live that death out tomorrow or tonight just on the road with drunk drivers. No control, over the death traps and the free wheelin’ nature of his mind today. Tired, broken, from being up all night and fighting with himself all day over his shame and how to fix the pain which ensued from his ‘decision’ (addiction? where does it really, actually, begin? when is the devil really not in charge and is any moment with him at the wheel actually acceptable?)

“Is this really how I’d make my second baby? RAPE BABBIES.” This was the process in his mind before giving up on his dream on making this writing session something good. He had begun on a strong foot and fallen flat on his face at nearly every point of the race of making a piece of art to know now that he had no faith in his thought over whether or not something is right or wrong. And he had gotten many unexpected laughs and claps over jokes and stuff said, to know that he had no faith in his mind’s judgement of something bad. By this point the man just wrote, once the mind had reached itself at a natural, somewhat painless, stand still. It still hummed and ha’d along with his words, he was still looking for the perfect word or two rather than rumbling along with the tale, and the barricades of thoughts trying to ‘protect’ the ever so important ‘artistic process’ played on as they do.

However the joy, of a joke, falling upon him from heaven, even if they come out awkwardly, like shit in public vs one on man’s own kingly throne. There really is something so peacefully shitting in front of God and silent angels alone. And truly hellish when farts enter an ear, especially the ear of someone not betrothed or dependent on me.

The writer looked up, to see the blue sky had become a perfect transition of every colour, little grey hues of red and orange at the bottom (hopefully not pollution), a tinge of purple, white and yellow, with white clouds gliding in between. And the depth of the blue at the top, the blue of the space around him. The home of the stars and the vastness which was the hammer to some many churches. The writer saw this sky, and thought I might as well write about it, because the camera is just a little too far away and I’m just happy in this cushion he thought. I can’t quite remember what he wrote, but I’m telling you it’s not as good as what I just wrote up there mate.

                                             Chapter 3 - Y Voila

The end. The last words which every writers cares to say. Another child born. And this one is quite big. Many hours and a couple of moons it took. No cigarettes, no drugs, no booze, no sugar, no whores. Just a man simply writing away. And he posted it online for his 10,000 fans to see with the quote, ‘I’m sorry it took so long, there was traffic’. Fucking perfect if I do say so myself.

I guess the chances of being paid for this one are only as good as the last. But. Man. I’m sure it’s full of typos and needs correction. I’m sure if it is ever picked up by a directors he’ll shit his vision all over it once more. But man. Fuck was that fun.

I guess I’m done with the whole keeping tracker of the author’s thoughts and mine, the actual author’s thoughts, but yh I dunno. This shit is beginning to take a turn, oh fuck, I’m falling again aren’t I. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten so close and just wrapped up my legs in bullshit before the finish line. Well, ….

SOMEONE GIVE ME SOME MONEY!

“No,” said the voice of God.

“Fair enough I said back

Many people die, sorry, close to everyone dies in complete agony and suffering. They are simply on a cycle of a just bearable hell. They have not seen/understood, the realness of genuine complete perfection that lies at our finger tips. They search for crumbs and just let go, don't they?

Yep.

Never just looking for complete, genuine perfection.

Are you sure you haven't just been tricked by a con man my son?

Rumi, Buddha, Miyamoto, St Francis. Jesus, Muhammad. But true, these are all simply tall tales to me, but none the less I am captivated by this possibility. To be a man I sincerely, totally respect. To be completely and honestly in ease with life, reality, existence, to see it all and understand its nature, waiting for it all to take its place, even if none of it is real, just understanding the genuine root of pain, of all my pains, I don't think you'll ever take that away from me.

What about when it doesn't change for years and years to come?

I don't know. It's already been hell for 4 years, I can't imagine 40 more years like this. But if it goes that long I would've been in a bearable pain, so I mean, could've been worse. But still everything feels shit when you compare it to my wishes. To be great, perfect in the face of everything.

Even for me? An old man who has had so much success yet still feels miserable all day?

Why don't we let my siblings stay on your path, and how about just me, just me, sweet little old me, how about we let me go off and search alone for perfect peace. I promise to share it with you, your children and my nieces and nephews.

I can't promise I won't cry and beg you to come back, but I won't lie your words have brought a smile to me I don't think I have felt for a long time. I love you my son.

To my love of drama over peace and stillness. On the top of this hill, behind the illusion of a chase, lies a true and wonderful life with access to all that a man can be. I cannot stress the significance of this enough. You can take a plane and know with every moment that it's your last and feel no shame, no pain, no regret, no fear, no sense of unjustice for you have lived your life with so much fullness you could not care. You won't hope to survive and go on an adventure, if you do, this will make you smile, but ultiamtely you are ready for your death.

You will move with grace as nothing is forced and complete attention is paid to the moment with no effort and no strife was paid in order to achieve it. In fact you just got out of the way.

The constant tales of love and romance, Of family dramas, Of all the societal norms and fears of missing out, Of finances and economic cycles, Of spiritual debates,

Of being miserable as you sleep, In tension throughout your dreams, And tired as you're awake.

All this can be a figment of the past, dwelled upon rarely from time to time. And you are unaffected by it, you see it as a strange truth about the world you live in in the moment, rather than a reflection of your selfworth, for upon arriving, you will know that you are whole and as meant to be.

The fresh air in every breadth. The subtle impact of every meal. Your bodies whims and desires. The needs of others.

Once a human beings true attention span is unlocked, he becomes a god. And even this delta between himself and others will not make him happy or upset, for he is too busy to have feelings, chasing what he loves, with all the focus that was given to him as a child, refined by nature through maturity. Made precise, clinical.

Your life will be that of what you truly, honestly desire in your pure heart. Your intentions will be completely clear, not sullied with all these other ideas of right and wrong, of impressing others, of being kind, of living up to what you've said in the past and meeting expectations. All the games will be gone and you will simply walk among the bees, the butterflies, the wind and the rain. Present with every moment.

This is what you are missing out on by chosing any other path.

I'm willing to bet that I can simply destroy your perceived sincere unbearable pain with one little trick.

You tell me you wished to be with one woman for so long. And now she's gone. And this hurts you.

Well I'm willing to bet with this girl was a whole story of what your future was going to be and I'm willing to bet it was a sweat as could be.

And with in that story was you, but not you as you are now, the best version of you right?

And the longer you're with the girl the longer and more elborate your tale was span. How she'd integrate with your family, what country you'd live in.

Now the truth is that all you need is the ungodly intellect and strenght which nature has already given you, you just don't know how to access it yet. Really that's all you need.

But now that your girl is gone and your story is on life support. For a moment, with this added freedom you have been given, just imagine those sweet little delicatable treats you had denied yourself in your own mind's future for so long. That foxy black neighbour. A smoke every now and then.

Again, you're dumb enough to lose the girl then you're too dumb to really know the true meaning behind what I just said. Whatever you're thinking I've said, it's wrong. But I mean, whatever.

I'm not saying that it was wrong for you to deny these things. I'm not saying that you should now persue these things and that these are your true desires.

I'm just saying your pain isn't so serious that the idea of these little naughty treats won't tickle you fondly. Where as before it would have been a great shame to persue these lusts, you were a great man in your mind's future and you could never fuck a black girl like that.

And even if now you think it's still not what you really really really want. I bet the idea of pulling her hair and smashing it from behind does feel a little sweater now that the pressure of being a loving man has gone.

Not saying that you should always be free, and that really you wanted this, all that is bullshit. I'm simply showing you that your pain isn't completely everything you've made it out to be.

Now go fuck that black chick.

Can we still be friends? I still like you but I don't want to fall in love with someone whilst still thinking about making you laugh all day. That's just not right.

So then what?... Then nothing, we move on. We move on to other parts of our life ... but this was so sweet. It was, wasn't it.

Talking to you was the sweetest part of my life.

You can message me if you're in trouble... No, only message me, if you're willing to think about making me smile all day like I do for you.

That's the truth and even more truth, she doesn't think about you all day like you did, atleast not anymore. She didn't think about you the way you did, maybe a little, but not enough. You wished to build up this flame, but nah. A life time of trying wouldn't do that. Not to say it's not possible to grow, it just wouldn't be by your desires.

Now you're free, to find someone, who thinks about making you smile all day. Smile the way she did so effortlessly. But now imagine that feeling tied up in the sweetest of bows. That's what you would do for her, and now, at the very least you are available for it.

You are in the woods now, alone and it's cold. Asking the age old question of your ancestors, Who you gonna try to fuck.

With many sheeps and goats, he roamed the open plains.

Too tough a place for anybody to come bother him. He roamed around with his bow or rifle. A truck and motorbike for a quick get away, however he was mostly on foot.

Upon grazing the hills, he would return home, take off his hat, and sing his songs, his favourite songs, which would come out from him, 19 hours long some would go, where he'd just play and play and play and play and play, hum, and play and play and play, he loved climbing along the mountain range behind his house and camping out.

However there was still a ringing in his heart, a crux in his mind around late November, when he would make his way back home to visit friends and family around the fefstive dates, he couldn't get over how much he resented and hated the lives of the people he truly loved most.

His mother, his friends, his daughter, they were all just mediocre. They would ask him with dangers in their teeth, so when are you gonna leave this thing, and this hurt him, this slight would sting, and sad old words would come from him.

Is it that he desires for them to like his life style? Or that he can't quite understand why nature wouldn't allow the others to live like him. Walking by homeless people he becomes sick, seeing the restaurants and fake smiles, the pubs and aching laughs, the man just wanes and wanes away.

However, leaving forever doesn't seem to be within him.

"Why do I do this to myself? Why can't this bring me peace aswell?" This year he broke a little and he moved to the arctic for 5 years. Living with the remotest tribe around. And often even beyond them. But even they would ask, "why don't you marry my daughter?" Although he was flaterred and honoured by this, he couldn't help but smell the alcohol and gasoline around the house, he didn't wish to hurt this young lady by taking her to a life which was not for her.

After 5 years he returned and he just cared less and less, his daughter grew annoyed at him, "why did you leave me?" Her pain made him unwell, but he did not blame his actions, for what could he do, she still wished to be surrounded by this concrete hill. So how happy could she possibly be?

She, a human being, is asking an orphan who has seen a mother beer eat her recently killed cub, why he runined her life by leaving? He understands that her mind has been captured by the recent narative, but that her pain and discomfort is there. The conditions of her heart are unmet by the world. She is not living a life that's worth living. Who could ever look at their child and say that this is all there is to life.

He took off his hat and wrote on a napkin. "Your life is as perfect as your heart."

He slowly passed it to her. From the very beginning she was not pleased. And through her glass of gin on his face. The sting of the gin distracted him from his tear, and more importantly it hid them too. Feeling this made him have the slightest chuckle, that burning gin hid his tears from his daughter had a postivie side. This smile was the last straw for his daughter as she left and walked away.

The man left cash on the table and walked away. The waiter shouted, its card only, but the man kept walking.

He had left his hat and the note.

In the city streets, he looked up only to see a starless night and laughed again at this poetry. He reminisced about his own starlight. He strapped up his bag and walked away, sleeping on the floor that night and making his way to the closest mountain range.

His feelings for his daughter were expressed in notes and letters, which he published and became rich off.

Even his very first writing, the note found by the waiter had inspired him, to live out his own life from that moment on.

No longer a part of the drone of society. No longer falling for the aesthetics, monks and priests. An honest path. Everything has begun to feel awkward. Your enjoyment and your distain.

A fresh series of emotions have bubbled up.

But let's get to business and discuss the path.

Do you know where you are going? Have you been there before? What is required to be sacrificed? What do you need to bring with you? How far away is it?

........

What is it that I actually want?

I want to be paid, hundreds of thousands, I want to move with ease and peace through everything. I want to not care about how much money I have, or where I am. I want to not care about my friends and family. I want to be at peace with being alone or in relationship.

I don't want to live the life of being distracted.

I wish to deep and intimate with this life. Wholey Completely. I wish to know the great perfect truths, immediately, I wish to know them right now. I wish to be completely unphased by how others feel about me. Great or common.

I wish to wake up and not feel forced to do anything, to have freedom to move as I please, with nothing pushing back against me. I wish to resolved all conflicts with in me.

I wish to feel the great wonderful experiences available to man in this short life.

I wish to sit at complete ease in this reality. Tickled by the creation and its wonder.

I wish to experience the complete and full human experience.

To be aware, utilise all that is available to me.

I wish that when I die, I feel no resentment. I wish to experience the relief of finding peace.

I'm tired of living in pain, I'm tired of the fights and the worries.

Show me the truth so that I may let it all go and return have everything.

Give me the peace that was promised to me.

In India she maybe wearing bangles with naked feet and a headscarf.

In the Sahara she maybe be fetching Water.

She maybe, just sitting. What ever it is.

What are you supposed to do about this?

Every man in your village, from the monsters to the monks would be moved by this face, but she will only select one. It’s easy to forget that there are a million others moved by her beauty, you believe you see her this way because you are pure and have the eye sight to see, no, they are all moved with purity. It’s easy for the mind to think the rest are monsters and you’re the only one who sees. Knights stand all around the open space.

You have been friends. And all this time what have you done being graced with such a gift, you don’t think she sees your malaise. You may have been a bum to begin with and that’s alright, but you are still a bum.

Your mind constantly seeks out other women, you say you would be happy without her, that you are ready to move on, that you accept that you aren’t good enough for her, that it would take to long for you to become great. That as long as she has a good man, that’s okay because Love. And what if a cunt, who’s bigger and richer than you with meaner friends gets in the way? You don’t think he isn’t moved by her, in his own way.

Look at the rollercoaster your on, over such a small thing. Now let’s imagine for a moment, if she too is on her own hell. What if behind the prettiest eyes and lips in the whole wide world is a struggle, everyday.

Forget the large man, what if it actually happened, and she crossed the bridge to meet you half way.

Now what.

Don’t ignore it. Face it. Look at the energy you’ve spent on just wondering if you should even look at her or just leave. What happens, when you’ve spent 3 days with her. You’ll think this hard all day? You’ll slow down will you? WHEN? Before you become tired and weak? What about day 5? What about the 2nd date, 3rd and she starts to get distant. What happens when other taller, handsomer men, smile at her? It’s only the 3rd date, she can’t just see what’s happening around the corner.

You’re just going to make jokes, all day?

Can you even look at her for a second, in the eyes?

Can you actually hold her, would all your advances actually give her any sincere genuine satisfaction. Will she chose to condemn herself to you? To her feeling of being unwhole.

Or is there something, that you might actually be able to offer her? ….

Peace

Is it what the average of society will think?

Is it your friends eyes? Are your friends eyes so pure?

Is it your mothers? How is her eye? Is it actually, pure?

Is it a spell cast on a man from the beginning of time?

All animals have their own mating rituals, what is man’s?

How would one find out?

I won’t tell you here, hopefully I can make it so clear that you are shown the truth, through the natural means of man.

To my last question, you gave an answer in your mind, you felt a response. Each man would have his own answer and believe. Every single one of those men, feel they are right and would debate their stance. Yada Yada Yada Yada. Why? Why can’t you honestly and sincerely just accept that you don’t know? Is it really so hard to say the truth and whisper, I don’t know man, :/, what the fuck d’you want?

Look at your fucking life you fucking moron, nothing!, You have done nothing exceptional for a sustained and prolonged time. You have'n’t sat with anything and truly got to know the depth and nuances of it’s fine detail, appreciated its vast scope and simplicity, it’s design. You haven’t ever gotten to understand any of it, yet you sit here and shout like the sparrows and dogs that is the rest of your family, town, village, society, sparrows and dogs, just squacking, squack squack squack squack, even if one in a million fucking squacks actually fucking turns out to be fucking right, the mountain of things around that truth to have an actual impact still surrounds it, do you even have the ears to hear it, at the moment?

My son, reality exists, and feel it in your bones what this means to you.

What life exists for you? Look to nature, look to the greats, the truth will set you free.

Where do the very words you stand by even flow from?????

Where does the delight within come from when your eyes gaze upon that perfect girl?

1000 men a second may state that they love their wives and their kids. But to what depths have they truly sat down and considered how they might be hurting them. Have they considered the depths of what this means, 'I LOVE YOU', and more so than that, have they considered what it would mean to say that to a person they, quote unquote, love, and it be untrue.

What do you want when you confess your love to somebody? What are you actually looking for? From where do these words and feelings arise. Nature, culture?

What would it mean to get what you desire from another? For how long? Will you raise your bar? To what degree is the dissatisfaction from your own life, being expelled on to expectations for the people who are close with you? Why is that these people are close with you? Why is your wife still with you?

What are you really looking for? What is the absolute truth, to relationships? What has the creator intended for us? What have we forgotten.

A man is alive today, but who knows for how long A man maybe who is today, is this the same man tomorrow? Why is it so hard to love someone everyday? Why is it so unimagineable to just wake up, truly and genuinely be in awe of the lady who sits beside you? To be honest in your actions all day long. From thoughts to Gaze, when you aren't around her. What is the truth to the ultimate man's love, and a false one? Where are you in this continuum? What is your word worth at this stage? Why trust yourself, is your history an indication of reliability?

How many women have you gazed at? How many exes do you have? How many women rejected you? Is there anybody in the world who has the relationship that you actually desire?

What does all of this say, for you to be right in this moment now too? What does all of this mean about the very thought you just had reading the last sentence?

So now what, what is a man to do? Knowing that he exists right now as part of existence. Alive and Well ....

Having Just texted a pretty lady.

Half a day away by car and plane, impossibly far if we did not have these modern comforts.

I laughed and smiled for an hour and so did she.

But now here I am, a Man Alone.

What is there for me to do? What are the deep truths to romance and love? To lust and marriage, to nature and the divine? To mankind, to me, to life ....

Death could befall me, anyone in my family and I think about this Regularly. However, I haven't thought too hard about her death. I'm sick enough to hope she falls unwell and needs me. But, what if this was her last moment and I had to go on. Not my last moment, tapping out. But her last time. The last time, imagining her smile is a potentiality. Not a memory. The swell in my chest is here again. "Just say it" And my mind says, "don't make her feel bad" What about me? Would I rather be safe and chat away, wait for a future where I am adorned in glory and gold to ask her, will this give me the love that I desire, what about the free love, where a man grabs a hand and the two are running through the hills laughing away. A gust of wind blowing your cap away. Isn't this what you want? To work together at becoming rich.

But she says that she doesn't want this. "Just tell her, please just hell her."

I think your perfect.

PS I just said it ;)

We live in a world where everybody ages in misery. You see it in their eyes. They look longingly at the end of their days. Without the energy to be awake all day, without the energy to speak. Every word will take it out of them, to listen will hurt them. Food is nothing to them.

We live in a world where planes, busses, cars or boats may go down at any point. Ask the executive who worked on the top floor of the twin towers how felt.

We live in a world where men can be lost for many many months, they return to our great society and live restlessly, their aches and pains get worse. Warriors killing themselves, nobody to help.

We know our politician don’t mean well. You give your whole life with tears just to do a little better.

Men take opioids and drone out the noise with podcasts and constant erroneous entertainment. Porn.

You muster up the energy to go to the Amazon, you take drugs, you vommit and shit yourself. You die. You come back. You are a changed man. And yet after some time, “maybe it’s time I go back and get more insights". Is this the best you believe of yourself.

Do you not believe you could simply look to the sky and the hills, see the blue sky and the clouds. Go fishing in the rain. Do you not believe that you could just sit there and say, “maybe it’s time I stop being a cunt.” You have thought it before, but you don’t change. Why not? Why is it so impossible for man, the inventor of rockets and performer of perfection, to simply come home and not be a cunt?

Why must you think about how someone else feels?

Is there another way?

How badly do you want it? How much do you hate right now? What else is possible? Possible beyond your imagination.

To create great art, lost in the process. To sip coffee and live effortlessly, unconflicted, completely thought through, unwaivered by the jabs and pokes of society, untouched by the deep cuts of your mother and family. Is this a life possible to you? What else is there to do other than exploring this question? What is available to you?

Why care about the words and insights of a man who does not even think about the beautiful life you aspire to? A man who takes carts to the bottom of a hill and says that Everest isn’t all that. Who laughs and says how cute at an animal in a zoo. When there are wild bears, tigers, sharks, salt waters, eagles, falcons, owls, horses, buffalo, hippos, whales. Why would you feel so impacted by these common men? Where does it hurt you? Which part of your crystal palace has it cracked? What fear did it arise with in you? What did the words remind you of? Why not sit down and think about it? This is a broken leg you are bringing to championship fight. Think of how much it must be crippling you, the remnants of these aches and pains are still with in you, I know it, you feel it, it is an annoying hum throughout your body. In your head, in your legs, a constant slight vibration, slowing you. Remember what it was like to be free, to not be aware of your body, to be as light as a dove, gliding over the tree, flapping its wing, gracefully, effortlessly, without resistance.

Remember Ronaldinho, remember that time you were playing football and it all came so easy, defending, passing, goal keeping, just effortlessly, simply, clinically. Remember gliding down that hill, losing yourself for a moment, being afraid and coming out of it. Feel how it would feel to dance, to play music, not impactfully, not for an audience, not to win or to score points, but reach your absolute bliss and perfection. For you body and fists to glide into the ribs of your enemy, is this something possible to the man who cares about what people may think.

They had it all, they had achieved the ultimate. And at the very last moment you fucked it all up.

What is this?

You became tense, half way through your event you were in heaven. And as the end came near you began to return to earth and hit your feet on the floor. Whereas there may have been a competitor beside you, who was in a fine fury and frenzy desperate to see how much more he has in the tank. For he knew he was probably going to lose, so his body became lose and he was simply interested in the dramatic story of being the underdog and doing something incredible.

How does one end with grace?

Why do we fall in love and charm with perfection, only to become assholes and cunts barely holding on to our marriage by the end.

Why do endings suck?

What is this pressure to bring it home, after a perfect performance? Where does our magic go?

It is because you still care about the outcome, at a certain point you gave up but upon being given the very thing you wanted you panicked, you became afraid of fucking up and behold you fucked up.

Who is the holy man, who is the man who can simply gracefully walk from start to finish and act with perfection in tense situations?

Why does one’s grip tighten?

Why does one chase success?

What truths does the man who knows, know?

The man, who is perfect.