How to be a drunken, fallen hero

I went inside my head,

To fix the god damn roof and

One too many hidden truths.

Is anxiety sufficient proof

That we never take the time to look

At our damped ceilings?

Oh, well… But then again,

I stumbled on this book

That I so wanted to read

And I gotta say I`m hooked,

Though the title`s so misleading,

It says: „you`ve probably read this before,

perhaps in another form

maybe in some passages from

the book of those who are always wrong

or in ‘how to be a drunken, fallen hero’.”

From the volume *poor advice and platitudes 2.0* by Stefan Sandu

Photo by Savu Alexandra

Photo by Savu Alexandra

The true meaning of life is no meaning

 

“It seems that only in moments of unusual insight and illumination that we get the point of this, and find that the true meaning of life is no meaning, that its purpose is no purpose, and that its sense is non-sense. Still, we want to use the word “significant.” Is this significant nonsense? Is this a kind of nonsense that is not just chaos, that is not just blathering balderdash, but rather has in it rhythm, fascinating complexity, and a kind of artistry? It is in this kind of meaninglessness that we come to the profoundest meaning.” Alan Watts on How we find meaning by surrendering to meaninglessness. – via braingpickings

410d202a1c561f7fc01ec8f21f370ec9

We dream of a full life. A meaningful life. A significant one. We work and work and work in hope of recognition and remembrance. We dream of eternity.

For us, humans, this world is everything. We are born in it, we want to conquer it, to admire it, to fight it, to love it, to trust it.

But this world doesn’t care. This world just exists. It defies us with it’s indifference. And sometimes we die without knowing. Sometimes we forget.

But there are times when we wake up and see it.

The indifference.

Right then you can have your moment of glory (and maybe the only one you’ll ever have)! Right then you can stop and scream back: “I don’t care either!”

 

Zile negre

Painting by Winston Chmielinski

Painting by Winston Chmielinski

Ploua. Ti s-a promis soare, dar ploua.

Picaturile te lovesc, reci. Ti se face pielea gaina. Cand esti amortit, pana si picaturile de ploaie iti dau adrenalina.

Stai ca o leguma, nimic nu mai conteaza. Te afunzi in ganduri, in nimicul mult dorit. Abia iti simti respiratia. Vrei sa pleci, sa fugi, sa simti ca traiesti.

Caci asta nu e viata. Sti prea bine ca nimic din viata asta nu are sens. Totul trece. Dar tu stai ca o leguma si nu te bucuri de nimic.

Traieste momentul, zic ei.

Traiesti nimicul.