Valentine's Day is Upon us

And I should probably write about how it’s silly to spend one day showering a loved one with attention if you don’t do it the other 364 days. Or perhaps I should write about the importance of love and chocolate in our daily lives. Or be all activist about it and write about how it’s a stupid made up corporate invention, aimed at making you buy shit you don’t need because they told you to.

The thing is, you already heard all that bull crap. Not only did you hear it all, you heard it all a thousand times. And the other thing is – who gives a toss?

If you like someone who likes chocolate –get them chocolate, if you can get them chocolate every day and don’t mind needing a crane to get them into a building – even better.

If you like someone who has a sense of humour, get them some Nothing.

If you don’t like anyone at all – well, good for you.

Life, as I see it

I landed on a forest clearing; it was right in the middle of the woods, the woods were right in the middle of what the new part of the world considered the old part of the world. The ancient part of the world was too tired or too wise to argue. The planet seemed strange and beautiful. Everything seemed new and I had no recollection of where I came from and no idea where I was headed, so I stayed. 
I never wanted to change the world. I found it so beautiful and so horrible, and the world’s workings so unintelligible that moving the smallest pebble in a stream seemed like it could cause a flood of blood to overtake the Earth. Strangely, it also seemed like raising a revolution would change nothing. 
I was happy to walk and watch.
What I saw was that everyone was looking for something. Everyone here seemed to be on a quest. Looking for excitement. Looking for safety. Looking for love. Looking for a family. Looking to belong. Looking for freedom. Looking for meaning. Looking for faith. Looking for knowledge. Looking for a sense of purpose. Looking. Always looking.
And I – I looked at them. I looked at you. I became them. I became you. I looked for... I looked for all of it.
I’d feel excitement diving off high cliffs into the cool of the sea. Soon enough, I’d be back inside, and the feeling would fade.
I’d feel safe walking trough the night wearing big, steal toe cap boots. Soon enough, I’d get into my office and the feeling would fade.
I’d feel love looking at Steve’s eyes. Soon enough, I’d have to face the fact that if I have nothing but love I will drain him and destroy what could be amazing.
I’d feel like I found a family when we would have breakfast together and do nothing. Soon enough, I’d feel trapped by it.
I’d feel like I belong when among close friends who could laugh at me without offending me. Soon enough I’d long for solitude.
I’d get a glimpse of freedom in that wonderful feeling you get while leaving your flat on a sunny Saturday afternoon, knowing the next two days are yours alone. Soon enough, Monday would come.
I’d get a sense of meaning looking at a blue sky and bright colours and crossroads. Soon enough, I’d be looking at charts on a computer screen, giving meaning to numbers that meant nothing to me.
I’d feel faith looking at people who said they believed. But I could believe in anything. It was the same as believing in nothing.
I’d find knowledge and see it’s faulty, then search again.
I’d get a sense of purpose after setting a goal. I’d get bored by it in a day.
I was human.
It was ridiculous. I tried to walk this path. I tried to do what I was told was rational. I sat in my office, I earned my pay. It was stupid.

We are told so many things as we start out in this life.
Be proper. Things matter. What is out is more important than what is in.
It is all wrong.
See, I could write for days and days about what I learned and what was so wrong. But you see, it’s boring and makes me depressed. Basically almost everything anyone told me so far was wrong to some extent.
All I have figured out to be right is that what ever I figure out to be right today, turns out to be wrong tomorrow.
What I have also realized is that the truth is always relative. That all always changes. Nothing remains the same. That sleep is redundant. That humans can do so much more then they believe than can, if they believe they can.
That I am not the changer of worlds.
That I dare not influence them. That good ideas turn into disaster. That I am paralysed by fear of responsibility. And fear of my own inadequacy.
That I am more then they could ever believe I am.
I was angry. I was sad. I was looking for a way to run. For a place to run to. So many roads diverge in this yellow wood. The thing I realized was that the only way to be the one traveller is to travel them all. 

So, there is no failure. 
No fear.
No good or bad.
Maya. It is all just illusions. I am not wise enough to see trough them. I do it for a while and then forget.
But there is nothing wrong with forgetting. 
There’s nothing wrong with anything.
There’s nothing wrong.
No future.
No past.
No present between them.
All is always there and we spend so much time worrying about things that surely don’t exist. We miss out on enjoying so much because we think it is wrong, or that it might harm this future, or that it was harmful in the past, when effectively future doesn’t exist, and the past does not exist. Some claim that present is all that’s real. But that’s ridiculous. The existence of present automatically presumes the existence of past and future, they are simply proposing it be ignored.
What is there then? No time as a straight line you move on. No space with 3 dimensions. Everything simply is. You exist. The world exists. It is beautiful.
Everything.

Revolutions should not go towards the outer world. They should be about what we think.

Nothing big can change the world. Thoughts can.

Giving reality too much credit

Don't do it. Don't make reality more real and more important than it really is. It doesn't really matter. The job you do, the car you drive, the house you live in, your bank account balance, it doesn't really matter. It's not you. So don't give it too much credit.
Stop worrying about it.It's not that important. You know that it isn't, but you chose to delude yourself - throw your brain a little bone to chew on while your life goes by. It's easier to worry about that kind of crap, than to actually start wondering about what the hell is the point of it all.
So you worry, about money, about your health, about your family, about your job, about how you are not spending the little time you have on earth the way you should. But what you so desperately try to ignore is the bare fact that it doesn't really matter. It doesn't matter what you have, or what you look like, or what you do, the only thing that is really important is who you are.
You can clean the streets and know that you are the most powerful man on earth. Or you can look into your bosses eyes, and nod, and smile without wishing to kill him, once you finally realize the simple fact that it is all quite ridiculous. Your boss, your worries, your pains, your boredoms and humiliations, your wishes and longings, they are just little bones you give your brain to chew on.
And it isn't happy about it. You are not happy about it. You know that there is something more, you know that there is something else you should be doing, and yet you can't seem to remember what.
That's the catch. You shouldn't be doing anything. You should simply be. That's the whole trick to life. Simply being. Not doing, not wishing, not running, not even thinking, nor praying, simply existing. Breeding. Walking. Seeing. Listening. Enjoying the whole stupid little charade of sights, and sounds, and smells, and feelings that's happening all around you, and still knowing that it is silly and little, and that the very fact that you exist is more important the entire universe.
Because it is. To you it is.

Bullying

We have all felt it. At least once in our lives. The urge to push someone around. To hurt them, at least a little bit. I know that we all think that we are essentially nice people who don't do things like that, but there is always at least this one guy - we all know him, he's just so, so, so - asking for it. Begging to be pushed around, begging to be bullied.
No mater how sad, and pathetic, and weak we are, there is always going to be this one guy, or one girl, or even a child, who is weaker, and slower, and kind of lost in the world, and they are just begging for it. For us to snap at them, or to jell or shout, or humiliate them in any way possible, because, they are just so, so, so... What?
They are not so, so, so anything. They are just them. Living their lives the best they can. We are the ones that are so, so, so silly, and insecure, and scared to death. Scared that we are actually the same as the people we despise the most. Scared because we can see a little bit of ourselves in them. We hate their guts because it just might be that we are the ones that are a little bit slow, or rough around the edges, or weak, or lost. And we are, we all know that we are, but we have managed to train ourselves to ignore that fact, so looking at that one guy who is all the things we hate about ourselves makes us so furious. It makes us want to crush them.
And that is not only mean, it's also incredibly stupid, it's like crushing a mirror for showing you that you are unbelievably ugly - it won't change the way you look, it will only make your fist bleed.

Dieing

Every moment of our life we are dieing. We all know it. Every second we have lived is one second less left on our life savings. What we fail to realize is that us dieing isn't just a natural process caused by the passing of time.We do it to ourselves. Day by day we kill off little parts of ourselves, hoping to achieve... What?
Today, you decide to become a victim, hoping to get some sympathy, maybe even a little bit of love. And that's OK. It would be OK, if in order to achieve that you didn't have to kill of a part of you that's saying: "I'm OK, I like my life, I'm happy" You can't have that if you are going to be a successful victim, so you just shut it up. Kill it off.
Tomorrow, you'll decide to be a successful businessman. So you'll have to kill off the victim, and the generous, compassionate guy, and the guy who loves little fuzzy animals, because you can't have them living in your head if you are going to be a business mogul. Bang - they're dead.
A day after that, you decide to become a mother. Bang - bang - there goes the little slut you liked yourself so much as, and the irresponsible little twit, and the self absorbed, careless little bitch everybody loved hating. Forget about them, you're a mother now, bang - bang.
And then, a few days later, your kids are all grown up, your bank account is loaded, your hair is getting gray,and the hole left inside you, shaped like all the people you have killed is getting seriously big, so you decide that you are old. An so you kill off the few people that have managed to survive inside you - The mother - bang - she was shot the day your kids moved out of the house. The businessman - bang - he died the day you retired. The guy who liked laughing - bang - dies the day you decide to become a bitter old man, mad about the life he's wasted. The dancer, the reader, the singer, the philosopher - bang - bang - bang - they are all dead once you decide you are too old to try, too old to care.
And finally on your last day, you menage to squeeze that last little bang out off your old, warn out self in order to kill off the last trace of life inside you. Finally free to achieve... What?

Sweet Mother Misery

You are enjoying it. Every time you frown, every time you sigh, every salty tear you shed, deep, deep down inside, you are enjoying it.
It makes you feel deep. It makes you feel sorry for yourself. It makes you feel good and kind. It makes you feel anything.
You are enjoying it. Every insult, every boring job you take, every time you feel so stressed out and tiered you feel like you are simply going to lay down and die, every time you girlfriend cheats on you, ever time it hurts like hell, there is this itsy bitsy part of you that’s saying: “Oh yeah! Give it to me baby!”
You are enjoying it. Otherwise you would stop. You either wouldn’t do the things that make you miserable, or you wouldn’t let the things you have to do get to you.
Or you would simply tone it down a bit. You wouldn’t fuss about having no girlfriend, no money, no car, no friends, no joy in life. If you really wanted any of those things you would stop complaining and find them. But instead you just make these pathetic little attempts to make yourself happy, and the moment something goes wrong, you run right back into the lap of your dear, sweet, old mother misery.
Because you are enjoying it. So stop complaining and enjoy.

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Define me

We stumble trough your lives, our eyes closed tight, begging – guide me, describe me, define me.
Define me! It’s complete and utter madness. We read horoscopes. We go to psychoanalysts. We read books. We watch movies about people like us, or about the people we wish to be. We listen real hard when our friends are talking about us.
Define me! It’s not even mad. It’s plain stupid. How can anyone else know you better then you know yourself? You are the one that has been there every hour of your life. You have seen every single thing you have done, you have witnessed every thought you have ever had, you have tasted all your tears, you have smiled all our smiles.
And yet you will come up to a total stranger and beg: Define me. Why? Why can’t you do it yourself? The only answer that comes to mind is that you have tried it, and deep down inside you already know yourself better that anyone else is ever going to know you, and you don’t like what you know.
That makes sense. You have witnessed every stupid remark you have ever made, every dirty little thought that crawled up from your subconsciousness into the back of your head. You have seen yourself in the mirror at 6 am trying to look human and not succeeding. You have witnessed every weak, and mean, and stupid, and ugly thing you have ever done. It is normal that it’s hard to like yourself.
The trick is to just relax and accept it. You have got to get up the strength to stand up and say: Yes, I can be stupid! I can be cruel. I am selfish. I am weak. I am afraid. Because, you most likely are. We all are. We just have to face it, we have to accept it, and we have to learn to love it. It’s all you. It’s all me. Take away all the clothes, and the money, and the attitude and crap, and we are all pretty much the same. Weak, and selfish, and afraid.And it’s OK. Perfection is boring anyway.