Lost

      
In the bleak-midwinter,
Where sun seems so sinter-
And the sky splinters.

I walk, I run, I sprint.
But my head keeps squinting,
Spinning, Singing and hinting-
To the Dire Dark Dreaded Dream.

    

      
Momentarily Together. 
    Like two leaves blown in the wind, swirling together in a beautiful dance, before parting forever, to never see each other again.
Momentarily Together. 
    Like two particles of water in a simulation, catapulted from foam into the air, hitting each other, never truly interacting.
Momentarily Together.
    Like two packages in the ether, colliding, mixing and corrupting, before being scrambled forever through the jam.

A barrier between us, made of flesh. 
Disconnected, the only protocol: language -- low-bandwidth.
I say "I love you",
    You say "I Love you too".
I say "Your hurt me"
    You say "Your hurt me too"
But do YOU, understand? Do I? Do we?
We empathize, Imagine we were you. But we are not you! 
An approximate model, trying to maximize R^2.

But why accept this?

All individuals melt to one -- A transcendental realm, the instrumentalisation.
No more barriers; One mind in one body.
Together, each image seen, each sound heard, each thought thought, each action done, each word spoken.
The truest connection that exist, without any falsehood nor coldness -- genuine warmth and honesty remains.

But is it?

For what true connection is born in absence of struggle?
For what value, does honesty and understanding have without sacrifice?
For what means warmth with lack of coldness?
For what is loyalty without the thought of betrayal?

No warmth, but lack of cold.
No loyalty, but lack of betrayal.
No honesty, but lack of lies.
The fragile beauty of the dancing leaves, the catapulting particles and ether packages twisted and corrupted into mediocracy. 
No Peaks, No Lows, No Potential, all in equilibrium -- The Heatdeath. 
We killed ourselves!

    

      
The ego rages and screams
    Glaring sun, hot and harsh beams
        The blue is gray
            Constant state of belay.

Focused-- A single task,
No questions asked;
Step for Step, close and Closer,
Until, finally Closure.

Waking up, the world is bright.
        Sky is blue, sun smiles, fluorite.
Calm, Warm and Contend.
        I Comprehend.

    

      

Driving, Coasting, Gliding.
Person there, Human here,
Staring, Swiping, Saying.

And I wonder--
If you know what I mean?

Less than Hate, Less than Love.
Indifferent.
To what it seems.

And I wonder--
If you know what I mean?

Pretty, Tidy, Giddy.
Acting full aware,
Societal bound, firmly in Reality.

And I wonder--
If you know what I mean?

Estranged, Far away my mind drifts.
Violent thought, Empty thought.
I act free. Why am I here?

And I wonder--
If you know what it means?

    

      
The Great irony of man is that he's always chasing his goals and dreams, providing him great pleasure. 
But upon reaching his goals and dreams, man turns dissatisfied. Desperately trying to find new goals and falling into deep unhappiness, only when finding new aspirations can man be happy again and the cycle continues.

So substantial is the irony, that man created forms of art to cope with it. Such as rice or sand art, where great pieces of art are created by arranging rice or sand on the ground, only to be destroyed upon completions.

    

      
Deny the flying Immortals,
Trying to reach the Heavens, life long.
I cosily compute, the mortals Dao,
Counting; bigger numbers forever more!

    

      
I am afraid of the black dragon.
    Afraid, 
        of swimming in the endless parade, 
        my arms strength flee,
        to never be seen.
    Afraid,
        of being a raider in the tirade,
        my body bound by rope,
        looped across the keels without hope.
    Afraid,
        of being gray and weighed,
        in the hay,
        the feeble mind already estray.
    Afraid,
        of the metal beast cade,
        whizzing and flitting,
        then hitting.
    Afraid,
        of the mountain -- red sprayed,
        flowing nearer and closer,
        like pompeii, a poser.
    Afraid,
        the ticker ticking or the wits red invade,
        rushed to the clinic,
        the blood too aminic.
I am afraid of the black dragon.

    

      
Die unermüdliche Ameise am spazieren,
Schmeißt den Soldatenhelm weg,
Schmeißt die Mossin weg,
Ist nun frei,
Erst für Tage dann für Wochen,
Sehnt sich zurück in den Ameisenbau.

    

      
Und das Universam sagt: "Ich lieb dich",
Ich schau zurück und sag das stimmt nicht.

    

      
Friends

Poland, Germany, Algeria, England, Bulgaria all over the world.
Connected through more than device alone;

Ones a lawyer arguing just.
Ones a schizo writing love.
Ones a Pilot shooting plane with ease.
Ones a Coomer chasing girls.
Ones a Prince promising fortune for a fee.
Ones a Fighter wrestling people to their knee.

All, post memes with much glee.
Shit post with laughter and joy--

    

      
Angst, Dread and Fear.
The tiny Ant screams.
Smite, then Fly, Glide, Ride.
The pomp: Flashes, Light, Bright.
Over streams, Over greens, high into the sun.
A fever, at most a dream.

    

      
Today is one of these days.
Nothing seems more fun--
I need another hit, 
to bring back my grit.
I had so much to do,
I had so many ideas,
But now all seem dull and null.
What will I do?
A hit will do-- All will be fluffed and snuffed.

    

      
When walking through the darkest Valley,
I WILL fear no evil, for the Lord is on my side.
In your unfathomable wisdom, you sent a light on my side.
Your light drives the forces of evil away.
Your light's, my children's dream.

    

      
Watching, Staring at the Screen.
There she is; Who could forsee?
Laughing, Learning in the marquee.
Telling stories of her feats; Stop I plea.
    Six and more friends wherever she goes.
    Five languages close.
    Four arts exposed.
    Three proffesions well-disposed. 
    Two homes disclosed.
    One city wide network self-imposed.
    Zero faults juxtaposed.
I blink, 
    my head spins, 
        my vision turns red,
            my thoughts are a tangled mess.
Through the contrast, I despair!
    What am I? If not her?

    

      
I wished,
    A brick,
        would fall,
            Upon my,
Head!

    

      
The Socratic Fool,
Had a task to do,
To lift the mundane to the divine,
O, what joy would it be?

The Aquinastic Jester,
Had a task to do,
To tear down the divine to the mundane,
O, how cruel would it be?

The wise clown,
Had no task to do,
The divine is divine and the mundane is mundane,
O, what sorrow this must be.

    

      
They see me standing and wink,
I try to hide, why?
Too Late.

I am a fucking robot,
I do things without Control,

I hear laugh, I do too.
I hear talk, I spin a tale.
Truth mixed with lies,
Not a delicate dance,
But a piano key on a string, 
Playing a tune.

I am a fucking robot,
I watch myself--
Total loss of control.

    

      
I feel my mind slipping.
Slipping to where? Maybe on a banana?
Into Insanity.

    

      
More on Abortion, or: What Does it Mean to Have a Right? In what way does a right differ from something that isn’t a right but still feels necessary enough that we would criticize others for not providing it?

In Judith Thomson’s A Defense of Abortion, she argues that no one has the right to use another’s body simply to survive. For instance, just because someone has a defective heart doesn’t grant them the right to kill another person for a heart transplant. By this reasoning, a right to life does not guarantee a right to everything needed to sustain that life but rather a right not to be killed. Thomson further argues that, while it may be morally preferable to help someone in need of life-saving aid, a person is not morally obligated to provide it at their own expenses, even if society would disapprove of their refusal. This suggests that failing to help is not morally justified but in simpler words unkind or mean.

Thomson implicitly differentiates between two types of moral cases:
1. An obligation to help.
2. No obligation to help, but encouragement to do so, with failure to help viewed unfavorably.

I question whether this differentiation truly exists. Imagine the devil himself appears and offers you two choices: kill an innocent baby, or allow all of humanity to perish. The baby has a right to life, placing it in the first category. But what sense does it make to preserve the baby’s life at the cost of all humanity? The notion of “saving principles” in such a scenario—allowing the world to collapse while claiming moral purity—feels unsettlingly close to Dostoevsky’s Underground Man: “I say let the world go to hell, but I should always have my tea.”

Some might find this example extreme. So let’s consider something more realistic: nuclear first strikes. Could there be cases where a nuclear first strike is morally justifiable? If an adversarial nation is on the verge of launching a devastating nuclear attack, is a preemptive strike justified? And if not, would the principle of restraint still be worth upholding in the face of annihilation? Is there any comfort in saying, “At least we stuck to our principles,” while our nation lies in ruins?

Thus, I argue that the distinction between the two categories is tenuous. When stakes are high enough, everything becomes negotiable—even rights. There are no categorical rights or principles, only rules that hold as long as exceptions haven’t been identified.

This argument doesn’t imply that all morally wrong acts become morally right under pressure. Rather, in extreme cases, actions like killing the baby or initiating a nuclear strike may indeed be morally justified. What is morally right, if not what we should always do and what society would universally endorse? A definition of morality that allows for exceptions fails to offer meaningful guidance.

How does this relate to the abortion debate?

Let’s set aside cases where the mother’s life is at risk and focus on situations where it isn’t. Thomson argues that the fetus has no right to use the mother’s body, just as a violinist has no right to use your kidney. In this framework, abortion is permissible—not morally wrong, but socially frowned upon.

However, based on the reasoning above, the answer to whether the violinist has a right to your kidney (and whether abortion is justified) depends on the harm that refusing causes.

So, what’s the answer? I don’t know.

A few final notes: I’m not a fan of utilitarianism, though my argument here may have a utilitarian undertone. Perhaps virtue ethics could accommodate this line of thinking, but it’s debatable. The example of the devil is clearly unrealistic, yet the nuclear analogy is more grounded and addresses a real dilemma. As for abortion, I find the bodily autonomy argument less compelling and instead prefer to explore the question of personhood. I wonder, too, if there’s a strong counterargument against this “moral inflation,” where scaling up the stakes increasingly blurs ethical distinctions

    

      
I like feeling real. I like feeling like I exist. I dislike feeling fake. I dislike non existence.

Do I care much for truth? No, truth is just a relationship between me and not me, a useful tool, to be abandoned when it has no more use.

I like being alone, just me and my thoughts bouncing back and forth, more me less something else. 
I dislike being accompanied, articulated thoughts bouncing between us, more something else less me.
But alone, I am so lonely.

I am afraid of being less, I was afraid as child swearing to never stop playing with Lego, I was afraid as a teen vowing to become a cs pro, I am afraid now of how I'll loose myself next.

I fear death, not for what it is, but what it stands for, non existence, the total complete erasure of all what is me. I fear not the erasure, but what is left. 

Not for others sake, but for the ghost of mine.

    

      
My life; Day in day out.
But there's more imminence. What is it? 
Questions so big, it almost breaks my back.
Surrounded; A leaf flattering in the wind.

I see a train and ask myself why?
    Why not fly?
I see a smile and ask myself why?
     Why not cry?
I see an idler and ask myself why?
    Why not explode?  
To bits and pieces with blood everywhere.

The only answer is how, But I want why!
    Why a why?
The I, a hypnotic cynic swirl collapsing in itself.