As I dive from the sky...

The ecstatic soul dancing with pertinacious impeccability, of itself and myself, orchestrates my subtle congruence with parenthetically parallel existence. Reserved Epicureanism contends with the extroversive but strange figures drags me towards the unconditioned and enigmatic spheres. Intellectual monomania adorned with the determinism of the universe and the randomness of human intellect injects crazy thoughts into my cognitive hemisphere. The Lone Rider and the Alpha badge I wear upon signal the impertinent tenacity of my absurdist. The way words originate and behave, things occur and enact attract me unto the abyss of inconsistent interpretations of life. Joie de vivre! The BEAuty of life is just like getting lost in the absolute space and flying to eternity breaking the laws of gravity or driving your Humvee alone into the wild or diving from the sky or going to the north pole or Everest. And happiness of it is doing something stupid and laughing about it for weeks.

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The Awkward Silence of the Enchanting Chasm

“Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: Sibylla ti theleis; respondebat illa: apothanein thelo.” Have I forgotten you? I don't like the way you faded into oblivion. Your glorious absence marveled at the absurdities of my life. Even the last remnants of your weird sight and smile create a whirlpool of the past and a hurricane of madness deep in the abyss of my conscience. Everywhere, in every form and matter, I see your dust. I teach myself to forget you and move ahead. The chaos of your story in mine is the absence of your existence in time-space. I weave each and every layer of your story so that I can tell my son, one day, how I survived on my own. I wonder whether it was your light or the shadow I painted, mostly in Prussian blue. They will hear the echoes of the deep enchanting chasm on my chest. I keep it echoing on my chest, so that I might tell my son on the shores of infinity that I had a story to tell.

Knowing

I know this: I am also a repetition. A continuation of forces older than my name, patterns that moved through generations and found their way into me. I do not carry them as burdens alone; I carry them as proofs. What has been tried before me did not end—it arrived. And I stand where it converges. I have never been lost—only moving through complexity. I have questioned, delayed, circled, cried but never diminished. Even when direction dissolved, something steadier than certainty kept me upright. What others call confusion was often preparation. What felt like stillness was alignment in motion. I was not failing to become; I was becoming without spectacle. There were moments when desire thinned, when the world stopped asking for urgency. Not emptiness—clarity. Noise fell away. False appetites dissolved. What remained was gravity, and gravity always tells the truth. I learned then that not everything needs to excite in order to matter. And so the world narrowed—not into loss, but into gr...

Ruth: The Epilogue

"But..." I was being dragged by the ebb of time into the abyss. On the shores, beneath the mountains, blue waters lulled my feet. I was looking at the completion of my life as she was calling me to join the tides. The gravity of the past pulled me into the quantum architecture of multiple dimensions of life. I fell into the realms where I tricked my past to stay engaged. My present is an analogy of my past. The energy I created, then, in the quantum architecture transformed into an autonomous being of intelligence. I was unable to stop it from growing into a being. They said, "Quantum corresponds to each other and can transfer information to each other, no matter of space or time." Her lips quivered, and her feelings clouded her mind as she appeared like a glitch in time. Her words echoed through the ages, " We should remain ignorant of each other like we used to be in the past. I will pretend that I never knew you." P.S: Spenser read from his book, ...

The Ballads of Gravity

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