Letters To My Dead Self #1

Days of nothing. Days of regression. Days of living a half-life, barely there, barely aware of your own being. What a waste of life. And the longer life is lived like this, the more you forget of how it really is. The bliss of being in the moment, of living with will, presence and awareness. You know this, you know it all, but knowing means nothing here.

Days turn into months into years and we are all here, but are we? Are you here? Can you stay here? With no apologies, no expectations, no fear, no anxiety, just a witness….a witness to this holy playground. Can you? Can I? If yes…we made it. we are the godhead.

Noises, noises all around me, all within my head, begging to be heard, to be invested in. Noises from other people, other people telling me things i have no interest in, things i find no joy in. Leave me to the silence. I have nothing to say to you.

Let nothing be taken seriously, especially the things that beg to be taken seriously. These men and women with their stern faces and rigid eyes telling anyone who listens about the harshness of life and preaching the true way to live it. Fools. All you know is all you’ve chosen to see, all you are is all you’ve ever allowed yourself to be. I reject nothing. I believe in nothing and everything. I care not for your truth. I shall find my own. Now off with you.

You have desires? Acknowledge them – write them down, ask for them, work towards them. This is a part of the play. You do not acquire? Try harder or let it go. Do not complain! Never complain. You must suffer, but must you suffer loudly without dignity? Cursing and wailing you put a dent in your end of the universe. You do not know what you desire? Sit by yourself in silence for a while and watch your angst get washed away.

But above all…breathe. And you shall be just fine.


A Letter To The Lost

You do this often, and it works so do not despair.

It is not an exercise at all, but rather how nature unfolds, or at least how it’s supposed to unfold. Like a flower blooming.

Live here. Live now. Breath.

See everything for what it is, see it with love if you can but never resentment.

You stray the path, like misguided sheep, and then play shepherd and bring yourself back. So it is. So it is alright.

On good days you accept most of yourself, of bad ones I do not wish to speak on such a beautiful morning.

A sign, a guide, a conversation is what you crave for, to beg clarification of your righteous path. But you forget, such divine synchronicity only occurs when you forget the self and stop looking.

Blessed are you with rationality, riddled with emotions, yes, but rationality it is, hence the last good king predicts your success. Do not doubt it. For no harm shall come from it.

How do I stress the utter importance of vulnerability?

To stay open, to be subject to ideas, emotions, people, events and perhaps in some contexts, even thoughts, all the time maintaining your position as a rational man. Alive and observing, strong and grounded, while still letting himself get carried down roads that he knows not where they lead.

Because that is life. That is how you grow. And amid security, self assurance and comfort there is nothing but old age and self loathing.

So live and breath and be, in this holy reality while you last. Even as we speak your time grows short.

So live. And let nothing take this reflection from you, for than you would be a failure. A human non-being.

So live. And breathe.

The Pact.

It was just one lousy beer. One lousy fucking beer. Usually it took about four for the underlying stupidity to surface and make me do something…well, stupid. Or reckless. Or a lethal combination of both.

I was with a friend S. It was one of those super boring evenings where you really have nothing to do but you just don’t wanna binge watch some crap on the screen. So we just decided to grab a few beers and kill the night. College huh.

About an hour later I and S are half way down the first beer and maybe it was just the beer (maybe that particular batch had a little extra something) or maybe it was just us, but we were really fucking buzzed. We were on the rooftop and it was a full moon day and the soft breeze carried the salty scent of the ocean.

So we start talking about life (surprise surprise) and S tells me how he is anxious to stop leeching off his parents and get a job and go out on his own. The dilemma being that he doesn’t want to work at a job. (who does?).

“Man, fuck a job. Fuck all that slave shit, go do something on your own.”
“yeah but…where the fuck do I start? What the fuck do I do? I have no idea. And all I get from people is this vague bullshit like “Follow your passion” or “chase your dreams“. Chase this (grabs reproductive organ) bitch. Gimme something helpful. Fucking clowns.”
“Hahaha yeah. Get a job. get a wife. Have a dozen kids. Retire when you’re too tired to do anything else”
I laugh. He laughs. The moon just watched.

I finish my beer and sit up. “You know what dude? I am never getting a job. I promise. Not to you. but to m- *burp* me. I am never getting a job. I am never settling down. Fuck the staus quo. I am going my own way, Fuck all this manufactured reality. Fuck the guy who got a job. I promise. I will not bend.”

I guess that fired S up. “You know what?……. Yeah. Fuck all that.”
He drained the bottle and smashed it against the other side of the wall. “Fuck a job”.

I grabbed mine and mimicked him. “Fuck marriage!”

He grabbed one of the many empty bottles lying around (it is a popular drinking spot) “Fuck adults!”. SMASH.

I fished out a whisky bottle. “Fuck social conventions!”

I let out a howl and S joins me.




S bends down and looks at me with a goofy grin. “Down to the last two bottles dude. Lets make a pact.” (I know…corny. But we meant it and we were drunk so fuck you.)

He hands me one, and clears his throat “We fucking swear on our balls that we will never bow down to society, social conventions or ever give a lovely flying fuck about what people think or say about us!” (I know. pretty colorful huh?) With a war cry he smashes the last bottle against the wall.

Me still laughing, I follow suit. Except instead of throwing it against the wall, I smash it against the wall while still holding it. Still laughing I hi5 S.

There is a wet splash. I guess there was still some booze left in the bottle. But as I held my hand up I saw the bone of my forefinger in the pale moonlight.

“Yo come check this out”. Still laughing.



S sees the blood and completely loses his shit. Drives me to the university health center on his motorbike. They don’t have an X-ray so they call an ambulance.

Never been in an ambulance before. Am still buzzed and pretty calm but S is shaken up by the blood and he doesn’t want to look at the bone.

At the hospital. Doc smells the booze and makes us confess before stitching it up after the X-ray.

3.A.M in the morning when we finally step out.


S lights 2 cigarettes and passes me one. (My hand is bandaged too heavily).
I pull hard and release a cloud of smoke and watch it float away. Dreamy. Never gets old. “My lungs are so happy”.
S laughs. “You’re fucking loco man. Crazy motherfucker. The only thing I want right now is my bed.”
We puff away, the same moon above us.
I chuckle. “Hell of a pact though right?”
S glances at his watch. “Yeah man sure. I wish these fucking ambulances did return journeys or something”.
“Hmm. Let’s just get an auto”

As we ride back I glance at my hand. The whole thing probably meant nothing. And S and I never mention the pact whenever we told the story over the next few weeks. I am pretty sure he forgot actually.

But not me.

The 9 stitches will scar and be a reminder for the rest of my life.



What does it take?

Will you sacrifice everything you are right now for what you will become?

And the clouds split, the rain stopped, the sun broke out and I fell down on my knees, tears streaming down my red eyes, screaming “yes!, yes!”.

L.S.D and a few other old friends.

I’ve been here. The acid is still in my head as i type out these words and it feels like something has to be said about what happened while the memory, and more importantly the feeling lasts. I’ve just realized I’ve never written on acid before. I am incredibly sensitive to everything right now, and a little vulnerable. But it feels friendly.

Nothing has been solved. Nothing has been accomplished. But i don’t see why something has to be accomplished in the first place. who came up with that shit?

Everything goes.

Communication is vital. But sometimes much is said even when you’re not speaking.

Funny is good. Funny is awesome. Laugh. Cause it’s funny. (WTF :P)

A person who is a good tripper is the kind of person you want around you.

I need to remember to surround myself with positive things. This is so fucking important and just so obvious why the fuck would i let some dumb, retarded shit into my reality? Need to be careful.

There is an incredible difference between people who want to get better and people who think they are people who should want to get better. The latter are toxic.

I miss my friends.

I can’t think and type. i Can just type. Thinking is a hindrance. it adds impurities.

Breathe. Motherfucker.

Did i tell you am on acid? 😛

L.S.D didn’t answer the questions. It just showed me there is no one to ask to.

How am i ever going to end this post?

And then there was nothing.

School made me nervous.
Exams made me nervous.
Result day made me nervous.
Girls made me nervous.
Tomorrow made me super nervous.

Then I started getting high.

The cigarettes fucked my lungs.
The pot fucked my motivation.
The porn fucked my emotions.
The television fucked my perception.

Then I stopped.

I stopped smoking pot and drinking booze.
I stopped jacking off to pixels.
I started going to the gym.
I started getting things done.

I got clean.

The nervousness increased.
The restlessness increased.
The desperation increased.
The anger.
The fear.
The self-loathing.
More frustration.

Now am here.

Still no sex.
still no money.
Still no clear direction.
Still emotionally fucked.

But I woke up the other day at 5 in the morning as usual and I went out the terrace. I saw the stars and the moon, and I watched them till the sun peaked out. Then I watched the sun. And heard the birds sing. And breathed in the cool morning air. Salty from the ocean nearby.

My mind empty.

My soul calm.

I didn’t want anything anymore. Too tired.

Too tired from trying.

So i just watched.

And I let go…


I let go.

Giving Up The Empire Of Dirt


The high.
The pixels.
The change.
The skin.
The ideologies.
The music.
The activities.

Everything fades into nothing leaving me deprived.
Forced to chase new vices, that leave me depraved.

So now we zero the clock.
Now we starve the mind.
Drain the chemicals out.
Take the high road, suffer the emptiness.
Break the cycle to go down a new path.
Fail and hell is You.
Fail and the time loop starts.

Emptiness is hell. But on the other side of emptiness is true emotion.
They fed the infant chemicals till it choked. Then they fed it some more. Watch. Consume. Junkie motherfucker. Blind to the possibilities of redemption.

But a ray slipped through the smog and you shook your fists and wailed and stuck your filthy fingers so deep down your throat you puked your guts out. And now we chase the light. The promise has been made.





Urban Dream Ascension

He looked over the sparkling city skyline and smiled. The night was chilly and his breath mixed with the cigarette smoke left long trails.

He was on the balcony on a skyscraper, high enough to hear nothing of the noises far below, high enough to peacefully meditate on the distant building lights, those dream like apparitions. Lights meant life and life meant stories, and at least a few of them worth listening.

But tonight he was content, tonight he was at peace with not knowing and not wondering.

He observed his mind, waiting to see if it would come up with something to say. Nothing. Nothing at all.

He chugged his drink down, stubbed the cancer stick out and lit another. Still nothing.

Smiling into the night he continued gazing at the lights, glazed eyes reflecting, watching, observing.

Random realizations that may or may not mean anything.

“Self help is masturbation, now self destruction…”

Life is simple. you’re here, then you die. what you do in the mean time means nothing to the universe and yet means everything to you. So if you’re the universe…

People look up to other people. Their parents, teachers, the guy who seems to have everything figured out, celebrities, self-help writers…shit, politicians even. I know nothing. but I doubt I mean that how Socrates meant it.

19 is old enough for you to stop making the same mistakes. “Don’t expect different results if you keep doing the same thing.” My excuse is that am young, but everything, even excuses get old.

The dream is real. so is the self-doubt and the vulnerability. I shouldn’t have to suffer the same old trials, but actions lead to consequences and sometimes it’s easy to forget to be grateful.

The things that helped you get away are slowly betraying you and you’re relief is no longer at the bottom of a bottle. You’re friends are real and that means you’re just as alone as they are. My greatest fear is mediocrity…OK second greatest. the first being that am already there.

If your trying too hard, it’s not going to work out. I’ll sell my soul my soul for natural flow. I know the theory by heart, the do’s the don’ts.

This will probably pass. Tomorrow i might be in a a place where am actually looking back at this and look up to to say thank you for being in a better place. But it’s easier to regret things then be grateful for what you have.

“This tedious path I’ve chosen…I must keep reminding myself of this”                                        If this is how am going to be for the rest of my life, my heart will break, mu soul will wither. Maybe it’s a good thing i don’t really matter.

“all you touch and all you see is all you’ll ever be”                                                                                 Everything counts. every thought, every action adds up. Be better then you were yesterday and you’re good.

Don’t talk around me. I don’t want to listen. But tell me something and i’m game. Influence or be influenced. Be indifferent and nirvana is you.  It’s high time. But that only means intoxication.

“What are you but my reflection? Who am i to judge or strike you down?”                                    I both crave and fear isolation.



Obsessions Of A Reckless Teenager.

Growing up I almost never watched t.v. My dad was one of THOSE guys. So no t.v, and no decent computer because I loved gaming. Of course the games that DID run I played for 6-7 hours straight if I could (on holidays when my parents left for work). All my friends had cool computers and cable t.v. I hated my dad for depriving me that.


I read a lot. A LOT. and I read anything I could get my hands on. Novels, Comics, Self-help books and even those women magazines where chicks asked advice for their crappy sex lives. Note that I was 10 maybe 11 and those mags were forbidden, which made reading them all the more fun. I hated school. But I did’t mind reading the textbooks so i wasn’t THAT bad at some subjects. but I preferred what I called “real” books. So my father came up with the “one book per visit” policy. Basically every time he took me to the bookstore I could pick one book only. Torturous. So I read them over and over again. I read The lord of the rings more times then i care to remember. The inheritance cycle a couple of dozen times, His dark materials at least 20 times. I borrowed books from my cousin on the sly, I would sneak them into my backpack when my father wasn’t looking and read them incognito.


In 2003 I was in third grade and I remember I was at my a friend’s house, surfing through their t.v when i happened upon a local music channel, the kind that had lots of adverts on screen and the actual music video is barely visible, and I saw something that would stay with me for a long time after. This guy was doing something. Something so awesome it gave me goosebumps. He was moving, and talking, and the words were just magical, flowing to the rhythm of the music. That guy, I would later find out was mike shinoda. Vocalist of the band linkin park, and he was rapping. The song was in in the end. And i was in love.

So i begged my neighbor, an older kid, to gimme a c.d with linkin park’s songs. I think I bugged him for a week before he got pissed off, asked me to get an empty DVD (which i stole from my dad) and he disappeared inside. I stuck around the wall that separated our houses for an hour before he came out, and threw the disk at me, “Next time i’m going to charge you for this.” I ran inside, fired up the old computer, stuck the DVD in, and all hell broke loose.

Hybrid Theory and Meteora were the only albums out at that time by linkin park. And in two I knew every word, every lyric by both mike shinoda and chester “chazz” bennigton by heart. I loved it. I lived it. I WAS it. Besides from LP my he had given a whole bunch of other songs by artists I had never heard of (Until then I just listened to what my sister listened to and that was Westlife, Blue, Backstreet Boys e.t.c) but would listen to religiously for the next 10 years almost. Eminem,Disturbed,50-cent,DMX,DR.dre,2pac,fort minor…they became my world.


The hell that I thought would never end just up and disappeared. Middle school was over. We were seniors. And we were on top of the food chain. Puberty was finally started working out for me. I was never a remarkably cute kid. I had a baby’s face and had a girly face that my sister made sure i was constantly, painfully, aware of.
But not anymore, I lost the baby fat, my jaw became prominent, I had a fuzzy goatee that made me stand out (in a good way) and I was bigger. Suddenly….I was popular. The one thing I’d hated all my life had suddenly turned into something so awesome that I could never really figure out how the hell it happened.
I started smoking cigarettes, pot, and started drinking in a span of less than 3 months.
It was wrong they had said. It was bad they had said. It was dangerous they had said. And I loved doing them. I lIked pot more then drinking and that hasn’t changed. I smoked every chance i got. Initially me, and a bunch of other guys would go the one pothead we knew (he had studied in the same school we did) and smoke with him on his terrace, constantly checking to see his mom wasn’t coming up. It was pure charity on his part. I think he was a lonely kid. But eventually we started “scoring” ourselves. We could go to a nearby guy, That was 20 minutes on the motorcycle but he sold spiked shit. According to popular rumor he spiked it with Ratkill. If we wanted clean shit we had to go into the city, through the exhaust fumes, and the traffic, and the occasional cop trying to catch you (a hundred bucks and a lot of begging would ensure your freedom, but if you try to go past him and he still catches you, it’s still a hundered bucks and lots of begging but with a dose of ass whopping thrown in) past the Buddha standing tall in the middle of the water, and into the dirtier side of the city. It was worth it.
I experimented with acid, pot edibles, hash and one one occassion the infamous “whitener”. Not gonna do that again for sure. Cocaine and MDMA seem to be on the menu for this summer.

I got caught on multiple occasions making out with multiple girls, In multiple places under multiple circumstances. And the consequences differed depending on the circumstances. The worst was when my mom saw me necking a girl and gave me a whole lot of drama for it. I can’t take drama. I prefer being grounded (i’ll sneak out don’t worry) or an ass whopping, but my parents never hit me or mu sister.I got suspended from school once for a week cause i got caught with a girl behind the abandoned gym next to the mini basketball court. My parents never found out, I got to the letter they sent home before them and i left for school every day only i crashed at a friend’s place. Girls were incredible I thought and I still do. Just incredible. Something about girls that could just turn my day around in a jiffy. I don’t think I’ve ever been in love. Though I’ve told a lot of girls I loved them. Am not proud of lying to them but you have to know that I lied to myself too every time I said it. Sex was great. And my mind could make up any lie to get it.


I’ve turned 19 recently. I don’t know how that makes me feel. I’ve been obsessed with things all my life, random things, painful things,things that have changed my life. You see, “liking” something is not good enough. “Ok” is not good enough. It has to be absolutely out of this world, something that can make an impact. The more impact the better. “It either has to be real good, or real bad, cause either way you’re making an impact, everything in between is mediocre”. Madonna wayne gacy said that. Of course he was a drug fiend, and completely insane but that thing he said is right on.
So here I am, older,(wiser?) and I still don’t care for things that fail to be potentially obsessive-capable.
The things i obsess over now have changed, drastically some might say.
I still smoke pot but not so religiously, am still going to do every drug that comes my way, but am not rooting for things to happen. They will happen. Am learning new things. In fact am learning so much in a day now then i did in a year a few years ago. I am growing. I don’t date anymore because I don’t think I want to have mindless sex anymore. Or rather heartless sex anymore. I would like to know how it feels to be in love. But for that i have to wait I guess. I am not so reckless anymore, I drive safer, I smile more often.I don’t take things for granted anymore, I am more grateful. I am making changes. Changes that will make An impact. So this year is my year. To grow, to expand. To obsess over things that will change the course of my life.

And I can’t possibly tell my father how grateful I am for not letting me watch T.v. That shit is toxic.