thiinks @veiilathiinks - Tumblr Blog

chaos giveth, chaos taketh away

i take a breath and look into the starry night. it's fresh and promising. i look into this darkness and everything feels very clear. i don't ask questions anymore, i understand everything. even though it's absolutely not true and understanding keeps eluding me, somehow the world feels clear standing naked in front of this incomprehensible vastness. i go to bed with the hope that i catch some sleep but i know that it's not going to happen. and it doesn't.

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slow death of time

no matter what concoction of gibberish the cheerful-hopeful optimist may give me, it won't shake my belief that we (the human race) are on the slippery slope to the entirely man-made apocalypse. at best i could be wrong only in one aspect: it may not be an apocalypse in the end-of-days sense, but simply a race to the point of no return, after which the history of humanity is to be reset and restarted.

of course, he will never mention one important detail, the small-print in the contract, leaving it to us to question our choices, so altruistically suggested by him. but who would, when everything he offers is so gratifying? or at least seems so. the small print that he conceals from us has of course been known and exposed to the world by the number of writers, philosophers and thinkers, but as it usually happens the truth is not pretty, hard to accept and tasteless in comparison to the sweet promises of the honey-tongued master of seduction. this truth is quite simple though and it is this: the very things that occupy us and take our time in our lives, the time and hard effort it takes to become good at anything in life, the mental struggle it takes us to solve creative or practical problems and the mistakes we make along the way – all these things that the knight of convenience promises to take away from us – are our one and only claim to the fleeting moments of satisfaction and happiness and essentially are the only ingredients of what we call life. for life, in our human understanding is not simply physical existence. it is not merely a succession of acts of sleeping, eating, defecating and fornicating. it is essentially what we do in between those biologically necessary acts. it is not a coincidence that we call a comatose patient a vegetable – surely it is still life from a purely biological point of view. a person in coma inhales oxygen and exhales carbon dioxide as you and me, receives nutrients and transforms them into feces, like you and me, and eventually grows old and dies, like you and me. and yet we don’t dare calling it life. vegetable existence – yes, but not life. because the stuff of life is not in biological functions. nature created us burdened with cognition, troubled by self-awareness and tortured by recognizing our own mortality. this is a given that we can not change. and for thousands of years human-beings on this planet were coming with new ways of redirecting their tirelessly thinking brains from the horrors of our finality to something else, to loftier and higher goals than merely sustaining biological functions. our work, our efforts, our troubles, our mistakes and detours are what we call life. take that away and what do we have to take our obsessive thinking organs from focusing all their attention on the cruelty of our biologically unpoetic, mundane mortal existence?

of course the knight of convenience is not the only horseman of the slow apocalypse. his closest ally and a trusted associate is the knight of entertainment. it is with the help of this merry cheerleader that the knight of convenience is capable of being so efficient in his dirty work of leading us by the nose from life to existence. for, in the end, even the dumbest numskull would inevitably hit the wall of terminal boredom and would be forced to take at least some action. but the stupid and the dull can rest assured – no action will be required from them, because the kind and giving knight of entertainment is guarding them as the great archangel, ready to reach down with his mighty hand and forcefully turn the poor nitwit’s head in the safe direction. the two knights are always working on advancing the force of progress, which in turn gives them an endless supply of state-of-the-art weaponry with which they can induce and immediately defeat the beast of boredom. their watchful eyes never sleep and their collection of high-tech tools is always at their disposal to intervene between you and your rare moments where you are left alone. they created an ideology to fuel their dictatorship and this ideology has proclaimed boredom the greatest enemy of humanity. in their battle against boredom they don’t shun from any available means, for even a split second of boredom in your life is their greatest distress. their preventive measures make sure that at any moment of your life you are equipped with and surrounded by every possible distraction. like all dictator’s ideologies, theirs is resting on the fable which paints boredom as an ugly beast that destroys innocent lives and which must be sought and terminated for the greater good. in their holy war against boredom they employ mass hypnosis and brainwashing propaganda to invent the most atrocious false claims against boredom, so that every child grows up with the inherent fear of this foe and every grown-up builds their life around the sole purpose of defeating boredom with the tools provided by convenience and entertainment.

but sure our joe must understand that something isn’t right here at some point, mustn’t he? well, not, at least not as long as the third horseman of the apocalypse is standing sentry – the knight of egocentrism. this cold and ruthless machiavellian monster, disguised in the smooth cloak of self-love and self-respect is the final nail in the coffin of the human soul. together with his friends and accomplices convenience and entertainment they make sure that the human soul not only becomes petrified by impotence, but also blinded by limitless self-obsession and impenetrable to the forces of love and compassion. with the help of convenience the knight of egocentrism replaces human communication with fast and impersonal digital messaging. joe and jane no longer need to see each other, listen to each other, talk to each other, as long as they can exchange non-personal disposable ready-made substitutions. they no longer need to experience the process of the real-time dialogue as long as they “stay connected” by short-text or cartoon driven messaging apps in their smartphones. since they no longer need to face each other, they no longer need to care for each other’s feelings. neither need they care for expressing their own feelings in any meaningful way, since the prefabricated solutions are shoved into their faces on every step. replacing their human communication with non-real time short-form chats they lose the necessity for empathy, thus gradually turning into self-obsessed tactless uncaring narcissists whose world revolves entirely around them, whose sole concern is self-pleasing and whose entire universe is represented by the only human being – themselves. this acquired psychopathy leads to isolation, insecurity, jealousy and hate – exactly the fuel and essence of the modern life-substitute, the all-consuming social media, that within the last decade became the primary focus of entire human life and the only estimation of the worthiness of any given person. the social media platforms in turn dictate their tastes and aspirations and, by means of indifferent and unfeeling calculation, decide who will be favored for the next fifteen minutes of fame and who is to be forgotten, and what thoughts will be thought tomorrow by the millions and which ones are to be erased.

but let’s not forget the ever-present help of the knight of entertainment, whose highly demanded job, not without the clever assistance of convenience, is to make sure that in pursuit of exterminating boredom (which is in fact just another word for such forgotten expressions as “quiet contemplation” or simply “thinking”) not a single person has time, stamina or patience to use their free time for anything intellectually demanding. you’d think that reading a book would be the remedy against boredom. but how can one sit for a few hours and read a book, when one constantly feels pangs of impatience nagged by yet another app that pushes its, so conveniently and blatantly obviously called push-notifications into one’s personal space, making one feel constantly ill at ease, eternally fearing to miss out on something hot and important. surely a book can wait, while the endless instagram or tiktok feed can’t. but if one doesn’t read, one is deprived of another form of human connection – for reading is a way, in the words of arthur schopenhauer, of wearing someone else’s thoughts for a while. reading is essentially getting into other’s heads, feeling their joys and pains, experiencing their triumphs and tragedies, and, therefore, learning and developing empathy. it is empathy, the ability to project someone else’s feelings onto yourself, that makes us kinder and more humane. and it is empathy (sharply named “emotional intelligence” by modern day psychologists) that makes us recognize, and therefore control and direct our own impulses, base instincts and brutish emotions. without it we turn into cruel parasites, self-absorbed vegetables. without empathy we become beasts. but worse, actually. beasts, at least and in their defense, aren’t as self-aware as us, beasts need not to think about the future, nor do they need to contemplate their mortality. beasts can devour each other with no regret, because thus they are created by the force of nature, and their cognition is of such limited spectrum, that they do not and can not project the pain of their victims upon themselves. but that is not the case for human beings. we are painfully self-aware. we, down to the last psychopath, are subject to the fear of death. and therefore we aren’t suited to the beastly existence. surely, some people, namely maniacs, criminals or enthusiastic military heroes are totally fine with the dog-eat-dog paradigm. but they are exceptions upon whom we look with horror. do we want to lose the very essence of what we call humaneness – our empathy – and turn ourselves into the callous crowd of brutes? i don’t think that i’d see many agreeing nods even among the stupidest blockheads imaginable. because for the most part all we want is to enjoy life, experience happiness. even the stupidest blockhead will recognize the danger of living in the society of vile cruel beasts, for in the end no one wants to be torn apart and eaten alive, right?

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full interview for animales con patas v (english version)

originally published on patreon, dec 13, 2024

interview with veiila / animales con patas v ́zine #5

the following interview was conducted in january 2024 and published in the printed version of animales con patas 'zine#5 in september 2024. the printed 64 pages magazine (in spanish) is available for order here.

bes: honestly it's a line that means something personal for us. even though vif picked it up from this book, the title of the album is self-contained and i would steer away from connecting it to the forsyte saga in any conceptual way. not that there is anything wrong about galsworthy or his work of course. it's just that we don't want our music to be in any way politically or socially connected to anything. and once you start talking about society (and we've done that in some heated emotional moments) everything becomes acutely relevant, meaningful. the last thing we want is for someone to see our songs as some kind of a slice of the time, a snapshot of the current events. no, on the contrary, for us “sentimental craving for beauty” is the most pure aspiration. in this way we are always influenced by art, literature, music, but the most powerful impressions are those left by the works of art that are the least contextualized. and most personal too. i mean, one can talk about the portrait of the english society of a specific era in "forsyte saga". but one doesn't need to be aware, and concerned with it really, to appreciate the beautiful writing and to feel compassion to the basic human drama. the brilliance of the literary, musical or other artistic masterpieces is in their ability to speak directly to the soul in the language of feelings. great art doesn't have to be contemporary, doesn't need the manual to understand it. sure one can appreciate galsworthy deeper if you take the history into account, just like one can appreciate, say, orwell's “burmese days” deeper if one knows the devastating history burma or bulgakov's “the master and margarita”, when knowing the context of soviet oppression of the intellectuals, yet not knowing the context didn't prevent me from being completely taken by “the master and margarita” when i read it for the first time being a teenager or being practically smashed to the ground by “burmese days”, while when i started reading it, i'm not sure i even knew what burma was. and in this regard i just hope that the music that we write can speak to someone just as it is, without one needing to know the context. in this regard the sentimental craving for beauty (the feeling itself) is the driving force behind everything we do.

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futility

originally published on patreon, nov 30, 2024

what if there's void beyond the veil nothingness and emptiness of the past and those are right who fail for only futility was meant to last

i wanted to write about futility. but what’s the point?

whenever i meet new people (and when i say people, i don’t mean merely breathing upright monkeys who hop around and jabber, i mean beings with the twinkle, however faint and obscure, of something resembling intelligence in their faces) i am eager to know what makes them move.

i want to know their angle, i want to know what gives. probably i am a hopeless sentimentalist, a broken romantic who still believes in magic and unicorns. so what? i want to believe in magic and unicorns. i want to find that tiny straw to which i would cling with utmost passion and which would carry me through the ruthless rapids of the river of pain to the vanilla shores of the blissful utopian happiness where instead of gasping for air in horror i would look upon the gloriously violet sky, the blindingly green forests, breathe in the fragrant smells of flowers and smile a beatific smile of unchallenged rapture. there is but one little implication: i want to believe in the impossible. and i know it. thankfully the fuel for the engine of our civilization is absurdity and absurdity never stops providing. hence my genuine interest in knowing what gives, when it comes to other people. but that is just it: the chaos is omnipresent and the absurd is endless. whenever i strike a conversation with a new acquaintance (which happens ever less often with the progress of time) i know without doubt that in spite of my wild hopes i will only find the unavoidable emptiness behind the shaky fence of poorly assembled bits of common wisdom and pathetic cheerful assumptions made of unicorn droppings and context-less excerpts from pseudo-utopian leaflets. i know and i do not doubt it, for i walked that path many a time before and everywhere i found the same stale defense of the arbitrary rootless meaning of life that can’t hold even a third-rate attack of semi-reasoned and semi-mocking questioning. why is that so? for, sometimes, i truly want to believe, i am eager to grasp whatever shred of logic there is to be offered. why nothing holds? is it me? am i too demanding? or is it because the very effort is as futile as anything that the poor mutant-ape has been doing for the last two hundred thousand years. according to my imaginary friends, to whom i talk more often than i would care to admit (you might recognize a few of them, as they may be your imaginary friends too) i am not alone in my outlook. schopenhauer, camus, sartre, benatar, zapffe are all in perfect agreement with me. futility is, futility was and futility is to be. then why am i still hoping? why do i still try to find that ray of light that will illuminate some unnoticed logical connection that would lead not to extinction of hope but to something that resembles happiness? and every time i come to this question, i am doomed to fall for the most pathetic cliché in the world, which i swore to never turn to and which i am hopelessly presenting now: i am only human after all. this is it, the moment of shameful defeat. i am an ape. i am absurd. i am a paradox. my will to live blinds and confuses me. no matter how i try i can’t fully face the inevitable horrifying truth that there is no truth, no meaning and ultimately no happiness. i can say it, but i can’t feel it. or rather i can feel it, but only to the extent when it triggers my self-preservation instinct, clouds my mind with nonsensical beastly jabbering and turns me into a brutish stupid caveman, hugging my knees in the light of a faint fire, scared of thunder and the wrath of the sky. please, miracle, come and save me!

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perfect chaos

originally published on patreon, oct 29, 2024

the thin misty layer of the skies was hanging very low over the city. the first movements of the cool air were finding their way into the alleys and courtyards. the calendar summer was out of the streets stealing the smiles of people. it was enjoyable for me, though, at last some coolness in the air that tasted like pure happiness. if i don't think about the weather it's all the same. the tough times come and i start running. it's just chaos, i can't think about the things that happened. experience of life, sure, but there should be time for reflection too, right?

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count me out

originally published on patreon, sep 29, 2024

i want out. out of everything. no more lies, no more pretense, no more half-measures. i can’t stand this world any longer. i can’t hear people talk rubbish. enough is enough.

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c'est fou

originally published on patreon, sep 7, 2024

bright summer shining through. and my life falls apart in july again. it seems the month of july has something against me. the nausea of the heat and the ruthless indifference of the universe. i dance to the clanging rhythm of broken dreams, this sound never gets old. i feel like laying down on the floor so i can feel the cooling sensation of cold stone. i don't do it, i can't move. i can but i won't...

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smartphonageddon

originally published on patreon, aug 2, 2024

what went wrong with us?

yes, i know, the question is rhetorical. i guess that ape just shouldn’t have picked up that stick, because since then everything went invariably south. but even after that unfortunate event there seemed to be plenty of undeniable warnings and even silver linings of revelations, so why are we like that now? what went wrong? when did we take the wrong step to end up in this irreversible suicide ride that we call life today?

it seems to me that just about 70-50 years ago humanity had a chance of redeeming itself and the chance looked real enough to some cheerful optimists. after the holocaust, hiroshima and vietnam it seemed that the glimpse of the inevitable peril finally entered even the thickest skulls. it seemed that the idealists worked harder on their idealism, the humanists enforced their humanism, the hippies made more love and less war. writers wrote. directors directed. poets spat out verses and singers sang. war was condemned, liberty celebrated. and yet look where we are now. you probably think i will righteously point at overpopulation, wars, global warming, ecological crisis, brainwashing, religious radicalism, autocracies and oppression? nope. these are but symptoms, these are not the decease. at this point i am very tempted to jump on the subject of the global idiocy and call that the root of all evil. and in fact i’ll linger here for a moment, but first let me clear it out: idiocy is a symptom too, albeit a very strong and incurable at that. “but what’s up with the idiocy?” some cheerful optimist might ask: “aren’t we living in the age of the highest technological advancement we’ve seen so far? that for sure couldn’t have been created by idiots?”. you got me there, mister cheerful optimist, but don’t get too cheerful too soon. this is what human evolution is: we create solutions for problems that need no solutions and then we use those solutions to create more problems. and somewhere along the way we lose yet another ability. plenty has been said about it and plenty more is to come, yet some people still seem to believe the pink fluffy lie that we are smarter than all the previous generations. arrogance is a very comfortable cloak, what can i say. but let’s be honest. we invented radio, telephone and television to connect us, to make the greatness of the human thought spread faster and farther. instead we lost our ability to write and analyze and got brainwashing, propaganda and informational junk food. we invented the internet to give us freedom. instead we got addiction, informational pollution and more brainwashing and propaganda. we invented the smartphone (here we come) to extend our abilities to connect with each other and process the large information streams. instead we turned into a herd of blithering idiots, as disconnected as ever, incapable of any critical thinking, lost the last shred of logic, happily jumped into the abyss of the worst type of informational trash the moon has seen yet, got ourselves addicted to unstoppable uninterrupted consumption of content of such quality that just 30 years ago would be considered unhealthy even to be created by the patients of the mental asylum, and completely drowned ourselves in the ocean of misery, jealousy, manipulation and intellectual decay. so much for progress, huh. and this is where i am inclined to be radical in my proclamations: the smartphone is worse than the holocaust. why? because hitler and his gang only managed to poison some brains. there was a resistance. the holocaust wasn’t universally accepted. it was conquered and condemned. it was made an example of. and there seemed to be a silver lining after all. the smartphone apocalypse is cheerfully accepted by pretty much every one. i don’t think i’d be far off if i said that 99% of the human race willingly glue their faces to the screens, or at least wish to. yes, and the poor people who today have not enough money for bread, would gladly join the smombie army should they have a chance.

here i would like to make a little detour. what always intrigued me about viruses is that viruses aren’t lifeforms. not organisms of any sort. they are near-lifeforms that behave like lifeforms in many ways, and yet they don’t. essentially a virus is a coincidental arrangement of chemical elements that is programmed to replicate itself. take some scary virus as an example: it is but an algorithm that acts as programmed and kills the host that it actually needs to survive. oh wait, not “survive”, since it is not a lifeform. and to think about it, it doesn’t “need” anything, since it’s not really alive. it just innocently runs the program. and when i think about the human race and look upon our so called evolution, i can not shake off a feeling of the strong resemblance to a virus. look, we are not equipped to live on this planet, neither physically nor mentally and everything we do either damages the planet that we live on (the host, as we, viruses, call it in our viral circles) or creates more problems for us. it is an endless perpetual viscous cycle: we solve another problem that hinders our life in some way, while solving it we sacrifice something and when solved we discover new problems that need harsher and more extreme solutions. one might also call it a vindictive pattern. we revenge to our mother nature for having created us so limp, weak and unfit. you haven’t given us fur and thick skin to protect ourselves from cold, you heartless bitch? then we’ll burn your forests and suck out oil from under your skin! you chose not to arm us with fangs and claws, you bastard? we’ll invent guns, bombs and flamethrowers and let you have it! but come on, that would be too poetic to assume that we actually understand what we are doing. no, my theory is that we are nothing but a virus. a coincidental arrangement of elements that replicates itself thoughtlessly and destroys everything on its way. why else should it be that we are the only lifeform on the planet that is completely unfit to live in harmony with it? why all our smart solutions through the thousands of years of history only make our life more and more miserable and complicated? why, with all our wisdom and intelligence we still can’t figure out how to make us comfortable enough so we could live in harmony at least among each other, let alone the nature? why? because we were never meant to live in harmony. leave harmony for the birds, snakes and butterflies. our lot is misery, suffering, existential dread, loneliness, isolation, hatred, jealousy, war, oppression, pain, peril and inevitable extinction. yes, and with that our will to live makes us more and more inventive, trying to solve more and more non-existent problems, while in fact creating more layers of suffering and digging itself deeper and deeper in its own grave. so much for the self-preservation instinct. evolution? i doubt it.

#veiila #thiinks #essay #writing #existentialism #nihilism #passivism #thepassivistdispatch #thepassivist

where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts

originally published on patreon, jul 20, 2024

she was swimming through the city. floating smoothly like a light black feather. she always had a distant look, as if undisturbed by anything around. when she spoke it felt like a touch of water on the skin. it took me away, lifted me from the ground and made me soar around too. i always felt something deep, some strong feeling about her, even though we never talked about it straight.

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the disappearing moment

originally published on patreon, jun 23, 2024

"and stone among the stones, he returned to the joy of his heart, to the truth of the motionless worlds." albert camus

all doors are closed. isolation envelops me for so many years already. i don't know how to look another day in the eyes. i shout into the night how it's all unfair, but there are only thick clouds over my head. i get out of the apartment. soon i will be leaving this place forever. i don't want it.

i don't have any strength but there's no other choice for me. i must leave. outside is quite cool after another scorchingly hot day. i can breathe and i can walk as fast as possible. do i want to run away from myself, from all the burdens and troubles i can't solve? my speeding steps are uncomfortable for the local people. i can see them cringe away from this rapidness. but i can't help it. i enjoy my high-speed movement. i feel how the body relaxes into this motion with the light wind in my hair and a touch of twilight on my skin. it's a long path and all i can do is go faster and faster and faster. as if i am an airplane on the runway, ready to take off towards the stars and endless skies, where i can be free and all doors will be open. no, even better, no doors, no borders, no limits, only unending rounds of blue and dark colors and me feeling unceasing joy. oh that ecstasy, that thrill, i don't want it to end. but i am back here on the ground surrounded by the dusty clouds of white fluff that makes me sneeze and all roads lead nowhere. and no one cares. every day begins with this understanding. it's a raw pain that nobody needs but it's always here anyway. i descend. not only by this long road but also inward. and i find there not euphoria but rather numbness. senseless darkness that leaves the chill traces down my neck. i can't look back, there's too much cruel pain and i can't look forward too, there's too much hectic anxiety. i have only this tiny moment on this planet. i am a mysterious moment myself. good or bad, it's not important for the universe. the universe is unsympathetically cold, brutal in so many ways. and while it leaves you constantly bruised i still prefer to choose virtue. even though i am wrapped in the tight hands of unconcerned darkness. it doesn't change anything. people around won't behave more decently. they still have an abundance of poison on their hands that they throw openly right in my face with no regrets, not a slightest doubt, not a vaguest mark left on their conscience. nothing will become easier. but it's the last infinitesimal link that i have with the world. love and my own belief. in pure art and higher morality.

#veiila #thiinks #essay #writing #existentialism #nihilism #thepassivistdispatch #thepassivist #passivism

wake up

originally published on patreon, may 27, 2024

sometimes i want to scream. i want to scream in your stone-cold faces: “wake up! wake up, can't you see it, we are drowning?!” i'm cheating myself of course. no one sees anything, and it's me who's drowning. you and i, the bleeding hearts, two against the world, blardy-blardy-blar...

oh, piss off, stop playing a victim. didn't you wear the shiny arms of nihilism just a day ago? haven't you arrogantly spit out those pretentious slices of cheap wisdom? do i need to remind you? “nobody cares”, the universal indifference – sounds familiar? so, what? how come, you, the self-proclaimed dark night of existential disregard, how come you are falling to pieces, ready to sink in your own tears? you want to scream? scream then. but are you ready to hear nothing in response, not even an echo? are you ready to face the void, to stare into it? to step into it willingly and waste yourself away? how comforting it would be to see yourself as a martyr, as a sacrifice, to see some meaning in your suffering. how painful it is, to open your eyes and realize that there is as much meaning in your pain as in the death of an ant under the wheel of the truck on a god-forsaken country road. “wake up!”, you want to scream. are you ready to wake up yourself? are you ready to face life? facing life may be scarier than facing death, you know. suddenly you look at the deluded blissful fools that surround you, see how they run with their pathetic little problems, their ridiculous playful struggles, and you feel pangs of envy. alas, ignorance is bliss, and you long for those days when the future looked like a dreamy translucent mirage to you, a desert dweller. it was so fragile, yet it was so desirable. you were reaching to it with your arms and your mind, dreaming about it, hoping for it. you occupied yourself with things that seem so silly now, yet you lived, you actually lived. and what is the future now? a precipice that inevitably gets closer and closer. you try to avert your eyes, but where would you look instead? looking around you, you see only madness, misery, insanity and misunderstanding. talk? no one will hear! scream? no one will listen! plead? no one cares! look behind? turn yourself to the past and be swallowed by nostalgia? this doesn't appeal at all. but how can you look ahead, if all you can see is inevitable perils, pain and void, always void, coming, grabbing, taking and consuming everything on its way? but then what's left? should you just close your eyes once and for all and to hell with all? to hell with those stone-cold faces, to hell with the void ahead and the swamp behind? close your eyes and drift away into the lands of dreams, where purity exists, where it is not corrupted. where your mind won't restlessly work out all the possible exits, because there would be no need to exit. where your soul will find peace and your heart will find beauty and your body will find rest. and your words will be heard. and their meaning will be understood. and your pleas will be answered. and your craving will be satisfied. and there will be no need to ever open your eyes again.

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into the unknown

originally published on patreon, may 13, 2024

i'd love to remember everything. but can i? the cold misty ride by the winding road. the wind was so strong that it penetrated through my skin to my very bones. and i thought: "why should i be freezing so much on this nice may's day?" but there was no answer and it seemed that i couldn't find the words to ask the driver to close the window. so we rode on.

it begins. there are no curtains to unveil us. we are in the middle of the room. everyone is so close to us, it's hard to focus. the feelings escape me. i'm trying so hard to keep them close to the surface but they elude me. at some point i also want to escape the room but of course i'll stay till the end. i look at the piano keys. the soft touch of his big hands. he has a reassuring half smile. it tells me i'm not alone in this cruel crazy spotlight that we love so much. the energy was discharged, thrown out, and now i'm empty. i am glad and sad at the same time that it's over. i can see emotions on the faces of people, i can feel that today wasn't in vane. today i don't need to feel the worthless futility of my existence. i let go of everything that bothered me recently - those two brutishly looking people - a man and a woman with hoarse voices- that left the room in the middle of our performance with a loud laughter. they left us in peace. and we no longer need to bother ourselves with the meaning of their tattoos and their crude features. the misplaced indecency vanished out of the room the moment they left it. i cheer - thank you good people for good riddance. i also forget all those who didn't come. why did i even think of them? i forget those people with their faces deep in their phones who belittle everything and everyone, our performance, our art, our efforts, our being. it's all just chaos, an uncontrollable disorder of life. take it or leave it. i embrace this evening's energy, everything subsides. the last drops of wine are trickling down the guest's throats and the first drops touch our lips. a girl with pink hair tells us all about her life. it looks like a wild ride in an attempt to find happiness and peace and it cost her plenty, evident from her face, which is living by its own accord. it's twitching and moving while she's trying to steady her legs that are dancing from excessively consumed wine this evening. i would love to tell her that everything is going to be fine. but i can't lie today.

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disconcerted feelings

originally published on patreon, apr 28, 2024

disconcerted feelings. the summer heat fell over our heads so suddenly in april that it's hard to imagine what awaits us in the near future. the windows are wide open and it brings in a fresh gust of warm wind. i can hear a ball bumping up and down the concrete floor and iron bars ring with a slow low rumble. the children are shouting and i still have no clue what it is they are shouting in their melodious language.

the time runs fast and it feels sometimes that i want to run even faster. nowhere in particular. just to forget myself for a moment. bringing no blame on myself for not being in a different and better place, for not feeling brave enough day after day, not controlling my nerves and breathing evenly. run, run, little girl, as if you can stumble upon happiness all of a sudden. it's impossible. but maybe it's not that important. i close my eyes and listen to the children's voices. they bring a good feeling, a feeling that something is right. that they enjoy playing ball instead of staring at a cellphone screen. that it's real and full of life. a couple hours later the noise will be gone for the night. there won't be shouting and bumping and even the cars will sound softer and milder. i will look at the skyline, it's going to be all new colors today. the panoramic view will offer everything, the whole nine yards. the birds are spreading their feathers and wings and sorrowfully soar over the mountains. they are so free. as free as we will never be. the transparent line of smoke from the barbecue place below will rise slowly up. i like to watch its slow lazy movement and inhale its intoxicating smell. the men from the car repair service across the street will be closing up, washing the coffee pots and putting away the grill, chairs and other utensils, which they were using so thoroughly and earnestly to make their day pleasurable and not get overworked. the little mechanic man will be shutting the door of his tiny booth, while still speaking excitedly, with the last taxi drivers about something apparently very important, obvious from his wild gesticulations and sudden pitch bends of his hoarse voice. women from the factory will stream up and down the street like the wild surf of the sea. they will disappear rather fast, some jumping in the company vans, some getting a taxi or being picked up by a family member, others will soon vanish in the quiet yards of their homes. they walk slowly and steadily with unstoppable conversations. and then, at last, the shy moon will appear and wink at us as if promising something. i think we won't believe it. but still will marvel over it nevertheless.

#veiila #thiinks #essay #writing #existentialism #nihilism #thepassivistdispatch #thepassivist #passivism

purple sky

originally published on patreon, mar 31, 2024

the sky was purple today. so magically purple. i looked at it and i thought: how can it be so beautiful, so pure in such an ugly human world. in this purple light, in these pure waves of beauty, i feel the nausea creeping from beneath my skin, from inside of my bones, from the crevices of my brain. and it veils the purple sky with sickeningly red, palpitating, throbbing truth. and the truth is this: blood spills and it begets hatred, more and more of it. the sky will survive us all, so what? the sky is beautiful, so what?

i feel a chill down my nape. i feel trembling skin. underneath my eyelids i feel swelling salty olives of tears ripening under this indifferent purple sky. are the times killing me? or the insensitive people who are so greedy for blood and hatred? are they even real, those bloodthirsty slogans, those callous accusations, those heartless laughs? i don't know. i don't have even a tiny explanation for these horrible things that keep happening. and if we are not responsible for it, then who is? are these the doings of the collective ant-like mind, the flow of the mindless crowd, the chatter of the parakeets, or the choice that each individual ant, parakeet or other being makes for their own good selves. who to blame for the innocent blood that spills and spills? who is to blame for the caged and broken lives? who? is it one name? how many hands are involved in the corruption of morality? how many faces close their eyes to the atrocities and the horror? why can't ticks and maggots see beyond that square millimeter of the dusty carpet that they call their life? why can't we see beyond? why are we blind to the space and void that surrounds us? why can't we just wake up for a moment and see that what's going on around us is disgusting, nauseating, and above all, completely meaningless torturing of our own souls? why can't we say no, deny to be tortured? why can't we reject to participate in torture? why can't we be content with just being, just seeing the beauty of this purple sky? why can't we accept our insignificance? why can't we see that nothing makes any sense, that all this pain, death and mass-delusion is empty? why can't we admit, at least for a moment, that the sky is magically beautiful and that there is nothing more important in this moment than this simple truth? the sky is there for everyone. the sky has no borders. the sky doesn't care for views, convictions, confessions, traditions and reforms. the sky is here to stay. we are not. why can't we see it? what is wrong with us, that we can so completely preoccupy our miserable brains with things that won't last even for a decade and yet go on ignoring the sky that will outlive us for eons. even if we come up with enough reasons to exterminate our kind entirely, the purple beauty of the sky will still be. for none and nothing. because, unlike hatred, beauty needs no reason, it simply is. and we are blind to it... maybe there's no way out already. maybe we are so deeply entangled in this web of shallow lies, insipid intrigues and tiresome casual cruelty, that anything beyond that is completely lost on us. i don't know. maybe we should just step aside and die. clear the ground for something better, kinder, wiser and more evolved. or maybe we should not give up yet. i don't know. all i can do is decide for myself, start a new day and do the right thing. will it bring me to the end or to the beginning? this remains to be seen.

#veiila #thiinks #essay #writing #existentialism #nihilism #passivism #thepassivistdispatch #thepassivist

truth will out

originally published on patreon, feb 24, 2024

two years. the operation that lasts two years. that must be a record in medical history, for no patient has yet been known to survive such an extended period of anesthesia, let alone the unstoppable mutilation of flesh and soul. but let's leave the patient for now and focus on the “doctor”. who is this mad professor, who throws lives under his razor-sharp knife for the sake of the greater experiment? and what is the object of said experiment?

#veiila #thiinks #essay #writing #existentialism #nihilism #thepassivistdispatch #thepassivist #passivism

fuck you, happy world!

originally published on patreon, feb 9, 2024

kurt vonnegut once said: “i am a writer. this means that i made a career out of my mental illness”. and i am truly grateful that he hadn't lived to the present day. for, lo and behold, we are living in the happy world! and boy oh boy it is a detestable place.

“i've read your posts on the internet... why are you doing this, why are you so depressive, who is it going to help?” that is something i've been asked by a person who i've known for all of my life (i just started to wonder if this “knowing” wasn't in fact bidirectional). and it occurred to me: with all the make-believe freedom that we are having a privilege to, supposedly, enjoy in our modern high-tech independent lives (yes, sarcasm), we are not really allowed much. what we are allowed is simply to be helpers. nay, tools. listen, aren't we always expecting some kind of help to be offered by total strangers on the web? oh yes we do. and we are so used to taking it for granted, that we never as much as stop and think for a second, what hell it must be to be another person. we sure know what hell it is to be our good selves, no questions here. but as for other people, especially people that we connect to on the internet... let's be honest for a second: we don't give a damn. we simply demand, take and walk away. maybe it is fair, maybe it is supposed to be so, and maybe i would buy this pile of steaming manure if we were expecting to be treated back in the same manner. but that would be just too good to be true. we all need and demand respect, while barely ever showing any. that's ok, that's just us, human beings, you know, the vermin that crawls the earth, turning everything on their way into waste and dust, and keeps demanding for better conditions. that's no news. but hey, everyone wants to have their shiny moment, everyone wants to be a star of the show once in a while. and how would you get your dose of respect from a crowd of self-obsessed egotistical infantile narcissists? i think we can find the answer in a simple metaphor. how would you make a toddler like you? give the little leech a candy, of course! and the bigger and sweeter the candy the deeper the gratitude. and what if everyone around you is basically a toddler? look at them, these grown-ups, staring at their phones day and night, what are they doing there, writing a doctorate or calculating the orbit for a new spacecraft? or watching tiktoks and reels with morons farting on camera? what's your bet? i have a feeling that if you managed to read this text up to this moment, your bet is as gloomy as mine. and how do you please this crowd? what kind of candy must you give them for them to be grateful? how much candy will you have to supply? and how long will their gratitude last?

it is with a heavy heart and weeping eye i confirm that the majority of artists whose art i loved, cherished and respected have fallen victim to the happy world. and it makes me utterly sad. why? because art doesn't owe anything to anyone. art is only possible when it's created without a direct cause. art is the expression of the soul, the subconscious, the guts and the blood. when art is created on demand, when art is created for the sake of pleasing someone, it is no longer art. “music for working out”, “beats to study to”, “books to help you quit smoking” and all that excrement that fills the music and literary platforms – this is not art. spotify, meta and the rest of those corporate giants – these are not patrons of art, these are services, they serve. and when the artist tries to please the platform (or worse – the platform's algorithm) that makes the artist a servant of these services. a servant's servant. oh, i have a shorter and better word for it: slavery. so, my dear artists, if by any unbelievable ridiculous chance you are reading this, make a mental note to yourself: next time when you think that you should release 12 singles with 8 collaborations across the next 12 month in hopes to please the spotify algorithm, don't forget to remind yourself that you are doing it for your master. do you hear the whip swooshing? next time when you think that you desperately need to write a christmas song, because your distributor is nagging you, so you won't miss the annual trend, i want you to say aloud: “yes, master”. next time, when after writing a depressive song you feel an urgent need to make a motivational post where you explain your reasons for writing said depressive song and provide substantial evidence that said song not only helped you to conquer your depression, but above all was written with a clear intention to help your followers and subscribers to fight with their depression (of course one mustn't forget to add a link to some foundation to make one's claim to be a selfless helper more believable), i want you to end it with a sing-along with a choir of your peers “i owe my soul to the company store”. that will do it.

#veiila #thiinks #essay #writing #existentialism #nihilism #passivism #thepassivistdispatch #thepassivist

new year?

originally published on patreon, feb 3, 2024

new year!

right, right...

but i don't feel new, and nothing is really new around me.

i would think that each and every day is new, but we don't celebrate it. right?

#veiila #thiinks #essay #writing #existentialism #nihilism #passivism #thepassivistdispatch #thepassivist

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