Written on 5th of November 2012, Everything written here, is for me back then to become now.
I want to kill myself. All the time.
It’s very immature how with all our seeming wisdom and enlightenment, we (as a human-nation) view suicide as a miserable coward-like act. When in fact if death is bound to take me and the pattern emerged it’s time I take my own life, I would do it; if and only if, the apparent pattern points there.
In my life experience things present themselves, everything appears in its specific time at its specific place to serve a temporary purpose.
I can say this whole universe is happening inside of me. (What a fool)
I never miss out on claiming an opportunity if I see one!
Death awareness is why I contemplate suicide. Memento Mori: Remember you must die. My only truth as a Human being is that I’ll die.
My existence is a thought, I think; therefore I am. But what is this I am? What is this I? And what came before it?
I don’t know what happens to me after I die, this feeling of I. But I know for sure, that I am not this body, I know for sure that this body is just there as a vessel that I am riding, taking me from one point to the other in the endless place of points where not even one point exists; all existence is a thought.
I love you, and everyone around me. But I can’t, anymore, find meaning in love. If my existence is a thought; This Sense of I, is a thought, then how can I love?
How can there be love?
How can there be anything if there’s no I to attach to it?
That’s where I am, and I can c that I am attaching to the Nothingness, but it always goes further.
I am zero-pointing myself. Restarting my systems. Going into Hibernate mode. I can’t think of myself as moose. That’s just a story I’ve been observing, it’s a story I’ve been talking to myself about. A narrative. A life I never asked for, but was given.
If I kill myself or die, it’s bound to happen. If I kill myself, I wouldn’t be killing you or me, Cuz I am just a thought, Moose, is just a character built to enhance the vision of that thought (In this 3dimensional realm)
I am looking for the truth about myself, and I can’t find it. I can only find empty space, a place that can’t be talked about because it’s not something that can be described. A reality that never existed because it never looked at itself, an existence that never occurred because there’s nothing to attach itself to. How can I be sane if that’s what I feel?
How Can I call myself I if that’s where I am?
I can’t find an I to be me.
Death is the only thing I can feel, hear, see, smell, taste. Death is where I am. I’ve always been death. If I am going to die anyways, then how can I ever be alive?
I thought about it all, to hell with this place. I want to either be dead, or be alone, on a deserted island somewhere, no one in sight. No language I can talk. Just wave myself to survive. Myself, my want, WHAT THE FUCK AM I?
–
I don’t want to follow anything you ask me to do. I don’t feel like being nice to you anymore, helping with your life. What about me? You sucked the life out of me. Look at how I think now. Look at how you made me turn out to be after you entered my life.
Love? There exists no such thing. There exists no I to love you. There exists no love to love itself. Nothing exists and that’s all because of you. My world ended with every turn you took away from me. My world ended with every move you made that shattered me. My life disappeared before my eyes, when you fucked the life out of yourself with this fucked up mind of yours. I never wanted you, I knew from the beginning that I was entering something that will not go anywhere. I knew from the beginning that you’ll never love me. But I decided to show you love, and after it all. I came out not knowing what love ever is or will ever be. I can’t find meaning in love. I can’t find life in love. I can’t find myself in love.
I can only be dead. I can only find life in death, meaning in death. I only can die. I can be alone. No humans. No love. No pain. No happiness
No nothing. And all because of what, Because I loved something so much it killed me. I obsessed with something so much It destroyed my being, or what I thought myself of being.
Call it hate. But there exists no such thing. I’ve reached a limit. A limit to being human. Now I am undoing myself from this existence. Now I am letting go of myself. Of my belief that there is love. Of my belief that there is anything other than death. Now I am being slowly but surely deleted of off the grid. Now I am contemplating the very fact of my existence. Now I am contemplating that there was ever a me to begin with.
Moose. A name. A life story. An imaginary character in an imaginary play. A play that has no rewind button or pause button. A play where the only way to leave is by going out the door.
I know that I am now just looking at the door.
I remember I peeked through the key whole. I know that I was on the other side. I know that I am on the other side. Where I don’t even exist. So why Am I here again? Why am I back into the movie? Why am I back into this, where I have to get out again? Why do I keep digging my way back into the theatre unknowingly?
That Door. It’s all about doors. From door to door. From place to place. From I to I. From me to me. Burn it all.
I want to burn the theatre watch the screen as the fire feeds on its chemicals. Watch the scene as the fire dissolves anything that existed of the screen away. Burn the theatre. With everyone in it.
Burn it all. Till nothing is left but ashes. And from where once it came, it shall remain. From ashes to ashes, Dust to dust. No holy or sinful. No happy or sad. Just dust in an empty space of non-existence.
A place where no words can talk or point to anything a place where there would be no need of communication or connecting. A place where all creation started and it all ended. The place where Good meets bad and get dissolved into each other. Into not existing. A place where all the dualities of life disappear. A place where we can all say Come look there’s nothing here to be found.
Nothing. A place of nothing.
And even the word nothing or place can’t describe what it’ll be.
No living thing or book can describe this to you. Jed Mckenna wrote the three books, but even Jed cant tell you where you’ll be, or how you’ll get there. No one can show you the door or tell you how to go through it. Even non existent characters like Jed who can talk and articulate how to get there. No one can tell you what there is. Nobody can take you there. There’s no there to go to. Theres no here to travel from. So where Am I?
I keep going in circles. These thoughts going back to the same thing. What is this? Where am I? How can I find an answer? When there’s not even a questioner.
A questioner. That’s how it starts. With a question. A question like “What is truth?” Jed Mckenna ended his last book by saying two simple words “Truth Exists, Untruth doesn’t”. I contemplated that phrase, and it makes no sense whatsoever. Truth doesn’t exist. Untruth does.
Its only untruth that exists; truth doesn’t exist it dissolves existence. Truth is non-existence, it’s not something we can hold onto. It’s not something that can be talked about. It’s only purpose in this life is to dissolve the untruth, to deflower its seed of existence. That’s the truth, and that is the only way it can be. Truth is the fire that burns everything away, it is the fire that when in contact with water, the water evaporates into the emptiness, the unseen. That is the truth. Truth is death.
Death is what dissolves everything. Death is what drowns being into emptiness into oblivion. To die, is to find out what is true. Die at the physical, at the metaphysical, at the metaphorical. Whatever, Just Die. If you want truth, Go kill yourself. However way you like. In whatever way you like. If you want to find out anything, anything at all. You have to be dead.
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