Essays about duality
I write.
And i keep writing.
Defining the same things again and again, but actually giving contradictory explanations.
All being a reflection of all my weird thoughts, feelings and emotions.
But … to be honest … i am not ashamed of all what i say in front of the public.
Even …. if i change my perceptions same like the weather.
Having a non-ending emotional balance … being extremely difficult to be understood.
By my readers.
And … all the people knowing me.
So … yes … i am in love.
I understand that all is illusory … and even if i clearly define it … being so aware of all what is going on … i refuse to disconnect myself from that woman.
All continuing.
Being happy.
Then unhappy.
And again happy for a short moment … but always ending up in … unhappiness.
Happening like that again and again … and again.
Like a karmic charade.
So … that is probably how I’ve became a writer … all being so, so related … with my life.
Trying to save myself in front of the illusion of love.
I've wrote the book "The bitch syndrome" as a reply to all what was happening into my life.
All being ... real facts, revealed abstractly.
Writing.
And writing.
Defining in fact my frustrations, but most certainly looking like one of the worst misogynist from nowadays times.
The real fact is that ... all i've tried is actually a form of self therapy and the tendency of understanding why relationships don't really work on long term.
Trying to save ... a love story which most certainly will never work again.
But ... keep trying.
Finding explanations.
Blaming ... my woman.
In fact ... my women.
Defining them in 1 million ugly ways ... again and again.
And ... the term "bitch" was the best.
I've really liked it.
Mentioning to all of them on and on and on ... that they are sick ... and should do something to get rid of this "bitch syndrome".
But ... they ignored me.
Every single day ... being the clear evidence that i was right.
Or ... maybe ... i was just illusory believing that i was right.
But ... meanwhile i was writing, defining in microscopic way all those ugly episodes from the love story.
And ... when someone was telling me that i am wrong ... cause being a bitch is just a secondary effect ... a reaction at my ugly way of being a lover ... I've really became angry.
Denying it.
Knowing i am perfect.
Knowing i do all into an amazing way ... and there is no way someone could complain about me.
In fact ... like all the other men from this planet.
So ... at least i am honest.
I define my thoughts, feelings and emotions.
Deep inside myself feeling i have the right to protect myself ... and ...
But ... i am just a writer, which is complaining about his own life.
About his woman.
Trying to fix her.
Not accepting that i have to actually fix myself so that her reactions to change.
So ... all is a vicious circle.
But ... i keep writing.
Analysing.
Defining.
Illusory believing that things will change into better.
And ... i do it by years.
Writing my own life experiences ... being obviously that i am actually defining the nonsense in its absolute form.
So ... i keep writing ... all being sort of a journal.
Any new day ... is a new experience ... and i allow my soul to be part of that.
Many believe ... i am already insane ... cause any story is about love and hate, not being so clear if i actually love or ... hate that woman.
But ... yes ... i am confused.
So ... as a process of self therapy, trying in fact to heal my broken lost soul ... i continue analysing and defining all the micro elements of the love story.
Hoping ... i'll find the answer and i'll just stop the emotional balance love-hate ... which i am feeling everyday.
But ... truth be told ... there is nothing to be redefined.
I write all into my books.
... never being ashamed of my thoughts, feelings and emotions.
Looking ... so lost.
Being ... in fact ... so lost.
And so ... incoherent.
Like many, many others.
Drowned into ... the illusion.
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