One of the best things of living in Bali are their spectacular sunsets. No Photoshop.
Hard to believe this is Bali, but it is, in my past life.
One ofs, not the. Go figure.
A woman’s highest calling is to lead a man to his soul, her lowest calling is to seduce, separating man from soul, and leave him aimlessly wandering.
I’m just breaking out of a cold listening to DJ HeavyGrinder and I realized I haven’t posted anything since 2011. So I figured I should share this track with you, in order to get you a glimpse of my life. A lot has happened since last November, and whether anyone is still reading this blog or not, I owe it to myself for an update. Who knows one day my future generations may read these words. But alas, I am in a dark room right now and until I find some light, I will have to save my breath. I wish you all a great year ahead. Please enjoy this piece of a forbidden fruit.
When you love someone you automatically worry about them. And we’ve been taught that it’s ok to worry for our loved ones. That it’s even necessary sometimes.
Just now having a cold shower — which I haven’t had in months since I’m so accustomed to the comforts of having a hot shower — I had a sudden realization that worrying for someone you love is useless. In fact it can be hurtful and even dangerous when your worries manifest, which they very well have the potential to at anytime, given how much most people worry these days.
To explain this further will only be a failure. I would have to explain the principles of quantum physics and the law of likes, and I know I will do so badly. But if you need confirmation, the oldest book in the world tells you not to worry a little more than once or twice.
How can you love someone and hurt them at the same time? Stop hurting your loved ones, stop worrying!
It’s 2011 and it’s been 15 years since I left California and at the same time left aggressive inline skating behind. I have since attempted many different extremes as a replacement and I have been through parkour, surfing (epic fail there) and different forms of martial arts. But today I found something new, and it’s somewhere between a trampoline and a tightrope and it’s called slackline. I’m not sure if it’ll ever come around Bali but it looks like something I definitely would be into if it does.
Seth tells me to write like I talk. The problem is I talk less than I think. And if I were to write like I talk then I would end up with very little. So I write like I think. And that puts me in shit.
You see I’m a compulsive thinker. I bet it’s nothing special but I’m an expert at this. My thoughts would branch out at the speed of light and before you know it one seed of thought would become volumes of theories in a blink of an eye.
So which do I write down, and why? Because if I were to write them all down, my fingers would break, my keyboard would break, and I’d end up in a mental institution. Even then my mind would still not stop thinking.
But in regard to Seth’s suggestion, I’m trying to single out a thought, and with that, typing it down into legible words. I believe this is what people call writing. I could be wrong, but hey at least I got these words out of my head, didn’t I?
I was never much of a writer. I’ve always been more of a thinker. That is why I’m writing this post now, as a question to myself to owning a personal blog. One that I never update anymore. Not now anyway, not this decade.
I used to think that by writing I could let my thoughts out from it’s hard shelled prison. Then maybe once they’re in writing, I can finally sleep at night. But I was wrong. Not only because I wasn’t able to express what I mean to express, but also because by getting them out in the open I create a hollow of which the mind quickly fills again. So I end up with gibberish again now both in and out of the mind.
Maybe what I need isn’t an outlet. Maybe I simply need an interpreter. Someone (or something) that could bring meaning to my thoughts. A pencil to pull lines to connect the dots.
As a matter of fact, I think I have found that someone, and she’s sleeping next door. This is why I shouldn’t stay up all night thinking anymore. Because when she sleeps, no one connects my dots and I get trapped in my deep thoughts again.
Oh well, the price of years of insomnia, one I have yet to redeem. Let’s just say I had a life before I met her.
Being one with life is being one with NOW. You then realize that you don’t live your life, but life lives you. Life is the dancer, you are the dance.