It has risen again strong. It was once said that a certain flavor of self-sufficiency would not thrive under the weakened heart, would not follow the same pattern of self-assurance. This self-reality was, most of the time, correlated with that particular case of a (re)discovery path driven by pride. And yes, it was always about the Beauty of It.

We cannot help it, we are obsessed with the projection of the functional existential target, with the non-casual chasing of that particular pragmatism that has the overarching role of taking over and making us believe we want to reach that certain level of maturity, that functional role, that leveraged model of hope.

I am in the middle of a storm, I cannot really see ahead clearly, my personal clouds demand another type of attention… my reference maturity model is failing me deeply since it requires its own attention, its own calm representation that should be driven by facts, by figures, by submission… By the cold ignorance against my broken heart?

Why should I stop, why should I wait for a light surge? Why should I give myself this particular chance of integration? Well, it is fairly easy to explain – feelings had become a risk commodity for this new world, our inner beliefs should be kept inside, our guard should be always on. We need to protect our lifestyle, we need to thrive, we need to expand over the competition.

The personal art of remembering you as the (un)adapted, lost child has gone bland, you were already marked on the evolutionary Turing machine as grown-up so you need to deal with it. Try to focus on your lost fears, try to embrace the new you, with all the associated emptiness. Try to escape your failing memory. Ignore more, love yourself less. Navigate using a binary tree. Cultivate that anger.  If this makes you functional, adapted, strong.

I will politely refuse myself from driving the integration process described above… I still want that perfect smile to lend me a sweet certain type of singularity. I still feel like giving up. Like singing to myself. Like resetting everything back to -1. I still want to lie to myself that I am not OK. I still want to resent my empty reaction to injustice. I still want to be able to submit.

To you, to us, to a different time. Forever.