Reality is nothing more than the perception of the world our own subconcious minds create. Because of this, reality will never be perfect. Humans are not perfect animals. Most all sentient human beings beleive that we are not the only sentient beings in the universe. Problem... there is no universe. It's a figment of reality that is also created by our own subconcious. Humans also love to beleive that we have a subconcious... therefore we can blame all our problems and deep seated neurosis on a word that was conjured up to explain everything we do not understand. This also brings into parodox: Reality. If reality is nothing more than perception of the world our own subconsious minds create, and there is no universe, and concious minds lie, to themselves, when explaining reality... then there truly is no meaning of life. What is life? Nothing more than our consious perception of the reality that we beleive exists. Perhaps we are all a part of one being. Perhaps thats why we create visions of life and reality. If we are all a part of one single creation, why do we hurt so much? Why is this pain inflicted upon ourselves? We do not hurt unless we beleive we hurt... so why do we let others hurt us? Because they are also a part of us. Because they have a different reality created in our single mind... and it's not the same as the one that you have. Nor is it the same that I have. But it is the same that we all have... because we are one. We are one... *we* are one. The sentence is a paradox in itself. We cannot all be the same, we can NOT all be part of the same mind. Why? Because we do not believe it... therefore it is not reality. And there must be other beings in the universe, because humans do not like being alone. We are a complete confrontation with ourselves. We hate being alone, yet we do not agree with another's reality... so it all must end in the chaos of the nothing we believe is existant on another plane of the reality we created to make us have meaning. There is no us... there is only me. There is no me... there is only ourselves. There is no ourselves... there is only the created pain we all feel. So why do we still create it? because we beleive there is no way to un-create something. Every single thing created is a constant. If it wasn't... we would not be consious. Conscious of our self image, conscious of your image I created... conscious of your reality as it exists in my mind. because of these values I know to be true in my own reality... I will never be happy. I can never know a life without pain... a reality without distortions. I will never understand the meaning of myself. I will never comprehend the meaning I am searching for that is me. My soul. My life. My reality. And only the most unconsious state of being would help me to understand the chaos.. the pain... the reality... the lies... the emotional child I have become to conceptualize in my reality. One day this state will find me... will show me the truth... will lead me to freedom. I cannot stop it... nor would I want to. I cannot hasten it... even if I longed for it. I cannot allow it to find me unawares... even if I didn't know it was coming. I must takes steps for this reality to become my vision. I will bring this life to me. I will make it my own... once I am ready. And even as I sit here and try to explain it to myself I realize that this brings me one step closer to the state of omniscience. One step closer to my meaning... one more degree of reality that is only truth. Forgive me if I offend. I do not wish to cause you any more pain that you beleive I am creating. I would only wish to elighten you. Perhaps it is within your grasp... perhaps not... I am not your judgement. I am not your reality. I am not you. I am me... and eventually everyone will be me. Everyone will be my reality. Everyone will be as me. Why? Because I know the truth of life. I know existance... I will exist. Eventually...

you know whats weird? I always seem to return to this empty shell of a blog... maybe it's my fate? Maybe I'm supposed to live in an empty shell? My life is an empty shell. The only thing keeping it alive are dead dreams and fading wishes. Perhaps that's what they call getting old? I really don't know. I read back through the old posts, and I remember my friends. Friends I haven't talked to in at least a year or more. Why is that? Why must the most important thing in life be left to stagnate? Is it my fault? Do I make things this way? and if so... do I do it on purpose? I'd like to think not... but perhaps my subconcious mind is telling me to kill all the stuff that is good, so when it can't get any worse I'll come out shining like some metaphorical Phoenix. Ha... ha... ha... when do I get to fly? When do I get rise from the ashes? When is it my time? All I do is sit here and smolder...

Ya know, I'm a father now... perhaps she's my Phoenix. Course I still beleive I've allready done the most unspeakable thing to my child. I made her enter this realm of madness and hate we call life. If only one, single, bright and shining candle burned like a beacon to all others... filled with love and laughter and song... once you remembered where it was in the deep, dark, cold void of the bottom of the sea... the light would still be extinguished by the salt water of hate.