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Technological progress is like an axe in the hands of a pathological criminal. – Albert Einstein For forty years, I have dwelled alone beneath the earth, in a room so sterile it rivals a surgical theatre. No photographs. No mementos. Only a yellowing calendar and a mahogany clock — my sole tormentor. That clock, relentless
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Chaos is order yet undeciphered. – José Saramago NOVEMBER 27, YEAR 2047 The mystery I share now surpasses anything a human mind can fully comprehend. This final confession, scribbled on my deathbed during a feverish summer night, began with a single, extraordinary encounter. Before I guide you into this labyrinth of my life, allow me
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“People are like stained glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in, their true beauty is revealed only if there is light from within.” – Elisabeth Kübler-Ross Men of deeper discernment have long believed there is no clear boundary between reality and imagination. These sages claim
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“The Way is in a higher place than righteousness. This is very difficult to discover, but it is the highest wisdom. When seen from this standpoint, things like righteousness are rather shallow.” It would be naive to deny that many great Sensei have failed to truly impart the most intricate lessons of the Way. Likewise,
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“Those who do not move, do not notice their chains” – Rosa Luxemburg *** The month is January, the time is 6:34 pm and the winter evening is chilly as ice. I know not what year it is, for I stopped counting a long time ago. Neither do I bother with the date of the
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‘Good things come in threes; so do bad things and even things that are neither good nor bad’ *** As each breaking dawn sadly gave way to the birth of the bright morn, I couldn’t help but revel in one of life’s most providential beauty. As each day dwindled to nightfall, I couldn’t help but
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The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living – Marcus Tullius Cicero *** Outside in the heavy downpour, the village of Isiohor stood forlorn as they mourned the passing of one of their own. Their grievance was complete, and their lamentations which the heavy downpour failed to muffle, could be
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Memories are like old Polaroid photographs. No matter how old or worn they may be, snippets of what has been, what could have been and what will never be, can still be glimpsed from its fading chroma. *** In a not-too-distant future, where the past and the present have inadvertently unified to a phasis of
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For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one – Kahlil Gibran *** The stench of death gleefully hung frozen in time as its icy tentacles teasingly flittered with one man’s troubled soul. His troubles were born of the fact that he had found love in the strangest of
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It all had to do with the susceptibility of the human mind. *** GALASHIELS, SCOTLAND 1984 The overbearing rush of blood coursing through his veins, threatened to overwhelm his senses as he rushed up the staircase to investigate the screaming. With one swift kick he knocked down the door to the room, rushed towards the
My Dark School Of Thoughts 