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Did you ever watch Apocalypse Now?

If you didn’t, if you don’t want to, then I suggest you stop now. I suggest you stop right here and never come back. Live in the world that you live in, because realization and thoughts—which you will definitely confront here—might just about change how you feel about your life and the world you see, even potentially, forever.

Don’t read it if you’re sensitive, have strong opinions, or just can’t handle what I’m conveying here.

But if you’re one of those who think late at night, if you stare at the ceiling and feel the void pressing down…

If you’re feeling like you’re trapped, aching for freedom, and you know that deep down in your very heart something is wrong with this fucking world…

Now, having said that…

Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, all I’m left with is my thoughts—so why not put those thoughts on screen, the screen your eyes are staring at right now?

And then again, I don’t share everything.

Perhaps when you really get to know me—when we have those real talks—but here, I share only what I choose to, which is not all.

So how do I write then? What do I write about, if it’s all half-information, half-thoughts, unfinished sentences, ambiguous context.

“I guess you just have to start… it’ll pour out, like lava from the volcano which you have become—relentless, unforgiving, quiet at first, but louder and louder…”

Now, if you’re among those who can handle the truth, and are comfortable with the uncomfortable—like inhaling smoke of destruction, and letting it sink into your lungs…

You know, there’s beautiful and tremendous potential of power in accepting, in breathing through metaphorical smoke.

And if you’re one of those…

And even when the smoke is too thick, don’t worry. I don’t expect you to go through this in one reading. You can pause, you can leave, and come back, but only if you want to.

And since you’re one of those…

Then here it goes.

I don’t know.

All I know is that I’m here… or do I?

Does the body itself even have a will of its own aside from eating, expelling waste, sleeping, and breathing?

If I were submerged in water, fighting for life, there wouldn’t even be any “me.” There would be just a body with its brain and mysterious life force fighting, moving its limbs frenetically to lift itself above water—and when safe, all the bullshit would come back.

The problems. The thinking. About tomorrow, about this person, that person, about what to do, about the “duties” and slavery—commitment for money in order to survive.

The plans to rise above this shit society where money is the true God that allows for everything.

The laws—funny stuff.

When you’ve got enough money in your pocket, even the law bends to your will, because law is created by humans—and humans care more about getting more money for survival and pleasure and everything, even if it means turning a blind eye and letting you go free for whatever thing you do.

This is our society—the creation of this brain.

The overpopulation.

The competition.

The life of wanting more and more, because without having more we’re restricted. Can’t travel without enough money. You need money for food, money for medicine.

If you’re a male—money to make yourself more attractive by being able to provide.

If you’re a woman—money for better clothes, makeup, so that you make yourself more attractive and all that.

Money for kids, so they have food, have education, so they can be a better category of slaves—with a higher wage, and better few weeks of vacation in a year—for the full-time slavery of mind and body we sell for money.

Ah yes, good life.

We—collectively—we? Or is it the systems that rule us…

Systems of the brain that make us smoke, seek pleasure, buy garbage food to stuff our stomachs with nothing but temporary flavor and the feeling of being full—just for the sake of being full.

The society where we avoid other people’s gaze, where we walk around divided, only connecting with someone because it’s easier—because they belong to the same tribe as we do.

Same hobbies.

Same inclinations or views about nothing.

Politics we don’t control.

Meaning of life we don’t comprehend—even if such a meaning exists—and all that.

Life.

Living a mediocre life based on superficial friendships and connections where we never open up fully to the other person.

Boring jobs.

Always looking forward to “free time” so we can waste it on shit we don’t need or even truly want in our cluelessness.

Or the ambitions—where I spend most of the days of my life trying to achieve something, because without excelling, without being truly unique, we’re like the other millions and billions of people in this miserable life—all the same, thinking we’re special, or different.

No to this, no to that, because we’ve got laws that say “don’t buy this product, it’s bad for you,” when they really mean, “they paid us to not allow you to buy this, so that you must buy the other trash they want to sell you.”

Very beautiful life.

Man working for money to get hotties, girls racing in the contest of beauty because Instagram and other social media raised the bar on physical perfection.

So many people watch porn, and yet nobody talks about it. And we believe the world of us, the world we show, not the world in our moments of vulnerability, in the true state of things.

Yeah, Beautiful life… so beautiful.

I talk to people, content with their vision of getting a “job,” sustaining those pyramids of those who don’t work at all except for their own wealth, and saying that a good pension is a good reward for a wasted life of energy and time. Working for us? Working for others. Working as a robot for all these different empires of the few.

Beautiful life. Beautiful life of anxiety, being coy, fearing consequences, fearing what that human being might think about me—the human being which I don’t really know, who I see for a very small part of my life, like all the other temporary human beings that just eventually but inevitably disappeared from my vision.

And sometimes I think it’s just me being in this. But then, I walk into the streets and into bars, each person being a neon sign of their own miserable life, thinking their life is good, because they’re here, not tomorrow. Tomorrow where they have to wake up in the morning to fill in the cog in their job, to sustain the money-making machine by working as a machine.

Very beautiful, isn’t it.

Perhaps if I didn’t see a way out of this, I wouldn’t admit those things. Perhaps if my only option in life was to work a job for someone, I would be satisfied with a pension and a shitty wage compared to the millions some people get in their pocket within weeks.

Yeah, perhaps then I would shut up.

But then again, a vision of what some options might bring about is just that—a vision. A vision living in reality of slavery to the system and lack of actual freedom.

Can I just travel wherever and whenever I want? Can I join all these events I would want to go to? Do I have money for all that? Do I have time? Do you?

If this bothers you, then maybe you should stop reading. But then again, if it would, you would’ve stopped way before this sentence even began.

Conditioned to believe, conditioned to suppress, conditioned to be satisfied with crumbs of bread. We don’t drive the cars we wish to drive, we don’t own the house we truly wish to own, we don’t have a life which would be like an actual dream come true.

A very beautiful life.

Very beautiful life.

Lies. Stay positive. Take the happy pill of hope, of belief that this is good, that this is how it should be. We take our drug wage, so that we work for more drug wages, so that we spend our money on shit we don’t need, bombarded with psychological ads—ads on the streets, ads on YouTube which they try to force down our throat despite our silent revolt with adblockers, ads everywhere. Ads of garbage culture of overeating and buying shiny things and fabric.

I drain that money, and so I become an addict to the system. More slavery. More selling of my body and mind in exchange for 0.000000001% money of the rich to sustain this precious lifestyle.

They advertise, get a mortgage, get a debt, so that you pay it off all your life and die in that house in your last years of life after having paid it off. 30, 40 years of paying for 13 or 14 years of peace away from all this shit.

Beautiful life, ain’t it, mate? Simply beautiful.

The type of beautiful that makes me want to vomit in rainbows from excess of all this bullshit of “real” human connections and “responsibilities.”

“Let’s stay positive,” they say.

I say, let’s begin the destruction—the destruction of those beliefs, the destruction of our own thoughts that sustain this poor way of living.

Finding out what it truly means not to care about anything, so that you uncover the truth of things, being smothered in the mood and blood of reality bro—or sis.

Fuck this world, fuck this mind, dear brothers and sisters.

Fuck illusions, fuck lies.

Fuck the very part of the brain, which we all inherited through millennia, which created all this.

We deeply think that wars are normal, that conflict is normal.

Always projecting: “it’s him,” “it’s her,” “it’s the system,” “it’s the rich,” “it’s the politicians,” “it’s those people” or the fucking invention of our own religions—“it’s the devil.”

Always looking at the problems outside, not within.

Pointing the finger at another human being, which has the exact basic copy of a brain, which didn’t evolve at the moment of our birth, but through thousands, millions of years.

The brain that thinks. The brain that writes these very words. The brain that is functioning in time—what happened before, what will happen now, tomorrow—always interpreting, always stuck.

We’re fucked by our own brain, and we look at our lives thinking, “Oh damn, I bought this pizza garbage again and I said I’ll be on a diet,” etcetera, etcetera.

Sounds familiar?

Yeah, you’re reading this thinking it’s just me saying this, where in fact my brain is not that different from yours.

We evolved to carry different facial features, different clothes, different beliefs—making us believe willingly that we’re all different.

How cool.

How precious.

No true unity, within or without.

And nobody fucking cares.

People care about their exams for their slave future jobs, of their problems in the future where future is not a fact but a mere projection—even though it can project things which sure might happen, like if I behave not according to the etiquette of the company, I get fired. Or if I behave contrary to the law, I go to jail or worse.

Yeah, future has some reality to it if it projects the truth.

But it projects everything and anything, doesn’t it?

Projecting rejection so you don’t try, don’t find out.

Projecting failure where you haven’t truly put in effort to pull through to the other side of light.

Me.

Stuck in patterns of learning this language, that language, living a shitty life for a better future which may or may not come, somewhere after 10 or 15 years.

Beautiful life.

Fuck all this I say.

Sometimes the voice in my head, this voice in my head writing this, is becoming more and more tired of lies. Less and less internal censorship.

“The surface of the lake does not mean that there’s nothing swimming or lying under the lake.”

Hopefully, it truly explodes, so that I leave everything and play the game, get filthy rich, and be free in this society—because the only true freedom in this society—freedom of travel, freedom of time, freedom of eating food and not dying—is the only freedom: money.

Some of you think I’m exaggerating. Those of you can stop reading now—there’s no point. But social media, movies, lifestyles of other individuals have already shown me the truth. With money, you buy an island, make more money with money, and live the rest of your life where you want to be, how you want to be, having life for the pleasure or family—’cause family also requires money.

The house you want to buy has a price. Your children’s education has a price. Your food has a price—unless you want to live homeless, with barely any money in your hands to buy that piece of bread or alcohol to make you forget everything. How cool is that. Awesome. Truly Awesome…

Money—or you can have it the hard way. Go to a jungle, live with the indigenous of the Amazon, divide work, hunt for food. Some die in the process, from an occasional puma, but you’re free. Outside of the society, though. Outside of living a world like a king—or a slave to kings.

We came a long way with technology. Super fast cars—even those that can swim in water from China—which we can’t afford. Super comfortable houses. Traveling with ease through airplanes, if you get a good discount and buy the tickets way ahead of time for the two shitty “free” weeks where you burn the money on hotels and a life you wish you had, but only experience for a temporary moment.

Some of you think I’m feeling hopeless. Nah, man. I got a plan. I’m aiming for that money-freedom, and I just can’t let go—like a starved dog ripping its teeth into that bone with scraps of meat from the garbage can—hope, for a better future and living.

And I’m not alone. I got a brother—he also doesn’t want this shitty life. And fuck, we’re gonna pull through. Either that or die trying. Like those gladiators or slaves or free man defending, fighting for freedom. We win or we die—but even if we die, we fight for freedom.

And nothing, nothing in this world except death itself, can possibly stop me. And even the parts of my brain which hinder that change—they’re crumbling, and they will be destroyed, as long as I get that bone of flesh—until there’s more bone than I can eat.

I go through the streets, meet people in bars, at work—and I know, that when I succeed, only then can I ever create opportunities and even literally help, pull those people out to true freedom.

Fighting for freedom. It’s not about the systems, it’s not the politicians—it’s the parts of me that resist, that don’t want to break free, which I need to truly destroy. Utterly. Ruthlessly. Unapologetically.

Destroying and accepting whatever that may mean. Realizing the very truth of our human nature—how we really are. Not how our morals and “ethics” or religions or any fancy, beautiful beliefs say we are.

Destroying and dying—and gaining that true freedom in this type of society: money. And living to fully live that life, till the very end, when the body can’t sustain life no more, ’cause it’s old and programmed for self-destruction, from generation, to generation.

Did you know that some turtles live for even 400 years? Or trees that live for even more than that—unless being chopped up and sold for furniture or paper we wipe our asses with. We’re not that lucky. We got 80 years, if we’re lucky—or more. But then again, youth ends way before that.

Fighting for freedom. Fighting for money—so that money is never a problem. Because it becomes and endless pit, never-ending, like the air that we breathe. Freedom. Even if I die in the pursuit of it. That’s all that truly matters in the end anyway.

Did I voice some of your own inner thoughts? Are you standing in this firestorm of destruction and change? Are you observing it—driven to throw yourself into it?

Apocalypse Now… If you did watch it, I don’t know whether I’m very close or already at the end of the river. In any case, you might as well call me Kurtz, ’cause I know that where I’m going, there’s no going back. And if you understand me, you just might meet me at the end of this river.

If you’re where I am—welcome to the time of destruction.

Welcome to the time of death.

Welcome to the time where you’re about to be born—and then, eventually, free.

True freedom—true and tangibly felt human connections—without fear, without any form of weakness, without anything in between; where not even a single shadow of an obstacle remains to be overcome.