Conflicted Self

Psyche as the stage of life

To be a writer means to be a victim of contradictions. The more, the merrier.

There is a part of me that wants to believe that I am God having a human experience, at the same time, my conscience pricks me to reveal my delusional self. How oddly beautiful the bond between the duality is.

There are infinite characters that are born and die in my mind, every moment. What I perceive as myself, is infact a character in itself, can a story exist without one? The story itself is a character. The latter implies a letter. A letter one’s self. Ironically, one splits itself to seek company. To be seen, heard and worshipped. This psychedlic dream takes one on a journey of self reflection, where one is bound to lose themselves into this chaos and give birth to an infinite universe.

Just as fire is produced through friction, fiction is the result of conflict. The latter doesn’t have to be negative, in fact, it is the very beginning of everything. A sound. The first mantra was unheard, yet translated into many languages.

Your very own existence becomes a legend and soon turns into a myth.