or how to create terribly insufficient parallels

I've been thinking about my way of being and escapism. My hair keeps growing and I let it do so. I've came up with an explanation where I have set up a rapunzellian adventure of inner growth, where I'm the one who forces me to be locked up faraway from exposing myself. I'm Rapunzel and the witch at the same time. When I'm ready to destroy the tower, I also will be the prince.

On Why Kinicals, Existentialists, Nihilists, and Cynics Feel The Way They Do When They Do

Nothing is unexplainable. The explanation may be wrong but that's another thing

Behind every realist/idealist, lies a romantic that believes so firmly in their ideals* that whenever they are crushed (and they knew they were going to anyway) something decompresses inside of them. Two opposite poles.. and that is probably the worst analogy to use but one can picture it like this: a system where two engines are moving in opposite directions at a random regular rhythm. Whenever there is an acceleration in one of them they will feel either optimistic or full of disbelief.

But when both poles accelerate at the same time, there is an inevitable convulsion and they crash and everything collapses. the whole system stops and they feel neither optimistic or pessimistic. They just feel nothing at all. Absolute void. They experience (as a simile to what happens in the universe), the expansion of time and space, inside of them. And of course, in their most inner core there is nothing but a black hole.

* The idea of the Electric Monk is described by Douglas Adams in his book Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency. The Electric Monk was a labour-saving device that believed in things for you, thus saving you of what was becoming an increasingly onerous task, that of believing all the things the world expected you to believe.' —xxix.vii.mmvi

Desert theories

I do not know how much time passed between one and the following events but I remember waking up in the shore of a rather small lake, to be more exact I was in an oasis in the middle of the desert—which confirms my theory that every little piece of water in the world is connected. The people standing in front of me took me on their shoulders and left.

None of them would call themselves by the same name more than once and therefore the days with them were very confusing. They had the strangest giraffe; it could walk days and days without having nothing to eat. When they realized I could not walk anymore they let me ride the giraffe. At this point I think it could have been a camel—this contradicts my theory in which giraffes lose their spots to mimic themselves with the desert.

Short story about the color of the sea

Sitting in a boat
in the middle of the sea
are Celeste and Pistacchio.
Celeste falls.
Pistacchio follows her.
(As I was falling into the water I realized I would never see it again. I still don't know what we were waiting for.)