Caro m’ è ‘l sonno, e più l’esser di sasso, .
Mentre che ‘l danno e la vergogna dura:
Non veder, non sentir, m’ è gran ventura;
Però non mi destar, deh! parla basso
Welcome is sleep, more welcome the sleep of stone
Whilst crime and shame continue in the land;
My happy fortune, not to see or hear;
Waken me not – in mercy, whisper low.
Q is my name. My real name. That is who I am. Or is it?
I don’t feel that at all though. Q is definitely not me. He is who others think of me. The me in other people. Other friends. There is a good Q, a bad Q, a rebellious Q, a sociopath Q. That’s what a friend called me today. A sociopath.
But Q is not the real me. I don’t think he exists at all, except in other people’s minds. I’m more Aristocrat than Q. At least that’s what I think. Don’t trust me on that though. I cannot be trusted. Not after I drove away 5. 5 is someone who I’m in love with or at least I was in love with. After 5 dealt me a set of bad cards one and a half years ago, that love shattered. To a million pieces.
And I tried to mend it, to piece them back together. Still I could see things slipping through those cracks. Those black stuff, horrid greasy oily black stuff. Or was I deceiving myself all the time? Did I really love? Who did she love anyway? Q? Or Aristocrat? Or was it some Ideal that she strived for, that she tried to look within Q/Aristocrat? If that’s so, perhaps I should tell her its a futile search. There’s no perfection in me. Only despair, darkness and burning hell.
What is love anyway, I have come to ask. What kind of concept is love? Something to bind you to another? The Other that fulfils, that reinstates the existence of the Self? Your Self? I do not even have a Self to begin with so can I say that I have loved? And I have searched. There is no true love. No unconditional love. Universal love is unconditional. But if you are looking for romance, to the books you go!a
My Self is nothing but pieces of other people’s images of me. Conflicting images. And within me, it all comes together.
Piece them together.
Like a jigsaw puzzle gone wrong though. I can tell you all the pieces don’t fit. I have tried hard enough. 5 has her own difficulties. She’s just looking for true love. But I can’t even tell myself what love is so how can I love? Do I bind her to me? Is love purely sexual? Or what? Transcendental love? I’ll love everyone equally then.
Sometimes I admire people who knows what they want. Like Skye for instance. At least she follows her desires.
Me? I don’t even know what I desire. Money is no longer important. Materialistic needs are not too. No more cravings for these kinds of needs. I don’t need to be like everyone else, dead and zombie-like on the train. Standing at the same spot, day after day, slogging away for?
Laughing and smiling with their friends. Joking. Happy. Only for that period. Temporal happiness. For?
Eating. Enjoying food. Having a car. Having someone to love. A family to return to. For?
What are all these for? What is my purpose of survival?
Don’t tell me about God. Turn to God for an easier life. He explains everything. Everything is set in life. Are you sure God is here?
Remove God from your existence. There is no God. God is dead. Buddha is only a way of life. Then? Tell me again how you will live. According to your rules, not God’s.
Transcendence. Perhaps that’s what I seek.
Death, a welcome embrace.
Perhaps Aristocrat is truly who I am.
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