Zero Essay: Meaning of Life in storm (Shit)

Writing under influence,

No point is made here, hence no point shall be taken. It’s been a while but writing is breathing to me. Sometimes I use my nose and rarely my mouth but I, without fail, breathe the breath.

Life is utterly simple in IMH perspective.

THe meaining of life differes from person to another on daily basis at every momentary opening.

So the question is not whether our meaning of life differs greatly in general but whether, in certain sepcial situations.

Our existence is same in principle; we cannot have abstract mode of thoughts meddling in its definition; but, rather with vocational calling, this thing which random certain a few on earth may call it the mission: for ‘something greater than myself.’

It’s a devastating pitiful sight to witness youngs wither rather than bloom in their youth over better pays nowadays. Money is a play of devil to those without, don’t you think? I have him sitting top of the pile of books in my room. Never leaves I tell you, never leaves.

There’s truly nothing more saddening than man in his flower wasting life in heavy sigh. Don’t you think? How would you live your 20s if you had another chance at it, think about it.

YOLO is not a spanning terminology developed by the adolescent folks. It’s falls in the realm of logic in everlasting world where you as an individual should take to heart: “You Only Live Once.” (with a PERIOD). And how beautiful is it that we only get to live once?

Imagine you are in your 20s sitting in a lecture or at a random show or meeting where you are present as an audicence. You are sitting there witnessing the progress of the show from your favourite whomever-it-may-be.

THen the person goes: “FOr the sake of argument let’s say you created a time-travel machine, would you get on it?”

What would you say?

I’d say: “Yes, of the f- course.”

So you travel back to your 20s.

The evergreen 20s. How thrilling would it be?

Then the person goes: “That’s exactly where you are, right now.”

“Isn’t that enough of motivation for greatness? At least a mening for life?”

I say this again but life spent following the flow of society is a saddening one. I know you had family to look after, you had things to burden, I know and I know and seen devastation of life but at the end of the day: “It’s your life.”

To avoid spending life like the waves slapping its body on the edge of the shore, you must know your meaning of life. For real.

Individual should carry out their specific task. A sum of the task irreplaceable by no other than you, sum of which cannot equal to any other human beings. Hence the task in itself becomes as unique to the opportunity bestowed to him/her. This is how a meaning is given to one’s aimless definition of life.

By in mid-late 20s or at least in early 30s, you ought to possess the reason behind your own existence of the meaning of life (your own life) and forfeit the questioning at life: “because the question only returns with bigger question at the end of the day. And, question at life in essence is a question asked in mirror: You.”
We must thrive or should have thriven to be the master of our own before reaching the age of too-late. What is in a life without WHY? What is a life knowing WHY we live? What the hell would you want to live just to live? But this all in true is an atrocious one because it seems to be the case of all nowadays.

But we must understand that by carrying the WHY and carrying the responsibility following the realization of your WHY, we have the answer to the meaning of life: “Because we are responsible, we now have the answer.”

Our meaning of life and essence equals Responsibility.

To understand the essence, there are couple ways which I can think of at this moment (being that I’m a little under influence writing this petty writing) 1. Deed! 2. Experienment of such and such, like nature or love 3. Ordeal like suffering

But I’ll write about (2) because love is a fond topic of mine.

Love is the greatest of all. It is without a fail. If it failed you in the past, you were unworthy or the person of your choice was unworthy. THereby making you a person with a poor choice.

Do worry not, I have been there as everyone of us have been there, as well.

Seems like everyone is a bother and sister to every one another in this POV.


Self-Not: Do not drink and write, that’s my practice.

Essay: Loneliness & Solitude: How An Artist is Born.

All refined artists are lonely.

Whether a writer or a painter or a musician, at some point, loneliness settles in. And there’s need for peace: to think, to gather the thoughts and make observations to penetrate into the core of one’s subject.

An artist true to his heart is a lonely creature vaguely but surely destined to be different.

How is an artist born?

By declaring him/herself the best artist in the world.” 

You need one true statement about your determination. The truest sentence from your conscience; declared towards the sky, to the world, but spoken to your heart.

By doing this, while you’re true to your heart, you have something to keep up to and always labor towards to.

This almost is madness; stupefying and terrifying.

Question yourself: Are you the best artist in the world? No. And you may never be. But are you willing to do so and act as firmly to have tried which the outcome will never foretell until the time comes? Either yes or a no, it’s a tough choice.

So there you have it.

A dream. A goal. A hope. Whichever the name it may possess, take one.

–  “It’s a start.”

From here on, it’s a constant Fear.

It’s a kind of fear with a definition much foreign to the soft-hearted. It cripples every time you remain idle. Not a day goes by without tasting it.

I taste it every day, night and dream. I am within it every moment; forget to eat, lose appetite at the dinner table. I am literally failing at eating these days. Because what I seek isn’t in nourishments.

They are in the books and words wise to the wisdom by those walked the road before.

Remaining idle means dying of dream, thereby an equal portion of death within one’s self. The embarkment which at the beginning promised to be the greatest, truest adventure of one’s life now remains ceased at complete stop.

This is how the daily imprisonment works on artist.

You remain idle long enough, you in a way die; both in and out.

Albert Camus (L’Étranger) and Jean P. Sartre (No ExistNausea) shared in common the philosophy which I concord greatly: “one should fight constantly against the closing tide of social imprisonment of daily life. We need to escape the prison at all cost.” (Except Sartre wanted the prison exploded)

“I believe the only mechanism against the closing imprisonment is determination.”

(*After writing mindless to this point my rationale on whether to further this topic is at large. If you desire a normal and decent, gratifying life, be merry and be away from this part of life. As we humans remain reflective in essence however differ extensive in our definition of what life is and how life should be.

A Cup of Loneliness and Solitude For Adventurers?

After the above process of finding and being feared, out of determination and fear are ‘solitude‘ and ‘loneliness.’

Solitude: as mentioned, an artist requires solitude. He knows his way around to tame it. Solitude (*IMNSHO) is a span of time needed to be alone. It is required as a writer needs time to write, painters needs time to paint and musician needs time to compose. What good of solitude is it if one can’t enjoy the content by himself – as a wine owes to dust its centuries of quiet? It’s a time span of development. It’s voluntary, purely voluntary; also, natural, absolutely natural, as well.

Loneliness: as solitude requires peace and ‘me time’ and much more extensively as artist ripens in his understanding of himself. Loneliness is, shall I call, the most virgin part of artist no one can even dare to see. It is to him and only to him the path to its chamber. Loneliness shows and disappears but never leaves. Such a damning character hidden between entr’acte. It’s neither voluntary nor acquaintable, lest it be your favored emotion because it will slowly ugly you.

Loneliness comes and goes no sign to taxi or tolerance high enough to prevent it. Let it be a lodger in the corner of solitude. It will quietly take a nap and leave when the time is about.

What Makes a Good Artist?: ‘Honesty’ and ‘Truth.’

All good Artist are true to themselves.

They’re not afraid of the arrows of hatred pointed to them; rather, they’re always occupied with the thought of producing a work that isn’t true. To prevent them to the best of their abilities.

If the work is bad to them, then it’s a bad work. If the work is bad to the eyes of spectators but still shows characteristics of an honest work, then it’s an honest work which thereby falls as a good work.

Honest work doesn’t equal to a good work but it is the fundamental of what a good work requires.

Hence the question is: 1. Is your heart honest. 2: Is your work true.

If your heart is deep enough for the world and the work you produce contains the whole of it each time: “the world is waiting for you.” The world is your oyster; you can slide down, play with the pearl, be famed, and be gloried in books written by others.

An Amateur Tip to Be a Little More True About Your Work.

In order to do so just above: “You must want to write.”

This of course brings in the question of do you enjoy what you do?

I can’t fathom an artist whose talent is good but doesn’t like what he does and hopes to prevail over others.

If your heart isn’t in the process you can’t be certain at all the feelings which in the end reveals the voice of the artist, in this case: Your Voice.

The beautiful thing about an honest work is that regardless of the length of the time span  which you revisit the following work, it still remains true as ever apart from the paradigm.

You may grow old and move on to the finer things in life but an honest work stays as is. And it is owed to your heart being in it along the passing years.

I have a blind belief in a saying: (Confession: Not a saying, I wrote it in one of the letters to: Mlle A…)

“If I have failed as a writer then I must have failed as a person. Therefore, I have failed in life. For a writer is a person who turns his life into words, as a form of his own, giving birth to his word.” -D.

In the end, it’s really just a few things:

  1. Tame your solitude;
  2. Be honest to yourself and true in your work;
  3. Fight the fear with determination.
  4. When in doubt, Google things.

That’s all I can say, except the last part.

Refuse to accept the fateful imprisonment.

Essay: How An Artist is Born.

– Fini –

© 2016 D.


(*Self-Note: Don’t drink while writing – that’s my practice)

Encounter – How I met Vincent van Gogh

 A few finger years ago, I met Vincent van Gogh at the Montréal Museum of Fine Arts. I changed since then. I feel like I did. There was this inherent affection towards van Gogh’s work; it shook me to the ground. For the first time in life I found myself admiring the work of an artist from light to night. I checked into the museum during the sun, walked out feeling so profound at night.

On my part, I always knew I was a writer at heart. My affection for writing is greater than anything else I’ve tried. I pour out different parts of me and some moments I just “Alas!” There’s the product of me I made out of myself. “These are also me,” I sincerely think to myself. Sometime I lack the desire to sell them but “what’s good in a story if no one reads it?”

As for Vincent van Gogh, on much devastating part of his life, only sold one of his works for 500 Francs (about $1k today) throughout his 10 year career. He never tasted that glory the world now serves him in his coffin; never tasted that mouthwatering fruit of his refined legacy; never tasted that sweet bosom of a lover who would have embraced him and his paintings as if they were her own. I think Vincent’s paintings were, shall I say ‘Robust’ and ‘Expressive’ for the 19th Century. 

The transition from the Romanticism still prevailed from French masters during Vincent’s time in 19th Century Europe. The Dutch artist community of ‘The Hague School’ favored somber and opaque qualities over Impressionistic and expressive use of colors. I think in general, Vincent was way ahead of his game. 21st century could’ve been his thing.

That’s why I’m bringing him to our neighborhood. Take him to Startbucks, to McDonals, to Downtown pubs and clubs and Museums full of masterpieces of the past.

I can only hope that you’d enjoy a bit of his life through the work of a writer in practice. I’m D., a man doing his everyday writing for whomever he can. A bit of my background includes: grant writing, non-profit writing, proposal writing, book writing, translating, this writing, that writing….another writing… more writing… endless writing…. writing…. My life is practically based on writing at all times.

And I seriously love it.

After all those writings, I finally hear the voices in every manuscript. Whether firm, soft, convincing, stating, vulnerable, sympathetic, begging, stubborn, demanding, angry, excited or just about every other human emotions I have felt in the past: I hear them. My favorite is a love-letter. It’s the greatest form of art. Some really excel in it or just really terrible at it, but still a lover-letter is as sweet as a love can be.

I’m writing about this story with most honest, sincere voice as possible. I make sure that no stone is left unturned inside Boulevard 63l.

Let’s get going-

© 2016 D.