Zero-Essay: Vanity?

Hopelessly alive, aren’t we?



Then I differ not.


You win, now be happy for eternity.

ZERO-ESSAY is, I can’t even call it anything, it’s a scribble. No point is made here, hence, no point shall be taken. It’s the most mindless and formless writing I do at times, now written on blog.

But, vanity.


Vanity, vanity, vanity… must in the end all falls in vanity.


Even your eternal happiness.


But this is boring.


It’s boring, innit?


A mere thought tis’.



It’s like , say… a line from pissant adolescent tasting his first wine:

“What damn should I give to life!”

As the boy speaks in his tongue:

“God damn it! It feels good to be drunk! No wonder old folks continue to drink even after all those miserable labors!”


So he speaks… However a peasant brat, he is.


He talks as anyone should talk his thoughts.


And he or she who thinks feels the futility of life at some point in life.


“Must we live?”

“Must I live?”

“He lives?”

“She, too?”

“Well… do I live, must?”




Well, well, well… boy.


Oh boy.


You must accept this terrible apology but,


I do not even know; who I am, what my life is.


Therefore, I can’t help but mine at this moment.


Yours is your to navigate – out or in, from all this: mess or some call it ‘life’



I think, as the time in me ages.


As that I’m a step a day closer to death in the morning,


I live to exploit the world in me.


I haven’t yet the concept of what is this world in me.

Neither the real world you and I live in.

Not because of mere lack of intelligence or manifestation; simply because I lack the attachment to this world.

Both tangible and intangible – intangible is more to me than the former, however.




I think I just lied and you just read what I wrote, mindless.


know the concept, the whole of the world in me but just can’t tell anyone about it. It’s too big of a space but never enough for two. It’s mine. This is the only thing I greed over in this life. Something that I want to claim saying: “It’s mine!”

The character in the story, Ro, is reflective of me. But that’s irrelevant for the moment being.



I stood awake past three days. Managed some sleep between the days but it wasn’t any proper hours of sleep.

Every night –

“Tick. Tock.”

An instant passes after midnight which has taken more than what it should have: 3 hours. Another instant takes more chunk of time. Sooner to my realization, I find myself driving to the same place where terror is placid.

Quite frankly, when  I get there, I fancy the treadmill and extraneous machines because, I used to ossify on them from boredom. I was once an athlete, but who cares. Even I don’t. What could possibly equal the pity of boasting the past than to live the present?

Past is like, Benjamin in Devil’s wallet. When he opens it, only the autumn leaves fall out.

Well, nothing was out of ordinary this morning. The same machines, same places, same routines, same hours, same smell in the air.

“You practice diligence in life showing up here early every day.”

A man of 6’1 , well built pours on a line of approach, however miss used his intention be so.

‘There is no diligence in the act of repetition for me. I do not tire over it, feel gratified, take something out of it or exchange something for it return. I do not carry diligence here.’

But I stood cordial and still thanked the man. That’s what I chose to do the moment. And I returned what he meant to me on him: “and so are you,” I said to him.

He then introduced himself, complimented the same shoes I wear every morning. We exchanged more needless words until it ended.

“Let’s have a great day.”

That was the last words I said to him. “Let’s have a great day…”

Did I ever have a great day past few weeks, months, years? I was never in deep of a great day, least not a moment of it. A great day never showed. A great day never came. A great day never revealed. A great day never existed in my memory, unless the feeling after seeing van Gogh in that Museum. But it was a relative happiness knowing how alike my life headed parallel to his. Though it was a moment. A mere moment it was. Never enough to be a day. Insufficient feelings from it to last a day.

A day is a long one compared to a moment; and, still a long one compared to a year.

It feels that a day is longer than a year as I age.


I am not a functioning member of the society.

I don’t work.

Well, not all the time.

I get offers from small places but this is another… needless thing to be here.

I was scouted very recently. Like 3-4 days ago.

It was nice. The feeling of it. But didn’t last in me.

I’m still here. Writing. Thinking. Breathing the same air as you.


I have confined myself in me, in the world of me. In there, there is not a single object. Not a desk, a chair, a tree, the sky, the sun, no wind, a water or a single door knob. In there’s a road. It isn’t really a road, it’s just a thing that I walk on: the thing. I have no control over the passages of them. But never has it divided itself, either. As I walk, there are corners. I never bothered to touch something in there. I don’t think I’m allowed to. Had I have my fingers to touch, I forget. No breeze, no air, no colors but pastel white – until the absolute black – the time, the humans, the music, the flowers, the violence, the love, it’s a complete nothingness. Solitude is independence. I hope you know. As I walk in the same direction, I feel nothing. Just the usual walk inside of me. Nothing to bother or nothing bothers me, except the corners. Nonchalant, ignorant, dull – just until the moment the corner no longer is hidden. I’ve seen many of them by now. Thousands and tens of thousands. I would tell you what the corner reveal to me the moment of passing. Some still remains inside me. But many just slips away. And I don’t want them as I have tasted all of them over and over.

They are emotions. Plain, raw human emotions.

Aren’t we the masters of our own?


Oh, boy.

I thought that was the first assignment to ourselves.


I think I can understand. But pity.


May be the best form of human is equanimity: he who has tasted every bits of life, every bits of human emotions but still upholds the dignity of the finest man.


More lines on this post will deteriorate itself, I think.

So I succumb. It’s the most tiring night of the week.

No point is made here. No point shall be taken. Don’t seek any answers but from the past. Thereby looking into your best ally and the worst mare of the night. That’s you.

Life is just, as is, as it never was. I hope you understand that.

The world never changes, only the people coming and going, sceneries change but never the world or the life itself. I may thrive to create, live, but only to be back again with a pen and a paper, to exist and nothing more; absolutely nothing less, either. How physique of a person can differ in shape? Two limbs, two leg, a head, up and down with similar details. Nothing differs, unless the essence of it emanates deeper foundation to the host and to spectators.


My essence is everlasting.

But by what I do and only by the choices I build through them. Even such the basics of my essence still is a vermin in the face of an overwhelming fate. In this case, the world and the life itself. This is not a system, you can’t beat it. You must live in it, destroying it is you in the end result. Don’t be a fool, indulge and joy in it!


What is a hundred years in the history of mankind – is a moment.

One of the dead ones who talks to me said: “Eternity is a mere moment long enough for a joke.” I shut him up for a while in that book under my reading chair.

So, now listen to this and try saying that your happiness is eternal again. I find that foolish enough to be charming.

My Love

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