#Existential

[ariesnotes]

The quiet crisis: not knowing if your joy is truly yours, or just borrowed from expectations.

🌀 follow @notesaries for more unsettling truths

[wanderingmind867]

I wrote this a while ago, but it's been stuck in my likes for a while. I probably should make another post about it, but I don't know if I'll find the words.

Looking through my blogs archives always makes me feel sad and existential. Can you believe i've been on here for four years? I barely can. Gods, time feels way too fast. It feels like only yesterday that I was just creating my blog. Now I have 18,000 posts. I... I have lost all the words I could possibly use here. All I know is that this makes me deeply existential.

Anyways, a post from a while ago got no attention, so i'm gonna be repeating that post here. The last time i was free of a massive hyperfixation was like February to December of 2023. If you're up for a challenge, go look through my blog's archives for those months. You'll find lots of posts, all of them far more eclectic then my ones nowadays. I swear, the longer i'm on here, the more sedentary i feel i'm becoming. And looking through my archive earlier only made those feelings intensify. So if you can, i'd recommend looking through it. At least then I wouldn't be feeling so existential online.

[sighcomics]

a summer odyssey

[incognitopolls]

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[problematicpastel]

[bvrakah]

«non-existent»

Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal (رحمة الله) said:

"I desire something that does not exist, I wish to be in a place where no human being is found."

As-Siyār | 11/226

[surrealistart]

The Horseman of Death (1935) Salvador Dalí, oil on canvas, 65 x 54 cm

The Horseman of Death shares images from several of Dalí's works dating from this time. […] Dalí interpreted this combined image as a representation of the spectre from the title of the painting. […] The horseman itself is a frequent image, although here he is in a state of disintegration, parts of his horse still has flesh remaining, while the horseman is purely skeleton.

[futilereality]

[theycantalk]

awake

[drchucktingle]

BUCKAROOS ARENT READY FOR THIS ONE. LUCKY DAY is out august 12th and the best thing you can do to support authors you enjoy is to take a moment and give them a preorder.

[essentially-existential]

“What do you want when this is all over? You’re worth more than what you can give to other people. You deserve love, too.”

She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, 2020

[lazyyogi]

What if enlightenment isn’t just fulfilling—but pragmatic?

After all, if self-realization isn’t relevant to the average person, then what the hell are we even doing?

The average person isn’t seeking Truth. When you're worried about survival, lofty ideas don’t mean much. What they’re seeking is relief.

They’re thinking:

“Why am I anxious all the time?” “Why can’t I just be happy?” “Why does getting what I want never put an end to my problems?”

It’s easy to point the finger outward and blame the world for these burdens. But we can't afford to wait for the world to change before we find peace. And maybe the world won’t change until we embody that peace ourselves.

Here’s the catch: We won’t find real answers if we only search on our own terms. All we’ll find are bandaids and reassurances.

Not freedom.

Because we haven’t yet asked the one question that cuts to the heart of it all:

“What if the ‘you’ doing the chasing is the problem?”

That might sound abstract at first. But really—what could be more relevant to your experience of life than your own self?

Take a moment to consider: You’ve never actually experienced anything outside your own consciousness. So in your pursuit of peace, freedom, and happiness—what exactly are you chasing?

Self-realization isn’t some mystical elite endpoint.

It’s the antidote for:

Anxiety

Alienation

Addiction

Identity crisis

Existential dread

Grief

Loneliness

Let’s be clear— We’re not talking about a belief. Not a temporary state of emotion. Not another form of self-improvement.

We’re talking about one of the most profound and relevant mysteries at the center of human life: Consciousness itself.

This isn’t spiritual fluff. It’s functional freedom.

And the average person wants freedom. We’ve just been conditioned not to recognize it unless it comes with a dopamine hit or a price tag.

Unlike the world trying to sell you happiness or wholeness, self-realization doesn’t give you anything. It takes away the root cause of suffering: everything that was never truly you.

And in that absence, you don’t become more.

You become free.

[aventurineswife]

𝟎𝟎 — 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

The world was screaming.

A soundless roar reverberated through the air, vibrating deep in the marrow of the earth itself. Fires bloomed across the horizon like wilting flowers, their smoke clawing at a sky split by jagged streaks of blue and gold light. The once-bustling city lay in shambles, its towering spires buckling under the weight of something unseen but immense, as though the heavens themselves were folding inward.

And then, silence.

You woke up on cold, fractured ground, your cheek pressed against shards of crystalized ash. A sickly warmth pulsed through the air, but it wasn’t the heat that pulled you upright—it was a voice.

It wasn’t a voice, not in the traditional sense. It wasn’t sound. It was a presence, vast and all-encompassing, brushing against the edges of your mind like the echo of a dream you couldn’t quite remember.

"𝐖𝐚𝐤𝐞."

You gasped as the word—or thought—slammed into your consciousness. Your body moved instinctively, scrambling to your knees, though every muscle protested.

The city—or what was left of it—stretched out before you, a desolate wasteland. Shadows writhed where no light should have reached. In the distance, a cluster of people ran toward a barely functioning evac station, their screams swallowed by the chaos. A Stellaron, massive and pulsating, loomed like a malignant star over the ruins.

Your chest tightened. You knew what this was. Everyone did. Stellaron outbreaks were whispered about in myths and horror stories, a cosmic plague that left no survivors. And now, one had come to your home.

But how were you still alive?

"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞."

The voice—or thought, or thing—intruded again, cold and steady.

“Who’s there?” you rasped, your voice breaking on the question. You weren’t sure whom you were asking.

No answer came, but the pressure in your mind didn’t fade. Instead, it grew, wrapping around your thoughts like a vice. Images flickered unbidden behind your eyes—a spiraling void, a distant train cutting through infinite stars, and fragments of something shattered, scattered across the cosmos.

You clutched your head, doubling over. “Stop—stop it!”

"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞."

The command was undeniable, a weight that bore down on your every thought. Your legs obeyed before you had time to resist, carrying you forward into the wreckage. You staggered, eyes darting to the ground for stability, but the fragments of crystal that lined the earth pulsed faintly as you passed, like they were responding to your presence.

You didn’t know where you were going or why, only that you couldn’t stop. A part of you wanted to scream—to cry out for help—but deep down, some instinct whispered that no one would hear you.

The distant whine of engines pierced the air, and a shadow fell over you. When you looked up, a colossal shape descended from the sky—a train. No, not just a train. It glimmered with an otherworldly light, sleek and impossibly vast.

The voice returned, this time softer, almost amused.

"𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐌𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲, 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬."

And as you stepped toward the light, the fragments beneath your feet glowed brighter. For a brief moment, you could swear you saw something—no, someone—standing in the smoke ahead of you.

They reached out a hand, and the world dissolved into darkness.

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[incognitopolls]

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[mouthtapedguy]

We should attack them all together so they will be overwhelmed