danielloaiza

[danielloaiza]

Who am I?

Where to start?

Does it even matter? I can start from the middle, from the end, from the beginning, it doesn’t really matter, the whole story is the same, the whole story is just one. It’s the same story we all have, it is the story of humanity. Anywhere I could start telling a story it will be always the beginning, even if I would start from the end, then it would only be a new start. Hmmm does it make any sense? Maybe not, you’d have to be inside my head in order for it to make any sense, but, how could you? How could you be inside my head? I mean, you already know my story, it’s the same as yours, and when I say the same, I say IDENTICAL. Same feelings, same thoughts, same fears, same dreams. I bet you don’t believe me. You have to be asking yourself how is it possible we have the same story if you and I have never met. You don’t know who I am, but we are the same. We have never met, but we have the same story. We are not the same, but we are one.

Yes I know, it sounds crazy, maybe I am a little crazy… just like you, and you know it.

My name is humanity. It has been a very long time since I stopped being Daniel. I am the universe, I am the world, I am God. I have no identity but I have all. I float through space without any meaning or purpose and I create and destroy at my whim. I am a virgin and a whore. I am the genius and the dumb. I am pure and I am tainted. I create and I destroy. I am light and I am darkness. I am everything and nothing. I am a man and a woman, an elder and a child, day and night. Ok You get it. I’m full of myself and have no self-esteem.

You are too, don’t even trip yo. Maybe you don’t believe it right now, but you just need to read this post three more times and you will get there. Believe me. I am you. I know how our brain operates. I’m in there. You’re in here. Both of us are.

We are universe.

[danielloaiza]

Post soviet summer dreams.

[danielloaiza]

I think I’ve fallen for a porn-star.

Magical girl with deep fire in her heart.

[danielloaiza]

That night I couldn't focus properly.

[danielloaiza]

He´s not thinking about death.

He woke up with the taste of alcohol, chemicals and cigarettes in his mouth. He doesn’t like it but he’s used to it. He has developed habits. Maybe not the best habits under his own rational judging, but then he doesn’t care. But what bothers him is not that disgusting taste in his mouth, what makes his stomach ache, is the incoherence in his actions.

That rational ability developed by human kind only to make them realize how irrational they are. It’s the programmers joke. It makes him sick.  The programmer gave us conscience so we can believe our feelings are true and our actions are ours, she makes us believe that we have free will, and she even gave us the capacity to imagine a sort of unity with all, only to smash us back to the ground with the reality of death.

All this and he haven’t even stood out of bed. So, heavy thoughts for the morning, he complains.

Then the hunger strikes. Life is so random. One minute you are debating your own existence and rationality, the next minute, you are hungry. His thoughts are random. Maybe is the weed. Maybe is just his head got fucked up with a bad program. A glitched one. A damaged one. It’s fine, he doesn’t care about being broken … every one of us, a single unity divided in running programs that developed with an ego. Am I the only one who thinks that’s funny? Hope not.

His name is Tristan. He chose that name. He’s handsome and insecure, until recently.

He thinks of her. Very frequently. She doesn’t have a name, he’s not even sure she even exists. He might idealize her such much and he has chosen her in such a specific and detailed manner, he is sure she doesn’t exist. She is nothing but a fantasy, she’s a dream, she doesn’t exist. However, he cannot stop thinking about her.  

What does it matter anyways, is not like thinking about her will change anything, right? Thoughs are only thoughts, they cannot affect matter. They can only be thought. That, in his mind, renders them meaningless.

Meeting her though. That could do the trick. Where and when? It’s a Muse he is looking for. He doesn’t conform anymore with mere mortals. He wants a deity. Half deity even better, half broken, half goddess. Why not? Could be fun.

Tristan is smart. He knows he doesn’t exist either. His three-dimensional world is proof of that. He is confined to it. He is trapped.  He aches for relieve. He knows his body is not his and that his consciousness is part of something bigger. Something greater, something he wishes to be reconnected with.

Is not death he is thinking about.

It’s re-birth.

[danielloaiza]

Danielle.

CZ.

[danielloaiza]

About a silly 'fear'.

Have you ever started a blog and after a couple of entries realized that your ego has to die? As people tells you that your writing is good, as you start believing it, your inner voice twitches, feels empowered and thinks it’s her time to judge. Her biggest claim is that she knows what people like about your reading, and that if you don’t do it as she says, then they won’t say how good you are, ever again.

The Ego. That validation seeking whore that would do anything for a pat in the back. It seems as it might be time for her to go, to disappear, to stop messing with the flow of life. Agreed, it had some evolutionary purpose, I guess. If we were validated by the group, it meant we wouldn’t have to go hunting alone and that we could take care of each other when the hard times came.

But, what’s its purpose in a modern set?  It seems to be an outdated process in our brains that keeps lurking in, making us lose control of the present moment and taking us far to scenarios that little and nothing have to do with the real life.

This time I don't write about Tristan, or Honza, or her dreams.

This time I write about myself and my fear. My fear to be judged and analyzed, my fear not to be enough, or not to impress, my social fear. This time I will wrap it in golden paper and close it with a red paraffin seal. And I will give it to you. This is my present for you. I give you my fear.

Here it is, all beautifully wrapped.

I release myself from it and I put it out there into the world to be up for grabs.

Just take it. I don't have it anymore.

[danielloaiza]

Gnosis

Excerpta ex Theodoto, 78, 2:

But not baptism alone sets us free, but knowledge: who we were, what we have become, where we were, whither we have sunk, whither we hasten, whence we are redeemed, what is birth and what rebirth.

[danielloaiza]

Metronom. Praha. CZ.

[danielloaiza]

Her dreams

Her dreams came in many forms, but all of them left him with a sour taste in his mouth. He was unable to see the innocence behind her words, even though he knew that innocence was there, his inability to see it tormented him. He knew it was there, but even when he dared to ask her about it, the sound of his words didn’t match the ideal in his head, and the whole conversation turned into a give and take with no apparent end.

Her dreams terrified him, and he found comfort in this terror. He liked it at the same time as he feared it. That inability to understand, opened the door to many questions, and he liked questions, even more than he liked answers. To put it in a better way, the lack of a definitive answer, made him curious and fearless, he understood that the lack of answers didn’t represent failure, they just represented the lack of answers.

Take for example the simple questions that have been roaming around humanity since its very existence. Who am I? Why am I here? What is the purpose of being alive? Who created the universe? What is dead? And I say simple questions not because of the simplicity of their answers, but on the easiness in they tend to lurk our minds. Lots have been said about human intelligence, and it has been hardly criticized, but Filip refused to believe that all hope was lost, and that in spite the lack of answers to this questions, the questions themselves, where the actually engine that moved humanity forward. Her dreams were a graphic and vivid representation of life’s ultimate end. In all of them, Filip died one way or the other. Sometimes she would be the executioner, other times she tried to save him from certain dead, but was never able to achieve so. There was something else that perturbed Filip about her dreams, and it was not in their content, but merely in their existence. Filip had no dreams. He dreamt not. When he slept, everything was a vast ocean of darkness, silence and emptiness. There was not even Filip in the darkness., as darkness was all there was; nothing came from it and it came from nothing. It was as if reality as we know it had never existed and didn’t even intended to.

His darkness clashed with her vivid, colorful, detailed and realistic dreams. But what should the subject prefer? A massive black whole of none-existence, or the colorful and vivid light of being shot dead, or fell ill and have a slow death.

Please be reminded that this is not an existentialist story. Existence, as Filipe saw it, was nothing for a dream, and therefore it was nonsense to care too much about the meaning of dreams within dreams. Even more, Filipe believed that reality, as we know it, was nothing more than the collision of electrical signals within the most developed artificial intelligence processor ever created, and the universe itself, was nothing than the rapid combinations between ones and zeros, computer code, the highest developed game ever created in any galaxy.

There is no need to feel angst about existence, if were nothing more than characters in a videogame.

[danielloaiza]

Party at Djvor

[danielloaiza]

Have you ever wondered?

Wondering is often confused with getting lost, and even though they might be similar concepts in theory, in practice, they are not. Being lost is a heavy term, characterized by the despair caused by being unable to find one’s way. Wondering, in the other hand, gets rid of that heaviness, elevating it to the realm of desires. The subject that wonders, desires knowledge, feels curious, and might even, in his search, get lost.

Sometimes the subject has no desire, and this can also lead him to get lost. Whatever the case might be, it seems to be the subject’s nature to question his place in the world, whether it might be that he literally, doesn’t know where he’s standing, or might be that, even though the subject is very well aware of his coordinates, he might feel despair in his heart, the same type the subject feels when everything he knows is gone.

Tristan, the subject in case, when lost, always tried to find himself back in the arms of the woman he loved, but since at the time, he couldn’t reach her arms, he sought comfort in the arms of the first woman that would let him love her at least for the night.

He saw in women his salvation. Even though as he grew older, he started to lose faith on these beautiful angels he often revered, he was unable to escape from their arms, for when he did, he felt as lost as he possibly could. It would also be the case, that the same woman wouldn’t suffice for a long time, and the inevitability of things coming to an end, prevented him to feel at peace even when he was in his woman’s arms.

Tristan wanted with all his heart to get rid of this feeling even though he realized the stupidity of his desire. He knew very well that the feeling would never go away. He would always feel lost in his heart, many women have told him so already, mentors, lovers and friends, all the same, saw in Tristan a lost soul with a desire to remain lost, for his soul wondered, and he didn’t have the power to put a restrain to it.

What Tristan felt, was the void created by his soul’s unfulfilled adventures; the soul would fly away as far as he as it could, only to have to return and find his body in the same state. The inertia of the body was what the soul could not comprehend, and that internal fight, between Tristan, the soul and the body, drained all his energy, energy he could only get back by falling into his woman’s arms.

Sometimes it would be the case that Tristan could also find the same comfort in the forest. But being a cold day in the middle of October, and his despair, having transformed into a stomach ache, prevented him to getting lost in the woods, and finding himself among the tall trees.

He wanted to fall in his lovers arms so bad. But she was gone.

He grabbed his phone and called the woman he had met the night before.

[danielloaiza]

Nargiz.

Kazakhstan.

[danielloaiza]

How to move the plot forward?

Life feels stuck once in a while. It happens when you feel as the plot of the game has stopped in time, and even when time is moving forward, the plot is not. When this happens, the subject is forced by nature to challenge the status quo and rebel against the establishment.

Usually, if the subject has enough inner strength, it would take him a heartbeat to start deploying the most impressive display of creativity. It’s a think, do, create act. First, the subject imagines. In this stage, all dreams, possibilities and ideas, collide one between each other as asteroids in Saturn’s Belt, until only the most desired possible realities start taking form in the subject’s mind.

Then the words should come. For the words to appear, the subject has to open his mouth and speak. It can also be the case that The Subject would like to take a pen and write it down. That’s fine, but this log recommends to open the mouth and speak. To other people, as far as possible. It’s a disproved fact that there is such thing as magic in the universe, and saying the right words at the right time, to the right person, are a key element of getting the plot back up and running again. The spoken and written words are humanities best gift to itself.

Once the spell has been casted, the only thing left is to do it. Action. Action is what moves the plot forward. If you lay down and chill, the plot will become slow, boring, monotone. If you stand up and scream, suddenly, the plot acquires a new perspective and can be stirred any way the subject wants it to be. But it would all be theory and zero (nula) practicality if this manual didn’t include at least one Case Study to exemplify its validity.

The chosen Case Study in this occasion will be named Jan. Jan, born in the Czech Republic, (Name and Country have been changed to protect The Subject’s right to privacy) of age 28, blond hair and blue eyes. His plot was stuck and there seemed to be no room for action (start connecting the dots). Jan was a smart boy, with good looks and good manners. Worked in accounting and was in love with at least two girls at the same time, most of the time. Lying in bed, he contemplated the white walls and white in sailing that surrounded his three beds in this little spaced he called home. Jan asked to make a note that when I refer to his place as little, it doesn´t mean that the room itself was small in size, it simply means that he desired the world, and therefore, a 20x20 room, even when big in size for a flat in the center of Prague, seemed quite little do Jan, compared to the vast reach of his dreams.

Jan liked to stare this walls and dream. There he completed the first step. He knew that completing all possibilities was unlikely to happen in a single lifetime -since the game appears to give us only one change. Therefore, choosing wisely what to do with one’s plot was of great importance. (No time for chill). It was not something of a heavy importance, thinking about all these possibilities wasn’t a heavy one, in spite its infinite proportions. It was inspiring and most importantly, gave the whole plot a punchline from which not even Jan, with all his smarts and good looks, could escape from.

So what do you do when you have limited time and unlimited options to choose from? Jan decided to make a list.

He loved: Photography Writing Women Clothing Music (pretty much anything he could find pleasure in)

He was good at: Research Branding Networking Dreaming (in a very technically oriented sense of the word) Business

And as Jan was not only a dreamer, but also a realist and a materialist, he tried to figure out how this some cash out of some sort of combination between the things he loved and the things he was good at. But that was not the most important part. The biggest whole in his heart, his bigger ambition and where he drew all his strength from, was his burning desire, the one that he couldn’t yet articulate, but had nothing to do with money and fame, but with good and love.

He read a quote on the best female fighter in the world, and went to bed.

“The thing that’s wrong with it is that you contribute nothing to society. All you do is consume. If you’re a Do Nothing Bitch all you do is spend somebody else’s money and try to look pretty. That’s all you do is you use stuff up. You use up resources and you give nothing. You’re pretty much a drain on society, that’s what I think. … I was just brought up to think that it wasn’t your mission in life to be happy, it was your mission in life to leave the world better than how you found it, and by being a cum bucket you’re not going to do that.”

[danielloaiza]

Petra.

CZ.