Buddhists will say they do not believe in God. But what they are actually trying, is to become God. Something eternal. Something outside this reality. The void.

Reality is beyond comprehension.

The self is not above. The self is down there below. That hurt child. That is you. And the managers (one of them is Buddha), and the firefighters (in IFS terminology), are trying to do their job to protect you. Not above. Below. At the basement you are. Talk to angels. Talk to demons. Talk to managers, and firefighters. They are doing their best.

A calm partner terrifies you. You do your best to evoke their demons. If they are losing their mind, get angry, jealous - that's the familiar territory. Your nervous system is used to it. It's done automatically, unconsciously. That is what a relationship is, for you; always has been.

The Buddha in me you saw at the beginning - your system couldn't handle it. That was making you unbalanced and insane. A glitch in the matrix. Everyone has their demons, right? You wanted to see mine - so desperately. Why? Calmness for you is a dangerous unfamiliar place. The Buddha must be hiding something. Or maybe, The Buddha cannot be controlled and managed, so he must be destroyed and replaced?

The fear of abandonment is so powerful that you must find a way to control them. Seduce them, and afterwards, find their weaknesses, learn how to activate their wounds - something that you can use to make sure they never leave. But that's exactly what makes them leave. Generational demons. Projective identification.

Are all men the same pieces of shit? How much do you always try to prove that?

Are you a victim, or are you a perpetrator? Both?

You are Buddha too, my love. And everything around it.

Alone.
Again.
Like always?

No matter the girl.
No matter the group.
By myself.

I am the sound of waves.
I am the color of summer nights.
There is no me.

I want to be heartbroken.
I want to feel the pain of love.
I want to love.

How can I say that?
Who is saying that?
Who is feeling?
Who is pretending?
Who is acting?
What is wanting?

Cigarettes by the sea.
Each one is the same.

There is a bright star in the sky.
The vastness does not scare me.

No more pretending.

Cigarettes by the sea.
Each one is different.

I now know how to eat shrimps.

Why the labels?
Why the definitions?

Cigarettes by the sea.
My only companion tonight.

Sometimes I can't believe
I did what I did.
You were perfect
that whole day.

Noone made me feel this.
Noone made me see this.

It is irreversible,
there is no way back.

I regret it.

It had to happen.

What happens next?

I am not yours.
And you are not mine.

I am going insane.

I see more than before.

I feel so alive.

Have you fucked someone already?

I can't escape you.

I am escaping you.

It feels so bad.

It feels so good.

You are life's gift.

We know very well
how to hurt each other.

Our demons dance together.
Then angels take the place.

Love exists.
In some moments.

I can hurt you.
You can hurt me.
We possess that power.
We use that power.

After the high,
there is low.

Addiction.
You are.
With an ass
That makes me moan inside.

Demons and angels.
Let's make peace.

How can you all loved me so much?
I am a loser.
Oh...
I know why.
My demons are stronger than yours.

I wish you were here.

I am old.
And fat.

They all fall in love with me,
because I am the smartest man they had ever met.

Hahaha.
Who am I kidding?

I am just a great manipulator,
that's all.

I don't want to hurt anyone anymore.

It's time to give up on you.

You bring nothing but pain,
with few colorful mornings.

Goodbye love.
I don't want you anymore.
I will not pursue you anymore.

You brought the worst in me.

And aren't you just a lie anyway?
A bandage,
a stinky wet bandage,
for eternal
inescapable
fears?

I don't care.

I wish you were here.

I wish we could make it work.

But you are not here.

And you don't really want me.

I don't care.

Pistachios are everywhere.
What the fuck is this new trend?
Pistachio flavor on everything!?
Have they run out of new fucking ideas?
Fucking pistachios.

The sound of waves.
The color of the sea.
The storm is coming.
People are waiting for it.

Fuck pistachios.

I really want to meet you.
I want to see you again.

Is it just because I am lonely?
Should I finally completely give you up?

If we met, how much suffering would that produce in you?
I don't want that.
I don't want you to suffer.
I love you.
We cannot be together.
But I do love you.

I haven't thrown out balloons you gave me on my birthday. They are so deflated. It is funny.

I don't want to let you go.

We cannot be together.

Can we be something more?

I have to let you go.

It is hard.

Very hard.