I don’t think we’re genuinely interested in really getting the truth of things, we only want to find certitude, fossilized facts, things that are motionless, permanent, perpetual, irreversible, so no one can dispute us, no one can debate us and win. Whether things are true or not doesn’t really matter. Truth doesn’t really exist, only our own ego and its peace of mind.

If others have disguised themselves before, you can do so too.

When I first heard of the words ‘marry up’ and ‘marry down’, I found them so offensive. I’m sure every language has something that means the same, but simplifying it to an elevator-like meaning felt so shockingly harsh. In a place with tall buildings, no one wants to leave in the Lower Level. I wonder if in a place with one story buildings and no elevators this concept holds the same way.

It’s better not to spend too much time contemplating what chains you.

Perhaps there is too much emphasis on striving to be a more rational being. There is something empowering in being a bit more eccentric, in risking it all for the sake of ephemeral dreams, in embracing ecstasy, ready to give it all up in exchange of everything, or nothing at all. Perhaps we should strive to be a bit less of a rational human.

Thinking of plans for the future becomes such crushing reality when you are an artist. I don’t think there is a compromise, or a middle point, or a hybrid. Either you think of planning for your future and stop being a creative person, or you don’t think of it and become a creative person. It is an irreconcilable dichotomy.

When I’ve gone too deep into the sphere of abstract constructions, I end up in complete incertitude. I see it happening a lot in artists. They philosophize to the point of absolute confusion. They miss who or what comes in, and comes out.

It’s not enough being a fly on the wall. You have to know how are you going to use what you are witnessing, otherwise it becomes just empty voyeurism.

This is the beginning.

When I cannot undo what it’s been done, I try to contain the sour sensation of loss and victimization, and realize that it’s not fair to harbor intolerance, cherish prejudices, and defend ideas until the extreme. It’s not a scape. It’s non- resistance.

What happens when you love someone, you give them the power to break your heart, you trust them that they will not break it, but they do break it in the end anyway. How many strikes is it going to take until you walk away? Why do we cling on ‘profoundness’ or ‘depth’? Why don’t we just walk away? I’ve done it, I did it, and I walked away, and I couldn’t be happier about it, without a shadow of regret.

As I imagine it has happened to everyone, I’ve been tossed and washed by other people’s loathsome words a few times over. Luckily, not too many times, although the intensity of those moments feels overwhelmingly wounding. I have always found strength in absolutely believing that the person who argues is always less, always, drowned by doubt, asphyxiated of vitality. That person must feel important of his/her progress toward negation. I simply stay out of that second-rate way.

It’s really tragic that ethical social principles don’t accumulate over generations. It seems that whatever new our generation brings, it’s put forward only by trampling on what was unique in the preceding generation. Every new human conquest has become a hollow affirmation, based on a loss. We are something new only by exclusion.

Someone made you who you are today. You are the result of someone’s actions, someone’s deeds, someone’s mistakes. I don’t think it’s always a good idea to give yourself too much credit. You’re not on either a pedestal or a rabbit hole. The context of our megalomaniac paroxysms has a starting point on someone else.

When something or someone, including myself, break my right to expect an outcome, the shock comes with a sense of suffocation. The vaporous ideal feels like dry eyes: no tears or laughter come out. Choosing a new expectation seems so absurd at first.