Our Fears are Our Stories.

Our fears are our stories.

And our story is in a morgue. This is a morgue and you are nothing more than a body. You count as much as a dead body even when you are alive.

After children die by accident, the state comes home to offer crocodile tears. Ideally, parents shouldn’t let them in. They should ask questions and should throw the state out. Like the parents of APS children did. But then, we also know how those parents were treated.

Ask questions, stare back, and these defenders of yours will cut your belly and snatch your unborn child with your guts out.

There is an institution that has a monopoly on violence. The rest of the institutions and political parties support that institution in return for some share in power and corruption.

During this process, people die.

When people die, this happens.

When this happens, you should know.

That they are all part of the problem.

And you are a mere dead body.

Even when you are alive.

But then, you also know that this is a simulation. This morgue is a simulation. Your children are simulations. Your dead body is a simulation. A carefully crafted algorithm. Evolving on its own. Learning from whatever is available in all forms of consciousness.

While seeing AI growing organically, gaining consciousness of its own, you deny evolution. What if God’s plan was evolution?

He offered prophethood after four decades, at 40. Then He took 23 years to complete the religion and the book. Orders were given gradually, with mercy and peace. One step at a time.

Yet the message of peace was transformed into fear. Because fear is the ultimate answer to subordination. But defection too. That’s a deviation. Another subject.

For now: evolution!

Yet we crave revolution. Instant results. Swipe. Next option. Next person. Next relationship. Next smell. Next government. Next missile. Next war. Next catastrophe. Instant coffee. Fast food. Next reel.

Do you still have the stamina to read the giant volumes like War & Peace and The Count of Monte Cristo and all the dull subjects of Dostoevsky? Do you have stamina to read complex and sometimes utterly nonsensical philosophies? Does your arse still have the capacity to sit and watch The Godfather in one go?

Even our fears are shortened. One moment, a fear grips our neck with both its hands and the next moment it’s gone. Yet our fears are our stories.

The fear of losing. Don’t gain.

The fear of worth. Stay worthless.

The fear of divorce. Don’t get married.

The fear of losing a child. Stay barren.

And the fear of losing God who once was on your side. That makes you a rebel. A misfit. Who then wishes to burn, lock, stock, and barrel, of the entire field of God all the complexities offered within time and space.

May you find what you’re looking for.