Soul is bloated, idea is not.
Idea is autistic.
Soul is bloated, knowledge is not.
Knowledge is autistic.
Symphony is bloated, solo instrumental is not.
Solo instrumental is autistic.
Goethean is bloated.
Intuition is bloated.
I choose idea and knowledge for the soul, the soul's life, while I'm living as soulean, symphonized, intuitionized and Goethean.

Agreements come from misunderstandings. Disagreements are more welcomed, since disagreements bring two talking subjects closer to the relative truth, they may envisioned.
Real correspondences come not from agreements, but faith, courage, restless persistence - effort, and virtue of nobility.
Nobility - I guess, relates to: connections, dependent relations, restraint, influencing, covering, protection, security etc. A naked person would not be noble, nor would a completely solitary, lonely one.

It is a situation in which all philosophy collapses and God disappears. I hated life to an extreme point. Sometimes I even wanted to give my life to others - utilized by others - because I didn't need it. Then, I gradually realized that all the resentment came from the presence of time, that this "life" was actually occupying time, and I couldn't really isolate this "life".
In life, both misery, and happiness, function as torture.

I started to have random auditory hallucination - true hallucinations thus not in my mind.

Suicide is -
a experience.

I value nobleness most.
Nobleness - is certainly bloated.
A main manifestation of nobleness is Haydn's Piano Concerto No.2,4 - intellectualistic Goethean.

Spiritual suffering is easy,
Spiritual thinking is hard;
Physically suffering is hard as well.
The hardest part is synthesizing each facets.

An image of a thinker may not convey a clear temperament or tendency, yet it evokes a sense of “pain,” perhaps a “cheerful pain.” When someone genuinely shares their thoughts with others—always in the context of an individual-to-individual connection—there is often a background of pain present as well.

But the very strange thing is, when someone thinks alone - this has nothing to do with sort of an image of a thinker just because our “thinker” here doesn’t able to or want to watch himself, he don’t even feel himself at that moment - this becomes the most joyful and profound feeling one can experience on earth. Truly. To say it more precise, when he recalls, he remembers that joyful, which is exactly born out of the ashes of the painful. This painful comes from all his past experiences, I mean, all, not even some specific experiences but all of them. The opposite status of “painful” seems absent and so unreal…
Pure thinking is what he goes through, where he always has “joyful and profound feeling” like a function links the process of this and the result of that. When experiences come in, or memories, that profound feeling of “thinking” looks like finds its source. Everything is being inserted in an endless circle.

Experience just means some sort of dirty, filthy, things.

I have had a very hard time to overcome all some of Xenakis' works. Sometimes I thought I'm not interested in the music of other composers at all, but this is such a desperate idea so I deadly wanted to suppress it. People often find things of interest, but in my ears I only have La légende d'Eer. It has always been like this. I think La légende d'Eer is far more important than Bohor, and these two together are the most important works in more than half a century. I want to know when this situation should end. This is strange, since before the great phenomenon of Xenakis' music was Romanticism / Beethoven…

Knows nothing about music, when he divinely manifested himself, it was cringe: anomalous pop-music with phase shifting-like effects, echoic, and embryonic. He himself, miserable, reactive, blind. There was no light displayed, there was only sounds, and darkness.