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/m/ - Monologue

ἐδιζησάμην ἐμεωυτόν.
Miscellaneous fragmental writings, self-dialogues, and rantings.
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     No.14

    I hat(v)e to say this. But love as a feeling is overrated. If there's anything essential thing in love, It's always instantaneous and image-thinking, or it's just like a (real) dream that a modern man couldn't grasp. (sometimes, some dreams were connected with a feeling of love so close to a kind of light, white sun, silent water or warm fire, or an image of heaven, or eternal solitude. It was even identity to reproductive pleasure, harmony.)
    It's a kind of, deepened memory, sometimes altered and sometimes not.
    When the activity of maintaining this love has to take into account another person on the other side, endless impurities come into your life in unimaginable ways. And then I had to see the death, to see the darkness. I couldn't close my eyes, and its nihilistic image horrified me. It gradually became an embarrassment and my hatred gradually came in. My "memory" became so good that I began to recall all the unfair and pain over and over again. Those painful moments flowed by gently like a river, but with loud rumble.
    Sometimes I have to switch between hate and love. Eventually it's hard to tell which is hate or love. It ends up being entirely dependent on mind, discards all original feelings.

     No.15

    One was born to against the Beloved.

    But when you connect them all together, the best explanation is that you feel grief for the lost, You used to agonize over the death of the beloved.
    The beloved was defeated and then died.