As a reader who loves to write, I have dead words

It turns out that one can wander around in life for years without realizing that one is dead. The most crucial part is not the moment when you realize that you are dead, it is the moment when you are happiest and realize that you are dead. When you start asking yourself how much a corpse is entitled to such joy, you find yourself questioning life. Why was Socrates executed? Why was it necessary to kill Socrates a second time, when philosophy was already the first to be killed by the ruined moral wreckage of the gods? As you want to sink into the darkness of these two serious questions, you remember again that you have a sinful happiness. You remember it as if you had swallowed a handful of razor blades. You are buried in a pool of blood as your insides are sliced and diced. As Socrates said. "Only God still knows which is better," you vaguely hear his voice saying.

As a reader who likes to write, I continue to watch my insides being cut, not knowing where to put the dead words, in which paragraph. Between the writhing of my poisoned memory that says "I'll be relieved if I throw up" and the growing pool of blood, I give birth to an erectile baby. A dead baby!

In movies, subtitles for the hearing impaired describe sounds other than speech with sentences such as "the wind is blowing, the woman is crying, the chair on the balcony is creaking, the dog is growling, the sounds of walking on the asphalt, the child is breathing deeply"; I am so unable to hear life. What I see and hear only passes through my dead body as expressions without any feeling in them. Everything I write is the subtitle of my insides.

As long as I cannot feel and hear the voices of the woman crying or the child breathing deeply, life will continue to be a shiny, glamorous but fake stone for me and I will continue to die.

By nature, human beings sometimes want to live a simple, quiet life and sometimes a busy life. While both of these lifestyles are what some people want, others want to lead either a calm and serene life or a noisy and hectic life. Some are bored by chaos and some by calmness. What one is distant from, the other is close to. What one finds refreshing, another finds uncomfortable.

Since God willingly expelled me from his womb, we have punished him by becoming a father. Prayer in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Daughters: '' God, nothing has changed since you threw me into the world as an unburied, dead baby. "Hold my hand now.

Nature where life has taste and flavor. There is clean water and air. There is the green of the mountain and the plain, the blue of the sky, the murmur of the rivers and streams. There is the sound of birds, the howl of wolves, the rustle of leaves, the breeze of the wind, the smell of the earth after the rain, the fragrance of mint and thyme. Depending on what you are looking for, there is nothing that is not in nature, nothing that cannot be obtained, nothing that cannot be reached. Nature is a place to take refuge and breathe.

I guess I wasn't heard again because of the subtitle "the sounds of street noise". I wish, God, that instead of such grand adjectives, your recipe was a simple shelter. Perhaps I have taken on your shame for being a failed product for you. I apologize.