An Atheist's Reflections on the AfterlifeWhy is that people assume whatever case that suits them best will happen to them when they die? Some say heaven, some that there is "nothing". However, in order to know that there is "nothing" you cannot be there yourself, and assuming such a thing is assuming only half of nothing,and it is yet again another case of one assuming whatever suits them best.More Like This
And that's wrong. In order to assume that there is nothing, you must forsake your selfish ideals and accept that when you die you are truly gone. You must love death. You must pay your respects to nothingness.
Those who commit suicide are truly selfish - no, not because they leave behind a grieving family - but because they left that grieving family for a world of half nothingness. They believe that their problems will go away - and yes, that is true - but in addition to their problems, they will leave the waking as well. They will not be able to process the feeling of inner peace, because they died in pain. Your mind will no longer fu
colorMore Like This
What if despair was a color? Would it be gray? Blue? A very sad shade of green?
And what color would hope be? Yellow? Orange, like the sun? Or, just perhaps, would it be white, the color of a clean, blank page of a journal, just waiting for the first stroke of a pen? A new Word being opened, waiting for you to type?
Could love be black, like the night sky, scattered with white across it like diamonds? Could it be blue like the sea, deep and immeasurable? Could hatred be pink like crushed roses on the empty earth?
What if we were alive in color?
We are surrounded by every shade of hue imaginable. Does anyone dream in monochromatic? Do we dream in black and white and gray? Perhaps.
ChoiceYou are standing in a hallway, when suddenly, you come to two doors...More Like This
Behind the first is a whole spectrum of delights to tantalise the senses,
Smells which have never been smelt...
Sights which were thought to be impossible...
Sounds so enrapturing, you cannot help but be frozen by their melody...
Tastes so fulfilling, you cannot possibly taste anything better...
Feelings thought previously to be unattainable...
Behind the other, is freedom....
Which do you choose?
BioMore Like This
I used to have religion, and then I began to read. I used to read Voltaire, but I abandoned him for Sartre. And when Sartre got too depressing, I burned them all and swore I'd never believe in anything. Not heaven, not hell; not the world, not my senses; and not even my own existence or even Heisenberg's insecure and inscrutable atoms. I would not believe that I could believe or could not believe. I would not think at all.
Days waxed and waned in bumps of eternity, still unlanced after so much festering. Time unraveled at my fingertips, and then betrayed me. It shed from my skin, my hair, leaving me with the tinge of wrinkles and the taint of gray.
I used to believe in true love, but the skies spiraled inward and outward in the never-ending sequence of eyes—always watching, never ceasing. But when I finally met the one I had always wanted to meet, it was too late. He believed in death, in life, in rain and sunshine. And I, I did not believe at all. How could I? In the airy recesses of
Pathless RaceYou have one second, right now, to decide the meaning of every word I have to say.More Like This
No, of course not.
My meaning must be explained, conveyed, so that you may interpret it.
In so doing, it becomes corrupt.
You may 'interpret' it as something different than intended.
So where does that leave us?
Hopelessly lost with a touch of elusive ignorance.
My words mean nothing.
I have no chance to elaborate and explain.
I'll move along to the point, then.
There isn't one.
See how simple this is?
You can't misunderstand me.
There is not the stress of placing every last word in its assigned seat.
You're still entertained.
Ah... But is not having a point, a point?
That's not for me to say.
However, there is one last thing.
This an absent story, one without direction.
There be not dreams nor tales to speak of.
This is real life.