Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Don't Think Too Hard

When an idea takes hold, there is very little that can shake it from its place. When people think of parasites, they think of the flesh-sucking menaces, the worms, the roaches, the viruses. They never think of the simpler things. A look. A word. A thought. These are among the most powerful parasites, and can grow to be the most dangerous in the world.

I was sitting in my basement, waiting for the fabric of reality to return from its departure, when I felt the thought for the first time. It was subtle, yet absolute. It had no weight yet, but that didn’t prevent it from sitting solidly in my mind. I turned to my friend, who seemed to be drifting away into the background, and asked him what he thought of it, but he was in his own world. He stared vacantly at the absence of matter in front of us, appearing to be just as intimidated as intrigued. I shook the feeling off.

The second time this bizarrely profound idea struck me, I was on my morning commute, driving to a job that only the failures still cared about. It was a stepping stone for me, and nothing more. At least, that was what I told myself. There looked to be a grisly accident, forcing the two twisted heaps of metal into the median. Looking at it, there was no telling how this could’ve happened… There was no situation I could visualize that made the scene makes sense. The troubling part of all of this was the sheet lying over a five-foot-eleven object between the two cars… It’s nothing, I told myself. I drove on.

I get in to work, walk through the front doors- No one is there. There were no attendants at the front desk, and beyond that, every office was empty. Passing the one before mine, I noticed something odd: Frank’s office chair was upside down on the wrong side of his desk, and the window behind that was tinted orange. The idea resonated around inside my skull, echoing around my conscious mind. The pieces were falling together. I shook my head and blinked a couple times, and there was Frank, sitting behind his desk, in front of his crystal-clear window. He was just… staring at me, a fascinatingly worried look on his face. I left before my mind cracked any more.

I got to my office when I heard the alarm start ringing, and promptly sat up to shut the damn thing off. Every morning, it’s the same high-pitched squeal. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the disturbing image of Frank’s office, the accident, it all faded away into a quickly forgotten dream. Thank god.

After hobbling down the stairs, gliding through a breakfast of over-cooked eggs, and falling out the door, I nearly stumbled into an abyss of memory. I saw my entire life happening simultaneously in the vast pit before me. Everything I rejoiced in, everything I was ashamed of, my first date… I blinked, and there she was, walking her dog on the other side of the street. I waved to her, but she noticed nothing. That idea kept poking at the back of my mind.

After walking the couple blocks to work, I sat down behind the screen, and watched it dissolve into data tables and line after line of code. It flickered past me on the screen, each one a command. A thought in the machine. An idea. I was programming a virus; it was what I do here. They call it corporate espionage, I call it maliciously illegal. But it paid well. Really well. The idea hit me again, and physically manifested itself as an itch at the base of my neck. Feeling around, I noticed something… A rectangular hole at the base of my skull… It felt like metal… A USB port. There was a port in my brain.

The next thing I did only felt obvious. I rooted through my drawers for a cable, and plugged myself in to my work. I downloaded this virus into my mind. I forced this idea into my head. And there it stayed, clear as day. A stain-glass portrait of this elegant thought, built lovingly into the window to my subconscious. I saw it all, now, and as I stared inwardly at this shocking concept, my vision faded to black. Reality melted away.

I coughed a bit. I was back with my friend, watching the wall come back from the brink of existence. He turned to me and smiled a calm smile. “Good shit, right?”

I was dazed, but replied. “Hell yeah. But, tell me…” I trailed off as it dawned on me. That wasn’t his voice. That was mine. One of us wasn’t real, and I honestly wasn’t sure which. So I asked. “Which one of us is really here?”

“Ah. So you figured it out?”

“I… I think so…” I died. I felt the idea blossom throughout my entire being, as if to tell me I was correct. I was driving home from my day job to work on my night one. My underground one. Some drunk ass turned right into oncoming traffic. I wasn't able to react in time. I plowed through him, forcing us both off to the left and into the median. Hitting him how I did, the front end of my car was destroyed. I must have kicked up rocks or something- Some object that could punch through my already-shattered windshield and send the fragments inward. Glass in vehicles wasn’t supposed to shatter like that. There shouldn’t have been shards. But there were, and a good handful of them were through my face. My neck. One embedded in my shoulder.

My friend just stared at me, and responded in my own voice. “No, no… You wish you were. You aren’t.” He paused and looked away. “You’re the only man left alive. You wish you were dead. And you wish it was a relatively normal death. But that isn’t what happened.”

I wasn’t shocked. The idea pounded in my brain like a demonic heartbeat, but it brought no emotion with it. Somewhere, somehow, I knew this was the truth. But still, some part of me couldn’t accept that. “Bullshit. I just smoked too much. Work’s been stressful.”

“You’re right,” he replied. “Don’t think too hard on it. I know I wouldn’t.”

It was still my voice. I went to bed, the idea beginning to define the essence of who I am. It couldn’t be true. I saw too many things, too many people, too many unpredictable events. But still… His voice was my own. Was it just the drug? Did I snap ages ago? Is he dead or am I? Too many questions, and no way of getting answers.

Those last words rumbled beneath my skin: Don’t think too hard. It was his voice, and it was mine. And that was the breaking point. I felt the eloquent idea rupture out of me, bursting through my flesh, enveloping my vision, my world. Did I die in that accident, or did everyone else?

The idea responded. And just like that, I was no more.

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Solving the Grandfather Paradox

Eddie Andrews: It's because it all comes down to a binary choice.

Frank Parker: That doesn't fix the paradox

EA: It does, though. Have you beaten Bioshock Infinite?

FP: Nope!

EA: Then that example won't work.

FP: I'll play it eventually

EA: Okay, you have two people that decide to have a kid. That right there is the binary choice: You are either born, or you aren't. In the even you are born, you go back and kill your parents. So now, if they decide to have a kid, that kid ends up killing them before they have a kid. So the only choice left is to not have a kid. It's the only way the parents will still exist.

FP: So it's impossible to cause a time paradox if you don't exist in the first place

EA: Kind of...? It's impossible to cause a paradox, because all events come down to a binary choice. All the paradox does is prevent one of those choices from happening. It eliminates the choice.

FP: So in the event two people will have a kid that would cause a time paradox, it is inherently corrected by them never having a kid?

EA: Correct. Because if they have a kid, then the parents would already have been dead. The fact they can make the decision means they won't have a kid.

FP: But I exist, and given the ability to travel back in time I have the physical ability to kill my parents

EA: At which point you would no longer exist. Because if you did, you won't exist. :P

FP: But I exist now

EA: You're thinking linearly.

FP: For me to exist now, I must never go back in time and kill my parents, which means that part of my future is already determined

EA: In one sense, yes. But also, the instance of you that would initiate the paradox would still have their own past. It would just be irrelevant. From any other perspective, you wouldn't have ever existed. From your own, though, you'd still have your own past. These are still things you would've done. The fact that you are present in my past, though, negates that.

FP: hmmm

EA: So no, you won't go back and kill your parents. :P

FP: Don't tempt me

EA: Good luck?

FP: I suppose time travel would be the first piece to conquer

EA: Which won't happen in your lifetime. Cause I remember you.

FP: It doesn't need to XD

EA: Therefore, you can't go back and erase yourself. QED.

FP: As long as it happens in someone's lifetime

EA: But the technology will never reach YOUR lifetime. Either that, or you're too chickenshit to go through with it. :P SO I'LL TEMPT YOU ALL I WANT.

FP: FINE. I'm decently positive you won't be traveling through time either

EA: HOW DO YOU KNOOOWWW. I never wanted to erase myself.

FP: Suuure

EA: I'd probably just erase you. And you'd still remember. Up until the point I go back. Cause they're still your memories. And I would remember, cause I'm the one doing it. :P

FP: That's about it though

EA: That only holds true if this conversation only happened due to a tampering with a past event, though. Cause I would need to be the first iteration of myself with this idea.

FP: And the chances of that are..?

EA: Either 0% or 100%. So 50%.

FP: Yay binary choices

EA: Yup. xD I kinda wanna post this conversation somewhere again.

FP: Do it. I don't know where somewhere is though

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Your reality is not mine.

I do not live in your reality. I live in the minds of my inner demons, and even as they threaten to dredge up the past and tear my life apart, they are nothing more than my own personal puppets, twisting and distorting myself into a darker, and yet, more satisfying, self image.

It allows me to watch as my insecurities and pains creep up and over myself, engulfing me. I get to watch myself emerge. And I get to see who comes out the other side. It grants me two views: One is staring out the window of my physical self, while the other is the man behind the curtain.

It is all a game to me. I can immerse myself in agony, watching as another "me" combats it, and it is so satisfying to see how I fare against it. I don't think it would be fair to say if the man on the other side is "better" or "worse," he is simply different. Good or bad has no bearing, because that man is still alive, and because of it, he is wiser, stronger, and can accomplish more than before.

This makes things interesting, though, because the "physical" me never feels like the "real" me. He is nothing more than a social and mental experiment; an exercise in things that should not be tampered with. The only difference between myself and others is that we are on opposite sides of this window of a man.

The real me, the true me, is every insecurity I've ever had, every pain I've ever felt, every love I've ever lost. This is the corporeal self image I have, and it is who I am. I am my every waking moment, filled with all the pains of a lifetime, and for my own enjoyment, I release some of them upon my physical self, just to see what happens.

This does not mean I am a negative person, but quite the opposite. Because the image that I identify as my real self is an avatar of pure pain, it means I am aware of pure pain. When your dog dies, as sad as it is, you know his memory will live on, and you know you'll be okay. When your friend gets in an accident and is in critical care, you know that he is still alive, and that he can still recover. With every pain we feel, there is a silver lining. There is something we can reach out towards. And we always do, even when we don't notice it.

This is not true pain.

True pain is ultimate loss. It is the deconstruction of our identity to a dark and horrible image that we want to kill. It is the erasure of everything we cared about in ourselves. It breaks us down until the only thing left is me: The avatar of pain.

So when the physical me is in pain, it is infinitely better than what I know I can do to myself on a whim. When I am depressed or lonely, I can laugh, simply because I know that I could make it so much worse in a split second if I desired. I could turn my whole world to darkness, burn the memories of everyone who loved me, erase my friends from existence, and I'm sad because my manager at work is passive-aggressive towards me? It's so laughable.

This allows me to live in a perpetual state of happiness, simply because compared to true pain, anything else is so childishly trivial. It's similar to the idea that you will not know true happiness until you experience true loss, only much more entertaining, because with this "true loss," it is still seen as a bad thing. But why? Loss is who I am, and I can use that to toy with myself, evoke all kinds of emotions and memories, and then laugh about how petty it all is. When you embrace the negativity to this degree, all it is is a toy. Nothing more.

So your reality is not mine. Mine is the darkness of humanity, the horrors that we try to erase, ignore, forget. Don't forget them. Embrace them, love them, and remember that they are who you really are. Do this, and life will never seem dark again.

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Medicated [Short story]

(Note: This is a work of fiction, based off of the two flash games, “The Company of Myself,” and “Fixation,” by 2DArray. This short story takes place between the two games. Playing them will definitely help to make sense of  this writing, but you may enjoy it anyway.)

A week later, the men in coats broke down my door. They escorted me out, not kindly, but not unkindly. They were only doing their duty, and one can hardly blame a man that does honest work. Their sudden appearance made me happy, and the change in routine made me ecstatic. Is that the right word? I believe it is, but I’m not sure if I’m using it right… All emotion started failing me when I started having the dreams.

A week ago is when they started. I’d dream of meeting a girl, lost in the cave of her own subconscious. We met in the shadows. I was strolling around people’s minds, safely tucked away in a balanced place. Where the rights and wrongs, the goods and the bads, all balance out. My medication certainly helped.

She was quite the opposite at the time. Her friend was in a bad place, prone to get hurt by a man who was careless with her feelings. If anyone can respect the value of a friend, it would be me. I’ve lived alone since my accident… A good friend can save a life.

I told her everything would be alright. She took my hand. We left the cave of her mind. I woke up.

It was the first dream of many, but it felt quite real. As if it was a latent memory. All I could do was continue taking my medication. It was the only thing keeping me safe at the time. So I upped the dosage. It kept me in the Meadow longer, the place of balance. I believe I can recall a girl calling me the ‘Zen Master’ for this reason. What a strange girl…

My medicine keeps me here. It’s good. Sometimes, it’s better to forget than to remember. In one dream, I told her about this. About how sometimes, I do things I wouldn’t normally do. Other times, I’d completely forget things.

Sometimes both.

A few days later, I met this girl in my dreams again. We’d been meeting regularly, but this was unique. It was powerful. Emotional. I took her to my Meadow. She smiled. She was happy. Our meeting had very few words. Only emotions. I had made a new friend. More than a friend, really. She was the greatest friend I had ever made.

I woke up in tears. Alone. And that was how things would always be: Alone. This girl only lived in my dreams, in memories of things that hadn’t happened. This girl was my one and only friend. She would always be my only friend.

The dreams stopped coming as regularly after that. But I needed her. And she needed me. So I increased my dose again. And that night, I saw her again. But it was different. She had a sad happiness to her, as if she was back in the cave. Yet we were in the Meadow. How could that be?

I didn’t understand it then, but I understand it now. She had left me. She was gone. I wasn’t going to see her again.

And I didn’t. My Kathryn was gone. The girl in my dreams was no more. Her name was Kathryn…

When the men came to my door, I was so delighted at the idea of making new friends. I went with them. Where would they take me? Would I remember where I ended up? I was now taking four times the medication I had when the dreams started, increased again and again, hoping I would see my Kathryn again.

There was a skip in my memory. I was in a cell. There was a man in there with me. He asked how I got my scar… My scar? What scar? The scar across my face. I don’t have any scars… Was my memory really failing me this greatly? Was he toying with me? I didn’t like him. I couldn’t trust him.

It was that night, my first night in my new home, when I had my last dream. I was with Kathryn, and… myself. Hundreds of myself. Kathryn faded quickly, but I stayed. I woke up in a sweat. I saw myself standing over me. Smiling. And then he vanished in a puff of smoke. Gone.

It was during my stay there that I started talking to myself. Not crazy, no. To this other ‘me.’ To all the other ‘me’s. I learned so much there. The other people didn’t bother me much. I don’t recall anyone else. The cell was filled with me, and only me. And so, I learned to work with myself. To talk to myself, and enjoy myself. To be entertained by the company of myself, and only myself. It was all I had left.

I had no more medication. I was off it for a month. The effects were coming in. I forgot where I was. Who I was talking to. When I was. Was Kathryn coming to visit me here? No, just someone else. Perhaps they could help me. If they heard my story, maybe they could help me find her. Find my missing Kathryn.

It was all I had left. All I had was myself, and my Kathryn. These two traits defined me.

I’m in a room with white walls now. Nothing else. Was I moved from that cell? Was I ever in a cell? All I know is I’m alone again. Sometimes, a man comes in. And I tell him my story. But he knows nothing about my Kathryn. I tell him that I can multitask pretty well. That I can help people. He only nods and writes things down on his pad of paper.

I want nothing more than this man to be my friend. I can’t talk to myself in this room. I’m not in here. And Kathryn is fading… I don’t remember where we met, anymore. I need this man to be my friend.

If I can just tell him my story… Maybe he’ll be my friend.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012


Everyone claims that they know everything, or at least, more than they should. Later in life, we claim we know what we need to, and by late age, we know that we know nothing. This is regarded as true wisdom, but that isn’t the topic of this discussion.

Everyone has their own set of solid, unwavering beliefs, formed through their younger years, solidified in their young adult years, and tried and tested throughout the rest of their life. The points of creation, solidification, and trial may differ from person to person, but by a certain age, we all know what we believe, and we are unwavering on that belief.

Everyone has opinions, both gained through experience and told to us by family and friends. In most cases, told by others and refined through experience. Therefore, none of our opinions are entirely their own, and yet, we stand by them as if they are.

Everyone defends their opinions, their beliefs, and the knowledge, and most people will carry their beliefs to the grave. Who are you to tell me what to believe? Why should I change how I live when all of my evidence backs me up? People assume that defending their beliefs means standing firm, unmovable. A good handful of people think it is to attack the “intruder,” as we’ll call such a person. But why? Why is change so bad that you should defend against it? Why is it so terrible?

It may be an elementary point, but everyone fears change. Every time their beliefs and morals are challenged, they grow stiff and cautious. They harden themselves against any concept that might, just might, alter their views on life. How terrible it must be to find a better, happier way to live. How terrible it must be to learn that the last x amount of years were wasted.

Maybe that’s what everyone is thinking. Maybe I put too much into this lifestyle. To change it now, all of that would have been in vain. Well, no. All of that led up to this revolution, this idea, this new way to live. And all of it is propelling you closer to the concept of pure happiness.

But here, we have the fundamental problem: Everyone does all of this. We all criticize other ways of living, other religions (especially religions), while being completely immovable ourselves. And you may think “No, my way truly is the best way I know to live. I can change other people, and they’ll be happier.” Or maybe you think that this is your way, and no one will change this, and others will just have to find their own ways to be happy.

People say they’re willing to change, that if someone tries to show them a way they can be happier, that they will take that chance. We all tell ourselves this, but would we really? If we saw something better than what we had, would we even notice? And if we did, would we really be willing to take that chance, that maybe it won’t work for us?

Most people say yes. The ones who know themselves say no, just as everyone should say no. The problem is that we won’t change. Once our beliefs are cemented in our minds, there is no changing. No matter how much we claim we want to, we never really want to change. And this brings us around to the point of this discussion: How are you any different?

Well, I’ve had different experiences- Sure. Everyone has different experiences. But I’ve done things other people wouldn’t- Everyone has their crazy stories. I almost killed myself onc- Of course you have, it’s called being a depressed teenager.

You don’t fit into any stereotypes? That’s great and all, but everyone strives for that.

You think in ways no one else does? No one thinks the same way.

You are not different.

So what happens when someone knows they aren’t any different? Well, it’s the ones that aren’t caught up in this self-denial that will say that. They know that, fundamentally, they are no different from anyone else. So maybe this makes them different, but they won’t try to stick out in a crowd if they actually believe those words: “I am not different.” They’ll fall into all of the aforementioned patterns, because they won’t try not to. And if being different by claiming you’re not different means you give up, is that really different at all? Everyone else has given up, at one time or another.

You could argue that it is our personalities and hobbies that set us apart, but those both stem from the way we live, the way we’ve learned to live. And we all believe the same things, in the same ways, when we get down below the surface. Our personalities are essentially masks, and I could write an entire other post on how someone’s personality means nothing. In fact, I intend to.

So I ask you: How are you different?

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Spiral of a Monotone Life

When suffering through intense or prolonged (Or, in very unfortunate cases, both) bouts of depression, we find ourselves re-evaluating our definition of happiness to match our current situation, rather than changing our current situation to match our definition of happiness. In doing so, a life, previously seen as one of hardships and struggles, becomes the norm. It changes from “This is the worst possible life ever” to “This is what life is like.” Eventually, we become content with the pains we are forced to endure, and amid them, we find premature happiness.

This is wrong.

Every time we rethink life, every time we stop fighting for what we desire and simply decide that “I can be happy with this,” we are cheating ourselves out of more and more levels of true bliss. If we take, for example, the pursuit of true love (known as a very commonplace dream to achieve pure happiness), we have very high standards for being content with life. As we all know, true love is not a common occurrence. Many people go their whole lives looking for it, only to find, at best, lust. True love is so incredibly elusive, yet we pursue it. Why? Because we know, or at least acknowledge the fact that we have no idea, how happy it can make us. Starting here, we set our standards of happiness in the clouds.

Then, something happens. We catch a glimpse of love, only to be rejected, betrayed, cheated, used, beaten. In the less extreme of cases, we become content that we at least caught that single glimpse. Already, without acknowledging any dizzying depths of depression, we have dropped our standards far lower than they were previously. In a worst case scenario, we give up on love. We stop pursuing our original concept of happiness, and replace it with a completely and entirely new one.

This is all fine and good, but our new standards for happiness will not be as pure. In this example, it can change to money, sex, fame. The words alone paint a more self-centered, apathetic, greedy image. Not only that, but the joys from these new goals will be fleeting, not lasting as long, or as powerfully, as the original desire.

The only way we are actually content with these lower standards is because we convince ourselves that nothing has changed, that nothing is different about life, that we are simply less naïve than before. We lie to ourselves until we no longer believe the truth. Some of what we tell ourselves could indeed be correct, but very pessimistic. Yes, it is true that it is naïve to think that there is no sorrow in the world. To think that there is only happiness and rainbows and butterflies and everything’s perfect is just foolish. However, to think that a depression earlier in life has made you wiser now is simply stupid. It is one thing to know the other extreme exists; it is quite another to think that you will never end up there.

So, where we are now is somewhere underneath where we started. We are still happy, but only because we convince ourselves that we were foolish beforehand, that this is the way life really is, and so on and so forth. We have not only lied to ourselves, but we have forgotten our dreams as well. Our new standard of happiness could be to simply “make it” in this world.

We are living a lie.

We end up in a very steep, downward spiral. We only believe our own lies. If our lies are exposed (which is stupendously easy to do, as they are lies), we doubt ourselves, and rightfully so. But this leads us to question what the truths are, and, since we have previously disregarded the truths as products of a childish and over-zealous mind, we will never think to look back in that direction for our true lives.

Without our lies to protect us, and arrogantly discarding the truth, we pursue something we cannot find, inevitably leading us deeper into depression. We re-evaluate our definition of happiness, time and time again, until there is essentially no reward for achieving our latest “goal.” Life becomes monotone, colorless, fake.

So all we need to do is realize that we were correct in the beginning, right?

The problem with that is that by time we realize such a thing, we have already fallen too far, and seeing the truth impossibly far away will plunge us farther into depression than our shattered lies ever could. Because we are so far gone already, we are likely pessimistic about the entire scenario (or simply “realistic,” as we tell ourselves), and so we dwell in our own misery of a wasted life, with no hope of getting back what was lost.

The solution? Stay optimistic.

As long as you can maintain a positive outlook on things, you will never sink so low that depression and pessimism overwhelm you. Stay focused on what truly makes you happy, and, although things may be clouded from time to time, you will always be able to get back on top. Even if you have fallen to an almost monotone level, a burst of insight can save you. With an optimistic mind and a good deal of willpower, you will be able to save yourself. Many people call this an “epiphany.”

Optimism stops you from falling. Focus brings you back up when you do fall. Keep this in mind, and you may not have to experience this spiral. Or, more likely, you’re currently in one, but you refuse to admit it. “I’m happy,” you tell yourself. You’ll keep telling yourself that until you realize that, at one point in your life, you had more. You’ll repeat the lie to yourself until you decide that you want more out of life.

So go get it.

To those who think this does not target you: This targets you. You won’t believe that it does until you doubt your own happiness, which, you are likely afraid to do. “What a load of crap,” you’ll think. To that, I have no response. I can’t convince you. That’s up to you. Such is the nature of the spiral.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Screw Conformity.

The world is not revolutionized by people who go with the flow. Humanity does not make advances due to people who are afraid to step outside social norms. Most of our most revolutionary thinkers were labeled as heretics, lunatics, nutcases. In their time, very few of them were regarded as the brilliant minds that we seem them as today.

Progress is made by deviations from daily life. It takes a strong mind to recognize, not just that something is wrong with our society, but to identify what it is. These minds stray away from the socially acceptable path, because they know, with complete certainty, that there is a better way to live. The great minds that brought us to the modern era were not restricted by "normal" thinking, they weren't restricted by society in any way. They did what they knew would better society, and they did it with or without approval.

That being said, sticking to social norms won't get you anywhere in life. You'll be stuck doing the "socially acceptable" things. That isn't necessarily bad, some people like that. Or, so they tell themselves. Very few actually enjoy such a life, and even less of them have the opportunity to find out. They convince themselves that this is the life they enjoy, and even if it isn't, it still works, because the alternative is so much more uncomfortable.

And it is. Going against social expectations is generally incredibly uncomfortable. It leaves most people alienated, and we all want to be accepted. But if we give in to society, are we really accepted? It isn't us they approve of, it's our sheepish ways, our forfeit to a "standard" life. By befriending everyone, by being loved by everyone in such a manner, you give yourself up in exchange for a fleeting comfort. Next time someone asks who you are, you won't really have an answer. Who are you? "Society. I am society." Society has no face. It has no hobbies, no interests, no goals or aspirations. It wasn't society that put man on the moon. It was a select group of individuals that were supported by society, just along for the ride. Society just waits for the next big thing to come along and blow their minds.

Don't conform. Don't try to fit in, don't do something cause it makes someone else happy. We define our own happiness, and it is our choice to watch that happiness suffocate under social oppression, or to say "to hell with society," and live a truly happy life. If someone else supplies this definition for you, you are already a slave to them. Nothing can come from anyone except yourself. You don't owe anyone anything, and no one and nothing owes you anything in return. All you owe is to yourself, to be yourself.

Don't accept anyone's ideals but your own. Don't live for anyone but yourself. Don't let anyone tell you that you're happy except you. Live this life, live your life, and you become the next revolution.