The hypocrite


Yesterday I saw a guy riding his bike while sipping from a soda. At one point during his trajectory I see him emptying the liquid in the bottle, doing like a pendulum movement with his hand. His bike had a grocery basked attached in front so I figured “Oh such a nice guy, he’s emptying the bottle so he can save it in his basked for recycling or whatever”. While I was thinking that, he does another pendulum movement with his hand, this time with more intensity and smashes the bottle to the ground. At which point I thought “What a piece of shit… what a fucking piece of shit”. I literally thought that. What a piece of shit that guy must be, for smashing that bottle to the ground.

While judging this guy, a weird memory comes to surface. When I was in my teens, I used to visit my cousins from the countryside. One of our friend’s father owned a small egg incubation facility. People in the village who grew chickens could bring their eggs for incubation in a controlled environment. Here the rate of succesful hatching is higher than in natural conditions, especially during the cold season.

Although the rate of hatching is higher, that doesn’t mean all eggs hatch. As you can imagine a lot of eggs need to be thrown away. So, our friend tells us that he has to do this nasty thing his father made him do. He was supposed to take all the rotten eggs to the village landfill. All the eggs were loaded in a carriage, pulled by his father’s horse. We never saw so many eggs in one place in our life. The carriage was completely full. It was one of those childhood awe moments. And we were in charge of the whole opperation.

We jump into the carriage and we are on our way. We’re not rolling fast, we’re rolling steady, as we are carrying a full load of stinky eggs on a country road. At some point along the way, as I get bored I get the idea of egging houses. Of course my friends thought it was a pretty sweet idea too, so we egged all the houses in our path. We egged them with rotten stinky eggs. We trew so many eggs. Oh man, it was so disgusting. Now that I look back, I still think it’s a funny story… but not as funny as before.

Everyone got grounded like forever and had to do a million chores, except me. I got to go home the next day and my parents only found out after the initial tension was gone. I didn’t tell them. Although I was just a kid at that time and even if I don’t exhibit this type of behaviour anymore, because I know a bit better, what a hypocrite was I to judge that guy… What a hypocrite, what a fucking hypocrite.

But still, I think this comes to show that while some people change incredibly after a certain age, others only double or triple-down on what they already were. As long as they receive ample social reinforcement for the role they are playing in society, they will continue to spiral down. Sometimes a “smack on the head” is what it takes for people to wake up and “man up” and be responsible. Other times it comes naturally, enforced by one’s environment and social situation.

People need a call for adventure to grow up, they need responsibility in their lives. To be “in charge” of something. Even if it’s as small as ensuring their own decent living. Some don’t even manage that. Responsibility brings meaning to our lives. In contrast many people seem to avoid responsibility, they just want to “be in charge” because they feel entitled.

Anyway, it’s just a rant.

Something wicked comes your way


My demons, although quietly dwelling beneath the surface are an equal part of me. Same as light reveals the beautiful features of my face, shadows outline all that is rotten inside. Calm as they may be, they lurk patiently, biding their time, looking for a reason to wake…

I’ve unleashed it. The thing that’s going to remove you from myself. It’s on its way and it’s not going to stop until I’m clean again. It’s irreversible, I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to. It’s done. There’s no turning back now. No one can undo it. Prepare.

From the darkest corner of my soul, I have summoned your doom. It’s an embodiment of all that’s wicked and twisted within me. All my demons, all my bad thoughts and primal impulses are bottled up in this potent essence of evil. The beast within is thirsty for you.

My maze, the place which was once your playground is now going to become an altar of sacrifice. The walls wich you gently brushed with the tip of your fingers while your were roaming arround are going to narrow down on you. It’s getting colder and darker in here.

Soon all you held dear inside of me is going to get corrupted and turn away from you. Soon it will all become a tenebrous scene of a nightmare we’ve dreamt together. Soon it will find you.

Will your love roar louder than my demons?

Will you tame the beast I have become?

Will you survive?


Bro flow


Lately I’ve been reading a lot about flow states. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term a flow state can be described as such:

Defined as and “optimal state of consciousness where we feel our best and perform our best“, flow refers to those “in the zone” moments where focus gets so intense that everything else disappears. Action and awareness start to merge. Our sense of self vanishes. Our sense of time as well. And all the aspects of performance, both mental and physical, go through the roof.

Flow can be achieved both on an individual level as well as collectively, most commonly achieved by high performing teams. For example, SWAT teams describe the collective flow state as a type of telepathic connection, where team members manage to sync in such a way that little to no coordination is needed. When one guy looks to the left, the other looks to the right, another looks in front while there’s always someone watching their back.

Although the story I’m about to unfold doesn’t have a direct connection with a state of flow (or no connection at all as some may judge), this concept served as a source of inspiration for my story. I’m a romantic person and like to see(k) connections and synchronicities everywhere. This view of life helps me cope with existential anxiety. I prefer to build a meaningful story line around chaos, instead of living my life as a tiny drop in a random series of events.

Going with the flow

I started this spring with a visit to my home country, Romania. The reason for my visit was mainly business related, I had to deliver a training. Although most of my family, friends and connections are still back home, home doesn’t feel like home anymore. I am depressed and like any depressed person, I just wanted get over with my society dance and then crawl back into a dark corner and sob. And that’s exactly what I did.

One Friday after work, I invited my close group of friends over. The house was full but I felt empty inside. There was a predominant good vibe in the air but I could not tap into it. I laid on the floor like a starfish trying to connect to the conversation in the room, but was trapped inside my own thoughts.

Around midnight everybody went home and there I was, crawling back into my dark corner. I was just blankly staring at the ceiling, waiting for something to happen. Hoping that I will fall asleep soon. The silence in the room gets disrupted when Alex, a good old friend of mine calls to take me out for drinks and to catch up. I was about to accept his invitation, but then he tells me that he’s with some old friends from highschool. I had no problem meeting with Alex, he’s a close friend, someone who I can relate to. Someone who I can share my pain. Someone who doesn’t judge. However having the other company arround us would have changed the dynamic of the situation. I wasn’t in the mood of wearing a mask with a fake smile and a fake story of how good my life is. So I declined. He called again trying to convince me and I declined again. He then tells me that the other guys are about to head home. At which point I agree to go out and start walking towards the city center. I get there and it turns out that he lied. He knew I was depressed and he didn’t want me to be alone. I was so angry that I wanted to leave, but in the end I agreed to stay for just one drink.

We were in a pub and the music was pretty loud, you could barely hear the person next to you. I remember chugging one glass of wine after another, smiling and nodding like a silly person. I had no clue what we were talking about, but no one seemed to notice. At some point during the night our friends were trying to convince us to go to a different place, were it was supposed to be a lot more fun. I was looking for any excuse to ditch them so I passed. Alex passed as well. We decided to stay for one more drink, but in the end we left the pub at closing time. We were wasted and went to get some food with the intention to call it a night. We got some crappy junk food and were headed towards a taxi. For some reason I start feeling anxious about going home and propose we go to a casino instead. I knew it will work because Alex plays poker for a living. He will never decline an invitation to poker, especially if he’s drunk.

He’s a superstitious person and agreed to come on one condition. I pay for the money we gamble and he will pay me back once we get home. A few hours later I go all in and lose all my chips. I don’t normally gamble but I’m a reckless gambler when I’m sad. So I move from the poker table to the slots. Alex was still playing, but when he saw me where I was heading he cashed out and convinced me to leave before I max out all my cards.

We left the casino and we were about to head home. He invites me over to his place so I don’t spend the weekend alone. I accept his invitation, but I asked that we pass through my hotel so I can get my wee change. While walking to the hotel we start getting into a deep conversation about life, ups and downs, chance and fortune. He was telling me about a good friend of his (Laur), whom I also know, and how he was struggling with his music career. He’s a very talented person, but as all artists you never head of the struggle is real. He was saving up money, singing on the street, so he can buy an electro acoustic guitar. Alex was telling me that he was thinking of buying him a guitar, as a persent. At which point I said “Let’s go do it”.

With an almost terrifying look on his face, he was like “Dude, you’ve read my mind!”. At which point, the drunk and the stoner embark on an epic mission to deliver a good deed to a person in need. That was our bro flow moment. We lost all notion of time and everything came together in this one true moment. All of the sudden we had a goal which was bigger than us.

Because we wanted to surprise him, we did not call Laur to ask him what guitar he wants. We went into the music store and asked for an electro acoustic guitar. Being the ignorants that we are, super hyped about our mission, we ended up buying an electric guitar. Although the staff at the music store strongly insisted many times that we should get an electro acoustic guitar, because this is what Laur wanted, we still bought the electric one. Our reasoning was that of a teenage boy.

“This looks like an old man guitar. How is he supposed to pick up any chicks with this?”


The guys at the store made it very clear that we can’t take it back. We didn’t care. We were super convinced that we knew better than the rest of these music educated mortals. So we bought the shiny toy instead. We also bought a big ass case for it. It looked like we were carrying a sniper, turning heads as we walked down the main street. We didn’t know whether it was the sniper like case, our stupid smirks on our faces or the fact that we were drunk and high at 10 am in the morning. We didn’t care, we felt like a million bucks.

Alex then calls Laur with a stupid excuse to go visit him. We get to his place and we hand it over to him. He was super happy, you could see it all over his face. After a few moments, when his excitement lowered to normal levels, he tells us that he has some money saved up and that he’s thinking of exchanging it for an electro acoustic guitar. At which point Alex and I look at each other and start laughing hysterically. We then explain to Laur how stupid we were but we agreed to accompany him back to the store and try to change it.

In the end we waited outside as Laur went in and explained to the staff at the music store that although our intentions were noble, we’re still a bunch of retards. After one hour of negotiations, Laur manages to exchange the guitar to what he wanted initially.

Although our bro flow moment did not manifest itself as a typical flow moment, we still managed to pull it off in our own typically ungracious way. Here’s the result:

If you want to hear more of his music, or just want to say hi to this amazing guy, just drop him a line on his facebook page.

Tango of the sinners


Immoral, injust

Sin and lust

Fire of desire

Engage, commit, conspire…

I see two shades dancing with impunity

Two empty bodies, becomming unity

With no concern about tomorrow

One drop of extacy for an ocean full of sorrow

Why should we reason our destiny

If the drop is deeper than eternity

Why should we deny this chapter

Let’s live for now and agonize after

Let’s sway to the rythim of disaster

For this is our Dance Macabre

It was all so divine

But we ran out of time



Disgustingly delicious


When I was eleven, I had my first taste of Jamon Serrano. My mother had brought from Spain an entire Jamon which she placed on a special support (soporte jamonero) just like you see in typical Spanish Tapas places. Back then I had a very big appetite for meat, especially red meat. I am also the type of person who is keen on trying new experiences. Seeing the Jamon, nicely placed on its support, I was practically drawling.

Because we were having company over, I was supposed to wait until dinner was served so I don’t spoil my appetite. My expectations grew so much and I was so eager to taste it, that I was the first one who took a seat at the dinner table. I even asked for extra slices as I was super sure that this new food was going to rock my world.

Haha (still funny now)… I was never so wrong. It smelled just like my football socks used to smell after an entire day of kicking the ball. Oh man, I was so disgusted by it that my mother saw it on my face and started laughing about it.

Four years later I moved to Spain. More often than not, there was a Jamon in the kitchen, with a Jamonero (a special knife for cutting thin slices) placed beside it. At first, I was just ignoring it, seeing it more like a pile of dirty socks than a gourmet food.

At some point, I don’t remember exactly how it happened I started tasting it again. I had small bites from time to time, until this very disgusting food started to grow on me. I still thought it’s super grose, but somehow delicious. It did not take too long until this disgustingly delicious food became one of my favourites, especially Pan Tumaca.

Only after clearing my expectations, but even more importantly, my prejudice I was able to really taste and enjoy this food. Before tasting it, I placed it on a golden throne, on top of all the food I tasted before. A completely non-rational decision, more like a chemical reaction. The closest I got to the “love at first sight” feeling.

After I had a first bite, I was so quick to dismiss it, that I did not even conceive giving something so disgusting another bite. How could I eat this smelly dry meat covered in weird looking fat, bleah. How can so many people eat this crap. It took me a while until I opened my mind and decided to give it another chance.

A fresh mindset opens new doors, doors which were once locked. Arriving at a different answer to a question you’ve answered before is a peculiar feeling. One that enlightens us. We all have our own version of the Jamon story. Could be smelly cheese, could be some other part of life, not related to food. Some of us manage to get to the delicious part, others just spit it out in disgust the first time they try it. They do not dare to taste it again, one mouthfull of digusting is enough.

Although I stopped eating meat all together, this story stuck with me. It taught me a valuable lesson and it especially resonates with me now. I never felt so disgusted about something which was once so delicious… and at the same time, something so disgusting never felt so delicious before.

The evil of everyone


The biggest fear of a thief is that of being robbed.

We don’t forgive, we don’t forget. We judge others because their wickedness is disimillar to ours… or perhaps indistinguishable. Darring to throw the first rock and then some more. Guesstimating a person’s worth based on what we feel, for this is the human condition. This is how we shackle our wings and those of ohters, hammering ourselves to live in the dirt. Crawling we may go to our graves, desperately clinging on the strings we put on those which we condemn. We would take it all with us if we could, but everyting will fade away as we give our last breath.

“People forget that even doctors have moral scruples, and that certain patient’s confessions are hard even for a doctor to swallow. Yet the patient does not feel himself accepted unless the very worst in him is accepted too.

No one can bring this about by mere words; it comes only through reflection and through the doctor’s attitude towards himself and his own dark side. If the doctor wants to guide another, or even accompany him a step of the way, he must feel with that person’s psyche. He never feels it when he passes judgment. Whether he puts his judgments into words or keeps them to himself makes not the slightest difference.

To take the opposite position and to agree with the patient offhand is also of no use but estranges him as much as condemnation. Feeling comes only through unprejudiced objectivity. This sounds almost like a scientific precept, and it could be confused with a purely intellectual, abstract attitude of mind. But what I mean is something quite different.

It is a human quality, a kind of deep respect for the facts, for the man who suffers from them, and for the riddle of such a man’s life. The truly religious person has this attitude. He knows that God has brought all sorts of strange and inconceivable things to pass and seeks in the most curious ways to enter a man’s heart. He therefore senses in everything the unseen presence of the divine will.

This is what I mean by “unprejudiced objectivity.” It is a moral achievement on the part of the doctor, who ought not to let himself be repelled by sickness and corruption. We cannot change anything unless we accept it.

Condemnation does not liberate, it oppresses. I am the oppressor of the person I condemn, not his friend and fellow-sufferer. I do not in the least mean to say that we must never pass judgment when we desire to help and improve. But if the doctor wishes to help a human being he must be able to accept him as he is. And he can do this in reality only when he has already seen and accepted himself as he is.

Perhaps this sounds very simple, but simple things are always the most difficult. In actual life it requires the greatest art to be simple, and so acceptance of oneself is the essence of the moral problem and the acid test of one’s whole outlook on life.

That I feed the beggar, that I forgive an insult, that I love my enemy in the name of Christ, all these are undoubtedly great virtues. What I do unto the least o’ my brethren, that I do unto Christ.

But what if I should discover that the least amongst them all, the poorest of all beggars, the most impudent of all offenders, yeah, the very fiend himself, that these are within me, and that I myself stand in need of the alms of my own kindness, that I myself am the enemy who must be loved. What then?

Then, as a rule, the whole truth of Christianity is reversed: there is then no more talk of love and long-suffering; we say to the brother within us “Raca,” and condemn and rage against ourselves. We hide him from the world, we deny ever having met this least among the lowly in ourselves, and had it been God himself who drew near to us in this despicable form, we should have denied him a thousand times before a single cock had crowed.

Anyone who uses modern psychology to look behind the scene not only of his patients’ lives, but more especially of his own life—and the modern psychotherapist must do this if he is not to be merely an unconscious fraud—will admit that to accept himself in all his wretchedness is the hardest of tasks, and one which it is almost impossible to fulfill.

The very thought can make us sweat with fear. We are therefore only too delighted to choose, without a moment’s hesitation, the complicated course of remaining in ignorance about ourselves while busying ourselves with other people and their troubles and sins. This activity lends us a perceptible air of virtue, by means of which we benevolently deceive ourselves and others. God be praised, we have escaped from ourselves at last!

There are countless people who can do this with impunity, but not everyone can, and these few break down on the road to their Damascus and succumb to a neurosis. How can I help these people if I myself am a fugitive, and perhaps also suffer from the morbus sacer of a neurosis? Only he who has fully accepted himself has “unprejudiced objectivity”.

– Carl G. Joung ”

All this may sound so simple and divine. You may feel insipred after reading this. However, in reality accepting the existandce of a shadow self is almost impossible to cope with. Consider for a moment a simbiosis with all that you deem unreasonable, senseless and evil.

In the end, we are who we are, good or bad, handsome or hideous… it all depends on who is made judge.


“Just take it easy, man.”



They say that we travel the world to search for what we need, only to come back home and find it. After a long time away I came to visit what I used to call home. It’s the place where I was born and where I grew up. The place that fostered me but which I outgrew as my wings developed.

My timeline starts in the small town of Slobozia. It’s located in the South-East of Romania, the flat part of the country which is mainly covered in crop fields. Argiculture is the fuel that keeps this little town going. Asside from that and a few pubs there’s nothing much to do arround here. It’s a pretty quiet place, were everyone knows everyone and where nothing ever happens. Or at least it’s how I remember it now…

My parrents divorced when I was young shortly after my mother went to work abroad. I lived with my father until I was fourteen after which I decided to move to Spain and live with my mother. I resided there for two years, in Coslada a small city located only ten mins away of Madrid. Still a small and chill town but with a lot more posibilities than Slobozia.

One summer break when I came to visit my home town, I fell in love with a girl. So much so that I decided to return to my brithplace after two years of living in Spain. My mother was curshed. I didn’t care, I was in love. Shortly after I moved back, I found out that my inamorata was cheeting on me. I was crushed. She didn’t care, she was in love. My revolution was for nothing. Here I was in this boring little town again, feeling more and more like a stranger.

The following year (and a half) I finished highschool and moved to Bucharest to study. My university path did not last long as I dropped out in my second year. I then got a job and shotly after I started my first mature relationship. That marked a moment of profound tranformation, a sort of remembering of who I really was. I started walking that path almost seven years ago and I’m still walking. I’m still discovering myself, still pealing off ego layers.

Last summer we moved to Utrecht, a very pitoresque town found in the rainy lands of The Netherlands. Change brings change and after six years of being together, me and my better half deicded to stop being a couple. We lost each other but found ourselves again as borther and sister.

Like any mango person it did not take me too long to fall in love again. It took me even less to crush and get crushed in return. I’m the optimist, I get burned and heal fast. I don’t look back and I’m allways up for finding the next big thing. Not this time. Not anymore. I wanted to continue my path but lost all frame of reference. Same as any lost person would do, I started drawing maps in the sand figuring out directions for myself.

There’s so many places I want to go. There’s so many experiences I want to taste. Wait. Do I? Really? Not that much. Only after losing everyting I realzied that I don’t want anything anymore. I never wanted it to begin with. The only place I ever wanted to go, was home. Although I had many places I called home, lived in multiple families, I never was home. All this adventrue seeking and soul searching was that of a kid trying to find his way.

Home is not where I was born nor where I grew up. Home is not where I’m living now nor where I want to go next…

Home is where my heart is, so I come to you.


Days of weekend past

f1408c0a96eda0e56ea18573de88d28e--ganja-cannabis copy

We’re not hungry, not that much

Sleep for breakfast, sex for lunch

Then we roll one on the couch

Rainy days tipcal Dutch


I feel your tender touch,

Grabbing gently on my crotch

Then you feel a rising heat

As I wrap between your feet


Those stains are not mayonaise

We get messy when we blaze

Broken glasses on the floor

We’re not gentle anymore


Going deeper as we rise

We’re stargazing in our eyes

Culminating in the sky

This is how we learned to fly

If I were a machine


I wonder, I wonder… If I were a machine, would I be a good one? Would my performance, design and build quality make me as appealing as your favourite gadget? Probably not. But why do I think so? Is it because I don’t live up to my hardware specifications or the user expectations?

What is it exactly that makes a machine great? To answer this question, I did an internal analysis. Based on the data collected after probing my systems, using an introspection tool, I will be able to see why my I’m reporting a low overall rating.

My hardware is pretty decent, nothing is missing, it’s not that old and everything seems to function in normal parameters. It’s not the most technologically advanced piece of equipment, but it’s still above average and even close to some high end models.

After checking the hardware maintenance logs, I see a decline in upkeep frequency and an increased usage of overclocked components. What was curious to see was the overclocking was not done to resolve a high load of processes, but to cancel out some processes that were not responding to root commands. There are no critical warnings so far, but failure to maintain a proper configuration will result in long term hardware damage.

The look and feel got positive user reviews. Some users reported that it looks better than it actually works, other mentioned that they would change certain features or that they preferred features from the previous model which are not available anymore. But the general feedback collected from the user interaction logs is considered to be in the optimal range.

Looking at the software logs, the story is completely different. At a first look everything seems to work just fine, however a closer inspection has identified multiple problem areas. In general, there were far too many processes open which were causing a critical load on the entire machine. Most of the processes are not even required, but remained open in the background as a result of bad security management.

There is one process in particular which received full access without passing any security checks. The user who has input it had no security clearance either. In a very short amount of time, this process which was initially running in the front end became a daemon process. It then began multithreading occupying all the available free memory and processing power. Once it had no more resources to feed on, it started killing other system processes so it can free up some more resources. Ultimately, the system’s resources were fully occupied by this daemon process, which was putting such a high load on the system but wasn’t returning any output. It just kept on going on and on, until it became an infinite loop.

Although not in plain sight, the software plays an essential role in a machine. The hardware without software is just an empty cold box. It may look like a million dollars, but it will just be worth the space it uses in your house.

System failures are a good source of improvement. If you don’t see what’s wrong for yourself, they simply crash everything. The good part is that once everything is down, your full attention and energy will be directed towards solving the problem at hand.


Interpretation for non-geeks


What I mean to say with all this geek crap, which is my weird way of describing  and coping with emotional disorder, is much more simple and concise.

There are very few things in this life that actually deserve my attention. There are even less that deserve my affection. Out of those even less make a connection. Only few connections are worth-while and hardly any are for life. Everything else has no importance, it’s just white noise.


” (…) life is bitter and sweet

choose wise who you will meet

is better to make your journey feel good

that actually getting where you should

because it is too short

to wear shoes that hurt”

slow breathing

The point of no return

I reached a crucial moment in my life, a point of no return. With every step I took and each choice I made, I came closer to where I am now. In the middle of nowhere, completely lost, I wonder the desert of my soul while running in circles in the maze o my mind. Only three possible outcomes may this journey have. Evolve, lose my mind or die. My own, perfectly designed, natural selection.

It’s 7:30 am and my alarm clock starts, I have to wake up. I don’t feel like showing up today, so I snooze it. I snooze it and skip my morning routine to again snooze it a few more times. I finally decide to go out of bed. It takes me a while but in the end I’m on my feet. On the floor, I see a rainbow coloured string.



Hmm… How did this end up here?

Curious, I pick it up and follow it. Even more strange is that it crosses the entire room up until the door. I open the door and see that the rainbow coloured string continued. At this point I am really intrigued and make it my mission to get to the end of it.

I start collecting the string by rolling it in my left hand. Going down the stairs, I continue my journey. I finally reach ground floor and notice that the string comes from the basement. It continued down the stairs until the last room which was dark. Probably the light bulb had burned out, turning the light switch on did not work. I turn on the flashlight of my phone and make my way into the dark room. The string takes me yet to another door which I did not know was there. Opening the door, I discover a long  and wide hallway. It was lit by torches on each side. It was so long that you couldn’t even see the other end.


I think I smoke too much weed…

I continue to indulge in this bizarre trip of mine and keep on following the rainbow coloured string. I lose notion of time and space but continue my journey. The string I was collecting in my left hand got so big that I started rolling it on the ground, like a football. At some point, I don’t know if it took a long time or just a few seconds, I reach the end of the hallway. I find myself in front of a huge door. Once I get closer to it, the door starts opening by itself. Inside, there was an immense room, with pillars shaped like men bearing the weight of the ceiling. The room was filled with strings of all colours, shapes and sizes. Everything is tangled together in a massive… mess.


Am I supposed to untangle them all? I might go crazy before I get to the end of it. I might die before I get to the end of it…

Should I just forget all about it? Just go and close the door behind me. Why not?

Why can’t I let go? Why do I have to choose?


It’s 7:30 am and my alarm clock starts, I have to wake up. I don’t feel like showing up today, so I snooze it. I snooze it and skip my morning routine to again snooze it a few more times. I finally decide to go out of bed. It takes me a while but in the end I’m on my feet.


Where’s the string?!

There’s no string on the floor, but I know realise what my dream meant. The sting is a symbol for choice. I chose to follow inwards, to my core. There I found the collection of all the choices that I have ever made.

The man shaped pillars holding the ceiling on their shoulders are a symbol for the burden of my choices. Each pillar represents a mask I wore at some point in my life. Each mask wearer now carries the burden of his choices.

“ Every path is the right path. Everything could’ve been anything else. And it would have just as much meaning.


Choices … We cannot go back. That’s why it’s hard to choose. You have to make the right choice. As long as you don’t choose, everything remains possible.”

– Mr. Nobody


P.S.: But isn’t not choosing also a choice? …. Ahhh fuck it, I’m going to lose my mind over this.