“I still live, I still think: I still have to live, for I still have to think”
Friedrich Nietzsche

The Fractal House.

The Fractal House.


As I drown myself into the deep abyss of scrutiny, voices break my mind into a puzzle. This enigma, the mind, something hard to put back, speaks to me with perplexity. And as it does, it dismantles from the rest of me. But what is this rest that I speak of? Isn’t my mind me? Isn’t it what elucidates me? Or is it the heart that steals the strength I have, weakening me with every scarlet tear it sheds?What am I made of? Am I made of dreams? Of spirit? Or just bones? Is there something that dwells within me, which holds me together? Or is it just reality that holds me intact, telling me that I am existent. Can it be true that the world we live in, the steps we tread everyday don’t really exist? That the words I’m carving on the wrinkles of this paper are a dream? But a dream of what? And every time this thought assails my mind, I pinch myself to prove that I exist. But does the pain that screams within the wound that I gift myself justify my being?


As I narrow my eyes, fixated on the hand of the clock, ticking its way to it’s friends that await it, a notion tingles my mind. Is the hand of the clock forced to move away from one comrade to another? To say a goodbye so quickly for a speedy hello? Or is it that these friends aren’t really friends? The clock, like every being, is ordered by the norms of society to know another to make itself known in order to exist. But who orders us? Who sets these norms for us? Is it the dominant paradigm, or is it a spiritual entity? Who determines that the sun has to burn the earth knowing that some people may not conceal themselves? Who orders the dark to set, knowing that it might camouflage the beast within? Who decides the fact that the bee has to die after it stings its enemy? Who determines these gruesome specifics to a degree where they feel just fine?


In a world where every word is a prejudice, where man devours another, where the existence of truth is a lie; Is it wise to have faith in a being that hasn’t been acquainted to your iris? Or is it naïve to think that the pink veins of the flower gave birth to themselves without the help of a supreme individual? And I ask myself; Is man one of God’s blunder’s or is God one of man’s?
But as my hand scribbles its way to its last words, my mind still wandering in a maze of unattainable desires, I sigh as I watch the woman in the water staring back at me with more strength to breathe in the answers than I do




14 responses »

  1. Xenia, your words are absolutely captivating. This addresses thoughts we often suppress when our minds wander off to areas we have deemed taboo. Taught to walk on set paths and never waver, seldom do we notice the intricacies of littler things and never do we dare to question their existence. Great job. Undoubtedly one of the best things I’ve read in a while.

  2. Wow xenia I wish I could write like this.. And I think the answers to all these questions and more are always right in front of us.. If we could just be brave enough to reach out towards them we would be pleasantly surprised at how The Answer reaches back in a hurry and embraces us never to let go.. The choice is always ours..! 🙂

  3. Thanks, you guys. Your words mean a lot to me.

    Definitely need more answers.
    But life wont be interesting without the suspense now, would it?

  4. You describe our dream-like existence with incredible beauty and accuracy, Xenia. I hope we find whatever it is that we’re supposed to be looking for.

  5. This is quite a poignant piece of writing that i have come across after a very long time. These days individuals lack that very essence of being simply human, and you capture that very well, everyone seems to be grasping onto an easy fix,a proper definition or a drive that can explain their motivations, because everyone wants to neatly fit themselves into the confined territories of a category so that they can’t be deemed unorthodox or labeled as others. I think its healthy to question everything that surrounds us, people often mistake that the questions we levy upon us limit us in a way but i feel that they don’t, i feel they help us grow, anyone who excepts whatever little sense something offers doesn’t truly have the capacity to function, because to me that is what really limits us, when we confine ourselves to a single answer and cripple our philosophical musings. My personal favorite question up there is by Nietzsche that goes “Is man one of God’s blunder’s or is God one of man’s?”
    Simply put this is very well done Xenia!

    • Nietzsche’s always been a great inspiration. I always turn to him when i’m going through a writer’s block; He always churns it out of me. Life’s made up of a lot of intricacies, and existing without questioning these complexities is a waste of our existence. It’s always liberating to step out of lines that are defined for you, and question all that exists around us. That’s the only way to grow.

      Glad you liked this, Rabia! Appreciate it. 🙂

  6. there are many questions but few answers, sadly. man dies without getting a confident answer to these questions…

  7. succinctly captures the essence of an inquisitive mind. all that wrangles it eternally until it exhausts itself. beautifully worded. and like you said yourself, we surely won’t be able to absorb all the answers were they given to us

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