Diaries to Nietzsche

"He who lives with a void can forge his own why, and from it shape any how."

Yet while the world is consumed by distraction, a man sits crafting his soul with his mind. What they call madness becomes an explosion — and that explosion becomes the evolution of a century.

Those footsteps are rooted in his geological body, a labyrinth beneath the skin.

As the world folds into a collapsing capsule, a soul reclaims her ashes.

Before the sun rose, beneath the edge of an eclipse, looking at the stream of nature — I could have built a house back then. Instead, I sat under the moon, in a realm of a different soul.

In twilight, there is still more light. The idols may shatter — but what has rusted must also fall.

We might now speak as equals, sharing a table, a coffee. With every sip you may ask: are you worthy to destroy what remains?

Perhaps I must be a black hole. What else would a void be doing?

I suggest you pull a hammer — or a sword.

I know who would pull a pen.

Some slay their souls on paper.

I wouldn't ask them why or how.

Perhaps… let it be.

perhaps live the being…

I must enjoy it first…

the full joy probably mysterious

for us to be aware.