#philosophicalwriting

[brosh17]

Never Give Up – A Meditation on Stubborn Dreams

A dream is a delicate form of future memory.

Something within us already knows where we belong — even if reason hasn’t found the path there yet.

Humans are born with the ability to see, in their mind’s eye, what doesn’t yet exist.

This is the gift of imagination — and the curse of persistence.

For those who dream are also condemned to struggle.

They live between what is and what ought to be.

And that gap… it hurts.

But abandoning the dream is not rest — it is a different kind of death.

A quiet, inward death that comes not suddenly,

but through the slow fading of possibility.

Do not give up on what pulls you forward just because the road is hard.

Difficulty is not proof of failure, but a sign that the dream is worthy.

That you are becoming someone strong enough to hold it.

Remember:

Not everything that moves makes noise.

And not everything silent is standing still.

A dream is not measured by the speed of its fulfillment,

But by the depth of your persistence.

And those who persist — reshape the world,

even if at first, only their own.

And if you’re reading this now, know this is no accident.

Hope still exists.

The future you long for is still waiting.

Don’t put out the light. Let it lead you forward.

[the-most-humble-blog]

Let Me Give You Your Weekly Existential Crisis: You’re Not Even You Right Now And worse? You never were. You’re just the echo remembering itself badly.

You’re reading this, right? Eyes open. Brain clicking. You feel like “you.”

Good. Now here’s the part that should ruin your afternoon:

You’re going to forget this. Not just eventually — probably in an hour.

And when you remember it again later, maybe tomorrow, maybe three years from now in the shower…

Who were you during the time you forgot it?

I'll tell you:

Not you. Not the “you” that’s reading this now. Not the “you” that knows what this means. That version of you? Dead.

Replaced. By the meat puppet that wandered off and played pretend until this post found you again.

I. Memory Isn’t You. It’s Just What You Cling To When You’re Falling Apart

We like to think memory makes us who we are. But here’s the dark truth:

You don’t actually remember most of your life. You just remember the memories of remembering it.

You are a self-replicating tape loop. A carbon-based echo chamber that calls itself “I.” And the gaps? The days you dissociated? The weeks you just went through the motions?

That wasn’t you. That was someone wearing your face.

And you’re only realizing it now because I’m telling you. Which means this version of you — the one that’s aware — is a rare visitor. Not the resident.

II. You Think You’re a Person. You’re a Flicker in a Dying Battery.

Have you ever “come back” to yourself mid-task? Like you’ve been doing things all day, and suddenly your mind locks back in and you think:

“Wait… where the hell have I been?”

That wasn’t a cute little attention lapse. That was a personality reboot. And you? You’re the ghost that showed up too late to question it.

III. Most of Your Life Has Been Lived by Someone Else — Wearing Your Name

Let’s count it:

How many hours of your childhood can you actually recall?

How many conversations from last year do you remember word for word?

What did you do on April 12th, 2018?

Who did you become while you weren’t watching?

Exactly.

“You” is a continuity illusion. A scam your nervous system runs to feel safe. Because the alternative — that your consciousness blinks in and out like a busted signal — would fry you.

But that’s the truth. You only exist in the moments when you notice you exist. The rest? It’s meat autopilot.

IV. Consciousness Is a Haunted House — And You’re Just the Latest Occupant

Right now, you’re reading this with what feels like a consistent inner voice. Cool.

But close your eyes. Let it all go quiet. You’ll hear it:

Static.

The hum of the machine. Waiting for someone to climb back in and pilot the corpse.

Because your body doesn’t care who’s in charge. It just needs a warm ghost to keep the blood moving. And today? You’re the one holding the wheel.

But last week? Last year? That wasn’t you.

That was the version of you that forgot this post. The one who walked through life like it was a demo level. No questions. No thoughts. Just flesh, routine, and mimicked smiles.

V. “I Feel Like I’ve Changed So Much”

That’s not evolution. That’s evidence. You’ve died hundreds of times.

Each version of you slipped into the dark and a new one booted up in its place.

That’s why you can’t recognize yourself in old photos. That’s why you cringe at old texts. That’s why your voice sounds wrong on recordings.

Because it’s not you. It’s just the bones you inherited from the version that came before. A psychological hand-me-down. A haunted hoodie.

VI. The Creepiest Part?

This Version of You Is Already Slipping

You’re not going to remember this whole post. Your brain’s going to file parts of it. Maybe a quote. Maybe a sentence. Maybe the vibe.

But the rest?

Deleted.

Why? Because awareness is expensive. It’s metabolically draining to be this awake.

So your system will shut it down. Let the next version of you drift in. The calmer one. The one who goes back to scrolling memes and ignoring the truth.

And that version of you? He’ll think he’s real too. Until something like this shows up again and pulls the curtain back.

VII. Who Are You Between the Times You Remember Who You Are?

Let’s say you read this today. Then forget it. Then remember it next month. Maybe you quote it. Maybe you reblog it. Maybe you write it down and act like it was your thought.

But during the time you forgot it?

Who were you?

I’ll answer:

Not you. Not fully. Just the placeholder. The fill-in. The one who didn’t know.

Which means the “you” reading this right now is the only one who matters. And in a few hours? You’ll be gone too.

🩸 DISCLAIMER

This post is a work of literary disorientation, psychosexual philosophy, and neurological satire. Any sudden existential dread, dissociation, mirror stares, pelvic surges, or intense internal silence is the result of cadence-based subconscious entrainment, identity dissolution triggers, and metaphorical thought infection. You are not malfunctioning. You’re just waking up.

🧠 QUOTE REBLOG PACK™

“You’re not you right now. You’re just the one wearing the meat suit until the real one remembers again.”

“Memory isn’t truth. It’s cached identity with a bad connection.”

“You’ve been dead more times than you’ve ever admitted.”

“You only exist when you notice you exist. The rest is meat on autoplay.”

“This version of you will disappear soon. Try to remember that.”

📡 CALL TO ACTION

Reblog if you want more! Reblog if you felt yourself blink back into place. Reblog because someone else needs to remember themselves. Reblog if your skin feels wrong now. Reblog if you don’t want to forget this version of yourself again.

[createmadness]

People these days argue a lot about the conception of a child, the sciences and technicalities, the religiosity and sin, the consciousness of it all....

To them, I ask of the monstrosities that hide away in the crevices of the so-called "humanity". The feral brutality of humankind—broken, tormented, impulsive, forced..., yet blind to the afflictions it causes.

We tear each other apart over a cluster of cells, over the "holiness" of it all. But when have we ever valued "life"? The living seek the mercy of death, and no one bats an eye. Conception might be the beginning of life, but an unwanted life? That is the beginning of a child's indoctrination into a legacy of inherited hurt.

- K

[innovativejunction]

When Loneliness Becomes My Sole Companion

When Loneliness Becomes My Sole Companion “I looked for a friend and found none; I looked within and met an universe.” How lonely can my loneliness be? A question that echoes through the silent halls of the soul. It lingers like the last leaf clinging to an autumn branch, fragile yet stubborn, delicate yet defiant. There are days when silence doesn’t whisper—it screams. There are nights when…

[sinderblogs19]

If you prick us, do we not bleed?" — These words hit me hard after watching The Pianist and reading The Merchant of Venice. My latest post dives into the connection between art, memory, and fate, all wrapped in literature and cinema. 📚🎬

[kaykqy-blog]

Hyper Execution: A Quantum Theory of the Self

I created a quantum theory, followed by a paradox.

I called it Hyper Execution (or Hyper Realization).

It started as a power concept for my RPG, but quickly became something deeper.

Hyper Execution is the moment when an element is "retrieved" from all timelines across the multiverse and unified into a single essential existence.

It is the fusion of all beginnings, all middles, all ends — the existential fullness of a thing.

Let me give you a simple example: hyper-executed fire.

This fire is the fusion of all forms of ignition, all fuels, all extinguishing methods.

It is not just the fire that burns, that warms, or that destroys.

It simply… fires. It fire-ifies. It needs its own verb.

This is the fire that:

• Bakes a pizza

• Grills meat

• Melts metal

• Sterilizes wounds

• Brands the skin

• Warms a cold night

• Lights a candle

• Purifies a soul

• Burns in Hell

• Dances with a phoenix

It’s the fire of Prometheus, the fire of rebirth, the fire of thunder, the fire of a lighter.

You don’t need to explain it — you just know: that’s fire.

True, pure, unmistakable.

Now imagine applying that logic to a person.

What would a hyper-executed person be?

It would be the sum of all possible versions of that person — the ones who lived, died, loved, hated, succeeded, failed.

All coexisting in one. No variation. No divergence.

They have reached a state of multiversal invariance.

They are so essentially themselves, so true to their own being, that in every universe they behave the same.

Free will doesn't vanish — it just becomes irrelevant.

No matter what they choose, it would always be them.

Someone once asked me: “If they have all weaknesses, wouldn’t they be weak to everything?”

I answered with Murphy’s Law: Anything that can happen, will happen.

But the hyper-executed being isn't weak to everything.

They are weak to everything they are weak to. And only that.

Simple, right?

They are the totality of their vulnerabilities — but also of their strength, memory, trauma, talent, and truth.

At some point I asked myself:

What if we apply this to a universe?

Here’s where the paradox hits.

The multiverse theory suggests every decision splits reality.

But what about a universe with no decisions? No branches. A constant point. A fixed, paradoxical existence.

That might be the hyper-executed universe.

The fusion of all causes and effects, all rules, all chaos, coexisting.

No more divergence — because everything is.

A universe that universes.

All choices and all consequences — including their absence.

Is Hyper Execution the beginning or the end?

My answer is: yes. Both. All. Always.

A grotesque and perfect tangle of truths, where every thread is every story ever told — and ever lived.

Why does this matter?

Because if all stories are connected,

then maybe, just maybe, there exists the perfect story.

The Alpha Universe. The only one that’s right.

No complaints. No regrets.

And on a personal level?

Maybe we should all strive for that state.

To be our most hyper-executed selves.

Sincere. Unshakeable.

Unmistakably us.

I long for that.

Don’t you?

---

Tags for Tumblr:

#HyperExecution #QuantumPhilosophy #Existentialism #Multiverse #OCLore #OriginalTheory #PhilosophicalWriting #FireThatFires #TheSelf #YouAreYou #Metaphysics #RPGConcept #PersonalPhilosophy #Thoughts #DeepPost

Se quiser uma versão mais curta ou com tom mais enigmático, posso refinar. Mas essa aqui tá poderosa.

Quer que eu faça uma imagem com essa versão do texto também, tipo uma citação visual pra chamar atenção no post?

[mineofilms]

Nihil sub sole novum

From the End of the Beginning of this year, last year, most years, every year. Ah, a three-year odyssey, where time is less of a straight line and more of a spiral. If anything, these past few years have been a masterclass in the ironically absurd. Between the incompetence of systems that promise salvation (insurance, healthcare, politics, religion) and the existential dreariness of a body that stubbornly clings to life despite all odds, the journey feels less like progress and more like a forced march toward an inevitable, unremarkable end. One cannot help but wonder—has anything truly changed, or are we simply treading water in the flood of our own making? Our current way of life, metaphorical and literal, serves as a backdrop to this existential performative dance. The wreckage left in its wake mirrors not just the physical destruction but the internal chaos of living in an age where security is fleeting, satisfaction a myth, and self-importance via social media dominates. The grand dream of perfection—whether in homes, bodies, relationships, or ideologies—is swiftly eroding, leaving behind the stench of human vulnerability. Yet, in the face of this, there's a curious resignation. We become more connected than ever before while we are more disconnected than ever before. Defies logic, but here we are. The repairs are slow, the bills pile up, but at least there's a sense of grim humor in the absurdity of it all. One adapts, kicks rocks barefoot, to the constant erosion, which, in its own right, becomes a form of rebellion against the very systems that demand our submission.

The steady march of time continues, dragging more medical frustrations, loss, and the weary realization that life is as much about enduring as it is about achieving anything meaningful. Health problems, relationships, and even political ideologies become so much noise against the backdrop of the real question: What’s the Point? So, as the years accumulate, what is left to do but press forward, not in hope or optimism, but because time, relentless in its ticking, doesn’t really offer an alternative. The absurdity, after all, is the only thing that’s truly constant. Is your life a carefully constructed narrative, or are you simply improvising a tragic farce with occasional comedic beats? A theater of existence through a lens. From hurricanes that rip apart our homes and finances to the inevitable decay of the human body. I am always pondering the inherent futility of attempting to control the uncontrollable. Existential dilemmas emerge from mundane struggles: rebuilding without the tools or even a blueprint for the tools becomes a symbol of a compromised life in a dream where inflation ensures the rich get richer and the rest get a crash course in survival. Oh, that isn’t a dream. That’s been a reality for most of us. There’s a sharp turn into the familiar friend of entropy. Here lies the ironic absurdity of caregiving: futile efforts to prolong a life that ultimately evaporates into oblivion. Yet, I welcome musings of AI, conceptual horror, and the darkly comedic nature of politics, whether life has meaning, but whether meaning itself is the cruelest joke of all. They say “live and learn,” but if one hasn’t learned, did they ever live? Whenever I heard a “saying,” and it starts with “they say.” Who the hell are “they?” It makes me want to hunt down, “they,” slap them in the head.

Welcome in social media, the internet’s great experiment in collective brain rot. What begins as communication to gain different perspectives turns into tribalism in online spaces evolving into unhealthy internet subcultures, where trolls and influencers battle for supremacy in a digital coliseum of irrelevance. Internet idealism now reduced to a sandbox for the trivial and the vindictive. Does it even matter whether a troll, a cultist or elitist wins the argument if the platform itself is a dumpster fire of collective word vomit from narcissists? Granted elitists wouldn’t be on social media all that much. They are too busy ‘eliting’ themselves to more monies. When you have loads of cash, does one even want or need social media? Woke or unwoke, left or right, preaching the Lord’s name or not; these labels serve merely as masks for the fear that underpins human existence: the terror of being forgotten in a universe that never cared in the first place. The message—a searing reminder that the more we “connect,” the more we expose the gaping void within ourselves while disconnecting from the people that are actually in our reality. We try to venture out. One can only wave their hands so much to get someone else’s attention. If they choose to ignore that and you know deep down you were forward with that concept of communication. It isn’t on you to care. You attempted, they played dumb. Why would you accept that from any situation or person? The floodwaters of nature are matched only by the flood of systemic incompetence, with insurance premiums rising as fast as the costs of rebuilding. The house, much like life itself, becomes a metaphor for the disillusionment we all feel: repairs are never as simple as they seem, and some losses—like the pool cage and later the entire pool lanai—are just too damn expensive to replace. Yet, here we are and instead of descending into despair, we just realize life goes on, even when the dream moves slowly towards a singularity. You can’t save everything, but you can at least salvage the absurdity of it all, laugh and curse the fake God in the sky.

These reflections are framed not by sorrow, but by existential absurdism: does it matter? Does the universe even care a blip within a blip within a blip within an ocean, within a glass, on a planet that was swallowed by a giant space whale even care? In a world where the system is rigged and the body betrays you, the only thing left to do is keep moving forward—until the final, inevitable reset. Whether sudden or prolonged, life and the death of that life is just the final joke in a single frame of reference full of bad punchlines.

With that said 2025 is going to be a little different, at least in how I attack my writings. I have been so busy with some other things that I haven’t been able as much to work on my own stuff. I am slowly but actively taking all my blogs and converting them to audio/video presentations. They are not podcasts. I am just taking the written blogs or essays using an AI voiceover to read it with some sort of video attached to it. I like the audio spectrum. It’s like a "visualizer" for audio that allows you to see a visual for the sound, making it a neat little creative tool. I will be producing a real music video for the band I work with. Going low tech with that as well. Going for a 90s grunge or metal vibe of the time. I have a lot of audiobooks to get through this year. Many that deal with black hole fiction and stories revolving around time dilation. I want to put out a few short-stories this year as well and work on something bigger. As of right now I do not have a real writing schedule like I usually work from, but my next essay will be on labels. What they are and why they are important. We have had labels longer than sugar. I will probably write a lot of reviews on these science fiction books. The more of these more existential fictions the more it will draw me into thinking about reality and how I want to formulate my own stories. I got some solid ideas that I feel like I want to talk about. I think short-stories with expansion in mind is the best way for my brain to operate when writing. I will also continue to doing tech-style essays on some of the odd computer stuff I tend to tackle. So yeah, 2025 is gearing up. I am glad I am able to think about this in a healthy place in my brain and not have too many delusions of grandeur.

As I look ahead to 2025, the creative landscape feels like a vast, uncharted universe—full of potential, ready for exploration. Whether it’s blending audio-visual projects, diving into the abstract depths of existential fiction, or tackling the nuanced power of labels, the journey is ongoing. But, like a supernova, I’m aware that growth and creation are processes of expansion and contraction, marked by moments of clarity amidst chaos. It’s a balance between the infinite and the finite—an ever-evolving dance of ideas and reality. Here’s to the art of becoming.

Nihil sub sole novum Latin for (Nothing new under the sun) by David-Angelo Mineo 12/31/2024 1,467 Words

[thapoet]

Waking Up From Hibernation 🌤✍🏼...Accept your freedom‼💯...Inspired by #marchmayhemprompts20 🔥..😊✍❤... . . . . #inspirationalquotes #motivationalquotes #qotd #wordporn #quotestagram #wordswag #poemsofinstagram #writeaway #thoughts #successwriters #instawriters #writeaway #unitedpeople #deeperunderstanding #instapoets #earlymorningquotes #igwriters #igwritersclub #risingsun #scienceoflife #philosophicalwriter #loversoflife #musings #letthethoughtsout #thapoet #thapoetquotes #writtenbyme #goodmorningquotes #getgoing https://www.instagram.com/p/B-7I2U7F8IZ/?igshid=1fauvhwrue28k

[innovativejunction]

The Magnificent Seven: Core Attributes That Make Us Truly Human

The Magnificent Seven: Core Attributes That Make Us Truly Human In the tapestry of life, it is not the colour of our skin, the language of our tongue, nor the height of our intellect that defines us most vividly—but the essence of our being, expressed through core attributes that make us truly human. Over the course of my years as a teacher, Principal, parent, and pilgrim of life, I have often…

[thapoet]

Running on Empty 🤔💡...✍...Something to think about🤔...Inspired by #marchmayhemprompts20 🔥..😊✍❤... . . . . #inspirationalquotes #motivationalquotes #qotd #wordporn #quotestagram #wordswag #poemsofinstagram #writeaway #thoughts #successwriters #instawriters #writeaway #unitedpeople #deeperunderstanding #instapoets #momentumquotes #igwriters #igwritersclub #momentuminmotion #scienceoflife #philosophicalwriter #loversoflife #musings #letthethoughtsout #thapoet #thapoetquotes #writtenbyme #youcandoit #getgoing https://www.instagram.com/p/B-49rh_l_Eu/?igshid=xlq8480v9n0x