Introduction
Every writer, before releasing any book, has at least once wondered for whom their work might be of interest.
In my case – I have no answer.
I am not writing this book for the approval of readers, nor am I striving for mass appeal. Everything collected on the following pages is the result of inner pressure and far too long a silence.
Perhaps someone will like my book. And surely there will be someone who will want to throw it in the trash.
In both cases, it will mean only one thing to me – my text works.
This work is not a manifesto. It is a slice, a layer, a cast of a state of mind.
If you are simply holding it in your hands, you have already done more than I expected. Thank you.
Do not look here for answers. They are all within you.
And this book is a place where you can stop lying. For once.
Act I. Sowing, or the Beginning of Beginnings
«They say loneliness kills.
It didn`t stop me anyway.»
Chapter I. Human as a Mistake
SEEDS OF ORIGIN
«There is a seed in each of us.
It does not ask for care, it does not require care. It's just waiting for a person to stumble.
And then it sprouts…»
Each person is a unique being – with their own specific character, mindset, innate abilities, and shortcomings. Even such metrics as the manner of conversation, general behavior, and points of view are non-repetitive natural qualities that are in no way possible to transmit by blood and other means.
Each of us is terrible in our way.
Someone is neurotic, one is selfish, another a cynic: this list could go on forever.
That is normal. And it is natural.
We did not create ourselves. We are nothing more than seeds; sprouts with a singular biological code, planted by someone else and abandoned to their fate. The lucky ones fall into rich black soil; the others, into dry and stubborn ground.
Perhaps the place where we land shapes us, but we'll never know. And it doesn't matter.
Not every seed grows into a tulip or a lily. There will always be thorns, carnivorous sundews, poisonous mushrooms– the less pleasant kinds of life. And the truth is, we can do nothing to change it.
The Earth will carry any creature it births. That is life – fact, and cruelty, all at once. Those not crushed will survive.
From the seed alone, you cannot know what will grow. There is a bitter irony in that: the seed of a daisy may be far worse than that of a nettle – and even nettles can bloom. In the end, care and hardship can twist and reshape what we become, ignoring everything else.
What matters most is this: a “type” is only a crude sketch, never the whole truth. It is impossible to find a perfectly suitable living being for anyone's description.
P.S. It's not about plants at all.
CRY OF THE SOUL
«The only thing more terrifying than a scream is the truth that caused it.
Both cut just as deep.»
90% of the people reading this have dreams and plans for their lives. Chains of motives, or single, sharp goals.
They are built with cynical logic, dressed in inspiration from perfect examples, and wrapped in elegant words.
Until a certain time.
But sooner or later, all of it stops being so pleasant, when it comes to fulfilling these desires.
And that is when the most interesting part begins.
Every one of us carries a swollen ego.
