(2023 Note: The information here is very irrelevant, and the project has been cancelled for long)
Good news, everyone! After much article-writing on Philosocom, I'm happy to announce that I'm working on a new book these days: a romantic-based autobiography on my experiences with a certain love interest (whose name of course will be hidden). Basically, the book's main theme is going to be about rejection: the rejection of a love interest, the rejection by society in general, and how I personally cope with it. Hopefully, despite my exhaustion syndrome, I'll be able to finish this book and thus publish an 8-ebook, which will be the 2nd ebook thus far that isn't focused about philosophy.
As written before, I don't like playing "pretend" with the world, and thus I feel no shame at exposing things about myself that are personal, as none of what I've written and will write is basically bad, evil, and so on. I was never good at putting masks on my face, on keeping things to myself, and it also seems that people are generally interested in more personal-content, so why not, if it's something I'm good at?
The following is the teaser of this book. I hope you'll enjoy it, and will keep you interested in reading more, once the book will be done, hopefully.
There were many chances that I was given in life thus far, in the pursuit of a happy, hopefully-everlasting relationship with someone, perhaps more than once, even. However, despite all of the opportunities, my heart was aimed at one person, and one person only. Even when I thought I overcame their presence in my life, the mere occupation in their existence had made me a far happier person than what I usually am. You can say, therefore, that despite the impracticality of all of this, I am indeed in love, even if said love decayed across certain periods—only to be resurrected once more, involuntarily.
I do not know why I love her so much. No other person has made me as happy as she does, just by thinking of her or looking at her photos. While I am no fortune teller, I believe she will be my last love. How pathetic this all is. Pathetic, yet genuinely arousing, emotionally speaking. Her height, her feline face; her civil kindness, in a world of rudeness. I want her to be mine, and me to be hers, but I have known for countless years that this is an unrealistic desire.
There were times where I did not care much for her; several times where I actually thought I had moved on, permanently. But this shadow of her existence, within my mind, forever remains, unable to be moved by my rational motive to move on with life. A tank, after all, can only shoot outwards, not inwards. Once the intruder is within, and you can only competently deal with the external world, the chance of victory is less than average.
There are many women out there, I know, which I can conquer; conquer a conquest far, far easier than her. And yet, like an ambitious Sultan, I don't want to conquer the easily conquered, for the hardship will not be significant, and so will be the achievement itself. I want Constantinople; Vienna; Rome, even. Such pride in such conquest is the one to actually make me happy; happy beyond the current limits of my silent, dull life.
Love, as little as I was able to actually experience, is not something rational. It appears to be more emotionally-invested than the former. Why, then, should one pretend to love someone they do not love, at least as much as a love towards a completely different person?
"You live only once", so she said. "Not 9", before disappearing once again. I don't know if this is true, nor does she. However, if there is someone who I wish to experience at least once, is the love of her, specifically, no matter how unattainable she is. I am not interested in compromises, even if compromise is a wiser decision.
What is certain, or at least what appears to be certain is, that there is no hope. There was a chance to seize, if I had just played the cards correctly and at the right time, but due to the fact that I am socially dumb, I failed miserably, every chance I had with her.
I am the anti-villain in her life, and the anti-hero in mine. An obscure, inept failure. To succeed with women, you need to have a particular set of genetics; genetics that will attract them to you, to make them yours and vice versa. Along with genetics, you also need to have certain, acquired qualities that will attract them to you. I might be wrong about this, but I can at least say for myself that I do not have any of these qualities, genetical or acquired. Why? Because otherwise she would have been mine a long time ago; more than a momentary friend; more than an unfulfilled, resentful love interest.
Will I ever be in love again, while I have chosen the path of solitude from this loud, stressful world? Will there be another opportunity waiting for me, as I have grown tired and anxious from the company of others, to the point that I only leave my house once every few days? I do not wish to interact with others more than I need to, for this world is too overwhelming for me to endure. All the lights, the noises, the chatter and the insults...
I just want to live the rest of my days in peace, but unfortunately, it appears that I cannot do it with her alongside me, no matter how hard I would want to. I am too dysfunctional, too reactive to situations and experiences. I do not wish to die, but I do not wish to live completely without her either.
I will build an empire, instead. Vengeance can both be pleasing, and contribute, sometimes. Philosocom is a compromise.
For the rest of my books, please visit payhip.com/philosocom