Insignificant existence and the threshold of despair ⇒ Kirno Sohochari

Self-prelude to the despair: Despair is a river, fluxing in my life being unconscious to the fact that, anybody can be sunken in the river of despair. Not necessary for me to remember, despair captured me and I am fluxing in life with agony. Despair doesn’t care about individual’s sufferings in the world.


I am blunt to define any definition of life and despair too. I can share my feelings that life is a fluxing wave of memories and I the wave who fluxing in life with diminutive happiest and heaps of painful memories.

What is a memory and why it recalled me to enjoy the happiest moment? I don’t know why I have existed in memories, and why it downed or dodged me in grief, pain, and suffering. I am living and fluxing in a cloud of memories sans any reason.


The bubble of fiddling memories drives me to the life. Memories are pretentious; they always tried to hide my sufferings in a fabricated mantle. My figment mantle is not enough to fill the lacuna that, why I am yet fluxing in life with shredded despairs.


My life is a shred of conscious thought-quest and sentient aloofness; even though I am the fragment of an unknowable unconscious and this is my identity. I am fluxing in life conceded me as an insignificant shred of the real unknown. A strange unknown drifted me in here and the windy unknowable has driven to chuck the silly questions. I know curiosity is the cause of my sufferings and silly questions are the root of all unexpected despairs.

Even though, my curiosity pushed me to question the unknowable; it provoked me to think myself as a shred of the unknown; I am fluxing so consciously know nothing about the unknown to meet the unknowable junction.

I am not a resistant carrier, not so mighty to carry the painful thought that, my fluxing in life is meaningless and fooled by the despairs. I needed the unknown for my own salvation, to think that, at least I have a shelter after discovering my horrible insignificance in this world.

Emil Cioran's Despair_12_2

… My knowledge is my alienation. It appeared a curse to me when I realize the insignificance of this planetary life. My realization pushed me to the lonely horizon, and I slowly bent down to the depletion then; despite my splendid advancement in knowledge, I yet incapable to prevents my erosion.
… … …


The happiest memories of life are insufficient to medicate my wound. Happiness is a potty consolation for me; it cannot prevent my fluxing to the unknowable terror. My happiest memories are frail; they are petite for preventing the thought that, my fluxing is happening here according to the winking will of the strange unconscious. I have planned and rehearsed by the unknown to effuse me into the unknown. All rivers sink down to the sea; I am not different to them; it is my destiny that one day I drowned me in the unconscious terror with fizzing memories.


Is it imperative for me to write down a memoir that “who I am and from where I have started, and where to be ended”? My starting is bleary, as well the ending. Is it crucial for me to write down the memoir before an ending? My memories are blunt as well the feelings. Curiosity and question appeared a disease to me, because, it goaded me acted like a conscious existence amid the infinite unconscious autonomy.

I am insignificant and seriously irrelevant for this bizarre looking world; I am a junk, just taking unnecessary place sans any reason; I know nobody needed me; none is there who can at least feel sorrow to see my carrion fluxing in life. Is it urgent for me to write my banal memoir before ending? What have I done that can be treated very significant to memorize? I don’t think me significant to keyboarding my insignificant memories.

My life is a total mess in this human-like world, just echoed the memories what I have got after starting my fluxing in here. My memorable journey to the “self-recognition” is blunt, blurry and fragile. They are inept to recognize my entire insignificance. Perhaps I will happy to know that “yet I don’t know who I am, and from where I have started, and where to be ended before started the restless fluxing again”.


Happiness belongs in the unconscious fluxing of life; despair appeared there when I tried to live this life as a conscious being; and, when I promoted my knowledge or marvelous invention as a signage of superior advancement over other creations. My promoted knowledge is my alienation, in where I tried to satisfy my ego by chewing the cud that, none is better or grandeur than me.

My knowledge is my alienation. It appeared a curse to me when I realize the insignificance of planetary life. My realization pushed me to the lonely horizon, and I slowly bent down to the depletion then; despite my splendid advancement in knowledge, I am unable for preventing the erosion.

I am insignificant as like any other creation of the planet. When I realized the fact then I tried to hide my superior stance over other. I tried to hide the pathetic despair by showing my arrogance to the others, and then I begin to tune the stereotyped “self-praising” song over and again.


Sometimes I tried to talk with other creation of the planet. They are natural and autonomously adapted to their natural habit, nicely adapted for hunting, fighting, lovemaking breeding, and feeding. They are not conscious like me, but happier to their organic life with nature evolved curiosity, emotion, and calmness. They know better than me, life is fluxing unto the death, so enjoy the chanting moment of food hunting and lovemaking breeding until death.

It is envious for me to see them verbatim in life with rigorous passion and patience. Sometimes I tried to understand their feeling about me. One day I asked the little sparrow, “Hi! What do you think about me? Am I looking soothing to you?” The little sparrow turned its beak to me before answering my question, “You are a radiation to me. Do you know my hearing and communication capacity is now defective due to the mobile frequency?” Yeah, she is not telling lie. The little sparrow lost its communication capacity due to the high frequency of mobile towers.

Emil Cioran's Despair_11

… I am insignificant; seriously irrelevant for this bizarre looking world; I am a junk, just taking unnecessary place sans any reason; I know nobody needed me; none is there who can at least feel sorrow to see my carrion fluxing in life. Is it urgent for me to write my banal memoir before ending? What have I done that can be treated very significant to memorize? I don’t think me significant to keyboarding my insignificant memories.
… … …

That mean, I deafen her throughout my curious invention. After I tried to remember the list that how many numbers are there whom I deafen, blinded, slaughtered, experimented, polluted and helped to extinct forever to the planet, just serve my covetous desire of progress, advancement, humanity, and to fill my adventurous desire of discovering the unknowable unknown.

Knowing is not a crime when it is utilized in survival and adaptation, and it is a crime when it experiments other creation, to fill the self-created demand of a biased and nonsensical humanity. I saw my palm on that day, as Macbeth once saw his palm to get the consolation that, he is not a murderer. Bloods omitted to the hand after a minute moment of murder, but the inner bleeding never erased to the mind. Macbeth saw blood in his paws, and I saw me showered and flooded in the blood of myriad living and non-living creations.

I then asked me, why I slaughtered so many other creations and yet doing the same thing, and for what reason? Am I did and doing this for survival? The history of adaptation answered me negatively, since, “economy of nature” maintained strong balance in its food chain system; one creation utilizes another in nature for survival, which reversely maintained the balance in nature. Fine, then why I appeared and yet even appeared so rude or brutal to the other creations? Is it my habit? Am I doing this to prove my domination over others? Doing this to ensure extra comfort for me, and or, I am doing this for my complicated advancement of intelligence?

My self-written history replied the negative to me. It told me that, staying in life doesn’t need extras that I created for deafening myriad living and non-living beings in the long race of creation. All living objects can bear their life-burden without creating any demand for extras. I created extras only to satisfy my self-desire and showing the power of my advanced intellect, albeit I never gave any extra space to other living creatures by using my superb intellect!

Now I advanced even more; I am trying to create Transhuman Being and doing same mistake again to forget my limitation that, I can varicolored me (and other creation too) through the new thinking of technology, but it is hard for me to ensure the utility-chain for every living objects on the planet, what nature does since to the beginning. My Transhuman creation cannot pullout me to the ethical despair, which I already created in nature. Oh! I forget that once I imposed my own ethic to me by standing against the natural dimensions. I was doing this to hide my Macbeth’s palm.

My intellect is reverse if I compared it with nature. Nature’s intellect is not partial and not created extras for any living or non-living beings; it created only necessary things through the natural chain. Natural creation utilizes things according to their necessity. Happiness and despair not existed in nature. What existed there is, consciously utilizing each other to ensure the fluxing of life in a domain of unconscious creation.

Emil Cioran's Despair_14

… Depletion is necessary for transformation, whereas transformation is exigent for reincarnation. I think it’s more rational than the synthetic transfiguration of my existence. I, the silent river, is fluxing to the death with no regret and despair; I am ready to embrace the depletion, and not so eager for the restless reincarnation of my demised existence in the unknown spaces of the universe…
… … …

Anyway, what I was gifted on that day is, —a terrifying nightmare that, I stumbled in the pile of despair. The only answer I could deliver to me is, —what I did in the past and doing in present, that is, save me to the self-made fear of nothingness. I always drive me to the thinking that, nothing is enough to secure my existence from the terror of unknown uncertain. It’s my fault I evenly misinterpreted the meaning of adaptation in life. My realization of Darwin’s naturalism is wrong. I read his words literally and not tried to realize the very allegoric dependency chain of nature, which Darwin explained smartly. I misread the whole junction, in where the relic of all living or non-living objects are bound to interacting each other.

Sorry to say, my self-made advancement is a whimsical zombie. I confined me in the created struggle to avoid the rigorous natural struggle of life. Civilization is a tumid surname of created struggle. My separation to the natural struggle now appeared a curse to me, because it separated me to the original civilization, which I called “Nature”. My faulty thoughts make me a zombie.

Once I started my journey by considering the nature’s civilization my opposition, its animosity appeared frightening to me, and I wanted to conquer it at any cost. When nature appeared hostile it appeared hostile for all living beings, nevertheless it doesn’t mean I will be secure if I conquered it. Anyway, the hostility of nature’s civilization is different to the self-made hostility of human civilization; I evenly failed to understand it, and evenly tried to vanquish and subjugate the nature by using my great intellect.

Eksiglou_ (11)

… That mean, I deafen her throughout my curious invention. After I tried to remember the list that how many numbers are there whom I deafen, blinded, slaughtered, experimented, polluted and helped to extinct forever to the planet, just serve my covetous desire of progress, advancement, humanity, and to fill my adventurous desire of discovering the unknowable unknown…
… … …

Hostility is an impartial actor of nature’s civilization and tried to play his impartial rule to all. Sudden depletion or destruction affected all creatures in nature’s civilization, and all of them tried to save their lives through struggle and adaptation with the calamity. I might have to think in different ways before using my intellect to vanquish the nature, and that could be, —what is the safest way that will help me to prevent the loss, and showing me the ways so that I can able to adjust me in the hostile surface.

Adjustment with nature is not a fault but desire of conquering, vanquishing or subjugation is a fatal mistake for me; because it provoked me to be dominant and tyrant against all nature evolved creation; and I exploited my intellect to bulldoze the entire nature’s civilization. My reasoning of “self-protection” is heinous; when I think to protect me from the terror of extinction, I do this forgetting the necessity of all living creatures in nature.

The most pathetic limitation of my thinking is, I yet even not ready to consenting that, nature itself a civilization and autonomously grandeur than my self-created civilization. My self-made definition of civilization or enlightenment alienated me to the ecological civilization of nature. Only nature can able to create such harmonious civilization for all living creation. I am not so capable and foresighted to create such a grand harmony, but very efficient to destroy it in a minute difference. My intellect can destroy the entire nature’s civilization for the sake of my self-made hegemonic ecology.

Sorry to say, I am not so hopeful and positive, seeing my suffering and despair in the self-made civilization. My civilization is dark as dark my face is. I consistently lived here with Macbeth’s fate, seeing my blood pigmented paws with great despair.


I am looking miserable when I see me in a mirror. That is my dystopia, in where I exploited and killed creation by false justification. I awaken in daylight to see the nightmare that, a terrible dystopia confined me to living a measurable life in there. Any other creations are not liable for my confinement and suffering; my own fellow brethren confined me there for punishment. Yes, they punished their fellow brother due to the insecure dejection that, I will not hesitate to confine them in a dystopia if I get a chance in perchance!


I am not so eager transcribed and pigmented my bodily existence in varicolored shape, not excited to stop my natural depletion to the death; certainly, I am not trembling to think about the chances of celebrating bonus lifespan in this planet or elsewhere in the universe; no, I am not so terrified to see the unexpected demise of life.

Depletion is necessary for transformation, whereas transformation is exigent for reincarnation. I think it’s more rational than the synthetic transfiguration of my existence. I, the silent river, is fluxing to the death with no regret and despair; I am ready to embrace the depletion, and not so eager for the restless reincarnation of my demised existence in the unknown spaces of the universe.

Eksioglu_3

… Knowing is not a crime when it is utilized in survival and adaptation, and it is a crime when it experiments other creation, to fill the self-created demand of a biased and nonsensical humanity… All living objects can bear their life-burden without creating any demand for extras. I created extras only to satisfy my self-desire and showing the power of my advanced intellect, albeit I never gave any extra space to other living creatures by using my superb intellect!…
… … …


Yes, Reduction is the ultimate principle of life. Fluxing in reduction denotes nothing to the unlimited cosmic germination. I can die, this planet will die, trillion stars can die, but cosmic germination could never die. Ergo, anguish to see the depletion of life is futile.

Don’t think that you are just an earthly river; no, you are the part of a cosmic river. Yonder river is eternally infinite, autonomously chaotic, and reversely disciplined to maintain the unconscious chain of restless demise and alternative transmutation. Yes, I am the part of the alternative. My conscious fluxing as a silent river is the consequence of unconscious fluxing.

I am not worried to think about my ending, not so terrified to see the reduction of my fluxing ripples. Instead of, I like to imagine, my fluxing ripples are deploying to build a new shape of existence in the autonomous unknown. The alternative is my only solace that, I can stay there as Naught or fluxing as a lively river. Yes, anything could happen there! I am ready to take this and ready to imagine, I am staying there without any necessity of God or Human.


Despair is inevitable when I calculated my fluxing by a narrow definition. I needed description, can be narrated through commentators, imagery interpretation perhaps seeming not disturbing for me, and I am ready to concede all this, nevermind to read the description, agreed to listen the commentary, curious to follow the interpretation, and ready to allow these, but not consented to allow any definition about mine.

A definition is always domination, is always idealized, manic and whimsical, rigorous to its opinion and theory; it is an obscenity, an erratic confusion for me; definitions are enough to isolate me to the fluxing, just enough to downsize my entire existence in despair.


Okay, let try to make a dialogue to my own self. Let try to get the answer at best that, “who I am, and for what reason?” Okay, let start:

: Who are you?

I am a fluxing river and the carrier of deathless beginning.

: Let hints me something about your source. Where are you coming from?

My source is unknown to me; perhaps I am coming from the unknown junction.

: Remember the source, please. You can use your living memories. Let try to use this.

Not possible, I can memorize my existence as a fluxing river and not so far. How I can memorize the moment when I was whirling in the cave of unconscious dark, and when I was not capable infer my next fate!

: I see! Even though, use your imagination. Let try to imagine the birthing moment. I believe your intuition and reasoning power will help you to imagine something flashy.

Sorry, the only state I can imagine is “Naught”. I was perhaps a “Naught” at that time, and aftermath, I started fluxing in life like a blob. I am fluxing in the reality as a blob. My memories started accompanied me by this moment. They are now following me and defined my fluxing dawn to dusk. Memory is my consciousness, and I am none without them.

My memories are my blobs. They oozing me here bit-by-bit, pouring me like the torrential rainfall. They will erase when I entered to the voracious unconscious to meet the confluence. I, the whiff of the unconscious, once stayed there as a Naught. Perhaps I will stay there again without any prediction, hope or despair to see the next.

Alien Existence_8_1

… I am blunt to define any definition of life and despair too. I can share my feelings, and that is to me, life is a fluxing wave of memories. I am the wave, fluxing in life with diminutive happiest and heaps of painful memories… I am the figment mantle, and it is not enough to fill the lacuna that, why I am yet fluxing in life with a lot of shredded despairs.
… … …


It sounds better to say that, I am always fluxing in a new stream of beginning and silently dissolved in the eternal stream of ending. My animated presence doesn’t imply any significance to the living world; it doesn’t add anything special to the world; and doesn’t increase the chance to live this life forever in the world. I will die according to the law of depletion.

I don’t know and not interested to know that why I lived here. Perhaps I lived to satisfy the reason that, a massive unknown, unconscious and unnamed spewing me in life as a fluxing river. I don’t know what will happen after my extinction; what I can guess is, most probably, I will stay forever in the never ended unconscious, waits for the next sans any hope or despair.

Eksioglu_2

… My happiest memories are frail; they are petite to preventing the thought that, my fluxing is happening here according to the winking will of the strange unconscious. I have planned and rehearsed by the unknown to effuse me into the unknown. All rivers sink down to the sea; I am not different to them; it is my destiny that one day I drowned me in the unconscious terror with fizzing memories…
… … …


Yes, I am a silent river, tried to flux without making any troublesome noise, not excited to find the reasoning of everything. I think it is safe. None agitates you; because you are engrossed in silence and fluxing there with no hope or despair. I am happy to feel the state, in where a silent river fluxing unconscious to the life and careless about the festooned meaning and definition of creation.
… … …

Emil Cioran's Despair_0_2

Emil Cioran’s Self-prelude to the height of despair: Readers, this is the ending of my prelude and beginning of Emil Cioran‘s breathe-throttling confession about the meaning and fate of his own “existence”. Yes, I am not alone in the world who suffered by the duplicity of human’s nature, who discovered him incompatible, insignificant, and alienated to see the whimsical activities of human beings in the world. Yes, I am not alone, Emil is also there, he standing there as an alien with despaired face that, he is totally insignificant or unnecessary for this animated world.

Emil was truly pathetic in his “Self Quest”, as Nietzsche and many other souls were pathetic to realizing the insignificance of creation in the giant landscape of existential validity in the universe. They tried to act like a human as other does; restlessly tried to wear the ironed mantle, and tried to adjust with the actions, relations, exchanges, words, languages, cultures, beauties and ambiguities of human nature.

Emil was not alone in the realm. Many others were there in a different time who earnestly tried to feel the happiness of human existence against its suffering and despair. All effort was going in vain. Emil’s breathe-throttling despair also was going in vain. Human nature is still being as it is, as it was as it is in the past. The progeny of Romania withdrew himself from humanity to realize his insignificance as a human being. His pessimism renounced all intelligent exertion and assiduity of human to be enthusiastic, to be positive, to be innovative, to be reformative, to be idealized, to be thoughtful and considerate for making a new world. He never could believe that all this effort could able to seal human’s egoistic cleft, and his desire of to be dominant, to be authoritarian, to be greedy, to be pretentious, to be talkative, and to be selfish to all other creation.

Emil Cioran's Despair_2

… His pessimism renounced all intelligent exertion and assiduity of human to be enthusiastic, to be positive, to be innovative, to be reformative, to be idealized, to be thoughtful and considerate for making a new world.
… … …

Emil withdrew himself to humanity; because he was unable to permit him, made an adjustment with the knowledge seeking progress and its application in the world. Yes, knowledge is a plague when we tried to read its outcome for the entire living creation, and when we thought about the consequences of the implication of knowledge in our lifestyle and behavior. Emil’s inquiry made him fragile, ragged, and lonesome; it provoked to think him a stranger, who is alienated to the basic surface of humanity and its appeal to all other creations. In his mind-state, he was always alienated to the excitement of human’s activism towards the world.

In spite of his pessimism, this Romanian lived a complete social and educative life in France as like other academicians of his time. He wrote and published books like other intellectuals, made meaningful comments and opinions as like his other colleagues, even participated in political activism according to his belief and thoughts. He tried to left all association with societal life and so on, and ambiguously always discovered him in a society with his “no hope and no regret” feelings to all. We can say, Emil was active in his life and never hesitate to perform his duty as a human being; he did what many others do in a society, but performed all this without any hope or expectation for anything. This is perhaps the real face of a cynic or a pessimist, and Emil’s is analogical there.

He wrote books with passionate despair but not intended to think that his works rewarded him as a significant thinker and human being in the world. Real pessimist doesn’t bother what other in a society think about him, he always tried to judge his persona on a “Self Mirror”, and Emil was doing the job all the time. His political affection to the Nazi ideology, ambiguous devotion to ‘Hail Hitler’s activism, and his supportive stance to the virulent activities of former Romanian Iron Guard‘s (later he repented for this) reflected his “self-mirroring” mental grief and agony, of finding nothing in human’s world which can shake or change the systematic application of knowledge in the world.

Emil Cioran's Despair_4

… Emil’s monolog got reader’s attraction in his lifetime, albeit he was not interested to hear the charming word “attraction”; instead of, he chooses “atrocity”. The world needed atrocities for its ending; since it is not able to carry human’s positive looking negativity anymore…
… … …

Philosophical pessimism is a tough Guy, immensely complicated to carry and handle it in mind; living with a pessimistic approach perhaps not so easy for yonder person who is coming to a decision that, he will withdraw himself to the definition of humanity and activism of human beings in the world. The fate of pessimism is miserable in that context. It is miserable for pessimists and appeared upsetting for the common people and positivists too. Positive minded people treated the pessimist a hopeless chatterbox and tried to avoid him; they taunting or curse him for his philosophical stance, but cannot ignore him to the end. People usually hate pessimism and avoid the pessimist, but don’t turn back their face to him.

The despaired criticism of a pessimist interrupting people’s usual lifestyle and belief, frequently agitating their silent adjustment with the imposed and systemic burdens of life, and they treated the pessimist to their opponent, their psychology tried to deny the pessimistic notion in reverse, but they follow and watch his activism silently to the safe distance. People’s inner world tried to deny him and yonder world permits the pessimist despite the lacking and renounce. We feel discomfit to accept the reality that, a cynic or a pessimist is always lived in everybody’s mind, even he lived or governed the most positive mind of the world.

A problem with a pessimist is, he never imposed or provoked him to make positive changes of the world for humanity’s sake. This person is deeply ionized in his believe that, change is the false equation of life; the most enthralling changing moment soon see itself in the cycle of systematic exploitation, manipulation, domination, and conventional repetition, to destroy the beauty of revolution, reformation, reconstruction and yes indeed, the most valuable words of life which we call “The Deconstruction“.

Emil Cioran's Despair_8_2

… The reality exists without any reasoning and consciousness of any living object; the universal cosmic reality is unconscious about the significance of reality or the living objects. The entire notion of reality is a manmade creation, created by human to satisfy his restive feeling that “why he is conscious alone in the unconscious universe, and who is the creator of this bizarre reality!”
… … …

Emil’s pessimism went far behind the whole scenario I tried depicted here. He withdrew entirely himself to the human’s world, withdrew him to the mythical and religious God, and declared his distrust to the human invented definitions of creation and so on. He found his soul miserable, minuscule, indefinite, uncertain, and truly insignificant to tell something about human’s humanity; and he was not interested to find the provocative answer that, “why we existed here and for what reason?

Emil’s activism influenced by the poetic reality rather than the philosophical and scientific ontological reasoning. His wording and phrasing are sublime by poetic feelings, reminded Frederic Nietzsche’s terrible and hypnotic monolog which he frequently applied for self-quest and criticism. Emil’s monolog got reader’s attraction in his lifetime, albeit he was not interested to hear the charming word “attraction”; instead of, he chooses “atrocity”. The world needed atrocities for its ending; since it is not able to carry human’s positive looking negativity anymore.

His silent advocacy for “atrocity” and prolific poeticism tried to disburse the feelings that, none in the world is extra significant to confine or define him through invention, definition, thesis and synthesis. The reality exists without any reasoning and consciousness of any living object; the universal cosmic reality is unconscious about the significance of reality or the living objects. The entire notion of reality is a manmade creation, created by human to satisfy his restive feeling that “why he is conscious alone in the unconscious universe, and who is the creator of this bizarre reality!”

Emil Cioran's Despair_3

… Emil Cioran once greatly influenced by Nietzsche’s poetical epiphany of Uberman, but per se never tried to search an Uberman for humanity’s sake, nor he fixed any definition or made a hypothesis about humanity and so on, which Nietzsche hardly tried in his lifespan…
… … …

Emil’s self-mirroring epigram find the curious question is silly and miserable for human’s self; because unconscious reality can never be explainable by conscious real, because he is not the creator of unconscious autonomy, neither he is able to see the whole creation throughout his living eyes. Consciousness is the later hypothesis of human, in where he tried to guess his existential validity by language; ergo, defining the reality is absurd. Reality existed without any consent of any creation in the world; for that, earning knowledge about reality is futile, because you cannot define the unconscious through knowledgeable wording.

Emil withdrew him to the knowledge seeking progress of human; it is true, knowledge can make life more sophisticated and complex, more impressive and advance, further developed and dynamic, but incapable to answer the insignificance of conscious beings in the realm of unconscious autonomy. For that reason, any expedition to ensure better humanity or building the imagery of “superman” is vain. Emil Cioran once greatly influenced by Nietzsche’s poetical epiphany of Uberman, but per se never tried to search an Uberman for humanity’s sake, nor he fixed any definition or made a hypothesis about humanity and so on, which Nietzsche hardly tried in his lifespan.

Emil Cioran's Despair_6

… Emil was doing the reverse; he tried to walking in life with such confidence that he is insignificant and everybody to be, but he not committed him for suicide to see the ultimate despair of life. Instead of, he continued his life-journey until his natural death. Yes, he was active in his daily action (what he consider suitable for him), not provoked him to the meaning, reasoning, definition, hypothesis, and any other acceptation….
… … …

Emil’s pessimism stands far behind the texture of inclusiveness, and neither it is exclusive. He is not cynical, not like stoic, nor do we signified him a snob or skeptical. He maybe the nihilist due to his pessimistic poetics, but defined a definition for him is not necessary there; rather it is more important for us to realize, this man just silently ignore and deny the whole knowledge oriented upshot of a human creature. He denies, because knowledge is not an answer of the inevitable insignificance of human, it cannot solve the cycle of despair, anguish, and suffering of human in the world; knowledge itself the root cause of all despair we have experienced in our entire lifespan.

However, despite all this, pessimism helped us to realize our real self in the realm of the giant unconscious. Pessimist criticized not only the system of living; he criticized his own “self” to see his real face in a mirror. Emil is throttling but not exceptional on his “height of despair”. We everybody tried to act positively to avoid the negative; we tried to hide our real despair and anguish by acting as positive and change-maker. Pessimist helped us to tear down the veil; so that we can stand in front of our real despair. Sometimes it is essential for the sake of our own salvation. Emil’s text helped us to do that.

He helped us to talk with despair through open confession and assisted us to achieve the final height, in where our third eye is blooming to receive the pessimistic despair as inevitable fate of our action. We then walk along the life with bare confidence that, we are living in a real reality, and at least less pretentious than others who acted now in life with false hope and false positive. Emil’s breathe throttling despair is a self-criticism of our own action, and we can criticize our action without any pretentious excuse or false positivism. When we realized his poetical despair, then we could say, —yes, we are ready to doing our job sans any expectation of positive or the negative; as other creation doing their routine tasks without any positive hope or despair. 

Emile Cioran, nd /Henri Martinie /sc

… We feel discomfit to accept the reality that, a cynic or a pessimist is always lived in everybody’s mind, even he lived or governed the most positive mind of the world.
… … …

Emil perhaps tried to mean, a positivist is not conscious that, his each step is a despaired step to the destruction; he started his positive action in life concealed his real “self” to save it from the sudden aggression of “self-criticism”. Yonder person is consciously afraid to see his real face in a mirror, and be afraid to walk on life by consented his ultimate insignificance. Emil was doing the reverse; he tried to walking in life with such confidence that he is insignificant and everybody to be, but he not committed him for suicide to see the ultimate despair of life. Instead of, he continued his life-journey until his natural death. Yes, he was active in his daily action (what he consider suitable for him), not provoked him to the meaning, reasoning, definition, hypothesis, and any other acceptation.

It is not an easy task for a man who thinks he has nothing to add or contributes in the world and get reverse to the world. I embrace him to think that, I am not alone in the world for walking along the territory sans any reasoning or significance.
… … …

Some useful link to know about Emil Cioran’s life throttling despiarism:

1. Emil M. Cioran’s works and quotes in Goodreads;
2. Emil Cioran’s On the height of despair and other in Wikiquotes;
3. Emil Cioran’s notable quotes;
4. The Philosopher of Failure: Emil Cioran’s Heights of Despair By Costica Bradatan;
5. PHILOSOPHY /// UTOPIA AND APOCALYPSE BY EMIL CIORAN;

… … …

… Yeah, I am a silent river, tried to flux without making any troublesome noise, not excited to find the reasoning of everything…

Emil Cioran's Despair_13_2

Photo Credit: Emil Cioran’s Photo; El rostro de los filósofos; Charting The History Of Decay: Emil Cioran’s Rhapsody To The Absurd; Pinterest Collection of Emil Cioran’s photography; Chronic. Read and re-read Emil Cioran;  Despair quotes; Man in Despair; Cosmic Despair; Despair is a painting by Tahirih GofficGürbüz Doğan Ekşioğlu’s Pintings from Pinterest;
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