Cliché. Like, how can life be so boring? Like, I don't want to die, but I'd rather be asleep. Completely disinterested in life.

There's only one reason not to commit suicide: even the act of killing yourself would seem trite.

I've lost interest in religion in general, learning about religion, sex, love, and work. It's funny, I know a lot of things, but I don't know everything, and yet I feel like I know everything and have mastered everything.

I often think that I can't find anything to get me out of this swamp.

Even being contemplative is a cliché these days. If there's a hell where you don't feel pain, where you go down into the depths of the abyss, I'm pretty sure it's "banal".

And yet, I've gotten into the habit of turning away from this feeling, which I don't necessarily hate, through him. I'm still waiting for him. There is only one reason to meet him. Escapism.

On a different note, I have the ability to distinguish between the imaginary and the ideal, but I have a habit of blurring the lines between the imaginary and the ideal. It manifests itself through lucid dreams. lucid dream. It sounds nice, but it's actually my least favorite word.

In my opinion, a lucid dream is a dream in which you face reality. I don't think this word is only possible when you are simply asleep, just because it utilizes the medium of dreams.

I can have lucid dreams when I'm in various kinds of contemplation, or even when I'm having a conversation with someone.

Lucid dreaming also happens primarily through thought. The truth is that our thoughts, the brain that drives our minds, have more storage space than we realize. And we can sometimes have a habit of seeing only what we want to see, and blocking out what we don't want to see.

For example, if I decide to climb Mount Halla, and I'm standing at the entrance of the mountain with all my gear, looking like a real climber, and imagining every single moment of the climb in vivid detail.

The moment of reaching the top in your imagination is so sweet that your every action, gesture, and expression in real life will resemble that of someone who has actually reached the top.

However, this happiness comes with one stipulation. There is only one stipulation: no one must intervene in this imagination, and one must be completely immersed in it. When this is achieved, the person will be the happiest person in the world.

Of course, the person who imagines it is still facing reality, even in the midst of the illusion, so it's like sublimating pain into happiness. If someone crosses that line, it's a given that the person who crossed it will go down in the dreamer's memory as the worst human being ever.

What about the person who wakes up from the lucid dream, whether by someone else's interference or by the natural flow of the brain?

The end of it is that the happiness that seemed so clear and within reach will disappear, not gradually, but in an instant, and you will find yourself penniless and unable to adjust. Afterward, you have to realize even more painfully that you haven't achieved anything, that everything is as it is.

Personally, if you ask a lucid dreamer about their lucid dreams, you're likely to hear them describe a scenario where heaven and hell coexist.

"What do you think?"

I stared at him for about three seconds before answering. You have no intention of meeting the dragon with any particular intentions. But it's true that as time goes by, his appearance is getting closer to the ideal he's been dreaming about for a long time.

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"Have you gotten into the habit of getting high on coffee now? I'm even more curious about what you were thinking when you were so lucid."

"Nothing, I was just thinking about it. Have you eaten?"

"I'm working, so I assume you've eaten."

We exchanged a quick hello and started walking slowly. The stars were shining dreamily that night. It was perfect. The child was like a bridge between imagination and reality.

Even if I didn't use direct language, she knew me and offered herself wordlessly as a medium to connect imagination and ideals. I don't know what that meant to him. For me, it meant sacrificing myself, which made it all the more special.

I didn't want to lucid dream, at least not with this child. Even without lucid dreaming, the blurred reality is that neither she nor I love each other. The deeper one of us faced reality, the more we faced it, the further apart we would grow and the less we would see each other. I didn't like it and preferred to dissolve into the dreamlike reality more and more, and I was very happy with the result.

" There's a song I'm writing called smoke fog, would you like to hear it? "

" Yeah."

" smoke fog just smoke fog like smoke that disappears smoke fog her face, her expression, her body language, may it disappear like that. smoke fog just smoke fog..."

" Why are you playing the chorus? "

" The real truth is in the chorus. The non-chorus stuff is just the base for the chorus.

The bottom. I liked it because it seemed to reverse the reality of the ground and the ideal of flying high in the sky. The lyrics, which seemed to reverse the ideal and reality, were fresh.

" Is the cigarette smoke that's rising now part of her image? "

" No, he's already put it all in the lyrics. "

"So what does this cigarette mean?"

"I'm blooming to feel someone more desperately."

I was a little curious about what that someone meant to him, whether it was me or one of the girls who made his phone ring, but I was only curious. That was it.

I liked that, too. I didn't want to take any responsibility, because it was too good to be true for a relationship of this value.

I watched her, keeping my eyes on her, making sure she didn't feel pressured. The image of him from three years ago still pops up from time to time and makes me reminisce.

It was an escape from reality, but it also made me happy to think about the past, so it became a habit to stare at him.

Three years ago, we'd been clumsy, but we'd had the same kind of connection. It's just that I was young and didn't have the knowledge to define our relationship and our words, actions, and gestures. In retrospect, it was a happy and special encounter.

At the time, I was very frustrated because I couldn't figure out why I was so introspective and easily bored with conversations with my friends, but now, three years later, I think I know.

The hell of "banality" that I just recognized now might actually have existed since then.

I don't know what he was missing, but we were feeling an invisible deficiency somewhere. In fact, I still don't know what her deficiencies were.

But one thing is for sure, we were fulfilling each other's needs by meeting each other. It may be a behavior and values that others would consider geeky and out of place, but I love and will always love this geeky side of me, and I would define it as an identity that defines my values.

During the two-year gap, we walked our separate lives and reunited. My absence has been a great adventure, and I'm sure it hasn't been easy for him either. The wanderings have not been worthless, but there have been so many sacrifices that it breaks my heart.

Especially because of my peculiar temperament, I couldn't empathize with the pain of those who sacrificed for me, and that fact made the past two years even more heartbreaking. For two years, the people I met, my daily routine, my life was all about men, sex, and alcohol.

When I first realized this, I used to beat myself up because I thought, what the hell am I getting out of these three things, if that's really what defines my value, then all I can do is sell my body.

Every word I said to her hurt so much, like a slap in the face.

I thought that if I continued to endure this pain, it might one day kill me, though I wasn't really afraid of death, as I thought about it every moment of my life anyway.

However, there was also a part of me that wanted their deaths to be worthwhile. To the extent that I recognized that I needed to be more deliberate in order to realize a death worth dying for? To achieve a dignified death, I began to develop my own temporary escape.

The escape also served as a hiding place from the criticism I gave myself.

After the day I made the decision, I began to search and envision what my last two years of life had been worth. Regardless of my intentions, this was beneficial because it allowed me to naturally expand my own worldview, my own horizons.

This split self became defined as my complex and my refuge. I gave it the name "double life". My double life had two main roles: to create a rationale for my world that was so secretive that it was justified, and to use the rationale to shut up my criticizing self.

Even in my social life, the double life has fulfilled its role. For example, in order to live a social life, it is necessary to hide oneself in moderation, to fill in the gaps through masks, to pretend to be complete, to use others in moderation, and to take advantage of them.

The manual I'm talking about now was the added role of the double life. The effect was tremendous.

In addition, the memory of experience also played a role. The experience was designed to meet men, go out, talk to them, and have sex with them. As a result, the experience helped me read the minds of many men.

Eventually, I had the power to hide my heart from men and manipulate them as I pleased. Pain no longer existed, and the illusion that both reality and fantasy were satisfying was literally illusory.

The intention of creating a death worthy of such a rewarding experience became more and more distant, and gaslighting became the norm.

" How's your writing? "

" Is that so? "

" I see. "

"The genre is too vague. It's complicated. I don't know if it's a romance, a thriller, or sci-fi."

" Hmm, what's the keyword? "

" LUCID DREAM. "

LUCID DREAM

- A dream in which the sleeping person realizes that they are dreaming. So more wistful, sad dreams.

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