+ Past Death

What positive events have taken place in your life over the past year?

In the silence of my past, I have learned that death is not an end but a release—a declaration of freedom from the bonds of existence. This life, an incarnation I never sought, now marks the conclusion of a cycle I no longer wish to repeat.

Nobody knows this truth. Nobody needs to. Only the shadowed figure, the black practitioner of Geo Kah Jun, claims to wield the key to invisibility, clairvoyance, and the absurd dance of chaos. He thrives on irritating precision, battling the very forces he claims to understand.

Yet, his power is hollow. He sips the poison of his own uncertainty, mistaking my silence for omniscience. He believes I am privy to his every folly, his every misplaced step on his precarious rise. In his mind, I am a threat, a knower of secrets, when in reality, I am nothing but a traitor, a scapegoat, and a pawn—roles I have come to embrace.

Being a traitor was my choice. To betray love, to extinguish the flames of connection I once held dear, was my greatest failing. Those souls I betrayed, I can never repay. Being a scapegoat and a pawn, however, was the gift bestowed upon me—a gift that freed me from the need to lead, to know, to matter. In their shadow, I found the art of invisibility.

To die in the present moment is my greatest triumph. Every word I write, every thought I release, becomes a relic of the past, a fragment of a self that no longer exists. In my death, I have nothing left to lose. The world spins on without me. The high-flying fool, tethered to his corporate vanity, remains as he ever was—a cow to the company, blinded by his illusion of power.

And here I sit, in the aftermath of my own demise. The picture of me in the living room fell, a quiet proclamation of my death within the family. I am gone, yet I linger. I pray, I exercise, I do the things I love—all as a ghost of the person I once was.

This is the tale of a traitor, a scapegoat, and a pawn. A tale of death that has granted me life in its truest form. My past is a graveyard, my present a fleeting shadow. And as I pen these words, the future vanishes, leaving only the eternal silence I have come to cherish.