I always expected people to comfort me. When I say people, I actually mean all of them. Mostly I do not actually deserve this. You could say that I’m unworthy of treatments like these. I never did a selfless deed. I donated blood today and I’m not really excited about it. I really don’t care that my blood helped out some people. Years ago I firmly believed that the circumstances of one’s actions don’t really matter, only the consequences. My opinion regarding this has changed. They gave me some money for my blood; I guess I’ll buy some cigarettes and alcohol with it. In a way of interpreting my actions, I actually may have helped someone, but as long as I don’t care for the reasons I did, the consequence changes. There’s nothing more important than every person’s mentality in part. So, I guess everything goes down to the matter of perspective.

Yours truly, Regeret J. Avak

It seems, that human mentality reached a state that I think cannot get so easily out of. There’s a need of a total purge, a rebirth you might say, of ourselves so we’ll succeed to escape this trap. I need new art, new artists, people who think like me but whom also want to have some kind of intellectual confrontation with me.

I think that money corrupted people’s free will. Of course many people don’t even understand (or maybe just don’t care) of the value of money. I’ve seen them stare at the piece of paper slowly getting addicted to it. It’s actually a long history of events which influenced these consequences. We think we need to buy things. Many persons don’t even need material stuff just need to buy shit. The series of manipulations, that we’ve been put through as time passed has got out of control. Even the manipulators do it automatically, simply because they were thought to do so.

Almost everyday I fear the actual passing of time. I’m not afraid of dying. I’m afraid that the few moments before I’ll surely know that I’ll die I’ll realize that I didn’t leave anything valuable to say that was mine. I fear that I wasn’t smart enough to educate someone. That’s why I don’t think I’ll ever have children of my own. I don’t think I’ll be able to make them smart enough so they will not regret anything life meant for them.

I search for formulas to get better in some fields, to become an artist and a genius, maybe to find a muse. What does this muse mean after all?

Yours truly, Regeret J. Avak