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No lupin

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 Dairy- Do not care about the date   I woke up without knowing if I was really awake. The lights flickered. My thoughts didn’t. Still. Like a corpse pretending to breathe. Death. Is it failure? Or is it success in disguise? Is it the only form of truth left? I don’t feel anything. I haven’t felt in days. Maybe longer. Success, failure, two masks worn by the same hollow face. There’s no reason. There should be, but there isn’t. I keep trying to find one, scratch it out of silence, carve it into my skin. But there’s nothing underneath. Just more silence. I fell. I stood up. I fell again. There’s no meaning in getting back up anymore. Only momentum. Only inertia. Maybe that's all I am now: A body moving forward because it doesn’t know how to stop. Or maybe it does and chooses not to. Because stopping feels too much like dying, and dying still feels too much like living. They say hope is a weapon. But I am unarmed. There’s no escape. Only the illusion of choice. Only the echo of a...
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Failure?

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Mission 2: 32 September. Year 021  No one told me to come. No message. No ping. No curious glances through the glass. They've all moved on. I should’ve too, probably. But here I am. One month later. Same boots. Same corridor. Same silent walls that don’t care if I show up or disappear between the tiles. They stopped logging my attempts. The system doesn’t record “non-events.” I enter the bay. Dust sleeps on the console. Wires hang like veins from a body no longer alive. The seat greets me like a grave. I sit. It’s colder now. Or maybe I am. I run the protocol. My voice is thin, barely human. > “Pilot 4017: Eva. Clearance: Self-authorized.” A familiar hum answers. Same as before. Indifferent. I grip the handles. Breathe. Wait for the failure. Wait for the stillness. And then— a jolt. The floor drops. Not much.  But enough. The ship rises. Not high.  But enough. The lights adjust. The pressure shifts. The simulation confirms: Lift achieved. I stay still. I don’t smile. I...
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Before?

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 [Journal Entry – Still No Date]  This morning, there was a napkin under my cup. I don’t know if it was already there or if someone put it while I wasn’t looking. Could’ve been nothing. Could’ve been trash. One word, written in shaky black ink. “Before.” Looked like handwriting. No one writes by hand anymore. I stared at it for a while. Thought maybe it was from the café. Some weird slogan. But there was no logo. No smell of ink, either — just old paper and something faintly metallic. I didn’t throw it away. I folded it once and slipped it into my pocket like it might matter later. It probably won’t. But the word stuck to the inside of my head all day. Before what? Before now? I don’t remember having a “before.” What is Before?
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Old Lopin

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 [Journal Entry – Date Unknown] I heard someone mention Old Lopin today.  Whispers, mostly. I wasn’t even sure they were talking to me. Maybe they weren’t. Two mechanics, half-drunk on modified synthwine, were arguing over which version used to “wake you up for real.” One of them said, “You haven’t had real Lopin unless it cracked your chest open.” The other just laughed like that was the most ridiculous truth. I didn’t join the conversation. I just kept my hands wrapped around my own cup. It was warm, not hot. The label said “Lopin – Neural Calm Formula.” They all say something like that now. I don’t know what Old Lopin tasted like. Some people say it made you remember things you’d buried. Others say it let you imagine futures that felt too sharp, too possible. A pilot once said it made the stars feel like they were inside your lungs. Whatever it was, it scared the right people. So they took it. Boiled it down. Bottled the quiet. Now it just slows you down. Makes the silence ...
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Obscure

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 I arrived at 3:30.  That specific kind of silence hung in the air, not the peaceful one, but the kind that comes after too much has been said and nothing mattered.The square wasn’t empty, but it felt like it was. People passed. They always do. I didn’t look at their faces. We were supposed to meet here. She had said, “Let’s get a lopin sometime.”  That was before the flight. Before I failed to lift the ship. Before I became a ghost inside my own skin. haven’t really spoken since then. Not out loud, anyway.  There are words in my head, repeating. Always the same ones. ''It didn’t lift.''  I type it now and it looks so harmless. But it echoes inside me like a scream held underwater. I had educated for four years. Four years.  I knew the codes, the sequence, the rhythms of the interface —but my hands...  They belonged to someone else that day. I still wear the pilot jacket. It smells like synthetic fabric and old heat. Maybe I keep it on because if I tak...
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Failure

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  Mission One. 32 August. Year 021.  I couldn't get the ship moving. They said it is very common but I don't think they were honest. They just didn't want to make me feel like a loser. After that I went the Sector 21 and just eat remains of a hopeless dilemma, delicious and sweet, actually it is weird isn't it. I agreed with Derrida, and ultimately Plato, about writing "Verba volant, scripta manent" it really does dude. Could you imagine a World without any record of something, no important dates, no precious memories, most importantly your journals. All that 4 year and I "only" regret about not recording my days, those empty days, just spending my parents' money and doing whatever I want. Really? Did I do whatever I want? I don't know,     maybe? I should ask not myself, it is pointless. I should find Eva, somewhere deep in my roots, rotting. But he must rot, or else what if... No. Shouldn't think about it. Tomorrow I will meet with Ana....
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Circulation

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 Done. Finally did it! I finished it with such a success. Now I can let myself vanished within the bleak loneliness of the space. Yes. Thank god. God? Which one? Once upon a time I was a believer, I remember those day were more peaceful, ain't nobody can disagree with that. It was hard to find out the sublime truth of reality, yes of course its just my reality but you know that's the point, if I believe in my truth, I will feel fading hope. But you get used to it. Nevermind space Yes soon I will use all my knowledge that I gain within 4 years and find my peace, silent joy. I tried hard dude, I really did.
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