Are You Alive... or Just Functioning?

Are You Alive... or Just Functioning?

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Wed, Jun 4, 2025
Get ready. To dismantle the firmest threads of your existence... As you descend into the roots you once wove and still defend-just to survive functionally. To finally look, acknowledge, and confront the existential fatigue you carry with you day after day... Because this book is not a guide, nor an answer. It is a parenthesis that doesn't come to comfort you. It is a fracture. A lucid journey through the invisible machinery in which you move. A kind of writing that doesn't seek to redeem you-but to stop you, abruptly. Aion watches in silence, knowing that the noise within you is louder than the world outside. Void walks beside you, whispering the questions you never dared to ask. And Vita pulses underneath it all-waiting for the moment you choose to feel, not just function. It may even lead you to the despair of what you already knew but refused to face; to that place where the meaning of life dissolves, when everything becomes mere function. Because functioning became your way of being in the world. And in that mode, the body endures-but does not dwell. Language fills-but does not communicate. Time runs-but leaves no trace. But this book might bring you to a threshold. Not to make you fall, but to make you pause. Because it's not a book that pushes you into the void-it is a vitalist book. Because sometimes, thinking is the only way to feel alive. To contemplate. To question. To look again into the face of life. And perhaps, from there, you'll discover other possibilities. I write this because I know I can share something real-something that once awakened me. Because I believe there is something in you that hasn't fully gone out. Something that suspects... this way of living isn't really life. And if that spark lights up-even for just one second- it might change you completely. Let's find out.
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They said the Hunt was sacred. That if I was chosen, it meant fate. But fate didn't feel like a mouth on my skin or claws at my back. It felt like blood. Mine. For years, I stayed hidden. Quiet. Unclaimed. I stole seeds from the state fields, grew food in secret, fed my family from soil and silence. I did everything right - stayed beneath their radar, beneath their noses. I didn't make waves. I didn't ask for more. But monsters never forget a scent. And when the Hunt came, I was scented. Tracked. Taken. I stabbed him. I buried the blade in his shoulder and watched him bleed. It didn't matter. Because he still bit me. And the world saw. Now my face is on every screen. The girl who didn't run. The girl who fought back. Some call me a rebel. Some call me a mate. But they all forget one thing. I wasn't made to be claimed. I was made to survive. And if they want to collar me, cage me, crown me - they'll have to reckon with everything I've kept buried beneath the roots. Because I am not the flower. I'm the fire beneath it. Rewrite version of formerly known book Escaping the monsters Embrace

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