no more running
its impressive; how far my delusions of grandeur can be.
Haise and kaneki shared the same body. haise was anotehr, duty-filled ego, resembling that of a solid salary man in Japan. Kaneki was awakened to his own abilities, going through destructive nihilism after discombobulating cynicism in response to his innocence being shattered and fatalistic war torn battle experiences.
die.
Haise:
just shut up .
die.
I never really wanted to find my half-sister...
die.
I don't mind desiring...
haise:
I wish I had died...
die. die!
Kaneki’s inner / traumatized child:
You used to get beaten all the time by someone you loved for childishly pestering her more than anything, you know.
Kaneki’s inner / traumatized child:
Yeah... so when it happened, I was happy. I thought I’d get to see the underground flower garden and the Reaper.
haise:
You mean you wanted to die?
Kaneki’s inner / traumatized child:
Yep, I sure did. That’s why this time, before I die, I want to do something really special. To make everybody love me... and then go out with a bang.
Haise:
So you think... that this could be your salvation?
Haise:
His salvation... is nothing but sleep and sweet dreams.
Kaneki:
I’m the sweet dream.
Haise:
He’ll wake up, cry for a moment, and I’ll be gone. It was a mistake to think I could want something for myself.
Kaneki:
Can you do it, Night?
Haise:
Night, night, haise...
Kaneki: conscious now, wakes up
“I’m done. No more dreaming.”
No More Running
1. No More Running
Certain levels of torture and struggle
just to justify progress—
to hold success in describable terms.
Certain dollar amounts,
certain resources,
as though the world demands a bribe
to begin.
Certain perfection—on the first try.
The immediate outlay,
stride, and glamour
must be world-class.
A high-caliber inquiry,
an all-encompassing spectacle.
To set the bar so high
that only this level of quality
will ever be acceptable again.
For what?
Seemingly infinite ways to name the wrongs,
to call out the unjust,
to trace the history of machinations
and claim them as foes.
To aggrandize myself,
to believe I was the savior.
2. The Matter of My Being
I sought solace, comfort,
security and purpose
from every wedge, crevice, and crack
where my shape could shift and fit.
But the nature of my being is organic—
it festers, nests, expands.
And over time,
the mold I bent myself into,
the perceived openings,
became too confining.
I was the child they spoke of:
"Give a cookie,
and they ask for milk."
Why did this behavior emerge?
Why did I run?
3. The Seeking
I didn’t deem myself enough.
To be more than I was
felt easier than to be as I am.
Obsession was an escape,
knowledge a spiral,
practices and trades—endless lifetimes of distractions.
For so goddamn long,
I ran.
4. The Hamster on the Wheel
The delusions—those constant visions and imaginations—
they weren’t revelations.
They were the product of endless influences,
seeping in, whispering
that my real-time suffering,
my struggle,
and my tireless efforts to outwit my surroundings
were signs of progress.
I was the chameleon,
bending, shifting,
leveraging every ounce of my hyper-adaptive intelligence.
Not for survival,
but to construct fictitious idols,
to build monuments to a progress
that was never real.
Like a hamster on a wheel,
spinning endlessly.
But this wheel wasn’t stationary—
it was a treadmill,
going nowhere at a pace I could never outmatch.
How hard I tried,
believing each step, each sprint,
would take me somewhere extraordinary.
And yet, from the outside?
It was an adorable, comical sight.
The hamster runs,
blissfully unaware,
thinking it’s chasing greatness,
or perhaps having the time of its life.
But in its mind?
Oh, how real the effort feels.
The struggle, the push, the unrelenting drive.
Until—at last—
I step off the wheel.
And the absurdity of it all hits me.
The wheel was never my enemy.
The struggle wasn’t my purpose.
I was just running—
caught in a delusion,
chasing an endless horizon
that had always been within.
Alas
5. The Terrifying Truth
The most terrifying thing
is to truly become self-worth.
Being far more vast than any container before. unrecognizably so.
however, Wisdom teaches
that healing must be deliberate—
that the scab must be ripped off
with proper tools,
with preparation,
to restructure the wound sustainably.
So that you do not bleed out.
So that infection does not fester
in the exposed skin.
6.
I’ve been impressing myself,
building illusions of purpose,
telling myself that more can’t exist
than whatever container
i find myself in —
employer, lover, or otherwise.
But the truth is
all this conforming,
all this shaping,
came from fear:
fear that standing exactly where I am
would make me too big,
beyond my own understanding.
And today, as I stand,
I see it.
I was naive to believe
that anyone else’s container
could ever fit me.
i’m done.
no more running.
