A malevolent cuisine

I have come to enjoy the non-writing aspects of blogging just as much as I enjoy learning the craft. Which is why I have decided to feature other writers on my Blog.

The first of which is by Aik Aleksanich who has a masters degree in philosophy and is currently blogging whilst writing his 1st book. The writing is influenced by philosophers such as Cioran, Schopenhauer, Nietzsche and, as a consequence, the writing is often dark, pessimistic and nihilistic, but importantly, interesting.

A malevolent cuisine

You don’t even know, you have no idea but it’s growing inside you.

Proliferating like cells of cancer – dividing, spreading, making its presence known slowly but surely, just like death.

It feeds off you and your surroundings, not making sense.

The only thing you do is stare at your screen and type away, letting the blue light ruin your sleep, for one more night.

You can feel that you are full but it’s not the breakfast you had this morning. It’s something else filling you up and you can’t point out what.

Everything was calculated, every aspect of your life you had planned out. Like a recipe of a cake.

1 ounce of melted butter, 2 tablespoons of sugar, misunderstood relations and emotions, unpredicted incidents…do not mix – but whisk them well.

And you did everything you should have but the cake did not rise, just like your life did not work out.

You changed. Even physiologically.

You bloated and became full of melancholy that needs to be freed.

Pregnant with things you couldn’t explain, you developed a taste for misfortune and destruction.

The burning sensation of liquor grew on you. Cigarette smoke became the air in your lungs.

Caffeine, lots of caffeine, like it’s a necessity for your rusted heart to start pumping again- with no milk, no sugar- but you were a sweet tooth back then.

Anyway, you write. Not to tell a story or to get laid. Nor to earn money or make a name. You write to stay alive, to empty yourself so you won’t explode like a balloon filled with too much air.

You blame yourself for forgetting.

The smell of someone, you can’t remember, the touch of a skin or the contours of a face.

And writing, like suicide, frees yourself of your own blame.

You write to keep things alive that are fading away.

You write because you can’t do much else.

Visit Aik’s Blog for more writing, or if you’re cooler than me Instagram!

If you would like to do as Aik has go here!