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Jonathan Martin Jonathan Martin
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Planes of Existence, Chapter 1


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She had a friend.

My life has not purpose nor meaning, yet I carry on, willing myself towards something which I not yet know, but can feel. I care not for success nor happiness, nor the people around me. I am selfish in nature, and that's fine with me. I have no ambition and no yearn for wealth, yet something inside me burns for what I know lies ahead. I drink brandy at nine in the morning and it bothers me not that there is no rhyme or reason for anything I do.


I am a lonely man, living within myself. I let the days slip by, watching those around me blindly grasping for the next goal, the next step towards happiness. Fools, the lot of them. Happiness is temporary, I tell myself. I stare out the window of my eight by eight room and think to myself what a relief it is to be alone. Alone with my thoughts, alone with my personal philosophical progress.


I used to be such a foolish human being, I recall. I used to be just like the others, blindly wasting time on unimportant matters. Over time, I realized the potential inside me; inside everyone, in fact. There is this great potential in everyone to be amazing, and yet no one ever is, not by my standards. Distractions are to blame, I thought. Everyone is distracted. Distracted by the people around them, the things they're supposed to achieve, the success they're supposed to chase.


I step outside and begin to walk along the fields. How grateful I am to be free of distractions, free of things that could tamper with my mental progress. Real progress, I told myself. I believe the thing I am after is glory, pure and permanent. Not triumph, not satisfaction or happiness, but sheer glory. Achieving the highest state of mind possible. I feel like I am close.


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