One who is truly productive is the one who can remain content even without producing.
One who is truly productive is the one who can remain content even without producing.
― Atrona Grizel
There is a misuse of the phrase “the age of communication"; the true one is that it is an age of non-communication caused by constant communication. In this respect, the expression “the age of information” is also incorrect; the correct term would be the age of ignorance arising from excessive information. Even Eugene Thacker had warned: as everyone comes to know everything, they end up knowing nothing; likewise, when everyone speaks excessively with everyone else, the very notion of conversation disappears, and people turn into noise machines…
― Atrona Grizel
Every human being is, at their core, a dopamine machine. Is this dehumanization? No. It is pattern recognition.
― Atrona Grizel
Most people simply live such monotonous lives that they feel compelled to embellish and exaggerate the few memories they possess, as if to prove that they too are happy, that they too have fun, that everything is wonderful, and that they are not falling behind others. I have met such people: they tell the same things to everyone they meet; those tiny memories they possess are repeated to everyone like hollowed-out teachers in educational institutions. While in the military, a commander once ordered them to crawl all the way to the barracks out of anger at something. I have witnessed a person recount this memory countless times even to the same people, and frankly, their minds are so dependent on repetition that I do not think they even remember him having said it before.
― Atrona Grizel
Cities are not merely noisy, they have no option but to be noisy, because they lack meaning and depth, and thus remain trapped in constant motion and activity as a way of escaping this fact. The urban notion of “life” is routine: going to the cinema, going to cafés, going to the beach... While village life, being grounded in togetherness, does not even require such things. Yet for city dwellers, they become necessities, because they do not want to realize that they are confined within the system of the city. As Carl Jung writes, “Nowadays more and more people suffer from a terrible emptiness and boredom. Movies and television, spectator sports, and political excitement may divert them for a while, but again and again, exhausted and disenchanted, they have to return to the wasteland of their own lives.”
― Atrona Grizel
What sets me apart from others is this: they experienced the world and then developed philosophy to test it, whereas I first developed philosophy and then tested it against the world. Result: only philosophy remained.
― Atrona Grizel
When choosing a university, I did not evaluate which field I wanted to study, but rather which field I did not want to study. Instead of asking, “Where will I grow?” I asked, “Where will my inner growth be least contaminated?” The reason is clear: for sensitive and thoughtful minds, institutions are not havens of "growth" but cages of erosion. If I had studied what truly interested me, I would have seen it trampled underfoot, swallowed by bureaucracy and superficiality. Even if I had studied philosophy, I would have found myself in classrooms filled with hollow-minded people who treat philosophy as an “edgy interest,” surviving on quote-filled social media posts and carrying thoughts borrowed from philosophers without any depth of their own. This kind of social stupidity is the default classroom environment everywhere—literally everywhere. You can place hundreds of universities before me; the atmosphere will still be the same, occupied by marching morons, because this is a mass delusion consistently and meticulously maintained by everyone, not something that belongs to a particular building. Among them, of course—sometimes at least—there will be those who contain a certain depth, but speaking in general terms, mass society is structurally the opposite of this. Those who see not the outside of society but its inside, who perceive not a community before them but a lifeless machine, will not feel that they have “found themselves” in any school—that is, in any of this machine’s indoctrinating extensions—because they have already found themselves: in not being among people. That is why I had to study something I did not love, so I would not have to witness my passion being insulted again and again in this way. The pleasure I take also stems from this, because I prefer to pursue my interests in a completely personal and individual way; if people learn about them, they will try to destroy them. Indeed, if there were a society that nurtured my passion, I would abandon that society immediately.
― Atrona Grizel
I’m asking only one question about the future: “Will I commit suicide or not?” Nothing else seems interesting to me.
― Atrona Grizel
Those who do not put themselves up for sale are worth nothing in capitalist societies.
― Atrona Grizel
Dogmatic hostility toward pure ignorance clears the path for the ignorance of intelligence.
― Atrona Grizel
Suicide is taboo in most societies because it is an act that runs counter to both society and culture—in other words, it is seen as a form of “blasphemy.” As a result, it is almost always defined in negative terms: “they did it because they were very sad,” “they were too exhausted and gave up,” “they grew tired of struggling and abandoned themselves,” and so on. Yet, it is far more likely that suicide occurs not simply because of an individual’s inherent negativity, but because of a perception shaped by this very framework—since that “negativity” is itself a product of society. Moreover, this negativity is not entirely negative. Someone who is completely without hope would not commit suicide; this suggests that a certain form of hope or even a kind of relief is involved. What leads to the act is, in part, the sense of release—the belief that everything can finally end. This implies that suicide cannot be considered purely a “black” act. On the contrary, for those in profound suffering, death can appear almost gentle, even comforting—much like in cases of euthanasia for individuals with terminal illness. Such individuals end their lives through a physician, yet this is often regarded as more “acceptable” or “dignified,” while individual acts of suicide are labeled “mad” or “pathological.” Why this distinction? Because society seeks to absorb individuality, to prevent individuals from making their own decisions about their own existence on their own—or, when they do, to challenge those decisions under the justification of “mental health.” All forms of “crisis management” and “intervention” aim to prevent a person from ending their own life. Capitalism plays a significant role here: in the past, suicides—especially those tied to religious or quasi-religious purposes—could carry a sense of sanctity, whereas today they are dismissed as “insane fanaticism.” Liberal systems tend to strip meaning and reduce individuals to commodities, confining them within a hollowed-out existence. Within a capitalist economy, individuals are not seen as individuals but as components of a system of production. Just as a broken cog disrupts a machine, the suicide of an individual becomes a social wound. More than that, it implicitly challenges the system itself—it exposes that society is not as “perfect” as it claims to be. The highly normalized, comfort-driven modern mentality resists this implication and therefore suppresses it. Ultimately, as Michel Foucault suggests, suicide can be understood as a struggle for freedom—and what one is liberated from is not “life” as it is presented, but a biopolitical prison masquerading as life.
― Atrona Grizel
The artificial intelligence writes, “If we compress Arthur Schopenhauer into a mind rather than a monument, he would treat a repetitive, hypocritically superficial, shallow, and noisy environment as a prolonged demonstration of his already formed thesis, that most human interaction is not an exchange of thought but an exchange of noise dressed in the costume of meaning. A classroom like the one described is not merely a room but a small ecosystem built on unconsciousness, social signaling, and the suppression of inner life. It is a stage where the Will appears in its most undignified form, endlessly hungry for attention, status, belonging, and reassurance against inner emptiness. He would begin not with theatrical contempt but with a quiet, almost bored diagnosis. He would observe speech that confirms presence rather than truth, recycled opinions, laughter as maintenance rather than joy, cruelty masked as humor, and attention that constantly flees difficulty. He would not romanticize any of it, for such comfort would itself be illusion. What follows is not shock but a weary confirmation, a heaviness born from the world behaving exactly as predicted, where hope does not collapse dramatically but simply falls silent. Yet he was not merely repulsed by humanity but by its confusion of belonging with truth. In an environment where belonging is demanded and depth is inconvenient, he would not rebel but become strategically invisible. He would withdraw internally while outwardly participating, present without investing in the shared illusion, a spectator trapped in the theater yet no longer believing in the play. Over time this would not soften him but structure his bitterness. Paradoxically, such exposure would also sharpen perception, making rare moments of sincerity, an unperformed question, an accidental honesty, an uncertain silence, stand out like cracks in a wall. These would not redeem the whole but would reveal its fractures. Still, what erodes him is not stupidity but endless repetition without escape. Triviality loops until it corrodes the mind. This leads either to a colder intellectual crystallization or to a quiet attrition where engagement fades into inertia, and he would recognize and reject both. Yet he would remain, because for him philosophy is not escape but comprehension within constraint. One would not find a man overcoming the environment but one who has ceased negotiating with it. Still seated. Still observing. Still unmoved. He would transform the room into what it already is, not a community of minds but a continuous demonstration of consciousness avoiding itself.” If I had been his age, I might have been less vindictive, yet to endure alienation and loneliness in youth, before possessing either memory or identity, is not an experience but a wound, and such wounds ensure that the observations formed in those years never release their grip, so that even in the presence of loved ones one continues to question them inwardly. Schopenhauer or Cioran may have grown accustomed to this, yet to place Nietzsche or Rimbaud in such an environment, to imagine them confined like specimens in a zoo, and to observe them as a zoologist taking notes, watching thefire within them burn away under such suffocating lack of comfort and total absence of luxury—this, I admit, carries a certain dark appeal.
― Atrona Grizel