Nietzsche once asked — half-mocking himself — why his books cut so much deeper than others. His answer wasn't about beauty. It was about necessity.
I get that now. Though I won't make his claim.
I didn't write these books because they're good. I didn't write them for admiration. Something in me just refused to shut up.
This came from realizing God died in practice long before philosophy caught up. What bothered me wasn't disbelief — it was our cowardice in leaving the corpse there, still running our morals, our guilt, our hope. I wrote it to ask the question we keep avoiding: what happens when belief stops convincing us but still controls us? Writing it felt like digging something up, not making something new.
After that, I couldn't belong anymore. This book came from that break. I started seeing everything from a distance I couldn't undo. I wasn't rebelling — I was just watching with this weird clarity I didn't ask for. People talked, moved, hoped, but it all looked scripted. That book came from being someone who sees everything and nothing simultaneously.
This showed up when even alienation stopped being dramatic. What was left? Just existence — raw, quiet, completely indifferent to meaning. I didn't try to dress that up. I sat with it. The book doesn't explain being. It shows how breakable our explanations really are.
No — I won't say I write good books. I don't write bad ones either.
But here's what I will say: read these honestly and they'll shake how you understand reality. Not through force or argument. Just by refusing to lie to you.
Whether that's good or dangerous isn't my problem anymore.
